Supernatural Fic: A Visitation
Oh look, more fic! They don't exactly rely on each other, but I think of this story as being sort of the peanut butter to A Transfiguration's jelly.
Thanks again to
iulia.
Dean. Gen. PG-13. 1,889 words. post-5x01.
Dean opened his eyes, swimming out of another patch of restless sleep, and his dad was there, sitting on the edge of the bed.
A Visitation
Dean opened his eyes, swimming out of another patch of restless sleep, and his dad was there, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean thought about salt, thought about weapons, thought Dad Dad Dad Dad.
He said, "What the fuck are you and what are you doing here?"
His dad--Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad--smiled, eyes crinkling up and teeth showing, and said, "That's my boy. You're dreaming, Dean--I just wanted to talk to you one on one, and I thought this face would get your attention."
Dean glanced over--Sam was sleeping peacefully--and sat up. "What are you."
"Who," not-his-dad corrected. "I am an angel, Dean. I am Michael. So now you know why I want to talk to you."
Dean scowled, folding his arms. "I already said no. What are you going to do now? Torture us some more?"
Michael shook his head. "Zachariah's a prick, Dean. He's a middle manager throwing his weight around because he can."
Dean snorted. Michael smiled for a second, then turned serious again.
"That doesn't mean he's completely wrong, though. You and I fit together--most vessels couldn't handle me, and most angels wouldn't fit with you. A bright and shiny thing like young Castiel, he's all wrong with you. He nearly blew your brain out trying to say hello. You're a vessel, but not for that kind of angel. I'm not like that. I'm like you."
"You're like... me." This was definitely not his dad--but not not-his-dad the way the demon had been. Not even not-his-dad like Cas wasn't Jimmy. This--He--came a lot closer. "You're like my dad."
"If the time had come while he lived in the world--if he'd been primed the way you have--maybe. But you are a rare man, Dean Winchester. You're not just chosen. You're uniquely qualified."
Dean swallowed hard and coughed up the words that he'd been choking on all day. "I opened the first seal. Lilith got Sam to open the last one, but I opened the first. That was me, my choice. I shed blood in Hell."
Michael leaned forward and held out his open hand, palm up, to Dean. Dean knew that hand, which was and wasn't his father's. "I shed blood in Paradise, Dean. I drove my fallen brothers into Hell, and watched them make it their kingdom. I am the oldest hunter. I am the first. You could be the last."
"The last." Dean sat back against the headboard, pretending all the way that he wasn't shaking and didn't need the support at his back. "Because you want me to help you end the world."
"And usher in a new one," Michael said patiently. "One in which no one dies, and no one has to fight, and no one has to hunt. You could stop, Dean. You could stop and be safe and not be letting anyone down, and you and Sam and your family would be together."
"In Heaven," Dean finished, not even bothering to hide the withering tone. He wouldn't have spoken to his father like that; Sam would. But Michael had to know Dean wasn't stupid.
"Dean, you were removed from harm's way by the Hand of God. I'm not the Judge; I'm the general. I can't say what verdict will be passed on you, but I think we can all see which way He's leaning. He is merciful. Whether or not you can believe that you are worthy of mercy, He has shown it to you. Can't you believe that He will continue to do so if you allow yourself to become part of His plan?"
Dean closed his eyes, banged his head quietly against the wall behind him a couple of times. This was so, so fucked up, and he was so tired, and--would it be so bad? Being the last hunter, finishing everything, making absolutely everything right forever?
But then Zachariah would win--except, hey, the archangel smote Cas into tiny exploded pieces. Maybe Michael would smite Zachariah? Maybe they could make a deal.
Michael laughed, and Dean had to open his eyes to see that. His heart went tight in his chest. It'd been a long time since he'd seen his dad laugh like that, happily. Like he was pleased with Dean. It wasn't his dad, of course, it was Michael, but...
"I'm afraid I don't make deals, Dean. I can only promise you that in the end there will be justice."
Justice, ha. Dean knew perfectly well that justice was a codeword for whatever the guy talking to you thought should happen to people he didn't like.
Michael sighed. "You've let me in before, you know. Just in a small way, just for a second, but I know you remember it. You liked those results."
Dean wanted to say he had no idea what Michael was talking about, except he did: a few years back, in Providence, he'd gone to chase down a rapist while Sam and the priest stayed in the church crypt, trying to convince a ghost that he wasn't an angel. Dean had thought it all proved that angels didn't exist, didn't touch this world--except he'd seen an accident, a miracle, an evil man killed. God's will.
"You'd heard about me that day," Michael said softly. "The warrior-angel, that got your attention. I don't think you were even conscious of it, but you wanted me to be real. You wanted me to be there, with you. And for just an instant, I was. An instant was all you needed."
"You're telling me I did that," Dean whispered. He remembered it, clear as day, the length of pipe like a spear, like Michael's sword, flying impossibly perfectly to where it needed to be to end that bastard.
"No," Michael said. "I'm telling you I did that, through you. I'm not saying the fight against Lucifer will be that easy--tell the truth, it'll probably kill you. But you know as well as I do that the death of the body is just the beginning, and if you help me defeat Lucifer, Dean, then this time it's the beginning of Paradise. I was the one who had to drive humans out at the beginning of the world. I'd really like you to help me let you all back in."
Dean closed his eyes again. He was tired--tired of everything, of being unable to trust Sam, of the constantly deteriorating mess of their lives. If they somehow beat Lucifer but kept the same old world, it would be the same old fight over and over and over again until he and Sam just died on the battlefield. No peace, no retreat, no future different from the past in any way worth thinking about.
"Dean," his father's (not his father's) voice said softly. "When you look him in the eye on the day of judgment, don't you want to tell your father you gave absolutely everything you had to the fight against the greatest evil there is? Don't you know how proud He'll be of you?"
Dean's mouth was opening to say it, yes, I know, yes, I want, yes yes yes already, yes but there was a hand over his mouth, another flat on his ribs where Cas had marked him under the skin.
Dean opened his eyes and realized he was still lying flat in bed, and Cas was perched on the edge, on the near side, closer than his father--Michael--had been.
Castiel shook his head. "It was a dream, Dean. An actual human dream. I told you, with the sigil in place, no angel or demon can find you. Including Michael."
Michael was old and powerful enough to call him young Castiel--but no, that was just a dream. Just Dean's brain calling Cas a bright and shiny thing--sure. It wasn't the weirdest thing Dean had ever dreamed.
Dean frowned and shook his head away from Castiel's hand over his mouth. "Wait a minute," he whispered, with a sideways glance at Sam, still sleeping soundly. "If no angel can find me how did you get here?"
Castiel took his hands off of Dean and looked away. "I didn't find you. Jimmy did. I helped him, but--he got us here."
Dean was pretty sure Cas had never talked about himself and Jimmy as us before, but...
"Wait a damn minute, are you telling me all any angel or demon has to do to find me and Sam is let his vessel drive?"
Castiel looked him in the eye at that. "Tell me, Dean, is there some experience you've had of either angels or demons that makes you think they would consider that tactic? If you find one who is willing to consider that his vessel has abilities he lacks..."
Castiel looked away and then, holy shit, Jimmy ran his hands through his hair and gave Dean a sheepish smile. "Then by definition they're probably on our side, aren't they?"
"Jimmy, man--what--"
Jimmy just smiled and bowed his head, and Castiel was looking at Dean again. "I believe you're safe, Dean. Michael doesn't even have a vessel to find you with. He can't get to you and no other angel would dare. And if you do need me, I'll be here."
Castiel stood, and Dean caught his wrist before he stepped away from the bed. Castiel looked down at him, but didn't pull away, and Dean let go. "I just--Michael, or me, or somebody in my dream--they made some arguments. Why aren't you telling me I should say yes to him? You're an angel."
Castiel shook his head slightly, though Dean hoped he didn't actually mean no or they were in a whole new world of what the fuck.
"Dean, God saved us last night--the four of us here in this room. You and Sam, me and Jimmy. I have to believe He wants us to find our own solution, separate from the plans of the other angels. If you think I'm wrong, then it's up to you to make your own decision."
Dean waited, feeling off balance, for the part where Castiel threatened him or lectured him or something. It didn't come. Cas didn't really know what the hell they were doing either.
"You're sure it was just a dream," Dean whispered.
Castiel met his eyes and then shrugged stiffly. "Michael isn't here. And there was only ever one angel with the gift of persuasion. None of us but Lucifer ever had a way with words."
Dean felt a chill of warning run down his spine, and his scalp tightened, hair standing up. "Cas, who the hell was I talking to?"
Michael hadn't been really eloquent, he'd just been... like Dean. Genuine, or slickly persuasive? Who ever said you couldn't con a con man? Hell.
Castiel shook his head, but he didn't meet Dean's eyes this time. "It was just a dream. Go to sleep."
It was a command this time; Dean just had time to recognize it before his eyes closed. When he woke up again it was light outside, and Sam was curled up defensively in the middle of the bed, covers thrown everywhere like he'd been fighting all night in his sleep. Dean's bed looked the same.
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/507804.html. There are currently
comments there.
Thanks again to
iulia.
Dean. Gen. PG-13. 1,889 words. post-5x01.
Dean opened his eyes, swimming out of another patch of restless sleep, and his dad was there, sitting on the edge of the bed.
A Visitation
Dean opened his eyes, swimming out of another patch of restless sleep, and his dad was there, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean thought about salt, thought about weapons, thought Dad Dad Dad Dad.
He said, "What the fuck are you and what are you doing here?"
His dad--Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad--smiled, eyes crinkling up and teeth showing, and said, "That's my boy. You're dreaming, Dean--I just wanted to talk to you one on one, and I thought this face would get your attention."
Dean glanced over--Sam was sleeping peacefully--and sat up. "What are you."
"Who," not-his-dad corrected. "I am an angel, Dean. I am Michael. So now you know why I want to talk to you."
Dean scowled, folding his arms. "I already said no. What are you going to do now? Torture us some more?"
Michael shook his head. "Zachariah's a prick, Dean. He's a middle manager throwing his weight around because he can."
Dean snorted. Michael smiled for a second, then turned serious again.
"That doesn't mean he's completely wrong, though. You and I fit together--most vessels couldn't handle me, and most angels wouldn't fit with you. A bright and shiny thing like young Castiel, he's all wrong with you. He nearly blew your brain out trying to say hello. You're a vessel, but not for that kind of angel. I'm not like that. I'm like you."
"You're like... me." This was definitely not his dad--but not not-his-dad the way the demon had been. Not even not-his-dad like Cas wasn't Jimmy. This--He--came a lot closer. "You're like my dad."
"If the time had come while he lived in the world--if he'd been primed the way you have--maybe. But you are a rare man, Dean Winchester. You're not just chosen. You're uniquely qualified."
Dean swallowed hard and coughed up the words that he'd been choking on all day. "I opened the first seal. Lilith got Sam to open the last one, but I opened the first. That was me, my choice. I shed blood in Hell."
Michael leaned forward and held out his open hand, palm up, to Dean. Dean knew that hand, which was and wasn't his father's. "I shed blood in Paradise, Dean. I drove my fallen brothers into Hell, and watched them make it their kingdom. I am the oldest hunter. I am the first. You could be the last."
"The last." Dean sat back against the headboard, pretending all the way that he wasn't shaking and didn't need the support at his back. "Because you want me to help you end the world."
"And usher in a new one," Michael said patiently. "One in which no one dies, and no one has to fight, and no one has to hunt. You could stop, Dean. You could stop and be safe and not be letting anyone down, and you and Sam and your family would be together."
"In Heaven," Dean finished, not even bothering to hide the withering tone. He wouldn't have spoken to his father like that; Sam would. But Michael had to know Dean wasn't stupid.
"Dean, you were removed from harm's way by the Hand of God. I'm not the Judge; I'm the general. I can't say what verdict will be passed on you, but I think we can all see which way He's leaning. He is merciful. Whether or not you can believe that you are worthy of mercy, He has shown it to you. Can't you believe that He will continue to do so if you allow yourself to become part of His plan?"
Dean closed his eyes, banged his head quietly against the wall behind him a couple of times. This was so, so fucked up, and he was so tired, and--would it be so bad? Being the last hunter, finishing everything, making absolutely everything right forever?
But then Zachariah would win--except, hey, the archangel smote Cas into tiny exploded pieces. Maybe Michael would smite Zachariah? Maybe they could make a deal.
Michael laughed, and Dean had to open his eyes to see that. His heart went tight in his chest. It'd been a long time since he'd seen his dad laugh like that, happily. Like he was pleased with Dean. It wasn't his dad, of course, it was Michael, but...
"I'm afraid I don't make deals, Dean. I can only promise you that in the end there will be justice."
Justice, ha. Dean knew perfectly well that justice was a codeword for whatever the guy talking to you thought should happen to people he didn't like.
Michael sighed. "You've let me in before, you know. Just in a small way, just for a second, but I know you remember it. You liked those results."
Dean wanted to say he had no idea what Michael was talking about, except he did: a few years back, in Providence, he'd gone to chase down a rapist while Sam and the priest stayed in the church crypt, trying to convince a ghost that he wasn't an angel. Dean had thought it all proved that angels didn't exist, didn't touch this world--except he'd seen an accident, a miracle, an evil man killed. God's will.
"You'd heard about me that day," Michael said softly. "The warrior-angel, that got your attention. I don't think you were even conscious of it, but you wanted me to be real. You wanted me to be there, with you. And for just an instant, I was. An instant was all you needed."
"You're telling me I did that," Dean whispered. He remembered it, clear as day, the length of pipe like a spear, like Michael's sword, flying impossibly perfectly to where it needed to be to end that bastard.
"No," Michael said. "I'm telling you I did that, through you. I'm not saying the fight against Lucifer will be that easy--tell the truth, it'll probably kill you. But you know as well as I do that the death of the body is just the beginning, and if you help me defeat Lucifer, Dean, then this time it's the beginning of Paradise. I was the one who had to drive humans out at the beginning of the world. I'd really like you to help me let you all back in."
Dean closed his eyes again. He was tired--tired of everything, of being unable to trust Sam, of the constantly deteriorating mess of their lives. If they somehow beat Lucifer but kept the same old world, it would be the same old fight over and over and over again until he and Sam just died on the battlefield. No peace, no retreat, no future different from the past in any way worth thinking about.
"Dean," his father's (not his father's) voice said softly. "When you look him in the eye on the day of judgment, don't you want to tell your father you gave absolutely everything you had to the fight against the greatest evil there is? Don't you know how proud He'll be of you?"
Dean's mouth was opening to say it, yes, I know, yes, I want, yes yes yes already, yes but there was a hand over his mouth, another flat on his ribs where Cas had marked him under the skin.
Dean opened his eyes and realized he was still lying flat in bed, and Cas was perched on the edge, on the near side, closer than his father--Michael--had been.
Castiel shook his head. "It was a dream, Dean. An actual human dream. I told you, with the sigil in place, no angel or demon can find you. Including Michael."
Michael was old and powerful enough to call him young Castiel--but no, that was just a dream. Just Dean's brain calling Cas a bright and shiny thing--sure. It wasn't the weirdest thing Dean had ever dreamed.
Dean frowned and shook his head away from Castiel's hand over his mouth. "Wait a minute," he whispered, with a sideways glance at Sam, still sleeping soundly. "If no angel can find me how did you get here?"
Castiel took his hands off of Dean and looked away. "I didn't find you. Jimmy did. I helped him, but--he got us here."
Dean was pretty sure Cas had never talked about himself and Jimmy as us before, but...
"Wait a damn minute, are you telling me all any angel or demon has to do to find me and Sam is let his vessel drive?"
Castiel looked him in the eye at that. "Tell me, Dean, is there some experience you've had of either angels or demons that makes you think they would consider that tactic? If you find one who is willing to consider that his vessel has abilities he lacks..."
Castiel looked away and then, holy shit, Jimmy ran his hands through his hair and gave Dean a sheepish smile. "Then by definition they're probably on our side, aren't they?"
"Jimmy, man--what--"
Jimmy just smiled and bowed his head, and Castiel was looking at Dean again. "I believe you're safe, Dean. Michael doesn't even have a vessel to find you with. He can't get to you and no other angel would dare. And if you do need me, I'll be here."
Castiel stood, and Dean caught his wrist before he stepped away from the bed. Castiel looked down at him, but didn't pull away, and Dean let go. "I just--Michael, or me, or somebody in my dream--they made some arguments. Why aren't you telling me I should say yes to him? You're an angel."
Castiel shook his head slightly, though Dean hoped he didn't actually mean no or they were in a whole new world of what the fuck.
"Dean, God saved us last night--the four of us here in this room. You and Sam, me and Jimmy. I have to believe He wants us to find our own solution, separate from the plans of the other angels. If you think I'm wrong, then it's up to you to make your own decision."
Dean waited, feeling off balance, for the part where Castiel threatened him or lectured him or something. It didn't come. Cas didn't really know what the hell they were doing either.
"You're sure it was just a dream," Dean whispered.
Castiel met his eyes and then shrugged stiffly. "Michael isn't here. And there was only ever one angel with the gift of persuasion. None of us but Lucifer ever had a way with words."
Dean felt a chill of warning run down his spine, and his scalp tightened, hair standing up. "Cas, who the hell was I talking to?"
Michael hadn't been really eloquent, he'd just been... like Dean. Genuine, or slickly persuasive? Who ever said you couldn't con a con man? Hell.
Castiel shook his head, but he didn't meet Dean's eyes this time. "It was just a dream. Go to sleep."
It was a command this time; Dean just had time to recognize it before his eyes closed. When he woke up again it was light outside, and Sam was curled up defensively in the middle of the bed, covers thrown everywhere like he'd been fighting all night in his sleep. Dean's bed looked the same.
This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/507804.html. There are currently
comments there.