The Glass Vial | Chapter Seven

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Chapter Seven: Revelation
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It’s the twentieth of December when he opens the mailbox, and sees it’s completely empty. Dean stares at it for a long moment, not comprehending. He shuts it again, waits, and opens it.

Still nothing.

He double-checks to make sure it’s actually their mailbox, but there’s nothing there. No glass vial, no note, just a Christmas card from Annie with their names on.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Dean mutters. “He needs more, you asshole!”

Only silence greets him and stomps up back towards the apartment.

“Did you get your medicine already?” Dean asks, as he walks through the door. Sam turns around to face him, standing in front of the open fridge and frowns.

“I haven’t left the apartment today.”

Dean throws the card down on the kitchen table and runs a over the stubble on his chin. “There isn’t any there.”

“What?” Sam asks, shutting the door. “I mean, that’s okay. It’s okay.”

Dean watches as Sam tries to reason with himself, and then plasters on a smile. “It is. Dude, you’re so much better now. I mean, seriously.”

And it’s true, he is, but it was still something they relied on, and Dean’s praying to a God he doesn’t believe in that this won’t mean Sam starts getting worse again. Sam nods at him, tugging at his wristband in a nervous tell, and Dean tears himself away, and gets ready for work.

***




The next morning, on his day off, he gets up before Sam to head downstairs and open the mailbox, but it’s completely empty again. He glares at it for good measure and stands up, shutting it. He’s not sure what it means, only that it feels like they’re alone now, and Sam has already received all the help he’s going to get.

“Is that it then?” he asks to the empty hallway.

There’s only silence. He didn’t expect an answer, and he heads back to the apartment to get breakfast started.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to ask. They’d both convinced themselves that maybe yesterday had been a one-time thing, but it seems like that this is the end of the glass vials. Sam’s been more alert this week than he has in a long time, and Dean swallows down the fear that he might get worse without them. He didn’t realize how much he’d come to rely on them, and how much he’d associated them with safety, and comfort. They were something there to help keep Sam lucid, to deal with the nightmares, and help him in no way Dean could. Without them, they’re truly and utterly alone.

Sam doesn’t start with the preamble. Instead he stands up and walks over to Dean, who’s leaning against the counter and turning the spoon in his mug.

“Be straight with me,” Sam says steadily. “These - vials. What did you do to help me? Because I was broken back then.”

Dean shakes his head and frowns at him, and puts his mug down. It’s not the way he had expected the conversation to start, and it’s stunned him a little, made him lose his train of thought. “What are you trying to say? I gave the vials to you, you drank the vials, and they helped you.”

“I’m just saying, Dean. If you. If you did something to help me--”

“Fuck, Sam. Give me some credit.” Dean knows what Sam’s suggesting, and it sets something like fire burning through his veins. “Are you asking me whether I made a deal for you? For those vials? I wanted to, okay? I wanted to do anything, everything to help you. But I didn’t.”

Sam stares at him and the expression tears something inside Dean. “I promise, man,” he says. “Still got my soul, you’ve still got yours.”

Sam smiles, but it looks tight and sour on his face, and looks down, breaking their eye contact. “Yeah. Yeah, I know I do, Dean.”

He’s not sure what to say to that. What can he say? That he’s sorry he forced the soul back into him? He’s sorry Cas broke the wall? Fuck. He’s sorry for everything. But he doesn’t regret the fact Sam’s soul was returned. Not one bit.

“I’m sorry, man. I wish I had the answers, you know? I don’t know where that stuff came from, or what it was. But it helped you. So please, Sammy, just leave it. Let’s not punch the gift horse in the mouth, okay?”

Then there’s a flutter or wings, the air shifts suddenly, and Dean sucks in a breath.

***




Sam feels something stir inside him, something like fear and relief, and it merges together, warm and sharp in his body.

There’s a dark figure in front of the window, but his presence is felt in the small room. Outside, the wind picks up and small flecks of snow fall against the glass pane. Sam crosses his arms over his chest and tries to control his breathing, tries to keep calm and follow this thread. There’s always a million threads he could be following, but there’s only one that keeps him lucid, one in the here and now.

“It was you,” Dean says, watching him with wide eyes. “You’re the one that left the medicine. For Sam.”

Gabriel smirks, shrugs like it’s no big deal, and Sam watches as Dean swallows, and something warm passes behind his eyes. “Yeah, it was me.”

“Thank you,” Dean chokes out. Sam looks away, feels something hot and heavy in his chest, and feels like smiling. Dean’s okay. He’s okay.

“How are you--”

“Alive?” Gabriel says, and the side of his mouth twitches a little. “Look great, don’t I? Let’s just say I know a few more tricks than everybody gave me credit for.”

Sam swallows and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, trying to steady himself. “You were dead?” he asks, meeting his eyes. “Really dead?”

“Yes,” Gabriel replies softly. “I was in purgatory.”

Dean’s eyes widen at that and Sam tries hard to ignore the look in his eyes. The one that’s mostly surprise, mixed with a little bit of hope. “Purgatory?” Dean swallows and runs a hand over his mouth. “Did you see--”

“No,” Gabriel interrupts, sharp but quiet. “No, I didn’t.”

Dean doesn’t say anything and Sam doesn’t know what to say either. There’s something that doesn’t feel quite right. He’s not sure anymore, and it’s normally a case of guessing, trying to get by and leaning back on Dean for the answers. But this time they’re both having to go on the same thing, and it’s just words.

“What was it?” Dean asks, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. The snow outside has picked up, and he can hear the wind whistling through the window.

“Each vial contained essence of grace. Angel grace.”

He gets a flash of the pit, sharp and bright, and Gabriel looks towards him like he can feel the chill that’s slowly starting to travel up Sam’s bones.

“It’s not harmful,” Gabriel says, quiet but confident. “Think of it as a catalyst. It only sped up what was naturally going to happen. It hasn’t purged Hell from you, but it’s scabbed over the wounds, and helped more than anything else could have.”

Dean comes to stand by Sam, and he feels his presence, strong and warm behind him. It calms him somewhat, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Why did you do it?” Sam asks softly. “Why did you help me?”

Gabriel just shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “I can’t answer that, Sam.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, from behind him, his voice sharp and low, like he’s commanding the answers out of him.

“Because, Dean-o, some things aren’t mine to answer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, feeling like he’s treading water with no strength to pull himself out, but with just enough to keep afloat. He isn’t getting any new answers, but he’s okay. He’s still okay.

Gabriel shrugs, flippant, but there’s something warmer in his eyes. “That’s all the answers you’re getting from me.”

He can feel Dean move behind him, like he’s about to argue, but suddenly it’s just them in the room, and the only sign he was ever there is the small sway of the curtains, as if dancing in the breeze.

***




“Is he okay?”

Gabriel sits down on the dirty red earth and looks up at the wide expanse of inky black sky, bright stars in clusters above them.

“Who, Sam? Yeah. He’s great.”

“And Dean?”

Gabriel looks towards him, sees feelings ripple in the small droplets of his remaining grace, clinging to his vessel. There’s guilt and protectiveness, regret, sorrow and love. “He’s okay.” Gabriel looks back up at the stars. “They’re both okay.”

“Good.”

They sit there in silence, not needing to speak, and watch as their father’s creation continues to evolve, the air shifting, clear and beautiful.

“Are you ever going to tell them?” Gabriel asks, looking back to his brother.

He stares back at him, cool eyes unsure and wavering on his face. He looks down, watches a small centipede scuttle along the earth in front of them.

“One day, perhaps.”

“I think you’ve earned that right. I’ve think you’ve made it up to them, little bro.”

He shrugs, the action human and vulnerable, and Gabriel watches as the bones shift beneath his skin, as his body regulates temperature, how he breathes without his grace.

“What I did to them... I’m not sure it’s redeemable. What I did to Sam? How I betrayed Dean’s trust? I’m not sure I could explain that.”

Gabriel studies him for a moment longer, and then lies back against the dirt, putting his hands behind his head. “You’re human now, you know. In a few days, anyway. Completely human. You’ve sacrificed yourself for them. More than once. Just think about where you want to spend the rest of your life.”

He looks towards the fallen angel and says, pointedly, “Who you want to spend it with. It’s not a lot of time.”

“You’re leaving,” he states, and Gabriel shrugs, looking back up at the sky.

“I’m not going back home,” he says, instead. Softly, he says, “Neither are you.”

They sit in silence, and Gabriel listens as Castiel lies down beside him, and falls to sleep.

***




Castiel stands with his hands in his pockets, an entirely-human gesture that he’s adapted to. The wind and snow from outside still feels like it’s biting his skin and his cheeks feel like they’re burning in the heat of the hallway. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the front door. There’s the sound of speaking inside, and it hits Cas, hearing those voices again, like a tidal wave hitting him, drowning him, and plunging into its depths.

Castiel takes a deep breath, and Dean opens the door.

The first thing Dean does is punch him in the face. He stumbles a few steps backwards and brings a hand up to cover his nose, but he doesn’t retaliate. Dean is staring at him, stock still, as if he can’t believe what’s happening. In one swift movement he’’s pulling Cas’ arm forward and slicing him with a silver knife, and Cas hisses and tries to tug his arm away at the pain.

“Sam,” Dean calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes away from Cas’ face, “Grab the holy water.”

There’s the sound of someone walking and Dean is reaching his hand out. A silver flask lands in his hand and he opens it, and chucks it over Cas. He takes it all without complaint, feels a little hurt that they don’t recognize what he is, how human he is now, but knows it’s a lot less pain than he deserves.

Something changes in Dean’s expression and he swallows and looks away. “Sam,” he says, voice much more level. “Go into the living room.”

Sam does so without speaking, and Cas keeps his eyes trained on Dean, at the tense line of his jaw and the way he’s having trouble making eye contact. It’s so unlike Dean that it makes him feel uneasy. Finally, he looks up and he shakes his head as if he can’t quite decide what do with the fact Castiel is standing at his doorstep.

“It’s you,” he says. It’s not a question, but Cas feels like he has to nod anyway. Dean runs a hand over his face, and says, “Why are you here?”

Cas can tell he’s trying to be guarded, keeping his tone even, and it hurts knowing he has to be this way. That Cas is the reason they’re living like this, no longer hunting, perhaps irreversibly broken.

“I needed to make sure you were okay,” Cas says, but it’s only half the story, and Dean’s eyes harden.

“Well, we are. Thanks a bunch, Cas. If that’s all--”

Dean moves back to shut to door in his face but Cas reaches forward with the arm that Dean cut, and the dripping blood gives Dean pause.

“You’re human?” he asks, quietly.

“It is no less than I deserve,” Castiel tells him honestly.

“Damn right,” Dean says, eyes meeting his gaze again. He pauses, looking over his shoulder, before shutting the door behind him and stepping into the corridor. “You broke my brother’s head,” he says, glaring at him. “You broke him and then you died, disappeared, whatever, and now I find you on my doorstep completely human and asking if we’re okay? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Cas says, arms to the side of him and palms up in a placating gesture. “I don’t expect you will ever be able to forgive me... but, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I am so very sorry, Dean.”

Dean looks like he’s about to punch him again when the door slowly opens and Sam pops his head out. “Cas?” he asks, frowning, and opening the door farther. He walks out, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist, and looks between the two of them. “You’re alive?”

“Sam,” Cas says, feeling his gut twist at the obvious damage he’s caused. In just the way he carries himself, Cas can tell he isn’t, and probably never will be, the same man. “It’s good to see you’re better.”

“No thanks to you,” Dean bites out, positioning himself so he’s between Sam and Cas.

Cas doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Dean starts, low and dangerous. “You came here, you’ve said what you wanted to say, and I’ve stood through listening--”

“Dean,” Sam cuts in, quiet and tired. “Dean, let it go.”

“What?” Dean asks, turning around and shaking his head at him. “He broke you, Sam--”

“I know what he did,” Sam says, gently. “And we all make mistakes,” he says, eyeing Cas pointedly, before turning back to Dean. “But I forgive him.”

“Thank you,” Cas says, swallowing hard. “I will do anything to make this up to you. To you both. Please, if you’ll give me that chance...”

Dean takes a long look at Sam before turning back to Cas and sighing. “Where are you staying?” he asks, sounding resigned.

He hasn’t thought about that. Everything about humanity feels so new to him, like he’s stumbling along with both eyes closed.

“Oh,” he says. “I don’t - I’m not.”

Sam looks at Dean pleadingly and he rolls his eyes. “Shit, jesus, okay. Stay with us for a couple of days. I bet you don’t have any money, do you? Don’t even bother answering me that. Let’s just get inside before Mrs Sanrez tries to make us drink tea with her again with her fifty cats.”

Cas isn’t sure how one of these small apartments could accommodate fifty cats, but he doesn’t question him on it. He follows them into the building and shuts the door behind him with a soft click.

This is it, then, he thinks as he follows Dean’s tense back into the living room. This is humanity.

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