On the Ground: Chapter 8
Title: On the Ground (Chapter 8)
Fandom: Supernatural (Dean, Sam, Castiel, etc.)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.22 (NO Season 5 spoilers)
Word Count: 3,285
Date written: 1 September 2009
Summary: On the ground, conditions are rough, everyone misses home, and they all feel the tides shifting, the approach of a great confrontation. Then Castiel is given a human charge. Nothing has ever been more confusing than Dean Winchester.
Other information: Story is cannon though Season 4. I’ve tried my best, but I still consider myself new to the Supernatural world. Please let me know if something is incorrect or doesn’t fit with cannon. I apologize in advance for mistakes. This was written just for fun, is completely fiction, and the characters and situations belong to Supernatural, the CW, et al. Written in American English. Beta-ed by the lovely moodwriter!
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
--
lovely image from ameraleigh
When Castiel meets Dean again two days later, it’s because Dean has called for him.
“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel asks, almost tired. He likes Dean Winchester, but chasing after him is growing old. It’s not what Castiel was created to do.
“You were right.”
Castiel looks up and straightens slightly.
“Sam knows what he’s doing. But we have to be ready to get him out, before it all goes south.” Dean’s voice is different from their last meeting. Something has changed. His focus is narrowed. He’s concerned. The storm cloud is diverted, held at bay.
“We?” Castiel repeats.
“Please, Cas. I don’t like him this close with Lucifer. It’s the only way we can end this, without Earth being destroyed in the crossfire. But I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to get him out…aren’t we?” Dean asks, uncertainty in his voice. Not uncertainty about his own plans, but uncertainty about Castiel’s. Castiel looks away, thinks, considers how Dean keeps using ‘we.’ He was always such a ‘me’ and ‘I’ person, except where it concerned Sam. Then it was a ‘we.’
Castiel feels like part of the ‘we’ now. He is usually just a ‘you.’ Never a ‘we.’
“It’s the plan,” Castiel says at length.
“Right, the plan. Let’s go over it again,” Dean suggests, shifting. The air seems to shift with him, taking on a sense of purpose.
“We just talked about it with Sam,” Castiel reminds him.
“Again, please,” Dean repeats his request.
Castiel watches him for a moment, and then agrees. The better they know the plan, the less likely they are to forget or take a misstep when it will really count.
“The only information the Angels lack is the location of the demons. And though the demons are mostly certain about where the Angels have their bases and headquarters located, they prefer to take their time on the Earth, having their fun until they either are forced to respond to an attack, or finally feel the time is right to cease waiting for an offensive move from the enemy. We’re going to use this to our advantage.”
Dean nods, encouraging Castiel to continue.
“First, you’ll be captured by the Angels when you attempt to summon one to ask him for help locating your brother.”
“And why would they help me?” Dean asks, as if clarifying the likelihood of the approach to actually work as they think it will.
“They wouldn’t, which is why they’ll use you to get to me, believing that I’ll rescue you and also reveal the demons’ whereabouts,” Castiel explains.
“Okay, and while they’re beating me to a bloody pulp, what happens?” Dean shifts in his chair, leaning back.
“They’ll have you heavily guarded, so I alone won’t be able to free you, and I’ll have to go to the demons and offer to tell them the Angels’ plans if they’ll help me get you out.”
“Which they won’t,” Dean supplies.
“Of course not. So we’ll tell them each to find the enemy in the large field outside Lawrence, Kansas, just on the other side of the old railroad tracks, each planning to ambush the other.”
“A fitting ending, where it all began,” Dean responds wryly, a hint of bitterness lacing his words.
“Convenient, mostly, since Bobby still knows a remaining friend of your father’s willing to help. Sam will lead the demons to the exact location and ensure that they don’t grow suspicious. He has played his part well, keeping the demons occupied and away from us.”
Dean looks slightly uncomfortable at the thought but they all knew it was the only chance they had at survival. Lucifer would either recruit Sam or kill him. Dean shifts in his chair and continues on with his detailing of the plan.
“Right, so the Angels, demons, you, me, Sam, and Bobby all show up on the field and battle it out,” Dean summarizes darkly. “A bloody end, my friend.”
“Bobby’s friend will have completed his crop circles by then, which will be fashioned in the design of a large devil’s trap. His sons will be manning crop dusters which will pour down holy water while the electronic equipment you’ve secured can be used to conduct a mass exorcism and send the demons back to Hell, where they belong.”
It sounds good. Too good to be true. Dean shakes his head, perhaps thinking the same thing. “Too bad we can’t kill them all,” he says.
“There will be too many. And exorcising allows a chance for the human vessels to survive, something you pointed out originally.” Castiel looks at Dean, and their eyes meet just before Dean nods and looks away. There is no point saving the human world if the humans are slaughtered in the battle.
“What about the Angels?” Dean asks. “We never found a way to defeat them. Only another Angel can kill them.”
“End them…” Castiel corrects distractedly, “But I suppose it’s the same to you. As for the Angels - we fight. There are some powers we can invoke to punish the wayward Angel. However it is possible that it would also work against me.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Castiel thinks maybe they are both considering the same thing - Castiel’s rebellious actions and where they have landed him.
“You’re only one Angel, Cas,” Dean says. Castiel knows he is referring to Castiel fighting all the Angels himself, alone.
“I’ve spoken with Anna. It’s possible others will come,” Castiel replies. Without them, indeed, he is only one Angel against a whole host.
“Possible?!” Dean exclaims, leaning forward.
“Have faith, Dean,” Castiel says calmly.
“That’s easy for you to say-!”
“It is not,” Castiel interrupts adamantly, “easy for me to say.” His gaze is hard and Dean looks away, studying the edge of the window across the room. It is a few moments before either of them speaks again.
“And Lucifer?” Dean asks quietly.
Castiel swallows with uncertainty. There are so many flaws in the plan, it’s unlikely that any of it will work, and yet they have to believe it will because there is no other choice. No better plan. Bring them all together and battle it out to the death.
“There is nothing to be done about Lucifer,” Castiel almost whispers.
Dean looks disconcerted.
“I, and any other Angels who may come with Anna, will together beseech the Father. There is nothing else we can do to defeat Lucifer. We can only protect you from him.” Castiel’s voice fades and he finds Dean looking at him, his gaze searching.
“I thought you told me once that I was the only one who could end this. That I had to stop Lucifer and the Apocalypse.” Dean voice belies no hint of fear. He has accepted the fate that befell him, where once he denied it. Castiel looks at him for a moment, head titled, attempting to peer into his thoughts.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Dean prompts him for a response.
“Yes.”
Dean nods. “I did some research while you were off making all your big plans,” he says.
Castiel looks up at him, surprised.
“There’s an ancient text that was once kept on the scrolls stored in the holiest places of the temples in Biblical times. It’s a lot like the exorcisms we use on demons, but I think it was originally created specifically for the devil himself, the prime enemy of God.”
“You think?” Castiel frowns, gaze locked on Dean, soaking up every word.
“I could only find two sources for it, and one partial translation. Neither Bobby nor Sam know anything about it, but they can’t really do research from where they’re sitting.” Dean pauses, a wrinkle in his brow as he considers Castiel. “You don’t know anything about this?”
“I…There were rumors. Long ago, we heard rumors. But we never thought… It’s never been done.” He can’t stop looking at Dean, clinging to this new hope. He has known about Dean’s cleverness ever since he was a child, but there had always been Sam behind him to be clever in his place.
“It’s probably for good reason. Lucifer has never risen before. And no one would want to use it if they didn’t have to,” Dean supplies.
“Why not?”
“The ancients believed using it could require so much strength from the person attempting it, that it might deplete their life force.” Dean pauses. “Kill them.”
Castiel blinks and looks away. He doesn’t want it to be true. He knows that, short of God himself, Dean is the only one who could end it. Dean has an answer to the problem, but the ironic justice that it would take Dean’s life to end Lucifer’s… It isn’t…
“Those were just their beliefs. There’s no way to know if it will…” Castiel’s voice trails off as he turns back to Dean.
“Well, I hope at least the incantation part is right.” Dean shrugs. After a moment he looks away and lets out an abrupt, amused breath. Castiel watches as Dean stands, hands in his pockets, and paces across the room. Castiel waits for him to speak but he does not.
He just walks back and forth, looking down at his boots.
“What are you thinking?” Castiel asks.
Dean keeps walking, his steps slowing after two full paces across the opposite end of the room. He stops and turns to gaze at the window, out into his world. “It feels like a suicide mission.”
Castiel looks away from Dean and down at his own hands. He feels disappointment. A loss of favor. He did his best, but his best might not be good enough. It might be the end, after all. The end of everything. If that happens, he doesn’t know where he will find himself, but it will surely be in separation from these humans he is fighting so hard for. He will lose them. He will lose everything.
When Castiel raises his gaze, he realizes Dean has approached him. He stands before Castiel, hands in his pockets and expectant look on his face, as if he has just called Castiel’s name. Their eyes meet and Dean speaks. “Thanks, Cas.” His voice is low and serious. “Thanks for everything.”
Castiel looks at him for a long time and Dean doesn’t look away. His eyes are strong and unwavering, as if they could punctuate his meaning. The silence in the room grows louder and Castiel feels the beginnings of an atmospheric change. He lowers his eyebrows in confusion and suddenly the charge in the air dissipates as Dean turns away from him and walks heavily toward the bathroom instead. The door closes behind him and Castiel sits for a moment in his consternation before departing. He must ensure that Bobby’s friend is ready too. The plan depends on many factors, and just one thing wrong could destroy it all.
If they even stand a chance, anyway.
..:..
That night, Castiel finds Dean missing from his hotel room again. It is frustrating that the man can’t stay put, or stay safe, but then again, if it is his last few days on earth, it’s better to make them worthwhile. Castiel hopes this isn’t the case, but he wants to be realistic - whatever that means here on the ground.
Dean is at a local bar and grill restaurant, sitting alone at the bar while tables full of friends and families chatter on around him. His eyes wander from table to table, taking in the people’s expressions. Castiel’s eyes follow his. It’s as if he is cataloguing the human experience - the emotions, expressions, interactions that come with humanity. Castiel doesn’t understand them all, but he likes it when they smile, or cause others to smile. Their laughter is like music, and yet none of them know the world may end in just a few days. It is better that way.
Ignorance is bliss, they say. But he wonders what they would do with their final days if they knew.
Dean takes a long drink from his glass, and his other hand rests on his chest, fingering a small bronze figure on the leather string around his neck. It’s been there for years, and his finger traces its edges as his thoughts move to whatever meaning is attached to the charm. He is lost for a few moments before he moves his hand to his knee and gazes across the room again.
Castiel watches him but doesn’t interrupt. He needs his time, needs to be alone, doesn’t need to know that Castiel is always there, regardless. It is hard to envision the coming battle. Castiel wants to think about their victory, about a peaceful Earth again. But he can’t envision what will become of the Angels or of Lucifer. And he knows, in the end, that this will only postpone the inevitable - for a decade or a century. It seems worth it, though. Unfortunately, it is all too easy to envision loss, defeat, death, the End. In that case, no matter what, he can no longer follow Dean, nor Dean him.
He doesn’t want to watch Dean die. He can’t. Not again.
A woman approaches Dean at the bar and slowly Castiel’s eyes refocus and follow her. She sits in the seat next to Dean’s and orders a drink. She smiles at Dean, who nods and takes a drink from his glass. Castiel moves closer to listen in.
“Say, do I know you? You look familiar,” she says with a smile.
Dean returns the smile politely. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Really? I could swear we’ve met before. Are you from around here?”
“No, just passing through,” Dean drawls.
“Oh, the good ones always are.” She winks and Dean acknowledges it with amusement. Her drink arrives - something blue with a pineapple and a pink umbrella for decoration on the top. She sips and licks her lips. Dean looks away.
“Got any plans for tonight?” she asks, turning toward him in her chair.
“Just a drink and some sleep, “ Dean replies, “I’m afraid I’m not up for anything else. You understand.”
“So I do. Catch you around, tough guy,” she flirts, taking her drink and heading off to the other side of the bar, the other end of the room.
It’s an hour later when Dean finally pays his tab. He has a hard time choosing the right card, and smirks drunkenly at his own stupidity. The bartender rolls his eyes and hands the card back. Dean heads for the door and Castiel is ready to depart to the parking lot when he sees the woman from before appear in the doorway of the bar. Castiel’s feathers flare in alarm.
“You sure you don’t recognize me, honey?” she purrs into Dean’s ear.
He smirks. “I know I’m irresistible, but we’ll have to get a rain-check,” he says.
“It’s a shame,” she replies, growing serious, “that you forgot so easily.” She bats her eyes at him and suddenly they are black. Castiel realizes his mistake, having not noticed the demon’s presence sooner. Dean looks more sober than he did just a moment before. He reaches around to the back of his jeans and the demon taunts, “What are you going to do? Shoot me?” She laughs; Dean scowls and immediately throws a hard right hook. The girl’s lip is bloody and she glares at him while an uproar occurs among the patrons near the door. An evil glint flashes in her dark eyes as she grabs Dean, steps outside and slams the door shut, sealing it against the people inside attempting to come to the aide of the poor, defenseless woman.
Castiel, however, has no trouble as an Angel in getting out to the parking lot, where he finds Dean splashing the demon with a flask of holy water. She screams and throws him against the wall of the bar. He tries to begin the exorcism discourse, having finally memorized it, but the demon isn’t trapped and has too easy of a time prohibiting his progress. Castiel appears and throws the demon away from Dean, breaking her hold on him. The lights flicker in the parking lot and Castiel looks around.
“We thought you might be here,” a voice rings out. It is followed by the appearance of two Angels Castiel isn’t familiar with. “Trailing along like a dog after its master,” one Angel taunts.
The demon goes for Dean again and he splashes her with more holy water as the Angels approach from the other side. Castiel steps backward and finds himself back to back with Dean, fighting an unlikely team of opponents.
“I’ll keep her contained, you exorcise her!” Castiel says over his shoulder.
“What about the Angels?”
“We fight!”
Castiel, with one hand, attempts to keep the demon from fleeing or using her power over Dean as he recites the exorcism. The Angels interrupt their advances by throwing punches and launching Castiel headlong into the air, where he lands with a hard crash several feet away. He catches his breath and sees the demon choking Dean in the distance. Castiel jerks his hand in her direction and forces her back. Dean continues the Latin where he left off. She screams in pain. The Angels reach Castiel again and begin to kick. One starts a chant of his own that, if completed, would banish Castiel. He halts abruptly in his speech to turn and reach over his shoulder and extract a knife. He pivots and glares at Dean, stalking off in his direction. Dean finishes the last phrase of the Latin exorcism seconds before the Angel reaches him. The demon’s vessel expels her and the black smoke is lost overhead as Castiel feels a hard blow to his face. He stagers away and tries to clear his vision, catching Dean wrestling with the other Angel several feet away. Castiel barely ducks the next swing and spins, throwing a punch into the back of his opponent’s midsection.
“You’re a fool and a traitor, Castiel!” the Angel says. But Castiel has heard it before. It won’t change his mind. It’s too late anyway. “We’ll destroy you all!”
Castiel uses all his might to shove the Angel back. He trips over a concrete parking space marker and stumbles back into the car in the next spot, falling through the windshield. Castiel spins quickly and dashes over to Dean, who has his Angel pinned to the wall of the bar by the front end of someone’s hot-wired truck. The door to the bar now hangs open as a crowd of people stand at the door watching with wide eyes. Castiel grabs Dean by the arm of his jacket and tugs hard, jerking him toward the impala.
“Come on, let’s go!” Castiel demands. Dean obeys and they drive for hours, headlights off on the country highways. They must find a new place for Dean for only a couple more nights. Beyond that, Castiel doesn’t think either of them has thought of anything more.
..:..
Dean is squatting again. Castiel thinks it’s a funny practice and a funny term, but it does at least keep him safe sometimes. Only two nights remain until the plan begins, and they’ve gotten themselves injured again in the recent battle at the bar and grill. Fortunately, the injuries are not too formidable. It won’t matter much, soon, because the battles they will fight are sure to wound them.
“Cas,” Dean calls out. He can’t see him, but he must believe Castiel to be there anyway. He lets himself appear on the opposite side of the room from where Dean sits at the table, a bloody rag set to his lip.
“We’re not going to survive this, are we?” Dean asks. Castiel looks down and blinks at the wooden floorboards. “It’s okay though,” Dean continues. “It’s not such a bad way to go.” He shrugs, a half-smile on his features. “Better than a hellhound, anyway.” He looks up, that partial smile still there, accompanied by a genuineness and something akin to vulnerability. Castiel hasn’t seen it often before, and usually only at rare moments in Sam’s presence.
“So we all go out together. Fighting,” Castiel suggests.
“Can’t think of a better way, myself,” Dean says, an ironic grin growing. He swallows afterward, then takes the rag from his lip. He looks at the new bloody spot, then folds the cloth and replaces it where fresh blood has already formed again.
“You’ve got a black eye,” Dean says.
“It’ll heal.”
“You should take care of that body.”
“It restores itself,” Castiel responds.
Dean nods distractedly, his gaze catching an old TV in the joining room. It has an antennae and ancient dials on the front of it. “Want to watch the game?” Dean asks.
Castiel doesn’t know anything about football, but he doesn’t mind learning about it as they sit on the old floral-printed, moldy couch, Dean’s voice dropping in and out with explanations of the game’s rules and customs. It’s all foreign to Castiel, but sitting with Dean is not. Dean is engrossed in the game while Castiel lets his vessel rest. His thoughts, on the other hand, are restless.
Their days are numbered, and while Dean appears ready to accept it peaceably, Castiel is not sure he can say the same for himself. He should be able to, and that is the problem entirely. He doesn’t feel at peace with the idea of losing the coming battle. He feels as though he stands more to lose than ever before, yet he should have nothing to lose - no rank with the Angels, no garrison, no favor and no orders.
He doesn’t know if it is wise to really entertain the thought of victory when the odds are so stacked against them. Thinking on victory will inspire hope, and while hope is a kind of blanket he is, at least, familiar with, it is now also a double-edged sword. Now, on the ground, on his own, his experience of hope has changed. Its intensity is greater, and felt much closer to the heart of himself. Its colors are vivid and bright; its loss is likewise that much darker and agonizing. He is not sure if the pain is more tolerable with a lack of hope or a loss of hope.
Castiel blinks, clearing the questions away, and gazes over at Dean, who is still fixed on the sports game on TV. One last vestige of normalcy.
Castiel turns his gaze away.
He feels fear.
Next: Chapter 9
Author's Note: If you comment (please do, I'd love to hear your thoughts!), please DO NOT POST ANY SPOILER-Y CONTENT WHATSOEVER FOR SEASON 5!!! I will be traveling a lot and watching the episodes on a delayed timing, and I don't want anything ruined, hinted at, or given away; not anything at all. Also, I've listed --No Spoilers for Season 5-- for the story, so it would be terrible if a reader was trying to avoid spoilers, thought the story was safe, and then accidentally read something in the comments. So, I hope you understand. Thanks.
Lovely music video for On the Ground created by ameraleigh:
Fandom: Supernatural (Dean, Sam, Castiel, etc.)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 4.22 (NO Season 5 spoilers)
Word Count: 3,285
Date written: 1 September 2009
Summary: On the ground, conditions are rough, everyone misses home, and they all feel the tides shifting, the approach of a great confrontation. Then Castiel is given a human charge. Nothing has ever been more confusing than Dean Winchester.
Other information: Story is cannon though Season 4. I’ve tried my best, but I still consider myself new to the Supernatural world. Please let me know if something is incorrect or doesn’t fit with cannon. I apologize in advance for mistakes. This was written just for fun, is completely fiction, and the characters and situations belong to Supernatural, the CW, et al. Written in American English. Beta-ed by the lovely moodwriter!
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |
--
lovely image from ameraleigh
When Castiel meets Dean again two days later, it’s because Dean has called for him.
“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel asks, almost tired. He likes Dean Winchester, but chasing after him is growing old. It’s not what Castiel was created to do.
“You were right.”
Castiel looks up and straightens slightly.
“Sam knows what he’s doing. But we have to be ready to get him out, before it all goes south.” Dean’s voice is different from their last meeting. Something has changed. His focus is narrowed. He’s concerned. The storm cloud is diverted, held at bay.
“We?” Castiel repeats.
“Please, Cas. I don’t like him this close with Lucifer. It’s the only way we can end this, without Earth being destroyed in the crossfire. But I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to get him out…aren’t we?” Dean asks, uncertainty in his voice. Not uncertainty about his own plans, but uncertainty about Castiel’s. Castiel looks away, thinks, considers how Dean keeps using ‘we.’ He was always such a ‘me’ and ‘I’ person, except where it concerned Sam. Then it was a ‘we.’
Castiel feels like part of the ‘we’ now. He is usually just a ‘you.’ Never a ‘we.’
“It’s the plan,” Castiel says at length.
“Right, the plan. Let’s go over it again,” Dean suggests, shifting. The air seems to shift with him, taking on a sense of purpose.
“We just talked about it with Sam,” Castiel reminds him.
“Again, please,” Dean repeats his request.
Castiel watches him for a moment, and then agrees. The better they know the plan, the less likely they are to forget or take a misstep when it will really count.
“The only information the Angels lack is the location of the demons. And though the demons are mostly certain about where the Angels have their bases and headquarters located, they prefer to take their time on the Earth, having their fun until they either are forced to respond to an attack, or finally feel the time is right to cease waiting for an offensive move from the enemy. We’re going to use this to our advantage.”
Dean nods, encouraging Castiel to continue.
“First, you’ll be captured by the Angels when you attempt to summon one to ask him for help locating your brother.”
“And why would they help me?” Dean asks, as if clarifying the likelihood of the approach to actually work as they think it will.
“They wouldn’t, which is why they’ll use you to get to me, believing that I’ll rescue you and also reveal the demons’ whereabouts,” Castiel explains.
“Okay, and while they’re beating me to a bloody pulp, what happens?” Dean shifts in his chair, leaning back.
“They’ll have you heavily guarded, so I alone won’t be able to free you, and I’ll have to go to the demons and offer to tell them the Angels’ plans if they’ll help me get you out.”
“Which they won’t,” Dean supplies.
“Of course not. So we’ll tell them each to find the enemy in the large field outside Lawrence, Kansas, just on the other side of the old railroad tracks, each planning to ambush the other.”
“A fitting ending, where it all began,” Dean responds wryly, a hint of bitterness lacing his words.
“Convenient, mostly, since Bobby still knows a remaining friend of your father’s willing to help. Sam will lead the demons to the exact location and ensure that they don’t grow suspicious. He has played his part well, keeping the demons occupied and away from us.”
Dean looks slightly uncomfortable at the thought but they all knew it was the only chance they had at survival. Lucifer would either recruit Sam or kill him. Dean shifts in his chair and continues on with his detailing of the plan.
“Right, so the Angels, demons, you, me, Sam, and Bobby all show up on the field and battle it out,” Dean summarizes darkly. “A bloody end, my friend.”
“Bobby’s friend will have completed his crop circles by then, which will be fashioned in the design of a large devil’s trap. His sons will be manning crop dusters which will pour down holy water while the electronic equipment you’ve secured can be used to conduct a mass exorcism and send the demons back to Hell, where they belong.”
It sounds good. Too good to be true. Dean shakes his head, perhaps thinking the same thing. “Too bad we can’t kill them all,” he says.
“There will be too many. And exorcising allows a chance for the human vessels to survive, something you pointed out originally.” Castiel looks at Dean, and their eyes meet just before Dean nods and looks away. There is no point saving the human world if the humans are slaughtered in the battle.
“What about the Angels?” Dean asks. “We never found a way to defeat them. Only another Angel can kill them.”
“End them…” Castiel corrects distractedly, “But I suppose it’s the same to you. As for the Angels - we fight. There are some powers we can invoke to punish the wayward Angel. However it is possible that it would also work against me.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Castiel thinks maybe they are both considering the same thing - Castiel’s rebellious actions and where they have landed him.
“You’re only one Angel, Cas,” Dean says. Castiel knows he is referring to Castiel fighting all the Angels himself, alone.
“I’ve spoken with Anna. It’s possible others will come,” Castiel replies. Without them, indeed, he is only one Angel against a whole host.
“Possible?!” Dean exclaims, leaning forward.
“Have faith, Dean,” Castiel says calmly.
“That’s easy for you to say-!”
“It is not,” Castiel interrupts adamantly, “easy for me to say.” His gaze is hard and Dean looks away, studying the edge of the window across the room. It is a few moments before either of them speaks again.
“And Lucifer?” Dean asks quietly.
Castiel swallows with uncertainty. There are so many flaws in the plan, it’s unlikely that any of it will work, and yet they have to believe it will because there is no other choice. No better plan. Bring them all together and battle it out to the death.
“There is nothing to be done about Lucifer,” Castiel almost whispers.
Dean looks disconcerted.
“I, and any other Angels who may come with Anna, will together beseech the Father. There is nothing else we can do to defeat Lucifer. We can only protect you from him.” Castiel’s voice fades and he finds Dean looking at him, his gaze searching.
“I thought you told me once that I was the only one who could end this. That I had to stop Lucifer and the Apocalypse.” Dean voice belies no hint of fear. He has accepted the fate that befell him, where once he denied it. Castiel looks at him for a moment, head titled, attempting to peer into his thoughts.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Dean prompts him for a response.
“Yes.”
Dean nods. “I did some research while you were off making all your big plans,” he says.
Castiel looks up at him, surprised.
“There’s an ancient text that was once kept on the scrolls stored in the holiest places of the temples in Biblical times. It’s a lot like the exorcisms we use on demons, but I think it was originally created specifically for the devil himself, the prime enemy of God.”
“You think?” Castiel frowns, gaze locked on Dean, soaking up every word.
“I could only find two sources for it, and one partial translation. Neither Bobby nor Sam know anything about it, but they can’t really do research from where they’re sitting.” Dean pauses, a wrinkle in his brow as he considers Castiel. “You don’t know anything about this?”
“I…There were rumors. Long ago, we heard rumors. But we never thought… It’s never been done.” He can’t stop looking at Dean, clinging to this new hope. He has known about Dean’s cleverness ever since he was a child, but there had always been Sam behind him to be clever in his place.
“It’s probably for good reason. Lucifer has never risen before. And no one would want to use it if they didn’t have to,” Dean supplies.
“Why not?”
“The ancients believed using it could require so much strength from the person attempting it, that it might deplete their life force.” Dean pauses. “Kill them.”
Castiel blinks and looks away. He doesn’t want it to be true. He knows that, short of God himself, Dean is the only one who could end it. Dean has an answer to the problem, but the ironic justice that it would take Dean’s life to end Lucifer’s… It isn’t…
“Those were just their beliefs. There’s no way to know if it will…” Castiel’s voice trails off as he turns back to Dean.
“Well, I hope at least the incantation part is right.” Dean shrugs. After a moment he looks away and lets out an abrupt, amused breath. Castiel watches as Dean stands, hands in his pockets, and paces across the room. Castiel waits for him to speak but he does not.
He just walks back and forth, looking down at his boots.
“What are you thinking?” Castiel asks.
Dean keeps walking, his steps slowing after two full paces across the opposite end of the room. He stops and turns to gaze at the window, out into his world. “It feels like a suicide mission.”
Castiel looks away from Dean and down at his own hands. He feels disappointment. A loss of favor. He did his best, but his best might not be good enough. It might be the end, after all. The end of everything. If that happens, he doesn’t know where he will find himself, but it will surely be in separation from these humans he is fighting so hard for. He will lose them. He will lose everything.
When Castiel raises his gaze, he realizes Dean has approached him. He stands before Castiel, hands in his pockets and expectant look on his face, as if he has just called Castiel’s name. Their eyes meet and Dean speaks. “Thanks, Cas.” His voice is low and serious. “Thanks for everything.”
Castiel looks at him for a long time and Dean doesn’t look away. His eyes are strong and unwavering, as if they could punctuate his meaning. The silence in the room grows louder and Castiel feels the beginnings of an atmospheric change. He lowers his eyebrows in confusion and suddenly the charge in the air dissipates as Dean turns away from him and walks heavily toward the bathroom instead. The door closes behind him and Castiel sits for a moment in his consternation before departing. He must ensure that Bobby’s friend is ready too. The plan depends on many factors, and just one thing wrong could destroy it all.
If they even stand a chance, anyway.
..:..
That night, Castiel finds Dean missing from his hotel room again. It is frustrating that the man can’t stay put, or stay safe, but then again, if it is his last few days on earth, it’s better to make them worthwhile. Castiel hopes this isn’t the case, but he wants to be realistic - whatever that means here on the ground.
Dean is at a local bar and grill restaurant, sitting alone at the bar while tables full of friends and families chatter on around him. His eyes wander from table to table, taking in the people’s expressions. Castiel’s eyes follow his. It’s as if he is cataloguing the human experience - the emotions, expressions, interactions that come with humanity. Castiel doesn’t understand them all, but he likes it when they smile, or cause others to smile. Their laughter is like music, and yet none of them know the world may end in just a few days. It is better that way.
Ignorance is bliss, they say. But he wonders what they would do with their final days if they knew.
Dean takes a long drink from his glass, and his other hand rests on his chest, fingering a small bronze figure on the leather string around his neck. It’s been there for years, and his finger traces its edges as his thoughts move to whatever meaning is attached to the charm. He is lost for a few moments before he moves his hand to his knee and gazes across the room again.
Castiel watches him but doesn’t interrupt. He needs his time, needs to be alone, doesn’t need to know that Castiel is always there, regardless. It is hard to envision the coming battle. Castiel wants to think about their victory, about a peaceful Earth again. But he can’t envision what will become of the Angels or of Lucifer. And he knows, in the end, that this will only postpone the inevitable - for a decade or a century. It seems worth it, though. Unfortunately, it is all too easy to envision loss, defeat, death, the End. In that case, no matter what, he can no longer follow Dean, nor Dean him.
He doesn’t want to watch Dean die. He can’t. Not again.
A woman approaches Dean at the bar and slowly Castiel’s eyes refocus and follow her. She sits in the seat next to Dean’s and orders a drink. She smiles at Dean, who nods and takes a drink from his glass. Castiel moves closer to listen in.
“Say, do I know you? You look familiar,” she says with a smile.
Dean returns the smile politely. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Really? I could swear we’ve met before. Are you from around here?”
“No, just passing through,” Dean drawls.
“Oh, the good ones always are.” She winks and Dean acknowledges it with amusement. Her drink arrives - something blue with a pineapple and a pink umbrella for decoration on the top. She sips and licks her lips. Dean looks away.
“Got any plans for tonight?” she asks, turning toward him in her chair.
“Just a drink and some sleep, “ Dean replies, “I’m afraid I’m not up for anything else. You understand.”
“So I do. Catch you around, tough guy,” she flirts, taking her drink and heading off to the other side of the bar, the other end of the room.
It’s an hour later when Dean finally pays his tab. He has a hard time choosing the right card, and smirks drunkenly at his own stupidity. The bartender rolls his eyes and hands the card back. Dean heads for the door and Castiel is ready to depart to the parking lot when he sees the woman from before appear in the doorway of the bar. Castiel’s feathers flare in alarm.
“You sure you don’t recognize me, honey?” she purrs into Dean’s ear.
He smirks. “I know I’m irresistible, but we’ll have to get a rain-check,” he says.
“It’s a shame,” she replies, growing serious, “that you forgot so easily.” She bats her eyes at him and suddenly they are black. Castiel realizes his mistake, having not noticed the demon’s presence sooner. Dean looks more sober than he did just a moment before. He reaches around to the back of his jeans and the demon taunts, “What are you going to do? Shoot me?” She laughs; Dean scowls and immediately throws a hard right hook. The girl’s lip is bloody and she glares at him while an uproar occurs among the patrons near the door. An evil glint flashes in her dark eyes as she grabs Dean, steps outside and slams the door shut, sealing it against the people inside attempting to come to the aide of the poor, defenseless woman.
Castiel, however, has no trouble as an Angel in getting out to the parking lot, where he finds Dean splashing the demon with a flask of holy water. She screams and throws him against the wall of the bar. He tries to begin the exorcism discourse, having finally memorized it, but the demon isn’t trapped and has too easy of a time prohibiting his progress. Castiel appears and throws the demon away from Dean, breaking her hold on him. The lights flicker in the parking lot and Castiel looks around.
“We thought you might be here,” a voice rings out. It is followed by the appearance of two Angels Castiel isn’t familiar with. “Trailing along like a dog after its master,” one Angel taunts.
The demon goes for Dean again and he splashes her with more holy water as the Angels approach from the other side. Castiel steps backward and finds himself back to back with Dean, fighting an unlikely team of opponents.
“I’ll keep her contained, you exorcise her!” Castiel says over his shoulder.
“What about the Angels?”
“We fight!”
Castiel, with one hand, attempts to keep the demon from fleeing or using her power over Dean as he recites the exorcism. The Angels interrupt their advances by throwing punches and launching Castiel headlong into the air, where he lands with a hard crash several feet away. He catches his breath and sees the demon choking Dean in the distance. Castiel jerks his hand in her direction and forces her back. Dean continues the Latin where he left off. She screams in pain. The Angels reach Castiel again and begin to kick. One starts a chant of his own that, if completed, would banish Castiel. He halts abruptly in his speech to turn and reach over his shoulder and extract a knife. He pivots and glares at Dean, stalking off in his direction. Dean finishes the last phrase of the Latin exorcism seconds before the Angel reaches him. The demon’s vessel expels her and the black smoke is lost overhead as Castiel feels a hard blow to his face. He stagers away and tries to clear his vision, catching Dean wrestling with the other Angel several feet away. Castiel barely ducks the next swing and spins, throwing a punch into the back of his opponent’s midsection.
“You’re a fool and a traitor, Castiel!” the Angel says. But Castiel has heard it before. It won’t change his mind. It’s too late anyway. “We’ll destroy you all!”
Castiel uses all his might to shove the Angel back. He trips over a concrete parking space marker and stumbles back into the car in the next spot, falling through the windshield. Castiel spins quickly and dashes over to Dean, who has his Angel pinned to the wall of the bar by the front end of someone’s hot-wired truck. The door to the bar now hangs open as a crowd of people stand at the door watching with wide eyes. Castiel grabs Dean by the arm of his jacket and tugs hard, jerking him toward the impala.
“Come on, let’s go!” Castiel demands. Dean obeys and they drive for hours, headlights off on the country highways. They must find a new place for Dean for only a couple more nights. Beyond that, Castiel doesn’t think either of them has thought of anything more.
..:..
Dean is squatting again. Castiel thinks it’s a funny practice and a funny term, but it does at least keep him safe sometimes. Only two nights remain until the plan begins, and they’ve gotten themselves injured again in the recent battle at the bar and grill. Fortunately, the injuries are not too formidable. It won’t matter much, soon, because the battles they will fight are sure to wound them.
“Cas,” Dean calls out. He can’t see him, but he must believe Castiel to be there anyway. He lets himself appear on the opposite side of the room from where Dean sits at the table, a bloody rag set to his lip.
“We’re not going to survive this, are we?” Dean asks. Castiel looks down and blinks at the wooden floorboards. “It’s okay though,” Dean continues. “It’s not such a bad way to go.” He shrugs, a half-smile on his features. “Better than a hellhound, anyway.” He looks up, that partial smile still there, accompanied by a genuineness and something akin to vulnerability. Castiel hasn’t seen it often before, and usually only at rare moments in Sam’s presence.
“So we all go out together. Fighting,” Castiel suggests.
“Can’t think of a better way, myself,” Dean says, an ironic grin growing. He swallows afterward, then takes the rag from his lip. He looks at the new bloody spot, then folds the cloth and replaces it where fresh blood has already formed again.
“You’ve got a black eye,” Dean says.
“It’ll heal.”
“You should take care of that body.”
“It restores itself,” Castiel responds.
Dean nods distractedly, his gaze catching an old TV in the joining room. It has an antennae and ancient dials on the front of it. “Want to watch the game?” Dean asks.
Castiel doesn’t know anything about football, but he doesn’t mind learning about it as they sit on the old floral-printed, moldy couch, Dean’s voice dropping in and out with explanations of the game’s rules and customs. It’s all foreign to Castiel, but sitting with Dean is not. Dean is engrossed in the game while Castiel lets his vessel rest. His thoughts, on the other hand, are restless.
Their days are numbered, and while Dean appears ready to accept it peaceably, Castiel is not sure he can say the same for himself. He should be able to, and that is the problem entirely. He doesn’t feel at peace with the idea of losing the coming battle. He feels as though he stands more to lose than ever before, yet he should have nothing to lose - no rank with the Angels, no garrison, no favor and no orders.
He doesn’t know if it is wise to really entertain the thought of victory when the odds are so stacked against them. Thinking on victory will inspire hope, and while hope is a kind of blanket he is, at least, familiar with, it is now also a double-edged sword. Now, on the ground, on his own, his experience of hope has changed. Its intensity is greater, and felt much closer to the heart of himself. Its colors are vivid and bright; its loss is likewise that much darker and agonizing. He is not sure if the pain is more tolerable with a lack of hope or a loss of hope.
Castiel blinks, clearing the questions away, and gazes over at Dean, who is still fixed on the sports game on TV. One last vestige of normalcy.
Castiel turns his gaze away.
He feels fear.
Next: Chapter 9
Author's Note: If you comment (please do, I'd love to hear your thoughts!), please DO NOT POST ANY SPOILER-Y CONTENT WHATSOEVER FOR SEASON 5!!! I will be traveling a lot and watching the episodes on a delayed timing, and I don't want anything ruined, hinted at, or given away; not anything at all. Also, I've listed --No Spoilers for Season 5-- for the story, so it would be terrible if a reader was trying to avoid spoilers, thought the story was safe, and then accidentally read something in the comments. So, I hope you understand. Thanks.
Lovely music video for On the Ground created by ameraleigh:
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