Fic - Crossing the Rubicon
Title: Crossing the Rubicon - Part Three
Author: Lady Eternal
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel
Word Count: 3,739 - this part
Spoilers: If you’ve watched all of Season Five, none. Specific spoilers for episode 5x18.
Warnings: possible abuse of expository devices, rough sex, angst, canon minor character death, OMCs
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with this world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
Author’s Note: Angelic Mates ‘verse version of Point of No Return. This fic has been circling around my WiP folder for a while, and it’s finally where I want it. Thanks for that in no short supply go to my beta, secondplatypus, who is an unconquerable soul. Hope you all enjoy.
Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
Part One ~ Part Two
~ooooOOOoooo~
The archangel was outside in the salvage yard; for all appearances, he was sitting calmly on the hood of a wreck, unerringly flipping a bottomless deck of playing cards into an old coffee can.
He was anything but calm. Sam could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. Could tell from the absence of candy wrappers that Gabriel was too upset to eat. It was a bad sign. “Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous.” The smile Gabriel offered didn’t quite meet his eyes, worrying Sam that much more. The cards vanished in a small wavering flicker, signaling that Gabriel had conjured them on the spot. “How’s the kid?”
“Still sleeping.” Sam pushed himself up onto the car beside his mate, schooling his expression into the studied nonchalance that he’d perfected over the years. Dean usually saw through it in thirty seconds. “So… who’s Zira and why are you so anxious about him showing up?”
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel expanded, his voice subdued. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He’s a Principality, and was stationed on Earth by Dad way before any of this other nonsense went down.” Sighing, he let his weight drop back, braced by his elbows as he looked up into the night sky. “I don’t know how much he’s been keeping track of what’s going on now. But he helped thwart a pretty serious attempt to jumpstart this mess about twenty years back, and he’s got a collection of rare books that Singer’d go bananas for.”
Sam snorted, glancing down at his lover. “Have a little trouble picturing Bobby going ‘bananas’ for much of anything.”
“Eh, Singer’s one of the quiet ones.” Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Under that grizzled exterior beats the heart of a wild child; you mark my words.”
Turning more fully, Sam let his eye drift over the full length of his mate. Every line of Gabriel’s body was tense, even in this relaxed-looking pose. Something about this angel was making Gabriel uneasy, and Sam couldn’t understand why. “Gabriel…”
The understanding, coaxing tone in Sam’s voice snaked past the archangel’s defenses, especially when coupled with the loving warmth that pulsed across their mate bond and suffused the angel’s grace. “He may or may not know that I left… I have no idea how much he’s been told by the Host over the years or what he knows now. I know that he defied the entire Host in defense of an antichrist that had decided he didn’t want any part of Armageddon, and that he’s been left alone.”
“Maybe because this antichrist, whoever he was, could be replaced,” Sam mused, thinking of Jesse. He wondered where the boy was now, how he was faring. It nagged at him that the child was alone, impending apocalypse or no, in a world that was neither kind nor forgiving to innocents. “Maybe it wasn’t an important enough thing to punish him over, especially since Dean and I weren’t old enough to be used as Vessels yet.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe.”
The indifference was telling. Sam searched Gabriel’s face, trying to read his mate. And then, suddenly, he understood. “You’re worried about his reaction when he finds out you’re still alive. The fact that you left, that you became a Trickster… that you mated me. You’re afraid of what he thinks… of what they all think.”
Amber eyes flared, defiantly bright. The compassion in Sam’s face and spirit muffled the spark before it could blaze, and Gabriel’s expression softened. “I never really planned on ever seeing any of them again. When the whole thing blew, I was going to leave; go to Pandora or Selene or Alpha Centauri… just keep going. I never… there just wasn’t any point. I was just going to be gone and now…” He shrugged, reaching up and softly brushing his fingers down Sam’s chest.
Just the lightest pass of those fingertips against the tip of the left barbell beneath his shirt. Sam let out a little gasping moan, his eyes fluttering closed as the gentle twist sent quivers of vibrating electricity across Sam’s every nerve. When he pulled his eyes open again, Gabriel was gazing at him, eyes hooded and bright, a kind of appreciative wonder on his face that Sam had seen before but never really understood. “Gabriel…”
“I don’t regret staying,” he offered quietly. “But there have been a thousand moments when I’ve wished I could just bring the three of you with me… Dean because you wouldn’t leave without him and Cas because of Dean and because he deserves an out… just take all of you and get as far away as we can and never look back.”
Leaning close, Sam pressed a gentle kiss to Gabriel’s mouth. The archangel made a quiet sound of want and pressed closer even as Sam urged him down, back flush against the hood of the car still warm from the rays of the sun. Huge hands trailed everywhere, teasing through soft cotton, until Gabriel lost track of everything but the way Sam touched him.
The archangel barely registered the way Sam’s fingers slipped down to open his jeans, thoroughly distracted by the way Sam’s hair felt as he wound his fingers into it as an anchor while they kissed. But there was no missing the way Sam urged the recalcitrant fabric down to his knees even as his mate’s mouth retreated from his own, and a pathetically needy sound escaped in its wake. “Sam…”
“I’ve got you.” Sam tried to tamp down the butterflies in his stomach, letting his breath ghost over the turgid flesh he’d bared. He’d done this a few times for Gabriel since their mating, but he felt awkward about it, foolish and unpracticed, and even though he always got quite tangible proof that Gabriel enjoyed it, Sam couldn’t keep his insecurities from flaring up.
They didn’t stop him from tracing the large vein with his tongue at a languid pace, and they got easier to ignore when Gabriel moaned loud enough to be heard for a country mile.
By the time Sam settled in, wrapping his lips around the leaking head and sorting out how to hollow his cheeks just the right way, anxiety over technique was a vague weight in his belly that was easily overlooked, overpowered by other emotions. Gabriel’s fingers were still in his hair, flexing as if wanting to control Sam’s movements but holding back. It made Sam push for more, try to take Gabriel deeper than he’d done before, and he could feel more than hear Gabriel apologizing over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat as his gag reflex thwarted him.
It only made Sam try harder, wanting to make Gabriel lose control. He forced his throat to relax, a few experimental swallows before he got the knack of it. It was a matter of another inch, no more, but it had Sam giving a soft hum of accomplishment as he hollowed his cheeks again. Gabriel made a choked off noise in his own throat, an aborted jerk of his hips Sam’s only warning before he was suddenly pulsing thick and hot into Sam’s mouth, and Sam’s cheeks burned when he had to pull off rather than choke, stretching up to cover Gabriel’s mouth with his own while his hand wrapped around his mate’s twitching length and stroke him through the climax.
When Gabriel finally let Sam out of the kiss, his tongue chasing the last vestiges of his own salt musk on his lover’s lips, Sam was blushing crimson in the darkness, his hazel eyes blown wide even as they ducked his direct gaze. He could sense the way Sam curled inward just a little, abashed for such adorable human reasons that Gabriel couldn’t help smiling.
“We should go inside,” Sam suggested before Gabriel could speak. “Abbi and Mal will let you know when they’re incoming, right?”
“They’ll need to, so I can open things up to let Zira inside.” Gabriel reached up, brushing a thumb up the arch of Sam’s cheek. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right?” Sam’s head turned slightly, away from the archangel’s fingers and gaze. Gabriel caught Sam’s chin and turned it back again. “I mean it, Sam.”
When those hazel eyes met shimmering amber again, they were playful, disguising the way doubt in himself still flickered inside the human’s mind. Gabriel doubted it would ever be gone completely, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do everything he could to shrink it. “Let’s wait for them inside,” Sam suggested again.
Without bothering to change their position, Gabriel whisked them to their bedroom with a click of his fingers.
* * *
It wasn’t much before dawn when Adam finally woke. He sat up fast, breath panting through his nose, eyes wide. Dean slid to the edge of the bed, hands bracing gently at Adam’s shoulders as he caught the focus of that half-panicked blue gaze. “Easy… easy, Adam. You’re okay… s’okay…”
Azure eyes focused, taking in the face before him, studying it for a moment… “Dean,” he said finally. “You’re Dean.”
“Yeah.” A moment of almost ridiculous joy welled up. If Adam knew him… Dean squelched it quickly, sharply reminding himself that Adam had no reason to recognize him, or Sam, unless Zachariah had shown him their faces. And the circumstances surrounding that weren’t likely to be promising. “Angels read you in, huh?”
“Where are they?” Adam asked, feeling some of the panic recede a little. Dean was looking at him with concern, not hostility; the angels had told him that Dean put family above everything… even the world. “They were supposed to be waiting for me.”
“Me and Sam got angels on our side, too, and they got to you first.” Dean slowly removed his hands from Adam’s shoulders, measuring his brother’s temperament. There was little doubt that he’d been told a somewhat slanted version of events; how much had been glossed over or lied about, Dean couldn’t be sure. He needed to tread carefully here if he was going to keep this brother safe. “You up for a beer? Maybe some food? Gettin’ resurrected always makes me hungry.”
Careful evaluation. Searching for a sign of deception. Dean could easily see the Winchester stamp in this youngest son, more so than when it had been the ghoul impersonating him. “Sure… yeah, I could eat.”
Dean nodded and stood, letting Adam out of the bed and leading him down to Bobby’s kitchen. “Any chance you dig cold meatloaf sandwiches?”
“With plenty of ketchup,” Adam confirmed, his tone warming. Zachariah hadn’t mentioned how long it would take for Michael to meet him, and Adam figured food wasn’t high on the angelic priority list. Having something in common with one of his brothers was an unexpectedly pleasant notion, as well.
The sandwiches were assembled in near silence, and then Dean and Adam settled in at Bobby’s kitchen table, unsure of how or where to begin. Both were Vessels of the First Archangel. Both resurrected after gruesome, painful deaths. Both missed their father, who had done what he could to protect them under impossible circumstances and against odds more overwhelming than he’d ever known.
“So… what’d they tell you?” Dean finally asked. “Gonna save the world? Kill the Devil? End the apocalypse?”
“Pretty much.” Adam was still calculating Dean, his gaze careful. “Said you refused… that you’d rather let the world burn.”
“That’s what they say,” Dean replied. “Whaddyou think?” Adam remained silent for a moment, and Dean smiled. “Yeah… thought so. You don’t know me anymore’n I know you. But Dad taught you to be smart, even if he didn’t tell you ‘bout hunting, and that means you don’t take anything at face value. You think that don’t apply to angels, too?”
“They’re trying to stop the Devil,” Adam countered.
“So’re we, and no matter what they say, they’re the ones that let him out.” Dean took a long drink off his beer. “Purposely screwed the pooch on the seals; tried to keep me and Sam apart and trap us into sayin’ yes… if I’d gotten to Sam faster, he never woulda iced the bitch.”
“If he hadn’t, someone else was probably lined up to do it,” Adam reasoned. “Whether both sides wanted Lucifer out or not, it was too important for somebody not to have a back-up plan.”
“Not the point, though.” Dean let the conversation lapse for a moment, watching quietly as Adam devoured his sandwich. No matter what the angels had said to him before his resurrection, Adam had a good head on his shoulders. There was half a shot of convincing him that whatever the angels had promised in return for this wasn’t worth the cost to everything they’d ever known. “Look… Dad didn’t want you in this; figured it’d be safer if you didn’t know about what he did.”
“Guess the monster that ate me alive didn’t get that memo,” Adam replied acidly. “You really gonna pull the ‘family first’ card here? ‘Cause we might be blood, but we’re not family. My only family’s my mom, and if I ever want to see her again, then I’ve got a job to do.”
“Actually, I was gonna say that knowing what I know now, it was the worst mistake Dad ever made,” Dean shot back. “And even if you really do think the angels’d keep their promises, how’re you gonna offer up your meat for Michael’s new suit if he can’t find you?” Adam startled visibly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s right: you’re hidden just like we are, and there are blocks on your dreams to keep the angels out of your head. They can’t find you and you can’t Bat-signal ‘em.”
Adam shoved his chair back from the table. “You can’t keep me here,” he snapped, “and Michael’s an archangel; the First archangel; not some half-powered little sylph in robes playing the harp. You wouldn’t step up and he’s chosen me to help save the world. I’ll find a way to get to him or bring him to me, and you can’t stop what’s going to happen.”
“We’ve got our own archangel, and I ain’t lettin’ any brother of mine get used as an angel’s Muppet.” Dean’s viridian eyes burned in the glow of the dawn, his knuckles white as he clenched his beer bottle nearly tight enough to shatter it.
“How are you planning to stop me?” Adam challenged.
“We have ways,” came a growl from behind them.
Before Adam could so much as spin, Castiel’s fingers made contact and Adam slumped over. Dean looked at Cas, startled and a little relieved. “Panic room,” he instructed softly.
Cas nodded, watching as Dean rose and lifted the limp form from the seat to carry him below. His mate was quiet, within and without, the flame that had leapt in his eyes only moments ago now reduced to hollow embers. It was a warning sign.
Dean was reaching his breaking point.
Once Dean had Adam tucked in on the narrow cot, he stood watching his brother for long, uncounted minutes. All he could think was the failure Adam represented; Dean had failed his father, his brothers, his angel, even his destiny. And now Adam, an innocent kid who should have been left in peace both on Earth and in Heaven, was being asked to carry the weight Dean had refused to bear.
It was supposed to be him.
“Beloved?”
Cas’ soft, gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. Dean shook himself. “Somebody’ll need to watch him,” he advised, his tone brusque, belying the turmoil and vulnerability inside.
“I’ll stay,” Castiel volunteered. “You should take the opportunity to get a few hours’ sleep.”
“Yeah.” Dean hoped Cas couldn’t feel what was roiling around inside him just now. Didn’t want to inflict his total worthlessness on his mate. “Yeah… thanks.”
Dean turned to go. Castiel watched him leaving, a knot of fear growing in his grace. Dean was in danger; an amorphous threat hung in the air, and Castiel could not enter Dean’s thoughts. Dean was shielding, keeping him out, blocking himself away… the knot tightened. “Dean.”
It wasn’t a shout, but urgency saturated that rough velvet voice. Dean stopped, half-turning on instinct. Castiel approached him, gazing up into those hooded eyes. One hand slid up Dean’s chest, around the graceful column of Dean’s neck, and drew Dean’s head down as his own surged up, capturing Dean’s mouth for a deep, artless kiss.
A moan escaped, tiny and wanton, and Dean’s hands slid around Castiel’s torso, molding that lithe, solid body against his own. Cas could taste the war Dean waged with himself in the hunger of his mate’s lips, wished he could take it away and make everything easier. But it was a decision Dean had to make for himself.
And Castiel was afraid, because he knew what Dean’s choice was likely to be.
When their lips parted and Dean’s eyes opened, dark and blown wide, Castiel’s hands slid to frame that beautiful face. The face he’d taken such care to mend perfectly. He’d placed every freckle, re-sculpted bone and cartilage, stretched muscle and skin like canvas. His master work. His mate. His beloved.
“No matter what happens,” Castiel told him gently. “I love you. And I will never regret that, or the consequences.”
Pain tore across that face and Castiel knew Dean was shielding. Dean himself might not have realized it, but he was blocking Castiel out, keeping everything inside. Cas could do nothing; could only pray that Dean would not act as he feared. He would not force his way in. To do so would shatter Dean’s trust, fragile and new-forming, delicate as glass.
Strong arms folded Castiel closer, and Dean buried his face in the wildness of Castiel’s hair, inhaling the scent of stardust and dreams. “You, too,” Dean whispered against his scalp. “You gotta believe that, Cas.”
Resting for another long moment against his mate’s solidly muscled frame, Castiel tried to ignore his fear. “You are all in which I believe, beloved.”
* * *
There were a lot of things Dean had learned over his lifetime of hunting. Mostly, he’d learned to listen and adapt. To use his surroundings to his advantage. To ignore nothing that gave him an edge. John Winchester had taught his sons nearly everything the Marines had taught him, including how to think in the heat of a battle. In the middle of a war in which there were no clear fronts, no demarcation zones and lines of engagement. Only what resources were at hand, and a unit to get through in one piece.
He could shield. Dean knew he could keep Cas and Sam and Gabriel out if he wanted to, away from his thoughts and feelings. Maybe not for long, but long enough.
He didn’t take the Impala. He wouldn’t need it. Moving on foot, listening hard for the flutter of wings, Dean found his way to the local church. The Chapel of Saint Michael. Like most small town churches, the local pastor didn’t like locking the doors even at night. Dean slid inside and made his way to the altar, heart hammering in his ears.
“Zachariah…” Dean swallowed through the rasp in his throat. He could hate himself later. “I know you can hear me, you sonuvabitch. You ain’t getting your hands on Adam. You got it? You and Michael wanna push a Winchester around? You come down to Sioux Falls and get me. The kid’s off limits.”
Silence echoed in the chancel. Dean knew the risk he was taking. Could only hope Cas and Gabriel would understand. He knew Sam wouldn’t. But he needed to do this. He wouldn’t let down another little brother. “Come on, you bastard! You want a shot at a Winchester, you junkless freak!? Chapel of Saint Michael, Sioux Falls, South Dakota! Come on!”
A hand clamped savagely at the back of his neck. Dean had time to swing half a blow into Zachariah’s jaw before he was flung like a rag doll up against the choir rail. Dean spun and tumbled over, sprawling across the seats, unable to catch himself. And then he was being hauled up before Dean could catch his breath, eyes glowing murderously at the angel gripping his throat.
“You’re a fool,” Zachariah snarled, fury edging his entire being. “You really think we’ll do anything but kill whoever gets in our way?”
“You’ll just have to make do with me,” Dean spat hoarsely. “ ‘Cause you ain’t getting near my brothers.”
The grip on his throat tightened; Dean’s vision swam black, an apology to Cas almost escaping…
And then he was being flung down across a marble floor he remembered too well. Shoving to his feet, he saw the Baroque décor. The table that had once been laden with hamburgers and beer. The doorless walls and the paintings. Saint Michael and the Dragon.
“Today’s your lucky day, Dean.” Dean whirled to see Zachariah a few feet away, his pasty face smugly superior. “He’s decided to be merciful. You tell us where the second scion is; we leave the others alone. He’ll even spare Castiel the punishment he so richly deserves.”
“Go to Hell,” Dean snapped.
Zachariah’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in here, Dean. You think your bond prevents us from harming you? Or him? We can hurl you back into the Pit with a thought, and make him feel every moment you spend under Marbas’ skill. Or we could destroy his current vessel so utterly that he has no choice but to take the daughter again.” The archangel paced closer, his smile vicious. “Imagine the intensity of the mating bond, the compulsion towards physical contact… but instead of a semi-handsome adult male, you’re desperate to fuck a twelve-year-old girl that will never age so long as Castiel’s within her.”
“You bastard.” The very concept was horrifying; the words breathed out through jaws clenched tight against the impulse to simply rip the archangel’s throat out.
“Your bravado is meaningless, Dean.” Another pace closer, menace in every line of Zachariah’s borrowed body. “You will learn to obey the will of Heaven, or you will be broken by it. There is no alternative. So think carefully, Dean. Choose wisely… because the wrong choice again will end in disaster for everything you love.”
There was barely a rustle of feathers, and Dean was suddenly, terrifyingly alone.
Go To Part Four
Author: Lady Eternal
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel
Word Count: 3,739 - this part
Spoilers: If you’ve watched all of Season Five, none. Specific spoilers for episode 5x18.
Warnings: possible abuse of expository devices, rough sex, angst, canon minor character death, OMCs
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with this world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
Author’s Note: Angelic Mates ‘verse version of Point of No Return. This fic has been circling around my WiP folder for a while, and it’s finally where I want it. Thanks for that in no short supply go to my beta, secondplatypus, who is an unconquerable soul. Hope you all enjoy.
Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
Part One ~ Part Two
~ooooOOOoooo~
The archangel was outside in the salvage yard; for all appearances, he was sitting calmly on the hood of a wreck, unerringly flipping a bottomless deck of playing cards into an old coffee can.
He was anything but calm. Sam could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. Could tell from the absence of candy wrappers that Gabriel was too upset to eat. It was a bad sign. “Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous.” The smile Gabriel offered didn’t quite meet his eyes, worrying Sam that much more. The cards vanished in a small wavering flicker, signaling that Gabriel had conjured them on the spot. “How’s the kid?”
“Still sleeping.” Sam pushed himself up onto the car beside his mate, schooling his expression into the studied nonchalance that he’d perfected over the years. Dean usually saw through it in thirty seconds. “So… who’s Zira and why are you so anxious about him showing up?”
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel expanded, his voice subdued. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He’s a Principality, and was stationed on Earth by Dad way before any of this other nonsense went down.” Sighing, he let his weight drop back, braced by his elbows as he looked up into the night sky. “I don’t know how much he’s been keeping track of what’s going on now. But he helped thwart a pretty serious attempt to jumpstart this mess about twenty years back, and he’s got a collection of rare books that Singer’d go bananas for.”
Sam snorted, glancing down at his lover. “Have a little trouble picturing Bobby going ‘bananas’ for much of anything.”
“Eh, Singer’s one of the quiet ones.” Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Under that grizzled exterior beats the heart of a wild child; you mark my words.”
Turning more fully, Sam let his eye drift over the full length of his mate. Every line of Gabriel’s body was tense, even in this relaxed-looking pose. Something about this angel was making Gabriel uneasy, and Sam couldn’t understand why. “Gabriel…”
The understanding, coaxing tone in Sam’s voice snaked past the archangel’s defenses, especially when coupled with the loving warmth that pulsed across their mate bond and suffused the angel’s grace. “He may or may not know that I left… I have no idea how much he’s been told by the Host over the years or what he knows now. I know that he defied the entire Host in defense of an antichrist that had decided he didn’t want any part of Armageddon, and that he’s been left alone.”
“Maybe because this antichrist, whoever he was, could be replaced,” Sam mused, thinking of Jesse. He wondered where the boy was now, how he was faring. It nagged at him that the child was alone, impending apocalypse or no, in a world that was neither kind nor forgiving to innocents. “Maybe it wasn’t an important enough thing to punish him over, especially since Dean and I weren’t old enough to be used as Vessels yet.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe.”
The indifference was telling. Sam searched Gabriel’s face, trying to read his mate. And then, suddenly, he understood. “You’re worried about his reaction when he finds out you’re still alive. The fact that you left, that you became a Trickster… that you mated me. You’re afraid of what he thinks… of what they all think.”
Amber eyes flared, defiantly bright. The compassion in Sam’s face and spirit muffled the spark before it could blaze, and Gabriel’s expression softened. “I never really planned on ever seeing any of them again. When the whole thing blew, I was going to leave; go to Pandora or Selene or Alpha Centauri… just keep going. I never… there just wasn’t any point. I was just going to be gone and now…” He shrugged, reaching up and softly brushing his fingers down Sam’s chest.
Just the lightest pass of those fingertips against the tip of the left barbell beneath his shirt. Sam let out a little gasping moan, his eyes fluttering closed as the gentle twist sent quivers of vibrating electricity across Sam’s every nerve. When he pulled his eyes open again, Gabriel was gazing at him, eyes hooded and bright, a kind of appreciative wonder on his face that Sam had seen before but never really understood. “Gabriel…”
“I don’t regret staying,” he offered quietly. “But there have been a thousand moments when I’ve wished I could just bring the three of you with me… Dean because you wouldn’t leave without him and Cas because of Dean and because he deserves an out… just take all of you and get as far away as we can and never look back.”
Leaning close, Sam pressed a gentle kiss to Gabriel’s mouth. The archangel made a quiet sound of want and pressed closer even as Sam urged him down, back flush against the hood of the car still warm from the rays of the sun. Huge hands trailed everywhere, teasing through soft cotton, until Gabriel lost track of everything but the way Sam touched him.
The archangel barely registered the way Sam’s fingers slipped down to open his jeans, thoroughly distracted by the way Sam’s hair felt as he wound his fingers into it as an anchor while they kissed. But there was no missing the way Sam urged the recalcitrant fabric down to his knees even as his mate’s mouth retreated from his own, and a pathetically needy sound escaped in its wake. “Sam…”
“I’ve got you.” Sam tried to tamp down the butterflies in his stomach, letting his breath ghost over the turgid flesh he’d bared. He’d done this a few times for Gabriel since their mating, but he felt awkward about it, foolish and unpracticed, and even though he always got quite tangible proof that Gabriel enjoyed it, Sam couldn’t keep his insecurities from flaring up.
They didn’t stop him from tracing the large vein with his tongue at a languid pace, and they got easier to ignore when Gabriel moaned loud enough to be heard for a country mile.
By the time Sam settled in, wrapping his lips around the leaking head and sorting out how to hollow his cheeks just the right way, anxiety over technique was a vague weight in his belly that was easily overlooked, overpowered by other emotions. Gabriel’s fingers were still in his hair, flexing as if wanting to control Sam’s movements but holding back. It made Sam push for more, try to take Gabriel deeper than he’d done before, and he could feel more than hear Gabriel apologizing over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat as his gag reflex thwarted him.
It only made Sam try harder, wanting to make Gabriel lose control. He forced his throat to relax, a few experimental swallows before he got the knack of it. It was a matter of another inch, no more, but it had Sam giving a soft hum of accomplishment as he hollowed his cheeks again. Gabriel made a choked off noise in his own throat, an aborted jerk of his hips Sam’s only warning before he was suddenly pulsing thick and hot into Sam’s mouth, and Sam’s cheeks burned when he had to pull off rather than choke, stretching up to cover Gabriel’s mouth with his own while his hand wrapped around his mate’s twitching length and stroke him through the climax.
When Gabriel finally let Sam out of the kiss, his tongue chasing the last vestiges of his own salt musk on his lover’s lips, Sam was blushing crimson in the darkness, his hazel eyes blown wide even as they ducked his direct gaze. He could sense the way Sam curled inward just a little, abashed for such adorable human reasons that Gabriel couldn’t help smiling.
“We should go inside,” Sam suggested before Gabriel could speak. “Abbi and Mal will let you know when they’re incoming, right?”
“They’ll need to, so I can open things up to let Zira inside.” Gabriel reached up, brushing a thumb up the arch of Sam’s cheek. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right?” Sam’s head turned slightly, away from the archangel’s fingers and gaze. Gabriel caught Sam’s chin and turned it back again. “I mean it, Sam.”
When those hazel eyes met shimmering amber again, they were playful, disguising the way doubt in himself still flickered inside the human’s mind. Gabriel doubted it would ever be gone completely, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do everything he could to shrink it. “Let’s wait for them inside,” Sam suggested again.
Without bothering to change their position, Gabriel whisked them to their bedroom with a click of his fingers.
* * *
It wasn’t much before dawn when Adam finally woke. He sat up fast, breath panting through his nose, eyes wide. Dean slid to the edge of the bed, hands bracing gently at Adam’s shoulders as he caught the focus of that half-panicked blue gaze. “Easy… easy, Adam. You’re okay… s’okay…”
Azure eyes focused, taking in the face before him, studying it for a moment… “Dean,” he said finally. “You’re Dean.”
“Yeah.” A moment of almost ridiculous joy welled up. If Adam knew him… Dean squelched it quickly, sharply reminding himself that Adam had no reason to recognize him, or Sam, unless Zachariah had shown him their faces. And the circumstances surrounding that weren’t likely to be promising. “Angels read you in, huh?”
“Where are they?” Adam asked, feeling some of the panic recede a little. Dean was looking at him with concern, not hostility; the angels had told him that Dean put family above everything… even the world. “They were supposed to be waiting for me.”
“Me and Sam got angels on our side, too, and they got to you first.” Dean slowly removed his hands from Adam’s shoulders, measuring his brother’s temperament. There was little doubt that he’d been told a somewhat slanted version of events; how much had been glossed over or lied about, Dean couldn’t be sure. He needed to tread carefully here if he was going to keep this brother safe. “You up for a beer? Maybe some food? Gettin’ resurrected always makes me hungry.”
Careful evaluation. Searching for a sign of deception. Dean could easily see the Winchester stamp in this youngest son, more so than when it had been the ghoul impersonating him. “Sure… yeah, I could eat.”
Dean nodded and stood, letting Adam out of the bed and leading him down to Bobby’s kitchen. “Any chance you dig cold meatloaf sandwiches?”
“With plenty of ketchup,” Adam confirmed, his tone warming. Zachariah hadn’t mentioned how long it would take for Michael to meet him, and Adam figured food wasn’t high on the angelic priority list. Having something in common with one of his brothers was an unexpectedly pleasant notion, as well.
The sandwiches were assembled in near silence, and then Dean and Adam settled in at Bobby’s kitchen table, unsure of how or where to begin. Both were Vessels of the First Archangel. Both resurrected after gruesome, painful deaths. Both missed their father, who had done what he could to protect them under impossible circumstances and against odds more overwhelming than he’d ever known.
“So… what’d they tell you?” Dean finally asked. “Gonna save the world? Kill the Devil? End the apocalypse?”
“Pretty much.” Adam was still calculating Dean, his gaze careful. “Said you refused… that you’d rather let the world burn.”
“That’s what they say,” Dean replied. “Whaddyou think?” Adam remained silent for a moment, and Dean smiled. “Yeah… thought so. You don’t know me anymore’n I know you. But Dad taught you to be smart, even if he didn’t tell you ‘bout hunting, and that means you don’t take anything at face value. You think that don’t apply to angels, too?”
“They’re trying to stop the Devil,” Adam countered.
“So’re we, and no matter what they say, they’re the ones that let him out.” Dean took a long drink off his beer. “Purposely screwed the pooch on the seals; tried to keep me and Sam apart and trap us into sayin’ yes… if I’d gotten to Sam faster, he never woulda iced the bitch.”
“If he hadn’t, someone else was probably lined up to do it,” Adam reasoned. “Whether both sides wanted Lucifer out or not, it was too important for somebody not to have a back-up plan.”
“Not the point, though.” Dean let the conversation lapse for a moment, watching quietly as Adam devoured his sandwich. No matter what the angels had said to him before his resurrection, Adam had a good head on his shoulders. There was half a shot of convincing him that whatever the angels had promised in return for this wasn’t worth the cost to everything they’d ever known. “Look… Dad didn’t want you in this; figured it’d be safer if you didn’t know about what he did.”
“Guess the monster that ate me alive didn’t get that memo,” Adam replied acidly. “You really gonna pull the ‘family first’ card here? ‘Cause we might be blood, but we’re not family. My only family’s my mom, and if I ever want to see her again, then I’ve got a job to do.”
“Actually, I was gonna say that knowing what I know now, it was the worst mistake Dad ever made,” Dean shot back. “And even if you really do think the angels’d keep their promises, how’re you gonna offer up your meat for Michael’s new suit if he can’t find you?” Adam startled visibly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s right: you’re hidden just like we are, and there are blocks on your dreams to keep the angels out of your head. They can’t find you and you can’t Bat-signal ‘em.”
Adam shoved his chair back from the table. “You can’t keep me here,” he snapped, “and Michael’s an archangel; the First archangel; not some half-powered little sylph in robes playing the harp. You wouldn’t step up and he’s chosen me to help save the world. I’ll find a way to get to him or bring him to me, and you can’t stop what’s going to happen.”
“We’ve got our own archangel, and I ain’t lettin’ any brother of mine get used as an angel’s Muppet.” Dean’s viridian eyes burned in the glow of the dawn, his knuckles white as he clenched his beer bottle nearly tight enough to shatter it.
“How are you planning to stop me?” Adam challenged.
“We have ways,” came a growl from behind them.
Before Adam could so much as spin, Castiel’s fingers made contact and Adam slumped over. Dean looked at Cas, startled and a little relieved. “Panic room,” he instructed softly.
Cas nodded, watching as Dean rose and lifted the limp form from the seat to carry him below. His mate was quiet, within and without, the flame that had leapt in his eyes only moments ago now reduced to hollow embers. It was a warning sign.
Dean was reaching his breaking point.
Once Dean had Adam tucked in on the narrow cot, he stood watching his brother for long, uncounted minutes. All he could think was the failure Adam represented; Dean had failed his father, his brothers, his angel, even his destiny. And now Adam, an innocent kid who should have been left in peace both on Earth and in Heaven, was being asked to carry the weight Dean had refused to bear.
It was supposed to be him.
“Beloved?”
Cas’ soft, gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. Dean shook himself. “Somebody’ll need to watch him,” he advised, his tone brusque, belying the turmoil and vulnerability inside.
“I’ll stay,” Castiel volunteered. “You should take the opportunity to get a few hours’ sleep.”
“Yeah.” Dean hoped Cas couldn’t feel what was roiling around inside him just now. Didn’t want to inflict his total worthlessness on his mate. “Yeah… thanks.”
Dean turned to go. Castiel watched him leaving, a knot of fear growing in his grace. Dean was in danger; an amorphous threat hung in the air, and Castiel could not enter Dean’s thoughts. Dean was shielding, keeping him out, blocking himself away… the knot tightened. “Dean.”
It wasn’t a shout, but urgency saturated that rough velvet voice. Dean stopped, half-turning on instinct. Castiel approached him, gazing up into those hooded eyes. One hand slid up Dean’s chest, around the graceful column of Dean’s neck, and drew Dean’s head down as his own surged up, capturing Dean’s mouth for a deep, artless kiss.
A moan escaped, tiny and wanton, and Dean’s hands slid around Castiel’s torso, molding that lithe, solid body against his own. Cas could taste the war Dean waged with himself in the hunger of his mate’s lips, wished he could take it away and make everything easier. But it was a decision Dean had to make for himself.
And Castiel was afraid, because he knew what Dean’s choice was likely to be.
When their lips parted and Dean’s eyes opened, dark and blown wide, Castiel’s hands slid to frame that beautiful face. The face he’d taken such care to mend perfectly. He’d placed every freckle, re-sculpted bone and cartilage, stretched muscle and skin like canvas. His master work. His mate. His beloved.
“No matter what happens,” Castiel told him gently. “I love you. And I will never regret that, or the consequences.”
Pain tore across that face and Castiel knew Dean was shielding. Dean himself might not have realized it, but he was blocking Castiel out, keeping everything inside. Cas could do nothing; could only pray that Dean would not act as he feared. He would not force his way in. To do so would shatter Dean’s trust, fragile and new-forming, delicate as glass.
Strong arms folded Castiel closer, and Dean buried his face in the wildness of Castiel’s hair, inhaling the scent of stardust and dreams. “You, too,” Dean whispered against his scalp. “You gotta believe that, Cas.”
Resting for another long moment against his mate’s solidly muscled frame, Castiel tried to ignore his fear. “You are all in which I believe, beloved.”
* * *
There were a lot of things Dean had learned over his lifetime of hunting. Mostly, he’d learned to listen and adapt. To use his surroundings to his advantage. To ignore nothing that gave him an edge. John Winchester had taught his sons nearly everything the Marines had taught him, including how to think in the heat of a battle. In the middle of a war in which there were no clear fronts, no demarcation zones and lines of engagement. Only what resources were at hand, and a unit to get through in one piece.
He could shield. Dean knew he could keep Cas and Sam and Gabriel out if he wanted to, away from his thoughts and feelings. Maybe not for long, but long enough.
He didn’t take the Impala. He wouldn’t need it. Moving on foot, listening hard for the flutter of wings, Dean found his way to the local church. The Chapel of Saint Michael. Like most small town churches, the local pastor didn’t like locking the doors even at night. Dean slid inside and made his way to the altar, heart hammering in his ears.
“Zachariah…” Dean swallowed through the rasp in his throat. He could hate himself later. “I know you can hear me, you sonuvabitch. You ain’t getting your hands on Adam. You got it? You and Michael wanna push a Winchester around? You come down to Sioux Falls and get me. The kid’s off limits.”
Silence echoed in the chancel. Dean knew the risk he was taking. Could only hope Cas and Gabriel would understand. He knew Sam wouldn’t. But he needed to do this. He wouldn’t let down another little brother. “Come on, you bastard! You want a shot at a Winchester, you junkless freak!? Chapel of Saint Michael, Sioux Falls, South Dakota! Come on!”
A hand clamped savagely at the back of his neck. Dean had time to swing half a blow into Zachariah’s jaw before he was flung like a rag doll up against the choir rail. Dean spun and tumbled over, sprawling across the seats, unable to catch himself. And then he was being hauled up before Dean could catch his breath, eyes glowing murderously at the angel gripping his throat.
“You’re a fool,” Zachariah snarled, fury edging his entire being. “You really think we’ll do anything but kill whoever gets in our way?”
“You’ll just have to make do with me,” Dean spat hoarsely. “ ‘Cause you ain’t getting near my brothers.”
The grip on his throat tightened; Dean’s vision swam black, an apology to Cas almost escaping…
And then he was being flung down across a marble floor he remembered too well. Shoving to his feet, he saw the Baroque décor. The table that had once been laden with hamburgers and beer. The doorless walls and the paintings. Saint Michael and the Dragon.
“Today’s your lucky day, Dean.” Dean whirled to see Zachariah a few feet away, his pasty face smugly superior. “He’s decided to be merciful. You tell us where the second scion is; we leave the others alone. He’ll even spare Castiel the punishment he so richly deserves.”
“Go to Hell,” Dean snapped.
Zachariah’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in here, Dean. You think your bond prevents us from harming you? Or him? We can hurl you back into the Pit with a thought, and make him feel every moment you spend under Marbas’ skill. Or we could destroy his current vessel so utterly that he has no choice but to take the daughter again.” The archangel paced closer, his smile vicious. “Imagine the intensity of the mating bond, the compulsion towards physical contact… but instead of a semi-handsome adult male, you’re desperate to fuck a twelve-year-old girl that will never age so long as Castiel’s within her.”
“You bastard.” The very concept was horrifying; the words breathed out through jaws clenched tight against the impulse to simply rip the archangel’s throat out.
“Your bravado is meaningless, Dean.” Another pace closer, menace in every line of Zachariah’s borrowed body. “You will learn to obey the will of Heaven, or you will be broken by it. There is no alternative. So think carefully, Dean. Choose wisely… because the wrong choice again will end in disaster for everything you love.”
There was barely a rustle of feathers, and Dean was suddenly, terrifyingly alone.
Go To Part Four