Fic: Outrun My Gun 1/7 (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, NC-17)
Fic Title: Outrun My Gun ( Art Masterpost)
Author: misachan
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Drama, Romance, AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 5966
Warnings: Violence, language, character death
Summary: "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink." Finally convinced that Sam and Dean will never say yes and accept their destinies, Heaven and Hell come up with a new plan, one that will redraw the Apocalypse and make everything run much more smoothly. All they need is Dean Winchester's soul.
The rain had almost stopped, just enough of a cold drizzle hanging in the air that Dean had to keep the wipers on. The road was dark and he had to squint to make out the lane markers.
All the same, Dean couldn't keep himself from glancing over to the passenger seat. Sam was slumped over, his forehead pressed against the window as he stared out into the darkness. Dean didn't think he'd moved in three hours. "Dude," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but are you okay?"
Sam shrugged. "I guess."
Oh yeah, Sammy, you're great. "You barely said a word in two days. The thing with Madison wasn't your fault, you know that." Sam curled in on himself further, making Dean feel like a complete dick but he still kept going. "Look, I know you've been having a rough go of it lately. First that Ava chick went missing," - he'd expected Sam to wince that that, but it was like he hadn't said anything - "and now Madison...."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You always want to talk about it," Dean muttered under his breath. He swore as he swerved around a dead deer lying half in the lane; dark country roads were death traps at night. "We could go back to looking for Ava. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"We looked for a month. She's gone."
"Still, we could...."
"I don't want to talk about it, Dean."
Dean sighed. That was Sam's no, seriously, we're done voice; Dean wondered when the world had flipped around so that he was the one pushing to talk about emotions and Sam was shutting down. "Hey, can't say I didn't try."
Sam was quiet again. "Thanks, Dean," he said after a few minutes.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, I'm the most awesome brother who ever lived, I know."
Sam scoffed at that, finally cracking a grin. Then he tensed, jerking upright in his seat. "Dean, look out!"
Dean had already slammed on the brakes; he could smell his baby's tires burning as she screamed to a stop. There was a man standing in the road, an older guy in suit, balding with bulging eyes that stared into Dean as the car stopped inches shy of hitting him. The man smiled, the freaky, pulling grin of someone who'd waited a long time to do something and Dean couldn't escape the impression that this guy knew him.
Then the man raised a gun that looked impossibly like the Colt and pointed it right at Dean.
***
Dean found himself standing by the side of the road and shook his head, trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened. The man was gone but the Colt was still lying abandoned there in the road; Dean looked over and saw a neat round bullet hole in the Impala's windshield on the driver's side, right in front of where his head would have been but Dean didn't understand, he felt fine. He heard Sam calling for him and Dean had never heard him sound so scared. "I'm over here, Sam! It's okay."
Sam didn't seem to hear. "Dean! Dean, please, don't do this, please."
Dean walked around the front of the car, glancing through the bullet hole; there was blood all over the seat, enough that Dean felt queasy. Or rather, he knew he should feel queasy but he didn't feel anything. Not sick to his stomach, not cold, not wet even though the rain had started back up. Dean noticed he had no reflection in the shattered windshield at the same time as he realized he wasn't wet because the rain was going right through him. He took a breath he knew he didn't need and finished walking toward Sam's voice, trying to brace himself for what he was going to see.
It didn't work. Sam had him - his body, anyway - laid out in the road and was doing CPR even though anyone with sense could tell it wasn't going to work. Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the bloody hole in his own forehead; his eyes were blank, staring up at the sky and Dean couldn't lie to himself anymore, he was dead. "Sam. Sam, man, I'm gone," he said, his hand going right through Sam's shoulder.
But Sam couldn't hear him. "Dean, please," he begged in between breaths. "I can't do this alone, Dean, please, you gotta come back, please." Sam sounded so young. "Please," he said, his voice cracking.
Dean couldn't take hearing Sam like this. "Sam. Sam!" he shouted, trying to get through. "Sam, I'm done! I got shot with the Colt, I'm gone!"
"That's right, Dean. And now it's time to come home."
Dean turned his head toward the voice and saw a cadaverous looking man in a black suit standing by the side of the road. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The answering smile was like someone had just told a joke to a skull. "You know."
And Dean did. Reaper. "No. No, my Reaper's a hot chick. Where is she?" he said, backing up right through the car. "Tessa!" he said, remembering her name. "You get your ass down here!"
"You need to come with me," the strange Reaper said, as if Dean hadn't spoken.
"No." Dean didn't know why, but every instinct told him to get the hell away from this thing as fast as he could. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Dean blinked and the Reaper was inches in front of him. "You need to come with me," it repeated, that same flat, emotionless command; Dean jerked back before it could touch him and dropped to the ground, rolling over to the Colt and swearing when his hand went through it. "Sam!" he shouted out of pure instinct, because what was Sam even supposed to do? Dean pushed himself back to his feet and backed away again, going as far as he could while still keeping Sam in sight. This wasn't the way Reapers were supposed to work. He ducked as the Reaper made another grab for him, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. That first time he'd been all-but-dead, the time with Tessa, she'd made it seem like a Reaper couldn't force a soul to come along. She'd bent over backwards trying to make Dean walk into the light but this thing wasn't taking no for an answer.
He dodged another grab, stumbling and almost coming off his feet. He couldn't keep this up forever - hell, he didn't know if he could keep this up for another minute. No matter which way he turned the Reaper was in front of him, blocking his escape, walking toward him with one bony hand outstretched. And Dean didn't want to escape; escape meant leaving Sam alone in the rain. Dean could see that his body had already turned blue but Sam was still working on him like there was any hope at all. The Reaper made another grab that missed by less than an inch and Dean stumbled backward; he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and choked down the surge of panic. He turned his head, expecting to see the Reaper looming behind him.
Instead Dean was surprised to see a different man, a few inches shorter than Dean, dark-haired and wearing a tan trenchcoat. "All will be well, Dean," he said in a rasping voice that didn't seem to match the rest of him. He strode forward, placing himself between Dean and the Reaper. "Leave," he said. "Dean Winchester's soul is not yours to take."
The Reaper smiled, that same rictus expression from before. "The outcast," it said in a voice that sounded like bones rattling. Dean saw the man in the trenchcoat stiffen. "I was told about you."
"Then you know I won't allow you to take this soul." Dean saw a gleaming silver sword slide from the man's sleeve and suddenly the Reaper didn't look nearly as sure of itself.
"You wouldn't dare," it hissed, sunken eyes locked on that sword.
"I've dared worse." Dean could swear the guy sounded bored, like threatening Reapers was an average day at work. "Does Death himself come when a Reaper dies? Do you think he'd approve of your divided loyalties?" The man took a step forward. "Inform your new masters that their scheme will fail."
The Reaper snarled but didn't move forward. There was a long, tension-filled moment as the two faced each other, the man in the trenchcoat with his sword raised and the Reaper leaning forward, like it was a second away from springing at him. Then Dean blinked and the Reaper was gone. "Dude," Dean said. "That was badass."
"It was self-indulgent," the man sighed, the sword disappearing. "It would have been wiser to kill it."
"That thing can really kill a Reaper?" Dean asked, heading back over to Sam.
"There are very few things this sword can't kill," he said, walking over to join Dean. Dean saw the man tilt his head as he watched Sam - Sam was so tired he was on the verge of passing out but he was still trying, and it tied Dean in knots to see it. The man gestured and Dean watched his dead body jerk up as it heaved in a sudden breath.
Sam sobbed with surprise and checked Dean's pulse. "I knew it. I knew it, Dean, you're gonna be okay." He took off his shirt and pressed it to the wound in Dean's forehead; he was shaking so hard it took three tries to pull his phone out of his pocket and dial 911. Dean half-listened as Sam tried tell the dispatcher what had happened, too busy staring at the man in the trenchcoat and wondering if he had another fight on his hands.
The guy caught his look and shrugged. "I restored your body's automatic functions," he said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll need it later."
"Who are you?" It wasn't a question so much as a threat.
The man looked at him, his lips twitching up for a second. "My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."
Dean could only stare. "Bullshit."
Castiel sighed. "Why do you never believe that?"
Dean shook his head. "No, look, whatever the hell you are, me and Sam just got through a whole thing where people thought 'angels' were telling them to kill when it was just some spirit on a power trip. There's no such thing."
"So because you proved one incident wasn't related to angels that proves they don't exist at all?"
Okay, when he put it like that. "Look, all I'm saying is I've never seen anything that made me believe in angels."
"And now you have."
"Prove it."
Castiel's jaw went tight and Dean took a step back. Then to Dean's surprise the flash of anger dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared. "I supposed I should be happy you're not trying to stab me," he muttered, to Dean's utter confusion. Castiel closed his eyes and Dean felt a charge, like the air after a lightning storm. The rain got worse, the wind picking up like a hurricane was blowing in. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam reach out to steady his body but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel. The highway lights started to sputter but Dean barely noticed; for the first time he was glad he didn't have a heartbeat because he was pretty sure it would have stopped. Enormous shadow wings spread across the pavement in the flickering light and Dean could feel the power pouring from the thing in standing in front of him. "Okay," Dean whispered. "Okay, I believe you."
The wings disappeared and the lights went back to normal. Dean couldn't believe how quickly Castiel went back to looking as human as anyone else. "At least we managed to get that out of the way."
"That why you can touch me? Being an angel, I mean?"
Castiel nodded. "You're as sold and material to me as if you were in your body."
Dean crouched next to Sam. "Who was that joker? The one with the gun?"
"One of my brothers. His name is Zachariah. He answers directly to the archangel Michael."
"So I got shot by one of Heaven's middle managers?"
"I suppose you could put it like that."
"I don't get it," Dean said, standing up again as the futility of trying to make Sam realize he was there set in. "Why the hell would I have angels gunning for me? I mean, literally gunning for me?"
Castiel sighed, looking around with his hands in his pockets as if he were expecting company. "In a little over two years the Apocalypse will begin---"
"Whoa. Whoa, wait. You mean the Apocalypse, Apocalypse? End of the world, Revelation and all that?"
"The very same. The Righteous Man will break the first Seal and the others will follow until Lucifer's Cage is opened." Absolutely none of that made any sense to Dean and he was beginning to wonder if Castiel spoke a language other than crazy.
"What the hell does that have to do with me?"
Castiel shook his head. "I can't tell you everything, Dean. Don't ask me to."
Dean closed the distance between them, ghost zapping right up into his face and realizing too late what a dumb decision that had probably been. "An angel popped up out of nowhere and shot me in the head with a magic gun. You're gonna tell me something."
Castiel's lips thinned, but there was something there in his eyes Dean didn't get. Resignation. Almost like he'd expected Dean to say that. "You and Sam both have roles to play in the Apocalypse, Dean, ones you’ve been...impressively reticent about accepting." He glanced at Dean, a hint of admiration there. "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink."
The rain was soaking Castiel's hair down to his forehead but he didn't even seem to notice. It was weird and inhuman and Dean still wasn't sure if he wanted to be anywhere near the guy. Angel. Whatever. "What's that mean? Made them blink?"
"Rather than try to convince the two of you further they've decided to cut you out of the equation entirely and go back to the original plan." He looked around again, as if he heard something Dean couldn't. "We have to leave."
"What the hell do you mean, leave? I'm not going anywhere."
Castiel sighed. "Dean...."
"No. No, the only thing that's gonna happen is you using your angel mojo or whatever to put me back in my body."
"No."
Dean wondered how just bad an idea it would be to punch an angel right in the face. "You saying you can't or you won't?"
"Whatever brings you peace, Dean." He grabbed Dean by the arm. "We need to leave."
Dean felt a surge of rage; he blinked and suddenly he was clear on the other side of the car. The highway lights started to blink again but Dean barely noticed. "Don't you fucking touch me."
"Dean, think about how you're acting," Castiel said, his voice calm but Dean could see the tension across his shoulders. "Think about what you're acting like."
That brought Dean up short. The moment's pause was enough to drain the fight out of him, the lights going back to normal as horror flushed through him. He'd been a ghost barely fifteen minutes and already he was acting like an evil spirit. "Don't let me do that again," he said, painfully aware that he was begging. "I don't want to turn into one of those things."
Dean heard a flutter of wings and Castiel was back in front of him, his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You won't," he said, his voice solemn. "I promise you that."
"Man, just bring me back to life. Why keep my body going if that wasn't the plan?"
"Because if I restore you to life they will only try this again." Dean wondered if all angels were this easy to frustrate or if this was just a talent he had. "Only next time I might not be able to intervene and you'll be theirs. Perhaps they won't bother aiming and Sam will be caught in the crossfire. Is any of that what you want, Dean?"
Dean stared at the angel, trying to come up with any kind of reply. "Of course not," he finally said, defeat draping over him like a weight. "But I don't want to be dead either."
"If it's within my power at the end of this I will revive you, you have my word. But I can't do it now. It would be as good as delivering you to them myself." He sighed again, rain dripping from his sodden hair. "You have to trust me, Dean."
Dean studied Castiel for a long moment. "Why'd the Reaper call you 'the outcast?'"
Castiel tipped his chin up, emotion flashing through his eyes so quickly Dean couldn't identify it. "Because I made a choice."
"That so bad?"
"For one of us? It's the greatest sin there is."
"It worth it?"
Castiel nodded. "I believed so"
Dean examined Castiel for one long moment. "Okay. You got a deal, then."
Castiel blinked, as if he'd completely lost track of the conversation. He looked up at the sky. "We have to leave. I'm shielding us from detection but I can't do it if we stay in one time and place for too long."
Dean looked over at Sam; he'd spread his coat over Dean's body and was holding his limp hand. "Can we hold off until the ambulance gets here?" he said, watching Sam shiver in the cold rain. "I just...I don't want to leave him alone like this."
Castiel's expression softened. "Yes. I think we can spare that much time."
Dean sat back next to Sam, watching as he pulled his knees up to his chest like a little kid. "It's gonna be okay, Sam. We've got a big gun on our side for once, so I'll be up and walking around before you know it. You just gotta hold down the fort while I sort through this bullshit I've landed in, okay?" Dean felt his voice breaking. "Goddammit, Sammy, I wish you could hear me." The sound of sirens came screaming down the road and Sam's head snapped up, hope lighting up his face. "That's my cue," Dean said, and he was not going to cry in front of a freaking angel. "I'm gonna be around, I promise."
"Dean."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean didn't get how his nose could get all stuffed up when he was a ghost. The EMS guys bounded out and started working, putting a oxygen mask over Dean's face and strapping his body onto a stretcher. The kept asking Sam questions, what happened, how long ago, Dean's name, simple things Sam stumbled over his words answering. Dean tried to put his hand on Sam's shoulder as they finished loading his body into the ambulance, feeling his eyes burn when his hand went right through.
He felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder again. "Try now."
This time his hand was solid on Sam's shoulder; the touch only lasted for a second that but was enough. "Dean?" he said, his head whipping around and his eyes wide.
Castiel's hand was back on his arm. "Thanks," Dean said, not able to look at him.
"We can't stay any longer."
Dean watched Sam climb into the ambulance, still looking around until the second the doors closed. "Yeah," Dean said, hearing that same sound of wings again. "Yeah, get me out of here."
***
Dean was glad he couldn't smell the hospital room. He'd always hated the places, the way the same combination of antiseptic and dying flowers hung heavy in the air no matter which one you were in. He didn't want to look at his body lying there on the bed wrapped in so many tubes and bandages he could barely make out what was underneath.
Still, it was easier than looking at Sam. He watched Sam drum his fingers against the arm of his chair, a constant, neurotic tapping; Sam's face was drawn into an expression of focused fury as he stared at Dean lying motionless on the bed. Dean knew Sam tended to go cold and quiet when he was upset but he'd never seen him like this. He'd always thought Sam would be okay if anything ever happened to him. Not that he wouldn't be sad and all, but that he'd be able to bounce back and go off to have that life he'd always talked about. Dean was supposed to be the one who'd fall apart, not Sam. "Man, look at that," Dean said, trying to focus on anything other than his brother in this much pain. "They shaved my head."
"I understand brain surgery generally requires that."
Dean glanced at Castiel. He still wasn't sure if the angel actually had a very dry sense of humor or if he just enjoyed stating the obvious. "Dude. Why do you keep staring at me like that? It's creepy."
"I apologize," Castiel murmured, looking like Dean had caught him at something. Which surprised Dean; he'd noticed the staring at the road but he'd just assumed it was an angel thing. "You...look different from how you will in the future."
"Yeah?" He settled back against the window, studying Castiel. "So, what's the deal with you angels, anyway?"
Castiel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you look like you're about to do my taxes and the guy that shot me looked like he was about promise me a great deal on a used car. You guys don't exactly live up to your hype."
Dean got the feeling that something about the question amused him. "We can't operate on Earth in our true forms. Mine wouldn't even fit inside this building," he said, and Dean had the inescapable impression that he was bragging. "What you see are vessels."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Are you possessing some poor son of a bitch?"
Castiel sighed. "We cannot act without permission, Dean. All vessels have agreed to lend us use of their bodies for a time."
"Sure wish the guy Zachariah's riding around in had decided he'd had something better to do that day."
Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor. "I'd hoped I could prevent this," he said softly. He gestured toward the bed. "Once I'd discovered the plot it took time to find out when they would strike. I did want to prevent this from happening, I want you to believe that."
Dean shrugged. "Hey. Like you said, they would've just tried again. Figure I'm safer like this than I would be dodging bullets until they got things right." A nurse came in and tried to make small talk with Sam as she checked on the machines hooked up to Dean; he didn't say a word back, staring daggers the whole time until she got flustered and gave up. "C'mon, Sam, she's hot. Hit on her for me," Dean said. He watched the nurse leave, sending a quick nervous glance at Sam over her shoulder as she left and said something to the security guy stationed outside the door. "Sammy, you can't run off every nurse who tries to come in here." He just hoped Sam didn't cause a big enough problem that they'd decide to search his bag; Dean could see the grip of the Colt poking out from Sam's pack, and that Sam had decided to risk carrying the gun with him into the hospital rather than leave it locked securely in the trunk or find some other way to stow it told Dean everything he needed to know about Sam's state of mind. "Why'd they leave the Colt?" he asked.
"They want him to have it."
"How the hell did the angels get a hold of it, anyway? I thought Yellow Eyes had it."
"He did. Heaven and Lucifer's forces are united in this plot," Castiel said, disgust dripping from every word. "You should be proud, Dean. You've unified Heaven and Hell for the first time since Lucifer's fall."
"Yeah, that's something I'm gonna put on a T-shirt when I wake up." Sam was starting to nod off, jerking back awake every few seconds. "C'mon, Sam, get some sleep. You're gonna wind up in the bed next to me if you keep this up."
"I can help with that," Castiel said. "If that's all right."
Dean nodded and Castiel gestured; after a few seconds Sam's eyes closed. "Thanks." He raked one hand through his hair; not being able to touch anything or talk to anyone was starting to get to him. He knew he was leaning against the hospital wall but he couldn't feel it. "So how does this whole ghost thing work, anyway?" Castiel's head tilted the side, like a confused sparrow in a trenchcoat. "Every ghost I've ever run into was tied to where they died. How come I'm not still out on that road freaking out truckers? That all you, or what?"
"It is partially," Castiel admitted. "I tied you to me so that it if we were separated you would still travel with me. You're also tied to Sam. As you grow more attuned you'll be able to go places to which you feel a strong attachment." He glanced at Dean. "And you would be tied to your car, not the road."
Well, if he had to haunt something for all eternity he supposed his car would be his first choice. "Man, I'm gonna go on such a bender when this is finally over."
"I went on a bender once."
Dean burst out laughing. "What?"
"I did," Castiel repeated, sounding as proud of himself as a kid who'd just learned to swear.
Dean couldn't help it; he doubled over laughing, and the bemused look Castiel gave him just made him laugh harder. He hadn't thought laughing was something he'd still be able to do. "Dude, what the hell sends an angel on a bender?" he said when he could finally talk again.
"I'd received a grave disillusionment." He didn't seem to understand why what he'd said had made Dean laugh so hard but he was almost grinning himself watching him.
"Did it help?"
"I don't recall much of it, actually," he said, his brow furrowing, and that set Dean off again.
"Sounds like a party."
"Perhaps," Castiel said, as if he wasn't entirely sure what constituted a 'party.' "The recovery process was unpleasant. Apparently my tolerance for aspirin outstrips the drug's usefulness."
"You're weird, Cas," Dean said when the laughing fit finally passed. "Pretty sure I like you, but you're definitely weird." He let out an unnecessary breath. "Thanks, man. I needed that."
"You're very welcome."
There was an odd look in his eyes, a flash of emotion it took Dean a second to figure out. "Hey, it's cool if I call you that, right? You angels aren't picky about your names or anything, are you?"
"Some are. But no, I don't require formality from you, Dean."
"Cool, 'cause I'm no good at it." He sighed; it had been nice for a few seconds to think about anything else but it just brought reality crashing down even harder when the moment ended. "Why'd they do this to us, Cas?" he asked, watching Sam whimper something in his sleep. "You said you can't tell me everything but give me something here."
Castiel crossed his arms, his eyes distant for a moment. "Heaven has gone back to its original plan."
Which meant absolutely nothing to Dean. "That doesn't tell me a damn thing and you know it. What's up with the...what'd you call it, the Righteous Man?”
Castiel's lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were weighing his options. "The Righteous Man must be a soul consigned to the Pit not through sin or vice or corruption but through his own free will. One who has condemned himself to save another." Dean felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall when those blue eyes turned toward him. "Can you think of anyone who matches that description?"
He could. He just didn't want to. "No," Dean whispered.
Castiel nodded. "The Righteous Man will be asked a question and the moment he answers yes the first Seal will break. John Winchester lasted one hundred years in the Pit---"
"A hundred years? Wait, wait, my dad's only been dead for---"
"Time moves differently there," he said, giving Dean a please don't interrupt me look. "In the history I know John Winchester withstood one hundred years in the Pit without ever falling to temptation before his escape...."
Dean grabbed his arm, half spinning him around. "My dad breaks out of hell?"
The lines around Castiel's eyes went tight, like he regretted saying so much. "Yes. When the Devil's Gate is opened." He sighed, giving Dean a sideways look. "The two of you kill Azazel there, if may help you to know."
Dean was glad he didn't breathe anymore because he knew he couldn't have managed it then. "Wow," he said, the right words escaping him. "That's fucking awesome, Cas." Then the meaning of the words the history I know hit him. "But they changed all that, didn't they."
Castiel nodded. "After your father's escape both sides told themselves they had been wrong, that he had never been the Righteous Man after all. Now they're reassessing that as well."
"How does killing me do any of that?"
"Not just killing you. Possessing your soul as leverage."
Dean couldn't help scoffing at that. "C'mon, Cas. My dad's not gonna break just 'cause I'm dead."
"No?" Castiel said, turning back to him. "He condemned himself in the first place to save your life, Dean. Do you think he wouldn't fall further to preserve your soul?"
Dean swallowed. "No," he insisted, hoping he sounded surer than he felt.
Castiel looked back toward Sam, still fitfully sleeping at Dean's bedside. "What about to preserve both his sons?"
Before Dean could ask what Castiel meant by that Bobby burst into the room and Dean had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Unlife. It didn't matter, Dean just wished he could hug him.
The look on Bobby's face when he saw Dean lying still on that bed tore Dean apart. "Don't worry, Bobby, it's all gonna work out."
Sam startled awake when Bobby touched his shoulder, reaching for the Colt before he realized what was going on. "Bobby?" he said, blinking at him for a second, then he jumped up and enveloped the older man in a hug that made Bobby stagger back a few steps. "God, I'm glad to see you."
"Same here," Bobby said. "Just wish you boys would stay out of the hospital for five minutes." Dean never wanted to hear Bobby's voice crack like that. Bobby Singer was supposed to be a rock. Sam sat back down, again taking Dean's hand, and Bobby leaned against the door watching them both. "Now what's this I hear about you threatening the staff?"
Sam's expression hardened back into that mask of fury. "They want me to take him off the machines, Bobby. Take out the feeding tube, all that." Dean caught the emotion flitting across Bobby's face and knew Sam had, too. "Something you wanna say?"
"I know what they want, Sam. One of the doctors caught me on the way in, hoping I could talk sense into you."
"Talk sense into me," Sam scowled. "They want me to let him die."
"Sam, he's dead already!" Bobby pleaded, the raw grief in his voice tying Dean into knots, and even Sam flinched. "He's got a hole clear through his skull. Dammit, he was shot with the Colt, you don't come back from that. At least, you don't come back as anything human."
"Then why's he breathing, Bobby? Why's his heart beating? He started back breathing all on his own, explain that."
Bobby sighed, defeat making him look older. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I know it's not anything natural."
"You weren't there," Sam said, rubbing his hands over his face. "I felt him. I felt Dean out there on that road. It was only for a second but I know it was him."
"That's all the more reason to let him go, Sam." Sam glared at him but Bobby didn't back down. "Don't give me that look. I love you boys like you're my own, you know that. That doesn't mean I'm not going to be realistic about this."
"You don't believe in miracles, Bobby?"
"No! And neither should you!" Bobby sounded so aghast at the possibility that Dean almost laughed. He knew that in any other situation he'd be right there with Bobby. "And if he's already a spirit that's double the reason to let him go, before he can go bad."
Sam shook his head. "Dean wants me to help him, Bobby. I know it." He got up and started gathering things in his bag, securing the Colt carefully. "I need to trust you to watch over him."
It hurt to see the betrayal in Bobby's eyes. "I would never do anything to harm either of you boys, you know that."
"That's not good enough," Sam said, cold like Dean had never heard him before, and the hurt and alarm in Bobby's face got deeper. "Promise me that he'll still be alive when I get back. No matter what the doctors want, you promise me that."
Bobby looked from Sam to Dean. "This is a mistake."
"Promise me." Sam took one step toward Bobby, menace clear in his eyes.
"Sam, please, don't," Dean said.
Fortunately, this was Bobby Singer. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy," he snarled, stepping right back to Sam and putting one finger in his face. "Don't you ever."
Sam seemed to deflate. "I just...I just want you to promise me, Bobby. That's all."
"Then I will." Sam's expression lit up, and Bobby continued, "Even though I think this is a damn stupid thing you're doing."
"Bobby, you don't even know what I'm doing."
"I don't need to." He sighed, dropping into the now vacant bedside chair. "You at least gonna tell me where you're going?"
"I'm going to go help Dean," was all he'd say, and Dean could see the fear in Bobby's face.
"Can you at least promise me you won't do anything you'll regret?"
"I won't regret anything that brings Dean back."
Bobby grabbed Sam by the arm. "I don't want to lose both you boys."
Sam almost smiled, the expression sending a chill through Dean. "You haven't lost either of us." Then he was gone, the bag with the Colt slung over his shoulder.
It seemed like Bobby aged twenty years in that one second. "It'll be okay," Dean said. "I'm on this, Bobby, you'll see."
But of course Bobby couldn't hear. He saw Bobby take his limp hand. "Your brother's a damned idjit," he said, his voice shaking and Dean knew he had to get out of there. He couldn't handle watching Bobby Singer cry.
"What's Sam doing?" he asked Castiel.
The angel tilted his head. "Various unwise things."
"Take me to him."
Castiel nodded. "He's being watched. We'll have to be careful."
"Whatever. Whatever, Cas. Just take me to my brother."
Dean heard the sound of wings and then they were somewhere else.
On to Part 2
Return to Masterpost
Author: misachan
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Drama, Romance, AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 5966
Warnings: Violence, language, character death
Summary: "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink." Finally convinced that Sam and Dean will never say yes and accept their destinies, Heaven and Hell come up with a new plan, one that will redraw the Apocalypse and make everything run much more smoothly. All they need is Dean Winchester's soul.
The rain had almost stopped, just enough of a cold drizzle hanging in the air that Dean had to keep the wipers on. The road was dark and he had to squint to make out the lane markers.
All the same, Dean couldn't keep himself from glancing over to the passenger seat. Sam was slumped over, his forehead pressed against the window as he stared out into the darkness. Dean didn't think he'd moved in three hours. "Dude," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but are you okay?"
Sam shrugged. "I guess."
Oh yeah, Sammy, you're great. "You barely said a word in two days. The thing with Madison wasn't your fault, you know that." Sam curled in on himself further, making Dean feel like a complete dick but he still kept going. "Look, I know you've been having a rough go of it lately. First that Ava chick went missing," - he'd expected Sam to wince that that, but it was like he hadn't said anything - "and now Madison...."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You always want to talk about it," Dean muttered under his breath. He swore as he swerved around a dead deer lying half in the lane; dark country roads were death traps at night. "We could go back to looking for Ava. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"We looked for a month. She's gone."
"Still, we could...."
"I don't want to talk about it, Dean."
Dean sighed. That was Sam's no, seriously, we're done voice; Dean wondered when the world had flipped around so that he was the one pushing to talk about emotions and Sam was shutting down. "Hey, can't say I didn't try."
Sam was quiet again. "Thanks, Dean," he said after a few minutes.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, I'm the most awesome brother who ever lived, I know."
Sam scoffed at that, finally cracking a grin. Then he tensed, jerking upright in his seat. "Dean, look out!"
Dean had already slammed on the brakes; he could smell his baby's tires burning as she screamed to a stop. There was a man standing in the road, an older guy in suit, balding with bulging eyes that stared into Dean as the car stopped inches shy of hitting him. The man smiled, the freaky, pulling grin of someone who'd waited a long time to do something and Dean couldn't escape the impression that this guy knew him.
Then the man raised a gun that looked impossibly like the Colt and pointed it right at Dean.
***
Dean found himself standing by the side of the road and shook his head, trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened. The man was gone but the Colt was still lying abandoned there in the road; Dean looked over and saw a neat round bullet hole in the Impala's windshield on the driver's side, right in front of where his head would have been but Dean didn't understand, he felt fine. He heard Sam calling for him and Dean had never heard him sound so scared. "I'm over here, Sam! It's okay."
Sam didn't seem to hear. "Dean! Dean, please, don't do this, please."
Dean walked around the front of the car, glancing through the bullet hole; there was blood all over the seat, enough that Dean felt queasy. Or rather, he knew he should feel queasy but he didn't feel anything. Not sick to his stomach, not cold, not wet even though the rain had started back up. Dean noticed he had no reflection in the shattered windshield at the same time as he realized he wasn't wet because the rain was going right through him. He took a breath he knew he didn't need and finished walking toward Sam's voice, trying to brace himself for what he was going to see.
It didn't work. Sam had him - his body, anyway - laid out in the road and was doing CPR even though anyone with sense could tell it wasn't going to work. Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the bloody hole in his own forehead; his eyes were blank, staring up at the sky and Dean couldn't lie to himself anymore, he was dead. "Sam. Sam, man, I'm gone," he said, his hand going right through Sam's shoulder.
But Sam couldn't hear him. "Dean, please," he begged in between breaths. "I can't do this alone, Dean, please, you gotta come back, please." Sam sounded so young. "Please," he said, his voice cracking.
Dean couldn't take hearing Sam like this. "Sam. Sam!" he shouted, trying to get through. "Sam, I'm done! I got shot with the Colt, I'm gone!"
"That's right, Dean. And now it's time to come home."
Dean turned his head toward the voice and saw a cadaverous looking man in a black suit standing by the side of the road. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The answering smile was like someone had just told a joke to a skull. "You know."
And Dean did. Reaper. "No. No, my Reaper's a hot chick. Where is she?" he said, backing up right through the car. "Tessa!" he said, remembering her name. "You get your ass down here!"
"You need to come with me," the strange Reaper said, as if Dean hadn't spoken.
"No." Dean didn't know why, but every instinct told him to get the hell away from this thing as fast as he could. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Dean blinked and the Reaper was inches in front of him. "You need to come with me," it repeated, that same flat, emotionless command; Dean jerked back before it could touch him and dropped to the ground, rolling over to the Colt and swearing when his hand went through it. "Sam!" he shouted out of pure instinct, because what was Sam even supposed to do? Dean pushed himself back to his feet and backed away again, going as far as he could while still keeping Sam in sight. This wasn't the way Reapers were supposed to work. He ducked as the Reaper made another grab for him, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. That first time he'd been all-but-dead, the time with Tessa, she'd made it seem like a Reaper couldn't force a soul to come along. She'd bent over backwards trying to make Dean walk into the light but this thing wasn't taking no for an answer.
He dodged another grab, stumbling and almost coming off his feet. He couldn't keep this up forever - hell, he didn't know if he could keep this up for another minute. No matter which way he turned the Reaper was in front of him, blocking his escape, walking toward him with one bony hand outstretched. And Dean didn't want to escape; escape meant leaving Sam alone in the rain. Dean could see that his body had already turned blue but Sam was still working on him like there was any hope at all. The Reaper made another grab that missed by less than an inch and Dean stumbled backward; he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and choked down the surge of panic. He turned his head, expecting to see the Reaper looming behind him.
Instead Dean was surprised to see a different man, a few inches shorter than Dean, dark-haired and wearing a tan trenchcoat. "All will be well, Dean," he said in a rasping voice that didn't seem to match the rest of him. He strode forward, placing himself between Dean and the Reaper. "Leave," he said. "Dean Winchester's soul is not yours to take."
The Reaper smiled, that same rictus expression from before. "The outcast," it said in a voice that sounded like bones rattling. Dean saw the man in the trenchcoat stiffen. "I was told about you."
"Then you know I won't allow you to take this soul." Dean saw a gleaming silver sword slide from the man's sleeve and suddenly the Reaper didn't look nearly as sure of itself.
"You wouldn't dare," it hissed, sunken eyes locked on that sword.
"I've dared worse." Dean could swear the guy sounded bored, like threatening Reapers was an average day at work. "Does Death himself come when a Reaper dies? Do you think he'd approve of your divided loyalties?" The man took a step forward. "Inform your new masters that their scheme will fail."
The Reaper snarled but didn't move forward. There was a long, tension-filled moment as the two faced each other, the man in the trenchcoat with his sword raised and the Reaper leaning forward, like it was a second away from springing at him. Then Dean blinked and the Reaper was gone. "Dude," Dean said. "That was badass."
"It was self-indulgent," the man sighed, the sword disappearing. "It would have been wiser to kill it."
"That thing can really kill a Reaper?" Dean asked, heading back over to Sam.
"There are very few things this sword can't kill," he said, walking over to join Dean. Dean saw the man tilt his head as he watched Sam - Sam was so tired he was on the verge of passing out but he was still trying, and it tied Dean in knots to see it. The man gestured and Dean watched his dead body jerk up as it heaved in a sudden breath.
Sam sobbed with surprise and checked Dean's pulse. "I knew it. I knew it, Dean, you're gonna be okay." He took off his shirt and pressed it to the wound in Dean's forehead; he was shaking so hard it took three tries to pull his phone out of his pocket and dial 911. Dean half-listened as Sam tried tell the dispatcher what had happened, too busy staring at the man in the trenchcoat and wondering if he had another fight on his hands.
The guy caught his look and shrugged. "I restored your body's automatic functions," he said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll need it later."
"Who are you?" It wasn't a question so much as a threat.
The man looked at him, his lips twitching up for a second. "My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."
Dean could only stare. "Bullshit."
Castiel sighed. "Why do you never believe that?"
Dean shook his head. "No, look, whatever the hell you are, me and Sam just got through a whole thing where people thought 'angels' were telling them to kill when it was just some spirit on a power trip. There's no such thing."
"So because you proved one incident wasn't related to angels that proves they don't exist at all?"
Okay, when he put it like that. "Look, all I'm saying is I've never seen anything that made me believe in angels."
"And now you have."
"Prove it."
Castiel's jaw went tight and Dean took a step back. Then to Dean's surprise the flash of anger dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared. "I supposed I should be happy you're not trying to stab me," he muttered, to Dean's utter confusion. Castiel closed his eyes and Dean felt a charge, like the air after a lightning storm. The rain got worse, the wind picking up like a hurricane was blowing in. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam reach out to steady his body but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Castiel. The highway lights started to sputter but Dean barely noticed; for the first time he was glad he didn't have a heartbeat because he was pretty sure it would have stopped. Enormous shadow wings spread across the pavement in the flickering light and Dean could feel the power pouring from the thing in standing in front of him. "Okay," Dean whispered. "Okay, I believe you."
The wings disappeared and the lights went back to normal. Dean couldn't believe how quickly Castiel went back to looking as human as anyone else. "At least we managed to get that out of the way."
"That why you can touch me? Being an angel, I mean?"
Castiel nodded. "You're as sold and material to me as if you were in your body."
Dean crouched next to Sam. "Who was that joker? The one with the gun?"
"One of my brothers. His name is Zachariah. He answers directly to the archangel Michael."
"So I got shot by one of Heaven's middle managers?"
"I suppose you could put it like that."
"I don't get it," Dean said, standing up again as the futility of trying to make Sam realize he was there set in. "Why the hell would I have angels gunning for me? I mean, literally gunning for me?"
Castiel sighed, looking around with his hands in his pockets as if he were expecting company. "In a little over two years the Apocalypse will begin---"
"Whoa. Whoa, wait. You mean the Apocalypse, Apocalypse? End of the world, Revelation and all that?"
"The very same. The Righteous Man will break the first Seal and the others will follow until Lucifer's Cage is opened." Absolutely none of that made any sense to Dean and he was beginning to wonder if Castiel spoke a language other than crazy.
"What the hell does that have to do with me?"
Castiel shook his head. "I can't tell you everything, Dean. Don't ask me to."
Dean closed the distance between them, ghost zapping right up into his face and realizing too late what a dumb decision that had probably been. "An angel popped up out of nowhere and shot me in the head with a magic gun. You're gonna tell me something."
Castiel's lips thinned, but there was something there in his eyes Dean didn't get. Resignation. Almost like he'd expected Dean to say that. "You and Sam both have roles to play in the Apocalypse, Dean, ones you’ve been...impressively reticent about accepting." He glanced at Dean, a hint of admiration there. "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink."
The rain was soaking Castiel's hair down to his forehead but he didn't even seem to notice. It was weird and inhuman and Dean still wasn't sure if he wanted to be anywhere near the guy. Angel. Whatever. "What's that mean? Made them blink?"
"Rather than try to convince the two of you further they've decided to cut you out of the equation entirely and go back to the original plan." He looked around again, as if he heard something Dean couldn't. "We have to leave."
"What the hell do you mean, leave? I'm not going anywhere."
Castiel sighed. "Dean...."
"No. No, the only thing that's gonna happen is you using your angel mojo or whatever to put me back in my body."
"No."
Dean wondered how just bad an idea it would be to punch an angel right in the face. "You saying you can't or you won't?"
"Whatever brings you peace, Dean." He grabbed Dean by the arm. "We need to leave."
Dean felt a surge of rage; he blinked and suddenly he was clear on the other side of the car. The highway lights started to blink again but Dean barely noticed. "Don't you fucking touch me."
"Dean, think about how you're acting," Castiel said, his voice calm but Dean could see the tension across his shoulders. "Think about what you're acting like."
That brought Dean up short. The moment's pause was enough to drain the fight out of him, the lights going back to normal as horror flushed through him. He'd been a ghost barely fifteen minutes and already he was acting like an evil spirit. "Don't let me do that again," he said, painfully aware that he was begging. "I don't want to turn into one of those things."
Dean heard a flutter of wings and Castiel was back in front of him, his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You won't," he said, his voice solemn. "I promise you that."
"Man, just bring me back to life. Why keep my body going if that wasn't the plan?"
"Because if I restore you to life they will only try this again." Dean wondered if all angels were this easy to frustrate or if this was just a talent he had. "Only next time I might not be able to intervene and you'll be theirs. Perhaps they won't bother aiming and Sam will be caught in the crossfire. Is any of that what you want, Dean?"
Dean stared at the angel, trying to come up with any kind of reply. "Of course not," he finally said, defeat draping over him like a weight. "But I don't want to be dead either."
"If it's within my power at the end of this I will revive you, you have my word. But I can't do it now. It would be as good as delivering you to them myself." He sighed again, rain dripping from his sodden hair. "You have to trust me, Dean."
Dean studied Castiel for a long moment. "Why'd the Reaper call you 'the outcast?'"
Castiel tipped his chin up, emotion flashing through his eyes so quickly Dean couldn't identify it. "Because I made a choice."
"That so bad?"
"For one of us? It's the greatest sin there is."
"It worth it?"
Castiel nodded. "I believed so"
Dean examined Castiel for one long moment. "Okay. You got a deal, then."
Castiel blinked, as if he'd completely lost track of the conversation. He looked up at the sky. "We have to leave. I'm shielding us from detection but I can't do it if we stay in one time and place for too long."
Dean looked over at Sam; he'd spread his coat over Dean's body and was holding his limp hand. "Can we hold off until the ambulance gets here?" he said, watching Sam shiver in the cold rain. "I just...I don't want to leave him alone like this."
Castiel's expression softened. "Yes. I think we can spare that much time."
Dean sat back next to Sam, watching as he pulled his knees up to his chest like a little kid. "It's gonna be okay, Sam. We've got a big gun on our side for once, so I'll be up and walking around before you know it. You just gotta hold down the fort while I sort through this bullshit I've landed in, okay?" Dean felt his voice breaking. "Goddammit, Sammy, I wish you could hear me." The sound of sirens came screaming down the road and Sam's head snapped up, hope lighting up his face. "That's my cue," Dean said, and he was not going to cry in front of a freaking angel. "I'm gonna be around, I promise."
"Dean."
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean didn't get how his nose could get all stuffed up when he was a ghost. The EMS guys bounded out and started working, putting a oxygen mask over Dean's face and strapping his body onto a stretcher. The kept asking Sam questions, what happened, how long ago, Dean's name, simple things Sam stumbled over his words answering. Dean tried to put his hand on Sam's shoulder as they finished loading his body into the ambulance, feeling his eyes burn when his hand went right through.
He felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder again. "Try now."
This time his hand was solid on Sam's shoulder; the touch only lasted for a second that but was enough. "Dean?" he said, his head whipping around and his eyes wide.
Castiel's hand was back on his arm. "Thanks," Dean said, not able to look at him.
"We can't stay any longer."
Dean watched Sam climb into the ambulance, still looking around until the second the doors closed. "Yeah," Dean said, hearing that same sound of wings again. "Yeah, get me out of here."
***
Dean was glad he couldn't smell the hospital room. He'd always hated the places, the way the same combination of antiseptic and dying flowers hung heavy in the air no matter which one you were in. He didn't want to look at his body lying there on the bed wrapped in so many tubes and bandages he could barely make out what was underneath.
Still, it was easier than looking at Sam. He watched Sam drum his fingers against the arm of his chair, a constant, neurotic tapping; Sam's face was drawn into an expression of focused fury as he stared at Dean lying motionless on the bed. Dean knew Sam tended to go cold and quiet when he was upset but he'd never seen him like this. He'd always thought Sam would be okay if anything ever happened to him. Not that he wouldn't be sad and all, but that he'd be able to bounce back and go off to have that life he'd always talked about. Dean was supposed to be the one who'd fall apart, not Sam. "Man, look at that," Dean said, trying to focus on anything other than his brother in this much pain. "They shaved my head."
"I understand brain surgery generally requires that."
Dean glanced at Castiel. He still wasn't sure if the angel actually had a very dry sense of humor or if he just enjoyed stating the obvious. "Dude. Why do you keep staring at me like that? It's creepy."
"I apologize," Castiel murmured, looking like Dean had caught him at something. Which surprised Dean; he'd noticed the staring at the road but he'd just assumed it was an angel thing. "You...look different from how you will in the future."
"Yeah?" He settled back against the window, studying Castiel. "So, what's the deal with you angels, anyway?"
Castiel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you look like you're about to do my taxes and the guy that shot me looked like he was about promise me a great deal on a used car. You guys don't exactly live up to your hype."
Dean got the feeling that something about the question amused him. "We can't operate on Earth in our true forms. Mine wouldn't even fit inside this building," he said, and Dean had the inescapable impression that he was bragging. "What you see are vessels."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Are you possessing some poor son of a bitch?"
Castiel sighed. "We cannot act without permission, Dean. All vessels have agreed to lend us use of their bodies for a time."
"Sure wish the guy Zachariah's riding around in had decided he'd had something better to do that day."
Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor. "I'd hoped I could prevent this," he said softly. He gestured toward the bed. "Once I'd discovered the plot it took time to find out when they would strike. I did want to prevent this from happening, I want you to believe that."
Dean shrugged. "Hey. Like you said, they would've just tried again. Figure I'm safer like this than I would be dodging bullets until they got things right." A nurse came in and tried to make small talk with Sam as she checked on the machines hooked up to Dean; he didn't say a word back, staring daggers the whole time until she got flustered and gave up. "C'mon, Sam, she's hot. Hit on her for me," Dean said. He watched the nurse leave, sending a quick nervous glance at Sam over her shoulder as she left and said something to the security guy stationed outside the door. "Sammy, you can't run off every nurse who tries to come in here." He just hoped Sam didn't cause a big enough problem that they'd decide to search his bag; Dean could see the grip of the Colt poking out from Sam's pack, and that Sam had decided to risk carrying the gun with him into the hospital rather than leave it locked securely in the trunk or find some other way to stow it told Dean everything he needed to know about Sam's state of mind. "Why'd they leave the Colt?" he asked.
"They want him to have it."
"How the hell did the angels get a hold of it, anyway? I thought Yellow Eyes had it."
"He did. Heaven and Lucifer's forces are united in this plot," Castiel said, disgust dripping from every word. "You should be proud, Dean. You've unified Heaven and Hell for the first time since Lucifer's fall."
"Yeah, that's something I'm gonna put on a T-shirt when I wake up." Sam was starting to nod off, jerking back awake every few seconds. "C'mon, Sam, get some sleep. You're gonna wind up in the bed next to me if you keep this up."
"I can help with that," Castiel said. "If that's all right."
Dean nodded and Castiel gestured; after a few seconds Sam's eyes closed. "Thanks." He raked one hand through his hair; not being able to touch anything or talk to anyone was starting to get to him. He knew he was leaning against the hospital wall but he couldn't feel it. "So how does this whole ghost thing work, anyway?" Castiel's head tilted the side, like a confused sparrow in a trenchcoat. "Every ghost I've ever run into was tied to where they died. How come I'm not still out on that road freaking out truckers? That all you, or what?"
"It is partially," Castiel admitted. "I tied you to me so that it if we were separated you would still travel with me. You're also tied to Sam. As you grow more attuned you'll be able to go places to which you feel a strong attachment." He glanced at Dean. "And you would be tied to your car, not the road."
Well, if he had to haunt something for all eternity he supposed his car would be his first choice. "Man, I'm gonna go on such a bender when this is finally over."
"I went on a bender once."
Dean burst out laughing. "What?"
"I did," Castiel repeated, sounding as proud of himself as a kid who'd just learned to swear.
Dean couldn't help it; he doubled over laughing, and the bemused look Castiel gave him just made him laugh harder. He hadn't thought laughing was something he'd still be able to do. "Dude, what the hell sends an angel on a bender?" he said when he could finally talk again.
"I'd received a grave disillusionment." He didn't seem to understand why what he'd said had made Dean laugh so hard but he was almost grinning himself watching him.
"Did it help?"
"I don't recall much of it, actually," he said, his brow furrowing, and that set Dean off again.
"Sounds like a party."
"Perhaps," Castiel said, as if he wasn't entirely sure what constituted a 'party.' "The recovery process was unpleasant. Apparently my tolerance for aspirin outstrips the drug's usefulness."
"You're weird, Cas," Dean said when the laughing fit finally passed. "Pretty sure I like you, but you're definitely weird." He let out an unnecessary breath. "Thanks, man. I needed that."
"You're very welcome."
There was an odd look in his eyes, a flash of emotion it took Dean a second to figure out. "Hey, it's cool if I call you that, right? You angels aren't picky about your names or anything, are you?"
"Some are. But no, I don't require formality from you, Dean."
"Cool, 'cause I'm no good at it." He sighed; it had been nice for a few seconds to think about anything else but it just brought reality crashing down even harder when the moment ended. "Why'd they do this to us, Cas?" he asked, watching Sam whimper something in his sleep. "You said you can't tell me everything but give me something here."
Castiel crossed his arms, his eyes distant for a moment. "Heaven has gone back to its original plan."
Which meant absolutely nothing to Dean. "That doesn't tell me a damn thing and you know it. What's up with the...what'd you call it, the Righteous Man?”
Castiel's lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were weighing his options. "The Righteous Man must be a soul consigned to the Pit not through sin or vice or corruption but through his own free will. One who has condemned himself to save another." Dean felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall when those blue eyes turned toward him. "Can you think of anyone who matches that description?"
He could. He just didn't want to. "No," Dean whispered.
Castiel nodded. "The Righteous Man will be asked a question and the moment he answers yes the first Seal will break. John Winchester lasted one hundred years in the Pit---"
"A hundred years? Wait, wait, my dad's only been dead for---"
"Time moves differently there," he said, giving Dean a please don't interrupt me look. "In the history I know John Winchester withstood one hundred years in the Pit without ever falling to temptation before his escape...."
Dean grabbed his arm, half spinning him around. "My dad breaks out of hell?"
The lines around Castiel's eyes went tight, like he regretted saying so much. "Yes. When the Devil's Gate is opened." He sighed, giving Dean a sideways look. "The two of you kill Azazel there, if may help you to know."
Dean was glad he didn't breathe anymore because he knew he couldn't have managed it then. "Wow," he said, the right words escaping him. "That's fucking awesome, Cas." Then the meaning of the words the history I know hit him. "But they changed all that, didn't they."
Castiel nodded. "After your father's escape both sides told themselves they had been wrong, that he had never been the Righteous Man after all. Now they're reassessing that as well."
"How does killing me do any of that?"
"Not just killing you. Possessing your soul as leverage."
Dean couldn't help scoffing at that. "C'mon, Cas. My dad's not gonna break just 'cause I'm dead."
"No?" Castiel said, turning back to him. "He condemned himself in the first place to save your life, Dean. Do you think he wouldn't fall further to preserve your soul?"
Dean swallowed. "No," he insisted, hoping he sounded surer than he felt.
Castiel looked back toward Sam, still fitfully sleeping at Dean's bedside. "What about to preserve both his sons?"
Before Dean could ask what Castiel meant by that Bobby burst into the room and Dean had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Unlife. It didn't matter, Dean just wished he could hug him.
The look on Bobby's face when he saw Dean lying still on that bed tore Dean apart. "Don't worry, Bobby, it's all gonna work out."
Sam startled awake when Bobby touched his shoulder, reaching for the Colt before he realized what was going on. "Bobby?" he said, blinking at him for a second, then he jumped up and enveloped the older man in a hug that made Bobby stagger back a few steps. "God, I'm glad to see you."
"Same here," Bobby said. "Just wish you boys would stay out of the hospital for five minutes." Dean never wanted to hear Bobby's voice crack like that. Bobby Singer was supposed to be a rock. Sam sat back down, again taking Dean's hand, and Bobby leaned against the door watching them both. "Now what's this I hear about you threatening the staff?"
Sam's expression hardened back into that mask of fury. "They want me to take him off the machines, Bobby. Take out the feeding tube, all that." Dean caught the emotion flitting across Bobby's face and knew Sam had, too. "Something you wanna say?"
"I know what they want, Sam. One of the doctors caught me on the way in, hoping I could talk sense into you."
"Talk sense into me," Sam scowled. "They want me to let him die."
"Sam, he's dead already!" Bobby pleaded, the raw grief in his voice tying Dean into knots, and even Sam flinched. "He's got a hole clear through his skull. Dammit, he was shot with the Colt, you don't come back from that. At least, you don't come back as anything human."
"Then why's he breathing, Bobby? Why's his heart beating? He started back breathing all on his own, explain that."
Bobby sighed, defeat making him look older. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I know it's not anything natural."
"You weren't there," Sam said, rubbing his hands over his face. "I felt him. I felt Dean out there on that road. It was only for a second but I know it was him."
"That's all the more reason to let him go, Sam." Sam glared at him but Bobby didn't back down. "Don't give me that look. I love you boys like you're my own, you know that. That doesn't mean I'm not going to be realistic about this."
"You don't believe in miracles, Bobby?"
"No! And neither should you!" Bobby sounded so aghast at the possibility that Dean almost laughed. He knew that in any other situation he'd be right there with Bobby. "And if he's already a spirit that's double the reason to let him go, before he can go bad."
Sam shook his head. "Dean wants me to help him, Bobby. I know it." He got up and started gathering things in his bag, securing the Colt carefully. "I need to trust you to watch over him."
It hurt to see the betrayal in Bobby's eyes. "I would never do anything to harm either of you boys, you know that."
"That's not good enough," Sam said, cold like Dean had never heard him before, and the hurt and alarm in Bobby's face got deeper. "Promise me that he'll still be alive when I get back. No matter what the doctors want, you promise me that."
Bobby looked from Sam to Dean. "This is a mistake."
"Promise me." Sam took one step toward Bobby, menace clear in his eyes.
"Sam, please, don't," Dean said.
Fortunately, this was Bobby Singer. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy," he snarled, stepping right back to Sam and putting one finger in his face. "Don't you ever."
Sam seemed to deflate. "I just...I just want you to promise me, Bobby. That's all."
"Then I will." Sam's expression lit up, and Bobby continued, "Even though I think this is a damn stupid thing you're doing."
"Bobby, you don't even know what I'm doing."
"I don't need to." He sighed, dropping into the now vacant bedside chair. "You at least gonna tell me where you're going?"
"I'm going to go help Dean," was all he'd say, and Dean could see the fear in Bobby's face.
"Can you at least promise me you won't do anything you'll regret?"
"I won't regret anything that brings Dean back."
Bobby grabbed Sam by the arm. "I don't want to lose both you boys."
Sam almost smiled, the expression sending a chill through Dean. "You haven't lost either of us." Then he was gone, the bag with the Colt slung over his shoulder.
It seemed like Bobby aged twenty years in that one second. "It'll be okay," Dean said. "I'm on this, Bobby, you'll see."
But of course Bobby couldn't hear. He saw Bobby take his limp hand. "Your brother's a damned idjit," he said, his voice shaking and Dean knew he had to get out of there. He couldn't handle watching Bobby Singer cry.
"What's Sam doing?" he asked Castiel.
The angel tilted his head. "Various unwise things."
"Take me to him."
Castiel nodded. "He's being watched. We'll have to be careful."
"Whatever. Whatever, Cas. Just take me to my brother."
Dean heard the sound of wings and then they were somewhere else.
On to Part 2
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