Supernatural fic - "Saving Grace" (Part Four)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
The sound of Dean’s phone on the nightstand alerting him to a new text message kicked Dean rudely out of slumber. Dean peeled open an eye, glowered at his phone, then he flung out a clumsy hand to grab the thing and open it.
It was from Sam. Already, Dean didn’t like it.
In next town over. Found something. Checking it out. Will call later.
Dean groaned and dropped the phone to the floor in protest. He was so sick of worrying about his brother every hour of every damn day. Speaking of hours… he craned his next to look at the room clock. 6:14 a.m. At least if Sam was going to be a soulless dickwad, he could do it during decent hours.
He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his worry switch had been flipped with the receipt of Sam’s text, and Dean knew he was screwed. With a growl, he rubbed his face with one hand.
Then he remembered last night.
Dean sat up abruptly and looked to the bed space next to him… only to find it empty.
“Cas?” Dean called out.
“I’m here, Dean,” came the familiar, gravelly voice from the direction of the room’s bathroom.
Not thinking about how weird it was, Dean got up immediately and went to check on Cas in the bathroom. The angel was standing in front of the sink, hands braced on the counter and shoulders stooped, his head hanging low. The harsh light of the bathroom wasn’t doing the angel any favors. The bloodied bandages Dean had taped to Castiel’s back were strewn over the bathroom floor. The wound on his back was partially healed, and not much thanks to Dean’s needlework, Dean noticed with chagrin. The raw edges of skin were mended together, marked by a tender pink line. The stitches in his skin were angry black knots in flesh fighting to be pristine.
“How you doing?” Dean asked carefully.
Cas heaved a ragged sigh. “It’s taking more out of me than usual to heal.”
“Are the stitches going to be a problem?” When Cas had been bleeding all over the place last night, Dean hadn’t really thought about it.
“Once I’m strong enough, I can make them disappear.”
Dean stood silently, watching Castiel struggle to marshal his strength for something as simple as healing. He knew the kind of beating Castiel could take, and for the angel to be in such rough shape said a lot about what he was going through upstairs.
“Cas… you can’t go back up there. You’re on the ragged edge here.”
“At the moment, no… I don’t have enough energy to fly. But as soon as I do, I must. I don’t have a choice, Dean. Raphael cannot be allowed to resume the Apocalypse.”
And Dean agreed, that sounded like mountains of shit that should not happen, but there had to be others who could take over for a while, give Castiel a damn second to catch his breath.
“I’m worried about you, Cas,” Dean confessed lowly. “I mean seriously worried that if you go back there into that war like this, this will be the last time I see you.”
Castiel stilled at that and lifted his head, looking at Dean in the reflection in the mirror. He looked terrible. Dean wasn’t feeling good about the shape of things in Heaven if the good guys looked so bad.
“I appreciate your concern,” Castiel said, and damn if Dean didn’t think the guy was sincere. He was happy just to have someone who would be upset if he died.
That wasn’t good enough for Dean.
“There has to be something I can do. For all the times you’ve saved my ass, there must be something…”
Again there was that pause, and if Dean didn’t know Cas so fucking well he might not understand it for what it was.
But lately, Dean got Cas better than he did his own brother.
“There is something, isn’t there?” Dean pressed.
“No… I would never ask that of you,” Castiel answered weakly, pushing away from the sink before it looked like he was ready. Dean prepared himself to jump in and support Castiel’s weight, but Cas put out a hand and steadied himself on the wall. With a force of effort, he straightened and turned to face Dean. It was Cas trying to look all confident and self-possessed, but the gaunt, unclothed torso and bruise-color underneath tired blue eyes sabotaged his intentions.
Dean stood firm in the bathroom doorway, barring Castiel’s way (and it said so much about Castiel’s state that the angel was actually stopped by Dean’s body in his path). “You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“Dean…”
“Cas, look at you! This is bad, and I know I was kind of a dick before about your problems up there, but I do get it. Bad guys in charge in Heaven bad news for everyone. So I’m not just asking if I can help you, I’m asking you how I can help everyone.” There… see if the angel could find fault with that.
Something stony and stubborn filled Castiel’s eyes… but also something warm and touched. “Believe me, Dean… you wouldn’t even consider it. Now please move aside.”
Dean did, but he did not give up. He followed Castiel as the angel went in search of his clothes. They were still in a bloody pile by the bed, where they had been discarded last night. Castiel stooped stiffly and fetched them off the floor, scowling at the bloodstains.
“Well,” Dean began as he continued to harass the evasive angel, “how about you tell me what it is, then I’ll decide if it’s out of the question.”
The angel didn’t answer right away… instead, he focused on his clothes. Like a first-grader trying to color inside the lines, Castiel’s brow furrowed and his lips pinched as he willed the clothes to clean themselves up. Slowly, it worked… the bloodstains on both shirt and trench coat faded, but did not disappear completely. Instead of looking like blood, it looked like engine grease, like Cas had been under a car in his holy tax accountant get-up changing the oil. The mental image made Dean smirk.
Cas, looking peeved but resigned to dirty attire for the time being, looked up from the task of mending his clothing and caught the faintly amused expression on Dean’s face.
The upturned lips seemed to crack something of the wall in Cas… maybe the semi-smile made him see Dean, his friend. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well.” He beckoned Dean closer as he put his shirt back on, fumbling with the buttons a little.
They both sat down on the edge of the bed… Cas looked like he needed to sit, and Dean would feel weird towering over Castiel.
Despite his pledge to tell Dean, Castiel still seemed to search for the words. He looked up at Dean, locked eyes with him, and said, “Do you remember when I told you that I am being asked to do some regrettable things?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t understand how dangerous that is for an angel. It is, essentially, what happened with Lucifer. When an angel makes choices that are morally ambiguous… if our actions are sinful enough, it can corrupt our grace.”
“Like a disease?”
Castiel cocked his head as he considered the comparison. “Yes… that is quite apt. Our grace, our equivalent of a soul, can be infected. The darkness can spread until we’re either cast down or fall.”
“Is that what’s happening to you?” Dean asked with a sinking sense of dread.
“No. I am walking a fine line, as you would say, doing regrettable things, but not so regrettable that my grace is tarnished by them.
“However, many of Raphael’s followers are not so constrained. They believe that once the Apocalypse scourges the Earth, a tarnished grace won’t matter. They believe they can exist happily on Earth as less than angels, having fallen from Heaven for their actions, when the undesirable humans have been wiped out. Therefore, they are willing to do things that I cannot… not if I want to keep my grace unmarred.”
“So… what’s the thing I won’t like?”
“I could better fight this war if I didn’t have to fear for my grace… among angels, during the last such Heavenly conflict when Lucifer was cast down, one angel could give a piece of his grace to another to hold. Grace is a living thing, it can be regrown from a fragment, or a blackened grace saved if a part of the grace in its pure state survives somewhere. The unblemished grace can purify the corrupted grace when the two are rejoined.”
“Sort of like a skin graft?”
“Distantly, yes.” The look on Castiel’s face made Dean think it was probably about as similar as pie was to a jetliner, but probably the closest Dean could come to understanding.
“So? Why not give a piece of your grace to one of your angel buddies?”
Castiel looked nauseous at the thought. “I would… if I had any that I trusted completely. Too many brothers and sisters who I thought were my friends and allies have proven to be enemies… I don’t trust any of them enough to give them a piece of myself.”
When Castiel put it like that, it made sense. Dean wouldn’t ask any of those other angels to hold on to his coat for a while, much less part of his soul.
Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “This is where you get to the part I won’t like, isn’t it?”
Castiel nodded. “It’s possible a human could hold a small piece of an angel’s grace.”
“Has it ever been done before?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
For a minute, Dean mulled that over quietly. “So, you’re asking me to put a piece of your grace inside me, for safekeeping, so you can go all Darth Vader on Raphael and his dipshits.”
“No… I’m not asking anything of you, Dean.”
“Right… you mind giving me some time to think about it?”
The look in Castiel’s eyes was infinitely affectionate… something that disarmed Dean.
“That you would even consider it for the briefest moment honors me, but I don’t expect it of you. Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts.”
“Right.”
But still, Dean thought about it.
Part Five
The sound of Dean’s phone on the nightstand alerting him to a new text message kicked Dean rudely out of slumber. Dean peeled open an eye, glowered at his phone, then he flung out a clumsy hand to grab the thing and open it.
It was from Sam. Already, Dean didn’t like it.
In next town over. Found something. Checking it out. Will call later.
Dean groaned and dropped the phone to the floor in protest. He was so sick of worrying about his brother every hour of every damn day. Speaking of hours… he craned his next to look at the room clock. 6:14 a.m. At least if Sam was going to be a soulless dickwad, he could do it during decent hours.
He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his worry switch had been flipped with the receipt of Sam’s text, and Dean knew he was screwed. With a growl, he rubbed his face with one hand.
Then he remembered last night.
Dean sat up abruptly and looked to the bed space next to him… only to find it empty.
“Cas?” Dean called out.
“I’m here, Dean,” came the familiar, gravelly voice from the direction of the room’s bathroom.
Not thinking about how weird it was, Dean got up immediately and went to check on Cas in the bathroom. The angel was standing in front of the sink, hands braced on the counter and shoulders stooped, his head hanging low. The harsh light of the bathroom wasn’t doing the angel any favors. The bloodied bandages Dean had taped to Castiel’s back were strewn over the bathroom floor. The wound on his back was partially healed, and not much thanks to Dean’s needlework, Dean noticed with chagrin. The raw edges of skin were mended together, marked by a tender pink line. The stitches in his skin were angry black knots in flesh fighting to be pristine.
“How you doing?” Dean asked carefully.
Cas heaved a ragged sigh. “It’s taking more out of me than usual to heal.”
“Are the stitches going to be a problem?” When Cas had been bleeding all over the place last night, Dean hadn’t really thought about it.
“Once I’m strong enough, I can make them disappear.”
Dean stood silently, watching Castiel struggle to marshal his strength for something as simple as healing. He knew the kind of beating Castiel could take, and for the angel to be in such rough shape said a lot about what he was going through upstairs.
“Cas… you can’t go back up there. You’re on the ragged edge here.”
“At the moment, no… I don’t have enough energy to fly. But as soon as I do, I must. I don’t have a choice, Dean. Raphael cannot be allowed to resume the Apocalypse.”
And Dean agreed, that sounded like mountains of shit that should not happen, but there had to be others who could take over for a while, give Castiel a damn second to catch his breath.
“I’m worried about you, Cas,” Dean confessed lowly. “I mean seriously worried that if you go back there into that war like this, this will be the last time I see you.”
Castiel stilled at that and lifted his head, looking at Dean in the reflection in the mirror. He looked terrible. Dean wasn’t feeling good about the shape of things in Heaven if the good guys looked so bad.
“I appreciate your concern,” Castiel said, and damn if Dean didn’t think the guy was sincere. He was happy just to have someone who would be upset if he died.
That wasn’t good enough for Dean.
“There has to be something I can do. For all the times you’ve saved my ass, there must be something…”
Again there was that pause, and if Dean didn’t know Cas so fucking well he might not understand it for what it was.
But lately, Dean got Cas better than he did his own brother.
“There is something, isn’t there?” Dean pressed.
“No… I would never ask that of you,” Castiel answered weakly, pushing away from the sink before it looked like he was ready. Dean prepared himself to jump in and support Castiel’s weight, but Cas put out a hand and steadied himself on the wall. With a force of effort, he straightened and turned to face Dean. It was Cas trying to look all confident and self-possessed, but the gaunt, unclothed torso and bruise-color underneath tired blue eyes sabotaged his intentions.
Dean stood firm in the bathroom doorway, barring Castiel’s way (and it said so much about Castiel’s state that the angel was actually stopped by Dean’s body in his path). “You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“Dean…”
“Cas, look at you! This is bad, and I know I was kind of a dick before about your problems up there, but I do get it. Bad guys in charge in Heaven bad news for everyone. So I’m not just asking if I can help you, I’m asking you how I can help everyone.” There… see if the angel could find fault with that.
Something stony and stubborn filled Castiel’s eyes… but also something warm and touched. “Believe me, Dean… you wouldn’t even consider it. Now please move aside.”
Dean did, but he did not give up. He followed Castiel as the angel went in search of his clothes. They were still in a bloody pile by the bed, where they had been discarded last night. Castiel stooped stiffly and fetched them off the floor, scowling at the bloodstains.
“Well,” Dean began as he continued to harass the evasive angel, “how about you tell me what it is, then I’ll decide if it’s out of the question.”
The angel didn’t answer right away… instead, he focused on his clothes. Like a first-grader trying to color inside the lines, Castiel’s brow furrowed and his lips pinched as he willed the clothes to clean themselves up. Slowly, it worked… the bloodstains on both shirt and trench coat faded, but did not disappear completely. Instead of looking like blood, it looked like engine grease, like Cas had been under a car in his holy tax accountant get-up changing the oil. The mental image made Dean smirk.
Cas, looking peeved but resigned to dirty attire for the time being, looked up from the task of mending his clothing and caught the faintly amused expression on Dean’s face.
The upturned lips seemed to crack something of the wall in Cas… maybe the semi-smile made him see Dean, his friend. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well.” He beckoned Dean closer as he put his shirt back on, fumbling with the buttons a little.
They both sat down on the edge of the bed… Cas looked like he needed to sit, and Dean would feel weird towering over Castiel.
Despite his pledge to tell Dean, Castiel still seemed to search for the words. He looked up at Dean, locked eyes with him, and said, “Do you remember when I told you that I am being asked to do some regrettable things?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t understand how dangerous that is for an angel. It is, essentially, what happened with Lucifer. When an angel makes choices that are morally ambiguous… if our actions are sinful enough, it can corrupt our grace.”
“Like a disease?”
Castiel cocked his head as he considered the comparison. “Yes… that is quite apt. Our grace, our equivalent of a soul, can be infected. The darkness can spread until we’re either cast down or fall.”
“Is that what’s happening to you?” Dean asked with a sinking sense of dread.
“No. I am walking a fine line, as you would say, doing regrettable things, but not so regrettable that my grace is tarnished by them.
“However, many of Raphael’s followers are not so constrained. They believe that once the Apocalypse scourges the Earth, a tarnished grace won’t matter. They believe they can exist happily on Earth as less than angels, having fallen from Heaven for their actions, when the undesirable humans have been wiped out. Therefore, they are willing to do things that I cannot… not if I want to keep my grace unmarred.”
“So… what’s the thing I won’t like?”
“I could better fight this war if I didn’t have to fear for my grace… among angels, during the last such Heavenly conflict when Lucifer was cast down, one angel could give a piece of his grace to another to hold. Grace is a living thing, it can be regrown from a fragment, or a blackened grace saved if a part of the grace in its pure state survives somewhere. The unblemished grace can purify the corrupted grace when the two are rejoined.”
“Sort of like a skin graft?”
“Distantly, yes.” The look on Castiel’s face made Dean think it was probably about as similar as pie was to a jetliner, but probably the closest Dean could come to understanding.
“So? Why not give a piece of your grace to one of your angel buddies?”
Castiel looked nauseous at the thought. “I would… if I had any that I trusted completely. Too many brothers and sisters who I thought were my friends and allies have proven to be enemies… I don’t trust any of them enough to give them a piece of myself.”
When Castiel put it like that, it made sense. Dean wouldn’t ask any of those other angels to hold on to his coat for a while, much less part of his soul.
Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “This is where you get to the part I won’t like, isn’t it?”
Castiel nodded. “It’s possible a human could hold a small piece of an angel’s grace.”
“Has it ever been done before?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
For a minute, Dean mulled that over quietly. “So, you’re asking me to put a piece of your grace inside me, for safekeeping, so you can go all Darth Vader on Raphael and his dipshits.”
“No… I’m not asking anything of you, Dean.”
“Right… you mind giving me some time to think about it?”
The look in Castiel’s eyes was infinitely affectionate… something that disarmed Dean.
“That you would even consider it for the briefest moment honors me, but I don’t expect it of you. Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts.”
“Right.”
But still, Dean thought about it.
Part Five