FIC: Pulling Out The Nails, Chapter 17: Unbound [18/20]

[todisturbtheuni]

Back to 16. Dismissal, or go to the Masterpost.

Dean dropped to the ground just in time. A dozen feet from him, flying through the air, a silvery orb exploded. He put his head down, covering his ears, and felt the muffled blast sweep over him, just before someone-magician or spirit, it was hard to tell-started screaming in agony.

He only had a few seconds while they were distracted. A few seconds to slip out of sight, take cover somewhere safe, and go after Cas. His plan didn't seem likely to work, but he hadn't bargained on these half-possessed hybrids crashing the party, and given the circumstances, he was doing what he could.


While Henriksen and a familiar female voice-Jody, he thought-shouted from the doorway and lobbed more orbs into the fray, Dean scrambled away, toward the door at the opposite end of the summoning chambers. He tried, very pointedly, not to think about the look on Castiel's face as he'd begged Dean not to send him away, but he didn't think he would forget that. If he lived long past this whole incident, he would never, ever forget that horrified look of betrayal.

I'm coming, Cas, he thought, straightening up outside the opposite end of the summoning chamber. Just give me a few minutes, buddy.

The ritual wouldn't be difficult. Certainly no difficult than summoning a run of the mill spirit, and, in fact, probably easier; any broken pentacle would be good enough, and Dean guessed that he could find silver or iron in any abandoned office. The real question was whether he would have a body to come back to when this was all over, or if the magician-spirits would have found and devoured it by then.

"Dean!"

Jo's eyes were bright, just this side of too wild; Charlie, beside her, looked significantly more grounded, if half-terrified.

"Hey," he said, relief sweeping through him. "Everyone okay?"

"Without a hitch," Charlie said, resting her shotgun against her shoulder. "What's the plan?"

"I need you to keep them busy," Dean said, his mind already racing away, toward the Other Place-toward Cas. "For fifteen, maybe thirty minutes. Kill what you can. Some of the lower-level magicians are going to help you."

"Why?" Jo said, alarmed. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to need better firepower to take down Lilith," Dean said, trying to sound reassuring. "I have to go after Cas. He got dismissed."

"Dean," Charlie said urgently, "that's suicide."

"Everyone can shut up about that anytime," Dean growled. "I've got a plan. We've got a plan. I don't have time to explain it because a bunch of spirits decided to crash the party, but trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing."

Reluctantly, they let him pass. He headed for the nearest stairs, aiming to hide out in a forgotten dusty room somewhere while he attempted to pass through the Gate, and heard Jo yell for one of the spirit's attention just as the fire doors slammed behind him.

The true depths of the building went down, not up, and he was already several levels underground if Henriksen's memorized maps were anything to go by. The summoning chambers were on the fourth floor below the surface. There were at least twenty going deeper, if he remembered correctly.

When there were no more stairs to half-fall down-and the echoes of explosions and roars of pain had subsided into the distance-Dean turned off into an old office. The hardwood floor was mostly covered with a rug, but when he pulled it back, an old pentacle, connected to its larger partner, stared up at him. He rummaged through the drawers of the nearby desk until he found enough iron tokens to fill his pockets. Pulling a knife from his belt, he broke through the lines that would have made it a complete circle. Quickly, deliberately, he pulled off his jacket, bunching it up to use as a pillow. He shivered without the extra layer; it was cold down here, in the deepest reaches of the building.

He sat, trying to get comfortable, and finally, finally, closed his eyes, curled up on the ground. From here, he could feel the gentle vibration of the entire building.

His heart was too loud in his ears; upstairs, people were running, screaming. This was the easy part, he told himself. Like taking a nap. And when I come back…

He knew what he planned to do when he came back, but the thought left him nauseous. It was a long shot, and even if he made it through the Gate and back in one piece, their chances were still slim. Hopefully the lesser spirits were dead by now, and only the high rollers would be left for them to take care of. It would require careful timing, and a lot more firepower than they currently had. Dean shuddered, struck suddenly by a bleakness so all-encompassing that he couldn't breathe.

He'd had little enough idea how to even stagger the magicians themselves, but when it came to spirit involvement, he knew they were depressingly outnumbered. Castiel was one drained djinni, and after this trip, if Jimmy's old research couldn't be put into practice, Dean would probably be more helpless than before, but he couldn't imagine facing them at all without Castiel.

Before he could change his mind, he spoke the summoning incantation, swapping out the spirit's name and putting his own in its place. At the end, he called Castiel's name: three times, and then silence.

It didn't take long for stiffness to set in. Dean's body was battered and bruised, worse than it had been in months, and every joint protested his prone position on the cold, hard floor. He tried not to focus on the weight that seemed to settle him into the very ground-the horrible discomfort-it would tie him to the world rather than let him drift away from it.

The shouts and explosions were even more distant now, and the soft vibration beneath his cheek had stopped. He wondered if the hybrids had moved out into the open world, and suppressed a cringe. Their best chance was to keep the building contained. Without that boundary, they might never catch up with the worst of the spirits loose in the world.

There was a bell ringing, somewhere, and it was getting louder while all the other noise faded. Dean tried to shift, to ease his discomfort a little, but felt no reaction from his body. The ringing intensified, long and without break. Finally, hoping he would see something a little more promising than the underside of a broken down desk, he opened his eyes.

The room was spread out beneath him. There he was, already looking cramped and cold, his feet just barely fit into the pentacle. He was still rising, or maybe falling-it was hard to tell, at the speed he was moving-but the hallways spidering out from the room where he was hidden were clear, and the streets, now that he could see them, were still neatly organized, cars moving like ants along designated paths. The spirits and their human hosts were still contained, then. That was a start, anyway.

As quickly as he had noticed the building, though, it was gone; he turned his attention back to the drawn-out ringing, vaguely annoyed by the noise, and the world twisted out of focus. In the next instant, it was gone. He was hurtling through empty space-there was the sudden impression of being twisted and pulled, prodded and stretched, burned and frozen, and the rage of the boundary between worlds pushed in on him as though to crush him-but then he was cast adrift in a sea of light and color and sound, dazed, as the ringing faded.

He was through the Gate. This was the Other Place.

He had no form here, which was more annoying than anticipated; he'd taken being a fixed point in space a little too much for granted before this moment. There was nothing to him, though he could see all right. If this was being a spirit, he thought he'd pass. It made him a little nauseous, even though there was no sign at all of him having a stomach.

That gave him a vague jolt of panic. How the hell was he supposed to locate a single djinni in this swirling mess?

Castiel, he tried, though being disembodied, he doubted he had much volume. The swirling fronds of matter nearest him perked up at the thought, though. A reaching tendril of pale mauve came a little bit closer and waved, as though listening. Castiel, he repeated, and the tendril vanished.

Frustration mounting, Dean looked around again-though it wasn't as if he had stopped seeing in the first place. The sea of colors and lights stretched on, and on-there was no horizon, so "as far as they eye could see" was a poor description. It seemed endless. It was a little like being caught in a cold waterfall, constantly pummeled and manhandled, unable to see anything but the most minute detail, but surrounding him for miles. And in the lights and colors, images flickered-brief snatches of faces, places. Some even looked familiar. He thought he saw John, head bent over a desk, and Sam, only five years old and reaching up with grubby hands, but when he tried to move toward them, they left as easily as they'd come.

Cas, he thought again, increasingly desperate now. I don't know how long it's been, but I think we're running out of time, and you need some damn signposts, man. I can't find you.

Relax. A familiar voice reached out; it was less a sound, and more a feeling, the sensation of being engulfed carefully in warmth and the grit of sand. If he had had eyes, he would have closed them in relief; it was like the barest fingertip touch on his skin, grounding him amidst this sea of change. You haven't been here long.

Oh, thank fuck, Dean replied. The nearest bright blue peel of matter came forward, closer. I thought I would never find you.

The chuckle felt like balmy waves, washing over skin he no longer had. On second thought, Dean thought he could actually like it here. It was confusing as hell, but given the time, he could appreciate the vast feeling of this place, battering against him incessantly.

You've only been here a few seconds, Castiel teased. He seemed lighter, somehow, airier-less bogged down than he had been on Earth. He seemed free. Dean realized now that, modified Orb or no, Castiel had always been in chains. Some prettier than others, some trickier, but always shackled. You weren't looking that hard, Dean.

Felt like it, Dean shot back, trying to move closer to that blue tendril, but moving himself anywhere seemed too difficult.

Stop fixating, Castiel told him. I'm no more in that spot than I am in any other. Everything is jumbled here. We're all spirits, made of the same essence-it all mixes.

Dean paused. If we're the same, how are we talking, then?

I meant that our matter is mixed, Castiel returned patiently. In terms of a single point, a separation-there is none. Except for our consciousness. That is separate.

Place is weird, man.

Yes, and now Castiel's voice-thoughts-whatever-had a dry tone to them. I could say the same of Earth. I believe you have more important matters to attend to than philosophical musing on the state of one's identity?

Don't use big words just because, Dean shot back automatically, and Castiel laughed again. It was so soothing, that feeling. It reminded Dean of the warm hugs he'd once received from Sam as a kid. It reminded him of a cat pouncing on his feet, purring on his chest. A hand on his shoulder, reassuring. It was like home. But, yeah, I'm-wait. I lost track. I was expecting you to be kind of...angry.

For what? Castiel asked, serious again. Sending me away? Trying to save my life? Anger is the wrong word, Dean. I felt only grief. And now I'm simply glad that you appear to be still alive-though whether you will be or not once you go back to Earth remains to be seen.

Have a little faith, Cas, Dean said. I had a plan.

A hasty, last-minute plan, knowing you.

Those are the best kind.

So why are you here, Dean? Castiel said, and now all traces of joking were gone. What are you trying to accomplish?

You mentioned, Dean said slowly, that Jimmy was working on stuff. That there's a way to send me back better. Less human, more spirit.

Castiel's pause was numbing, not the balmy summer night of before, complete with fireflies and frogs croaking. Now it was a waterfall, cold and harsh, sudden and disorienting.

It's not reversible, Dean, Castiel told him, full of foreboding. It's not something you can cut out when you're done saving the world.

I know, Dean returned, uncomfortable.

His research was never tested, the spirit went on. For obvious reasons. I don't know what changes it will make on you. You might end up more spirit than human.

Runnin' out of options, Cas, Dean said, impatient. Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, this place seems okay. And I'd have company. And I wouldn't die, which you always get so up in arms about.

Yes, it's so illogical of me, Castiel deadpanned. Dean, even if this succeeds, you can't hope to be powerful enough to take on Lilith.

I just need to be powerful enough to distract her for a while, Dean said. Maybe lead her around. Wouldn't be so hard.

For a while, Castiel was quiet again. Dean watched the movement of the little lights, adrift on the waves of sound and color, and tried to track the flow of textures rising and falling within it all. They faded as soon as they were born, thrown back to the ether.

If I do this, Castiel began. If I send you back to Earth with the right incantation.

Yeah, Dean replied. We're burnin' daylight, Cas.

If the djinni had been corporeal, Dean suspected that he would have rolled his eyes.

You have to swear that you'll summon me back, too, he said. If it's at all within your power, you have to bring me with you.

Dean felt a vague jerk of revulsion. He couldn't tell if it came from him, or from one of the thousands of other beings swarming here, listening to Castiel offer up his servitude when he was still so broken.

There are a few reasons why I don't like that plan, Dean started carefully.

Oh? Castiel seemed unimpressed.

One, there's no way your essence has healed enough to do us much good.

Unimportant. If it's a distraction we're aiming for, I'm healed enough.

Two, Dean pressed on. There is still the very strong possibility that I am going to die very soon, and if you're hanging around when it happens, you're probably going to die, too.

This preoccupation with my good health is very touching, Dean, Castiel replied, weary now. But I thought we agreed that beggars can't be choosers. Besides, this is my war as much as it is yours. I have a right to be there.

Three, and most importantly, Dean continued, ignoring this, there is only one way to summon a spirit, and it makes him a slave. I can't chain you like that, Cas. It's not...it's wrong.

Castiel's silence was worse this time, deafening and devoid of any of the feelings of before. Dean waited nervously. When feeling trickled back through the sound and light of Castiel's consciousness, it was gentle, welcoming.

Break the pentacle before you summon me, Castiel said, and we'll both be free.

Dean let that sink in a moment, before he wondered what was so strange about it, and then he realized; it was because he wasn't afraid. He didn't for a second think that Castiel would flow into that pentacle and murder him out of spite. He trusted the djinni-and Castiel trusted him, because he had let Dean in.

Okay, Dean agreed, glad he didn't have a voice to get choked up by this sudden, overwhelming display of trust. I'll do it.

The pentacle you used to get here, you broke it, too? Castiel asked.

Yeah, Dean confirmed. Otherwise I'm guessing our dynamic from here on out would be a little unusual.

Castiel laughed at that. Dean, he said, and it was like Castiel was murmuring in his ear, like a puff of breath was rustling his hair. You are truly an extraordinary man.

The light and sound pressed in from all sides, swamping him, engulfing him, but with Castiel's words anchoring him it didn't seem like he would drown. And then, all too soon, the Other Place expelled him, and he hurtled to the Earth, too exhilarated to be afraid.

*

It was no time at all before Castiel felt himself being pulled from the Other Place.

He suspected that Dean had barely had the time to straighten up inside his new body and scuff out a line from the neighboring pentacle before he started chanting, but that was Dean; they were, as he'd said, burning daylight. Castiel submitted himself to the tumult of the Gate and painfully assembled Jimmy's form as he materialized on Earth. The brief respite had done his essence good, but he was still brittle, fragile. One gust of wind wouldn't knock him out anymore, but any good hit from a fellow spirit certainly would.

And Dean-

Dean had aged ten years, at least, in what had barely been ten minutes. There were wings of silver in the hair at his temples, speckles of gray throughout his light brown scruff; the lines on his forehead, around his eyes, around his mouth had all deepened; the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced. But his eyes-his eyes burned. What had been soft green now glowed with raw ability as he finished the summoning; the light of them shone through the dark, dusty room, drowned out the screams and explosions still coming from above. The Other Place was bright in Dean's eyes, as though he'd brought a part of it with him.



He let his hands fall.

Castiel's essence was brittle, but the shackles weren't there. He could, at any time he wished, flit back to the Gate and dart through to the Other Place; and then, again, he could return to Earth. He let out a disbelieving laugh, and Dean grinned; the glow ceased, transforming his features back to the man Castiel knew, if a little older, more weathered.

"Holy shit, Cas," he said; there was delight in every new line of his face. "This feels incredible."

"What can you do?" Castiel asked, stepping out of his pentacle. Dean did the same, completely unperturbed by Castiel's movement, and something strange clenched up in the djinni's borrowed throat.

If he had had any doubt of Dean's trust, it was long gone. Dean approached him as though he had no fear, and before he could say another word, he found himself wrapped tight in Dean's arms, one of Dean's hands threading through his hair. His essence swarmed closer to Dean's touch, basked in the proximity. It was so intimate that it should have been revolting, but he felt Dean's grin against his cheek and his heart racing too fast against Castiel's chest and it was, instead, brilliance itself-and then, just as soon as Dean had embraced him, he was letting go.

"Don't know," he said, his eyes bright-not with the power humming under his skin, but with some emotion Castiel hardly recognized. He didn't say a thing about the sudden outburst of physical affection; if Castiel's essence hadn't still been clamoring, he would have thought he had imagined it. "Let's go find out, though, huh?"

Numbly, Castiel nodded. Still smiling-a little sheepishly now-Dean led the way out toward the stairs.

He wasn't pure spirit-no, he still had a body, a body that would have to be left behind whenever he journeyed to the Other Place. Castiel wondered if it would continue to decay, or if it was just a shell, one that would go on housing Dean without aging because of the being encased inside it; Jimmy's research hinted at the latter, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He didn't throw off a higher-plane form the way other spirits did, but he did throw off shadows, big things, peculiar shapes and creatures that had no name; they moved in his footsteps as though they were all contained within him.

"Okay," Dean said with a strained face as they jogged up the stairs. "I can't transform the way you can."

"You still have a physical body," Castiel pointed out. "I'm not surprised by that."

"I can still see," he continued. "Like before. But the eighth plan is clearer now."

"Dean," Castiel groaned. "Posturing."

"I'm not!" Dean said indignantly. He didn't appear to be sweating, or even breathing more quickly than usual, but Castiel had felt that heart beat-too frantic for a human. "I'm serious, Cas, I can see it. It's there."

"Congratulations," the djinni returned acidly. "You're a higher rank than me, then."

Dean grinned. "Aww, Cas, don't be jealous. I still can't make myself into a bird and fly away."

"Try a Detonation," Castiel said, ignoring this.

"Like a tutorial for every RPG I've ever played," Dean muttered, and screwed up his face. As they hit the tenth landing, he lifted a hand, his eyes snapped suddenly bright, and a smoking crater erupted in the wall just in front of them, exposing the bedrock on the other side. Dean whooped in delight.

"Awesome," he said smugly. "So, I have a plan."

"So you've said," Castiel returned. The scent of smoking plaster followed them down the next flight of stairs. The explosions were getting closer, now, and jumbled up in them were the screams and moans and jabbering of spirits being assaulted. How long had it been since Dean left that room? Thirty minutes? An hour?

"Yeah, see, the thing is," Dean continued, still not breathing heavily at all, "I've got a guy on the inside. Henriksen. Magician. Started sympathizing with the cause when Dad and Bill were killed. He's been feeding us information ever since. So I know this building better than I should, and I've learned one very important thing about magicians."

"They have horrible fashion sense?" Castiel asked.

Dean snorted. "Besides that. They're paranoid bastards. I don't know how they manage to keep so many of you enslaved-you terrify them. So they're always prepared for something catastrophic to happen, especially in that big summoning chamber. Problem is," and Dean cocked his head to the side, listening, "it sounds like they've moved out of that area, whatever's left, anyway. We've gotta get the big guns back in there, because there's one big awesome send-Dorothy-home button that could solve all our problems. Whatever happened in London scared the shit out of all of them, because they made that thing powerful enough to drain the worst baddies right out of there."

Castiel only vaguely remembered The Wizard of Oz. He hadn't liked it.

"With any luck, not that we're known for that kind of thing," Dean continued, "it'll take the magicians along with them, and shazam, problem solved."

"It can't just be a button," Castiel pointed out.

"No, there's an incantation, there's always an incantation, and technically I think it's actually a switch hooked up to a hell of a lot of electricity, and yes, before you ask, it takes a lot of power, but I think I can handle that now." Dean paused to take a breath. "You need to find and throw the switch, and I'll get my people to help me lead them in. Once they're all in there, I'll say the chant, through to the Other Place they go, and everyone's happy."

"Do you understand the amount of power it will take to hold the rip between our worlds open for that long?" Castiel demanded. "I think you might be overestimating your strength, Dean."

"Maybe," Dean said honestly. "But of the two of us, I've obviously got more juice right now. When you've rested up, we'll have to compare notes, see if we're on more of an even playing field than you think." He grinned, and it was such an outlandish invitation, so absurd and cocky, that Castiel couldn't help but laugh.

Dean threw up a hand. They skidded to a halt, listening. The hallway outside rumbled; there were rogue spirits not ten feet from them.

"You ready?" Dean asked quietly, his eyes glowing suddenly bright again. The shadows multiplied, changed so swiftly that Castiel could hardly make out the individual shapes, and Dean's smirk was both anxious and excited. He was chomping at the bit, more bright and fierce and hopeful than Castiel had ever seen him, and Castiel's borrowed heart swelled up in his chest at the sight.

"Ready," Castiel confirmed, and Dean kicked down the door.

Forward to 18. Stay.