((Supernatural Wincestiel Big Bang)) Something Worth Protecting (Part III)

[winnywriter]

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Dean had no dreams; one minute Castiel's cold fingers were pressed between his eyes, the next he was blinking the sun away. He was comfortable, pressed up against something warm and firm. Still half-asleep, his instincts led him to nuzzle closer to the source of heat, but something tickled his nose, and he looked up.

His brother's face was mere inches from his, Sam's hair brushing against his cheek.

“Ugh!” With a cry he sat up, so quickly that his head swam, and Sam jerked awake beside him. The memories of the previous night came flooding back, and he pressed his palms over his eyes. “Ah...son of a bitch...”

“He's gone...” Sam mused, surprised evident in his voice.

“It's morning, Sam. He knocked us out or something.” They were both silent for a moment, contemplating the potential enormity of what had happened to them.

Sam let out a breath. “An angel...”

“If you really want to believe that crap,” Dean mumbled.

“It seemed pretty obvious, Dean. I mean, he wasn't a demon. The knife would have at least had an effect on him. He even gave it back to me, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember...”

“What did he do to you, anyway?” Sam hazarded after a moment's pause. He glanced down at Dean's shoulder. “He didn't...he didn't bring back those memories...you know, of Hell...”

“Nah,” Dean half-lied. “Showed me some weirdo vision. Some bright light or something...I don't even remember much of it anymore.” Well, that was actually mostly true. He remembered clearly how it had made him feel -  how it had somehow turned a switch in his mind that made him think that maybe what this guy was saying was more true than Dean had originally thought - but the vision itself that Castiel  (if that was his real name) had somehow shared with him was foggy. One thing was certain, though: no matter whether or not he could actually recall what he'd seen, he was growing more and more dreadfully certain that Castiel really had been the one to pull him out of Hell.

Maybe it would take an angel to do that, but why would the angels waste their time with someone like him?

“Probably even more important that we talk to Missouri now...” Sam mused. “I mean, I don't know about you, but even if this Castiel answered some questions, he left us with a whole lot more.”

Dean waited a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed while he mulled it over. The mark on his shoulder still tingled, reminiscent of the contact, of the energy that had coursed through him when Castiel had touched him. It made him shiver even now.

He didn't very much want to remember these visions. The door between him and his memories of Hell was weakening even now, and recalling them would likely only expedite the process. And if that door broke down...well, he didn't much want to think about it.

Castiel had done them one favor though; the night of dreamless sleep had recharged him considerably, and he stood up with renewed vigor.

“I'm still driving,” he said.

-

“Can't believe we drove twelve hours to visit a damn psychic,” Dean griped as he and Sam waited on the porch of Missouri's home in Lawrence. The September air was still warm, but hints of autumn were starting to nip at the heels of the summer's heat.  “Can't believe we actually came back to friggin' Lawrence.”

“Would you quit complaining? After what happened last night, we could use some answers. And hey, Missouri's helped us out before, hasn't she?”

“Yeah, years ago, maybe. Finding spirits in our old house. What makes you think she'll know anything about Hell or...or freaking angels, if all that shit's really true?”

“Look, we're here, okay?” Sam snapped. “Do you want to turn around and leave now? It's like Bobby said. She knows us. Maybe...maybe that'll help her tap into our celestial energy or...or however it works.”

“Do you have any idea how dumb that sounds?”

“You got a better idea?”

Dean let out a sigh and crossed his arms as Sam rang the doorbell again. “No...”

“I'm comin', I'm comin'!” chimed a voice from inside. “Don't you rush me. I hear you.” Dean and Sam straightened up when the screen door swung open, and Missouri Mosley's expression melted into one of awe when she laid eyes on them. Her heavy emerald earrings clinked against the sides of her head as she stared; they sparkled in the sunlight.

“Bless my soul,” she breathed. “It really is you...” Dean shifted somewhat uncomfortably.

“Were you ah...expecting us?” he asked.

“I thought I sensed something familiar coming my way, but it felt so different from the last time I saw you two...I couldn't be sure. Sam...Dean...” She nodded at each of them in turn.

“This isn't a bad time, is it?” Sam asked. Ever the gentleman, his brother. Sam dropped his tone to a near whisper: “We just...we were hoping you could help us with something. It's a little...sensitive.” Wow, way to make them sound downright creepy, Sammy.

Something in Missouri's eyes made Dean think that perhaps she already knew more than they'd shared themselves.

“Course it's not a bad time,” she said warmly, ushering them inside. “Get your tails in here, both of you! And wipe your feet. I don't want any mud tracked into this house.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks as they stepped inside - wiping their feet on the mat dutifully - and Missouri led them back to the living room. “She sensed us coming?” Sam mentioned to his brother under his breath.

“She's a psychic. I think that's supposed to happen.”

“Maybe it's a good thing, you know? Maybe it means she can tell us something...”

“Alright, you two,” Missouri piped, approaching them, her bracelets rattling as she reached out to lay a hand on their arms. “Let me get a good look at the two of you...So tired, the both of you. What have you been doing since the last time I saw you? Gone through so much, and...Oh.” Her eyes welled up with tears and she brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh John...oh that stupid man...”

“You didn't hear?” Sam asked tentatively. Missouri had been friends with their father; Dean supposed that she would have heard about his death before now. Neither he nor Sam had planned on having to break that news to anyone today. Or anytime soon.

“No, I...Oh boys...I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Dean grunted, averting his eyes. He wondered how much Missouri would pick up on. If she could tap into their memories of their father's death, certainly she would figure things out about his deal with the crossroads demon, his date with the Hellhounds and his trip down into the Pit.

He could actually see the moment she did as she looked at him. He could see her heart breaking for him, and it made him unbelievably uncomfortable.

“Dean...” He pursed his lips and forced himself to look her in the eye: years of conditioning to respect his elders at work. He didn't know what to expect: a tight hug or a slap upside the head, but he braced himself either way.

In the end, she reached up and cupped his face in her rough, cool palm; something he hadn't been expecting at all. The touch was oddly soothing, he found - soft and maternal. He fought the urge to lean into it and lost, doing so anyway.

“Dean, what did you go and get yourself into...”

“A pretty deep hole,” he admitted with a forced, humorless half smile.

“You saved your brother,” Missouri said, voice tinged with equal parts sadness and pride. Her thumb stroked against his cheekbone. “Laid down your own soul to save him and then climbed your way back out of Hell itself...” She turned to Sam, letting her palm slip from Dean's cheek. “You have one heck of a big brother, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam said, voice rough, and he cleared his throat. “Missouri, that's actually what we wanted to talk to you about...How Dean...got out.” Missouri stepped away from them and went over to the couch, gesturing for them to follow.

“Sit down,” she said solemnly. “And no feet on that table if you want to keep them attached.” They sat, Dean slumping forward and clasping his hands in front of him as he regarded Missouri.

“Missouri, can you tell us exactly what you...sensed before? When you figured out we were coming?” Sam asked.

“I sense a lot of things, Sam,” she said. “Familiar people when they're nearby, distressed spirits...I can recognize someone by their soul like you can recognize them by their face. But when I felt you coming, I...something was different. It felt like you two, but I couldn't be sure. There was something else too...some other presence linked to you.” She looked at Dean as she spoke.

“What kind of presence?” Dean asked.

“I couldn't be sure. But I can still sense it now. It's strange...so powerful...almost like a...”

“Like an angel?” Dean offered. Missouri's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and that alone was enough to make Dean straighten up; it wasn't easy to surprise a psychic.

“How did you know?”

“Last night,” Sam said. “We were...visited.”

“Visited by an angel?” Missouri asked in wonder.

“That's what he told us,” Dean said.

“You're hoping I'll know whether he was lying.” It was not a question, but a statement.

“Well...yeah,” Sam hazarded. Missouri paused a moment, thoughtfully rotating the ring on her finger.

“Angels...demons...souls being raised from Hell...I have to say, if you'd told me a few months ago that I would be dealing with all this, I would have said you'd gone out of your head!” She laughed a bit, but her expression turned solemn again quickly, and she turned toward Dean. “But what I sense from you, Dean...it makes me think that it's true. You've got something mighty powerful watching over you.”

“Watching over me...” Dean repeated. “You really think it's an angel?”

“Maybe,” Missouri said. She looked over at Sam, who was listening intently. “And that's not all, you know. I can feel something else. Something in you, Sam. The same connection, but...” Her eyes misted over with sadness. “But broken...just the remnants of it left.”

“Broken...?” Sam asked, sounding downright crestfallen. Missouri nodded solemnly. “How could it be broken?”

“I can't say.”

“But you have to know something. I mean, if you can sense this thing connected to Dean maybe you can figure out exactly what it is.”

“I'm not omniscient, Sam,” Missouri reminded him. “I can tell you everything I know, but I can't promise you won't have questions afterward too.”

“Look, you're saying this thing is connected to me, right?” Dean interrupted. “And it was...it was connected to Sam too? If this thing really is an angel...do you think it could be a...” He sighed, annoyed at himself for how ridiculous what he was about to say sounded to him. “...a guardian angel?” Missouri regarded him intently.

“You don't think so, do you?” she said.

“No I don't.”

“But you want to.”

Dean froze.

“Why would I want to?” he asked.

“You've been protecting people all your life, Dean. Protecting your brother, protecting people from demons and malevolent spirits...Would be nice to have somebody protecting you, wouldn't it?”

Dean paused, silently thinking it over. Maybe it would be nice...but just because it was a pleasant notion didn't make it any more or less true.

“I got Sam to look out for me already,” Dean said.

“Yes you do,” Missouri confirmed. “But Dean, the thing you're just not realizing is that you already have all the answers inside you.” Dean arched one eyebrow at her cryptic response.

“What do you mean?”

Missouri leaned in and said, “When that angel visited you, he showed you something, didn't he?” Dean swallowed.

“Maybe,” he said. “I can't remember.”

“Well you need to. If you want to know for sure, you need to remember.”

Dean's mouth suddenly felt dry. “I can't.”

“Dean,” Sam said hesitantly. “Was it...was it Hell?”

“I don't know, okay?” Dean barked. “I can't remember!”

“Can't or won't?” Sam asked.

“Dean,” urged Missouri, reaching out for his hand. “Let me help you.” Dean pulled his hand away and stood up.

“It's just a stupid vision! Doesn't mean anything!”

“Dean.” At Missouri's command, he forced himself to look down at her. He sighed heavily, sitting back down.

“Fine...” he relented. It took all the strength he had to hold back a slight quiver of fear in his voice. Buck up, Winchester. No time for that.

“Come here, Dean,” said Missouri softy as she stood from her spot on the opposite couch, making room for Dean. “Come here and lie down.” Dean rolled his eyes, and though he knew Missouri saw, she said nothing. Normally he would have expected a smack over the head for that.

Dean lay down on the couch, and Missouri gestured to Sam, who was watching intently, wringing his hands together. “You come here too, Sam. It might help him to have someone familiar nearby.”

“You're not gonna make us hold hands, are you?” Dean griped. This time, Missouri did smack him - albeit rather softly - on the side of the head, and he flinched.

He rubbed the sore spot: “Ow...” Missouri gently placed her palms on his temples, and the contact was soothing, he had to admit, even if he would let anyone know that.

“Close your eyes.” He did. “Think on that vision, Dean. Tell me what happened.”

“I don't remember.”

“No, tell me what he did. Tell me what happened when he showed you. Go back there, Dean.”

“He put his hand on Dean's shoulder,” said Sam.

“This is for Dean to remember, Sam. Let him get there on his own.” Dean heard Sam shifting awkwardly next to him.

“Yeah, he did,” Dean confirmed, his own hand wandering to his shoulder where the hand print mark tingled with the memory. “He put his hand on my shoulder and...I don't know, it was like...like...” Like his soul was bared, connected to this being that he'd never met before but that he somehow felt like he'd known forever. But he couldn't say that...It was too ridiculous.

“I can sense it,” Missouri said. “There's no doubt in my mind there's something powerful between you two, Dean. Something strong enough to pull you straight up out of Hell. You need to remember.” As she spoke, he hand wandered to his shoulder, and the mark there began to thrum with energy, as his memory did as well. It was just like what had happened the previous night when Castiel had showed him those visions, but it was happening in slow motion; he could feel his mind reeling back, falling down into the blackness of the Pit. He resisted.

“I can't,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Just remember, Dean.”

“I can't,” he said again, more frantically this time, but the door was already creaking open, and  he was spiraling down and away.

Missouri's hand pressed against the mark on his shoulder and his whole body convulsed, his back arching, and suddenly he was surrounded by blackness. The smell of rotting flesh and blood forced itself into his lungs, stinging and burning all the way down, contaminating his whole body in mere seconds.

He tried to scream, but it felt like he was underwater; the stench drowned him, made it impossible even to breathe without pain. His limbs were held in place by invisible chains that cut into the flesh of his soul, and his writhing only made them tighter, only made the entirety of his being burn with agony.

He was back in Hell, surrounded by the tortured cries of a countless number of souls and enveloped in utter darkness.

And then, like a gleaming nova powering through the shadows: a light. Brighter than Dean had ever seen before, untainted by the blood and the fangs of demons, and beautiful - so achingly beautiful. It engulfed him, and he felt its essence around him like fire, but he was not burned. It soothed him, caressed him, healed his scars and lulled him into a peace he'd forgotten with a low, gentle hum.

There was no face, and there were no eyes, but it was staring at him; it stared into his very soul, down deep past the grime and the blood. Familiar...so familiar...

A soundless voice whispered to his heart: “It's okay now, Dean...it's okay.” And somehow, Dean found himself believing it was true.

He was rising up, up out of the Pit, up toward Salvation, and the light began to take shape around him, the tendrils of brightness surrounding him forming into feathers, darkening to a majestic ebony. For just a moment, he glimpsed a face: so perfectly radiant like none he'd ever seen, but somehow so familiar: bright blue eyes were fixed in concentration, sparkling with what Dean could swear was exuberance.

The warmth surrounding him swelled, and just as his vision went dark, a voice, smooth and quavering with elation cried out...

“Dean Winchester is saved-” he gasped, sitting up and reaching out for something - anything - to hold onto, to anchor him in this world and keep him from spiraling back there. He grasped onto Sam's collar, fingers clenching until his knuckles were white, and tears flowed freely from his eyes as he took deep, rasping breaths into Sam's shirt.

“Dean,” Sam rasped, holding his brother tightly. “Dean, what happened? What did you see? Dean...” Dean clutched at his brother for a moment longer, the images fading as the stinging in his shoulder became a dull throb. But he could still remember...He could remember the darkness of Hell, the bloody cries of the tortured souls around him joining with his, and he could remember that light...

“Dean Winchester is saved...” he repeated, trying to control his breathing and stop the tears. What was he doing, crying like this? He forced himself to pull back from Sam, irately brushing the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “That's...that's what he said...that's what I heard when I got out...'Dean Winchester is saved...'”

“You have some real power in your corner, boy,” Missouri said weakly, drying her own eyes.

“Missouri, are you okay?” Sam asked, looking pale himself.

“Fine, I'm fine,” she assured him. “Those memories, they're powerful. Too powerful to stay locked up in one head. I'll be alright.” Dean, by now, was trying to get his nose to stop running, and Missouri offered him a tissue, which he took without meeting her gaze.

“He pulled me out,” he said hoarsely, staring at the floor. “Castiel. He pulled me out of Hell.”

“Maybe we really do have a guardian angel,” said Sam with a someone nervous chuckle, but his voice was tinged with sadness. “Or at least you do...” He turned to Missouri. “Missouri, you said that my bond or whatever...you said it was broken somehow. What could do something like that?”

“I don't rightly know, Sam,” Missouri said with a slow, thoughtful shake of her head. “This...this is something like I've never seen before. And I've been around for long enough.” She let out a throaty laugh, warm and amiable, looking at Sam as if addressing an unspoken question. “Longer than you need to know.”

“Well we know one thing at least,” Dean sighed, balling up the tissue in his hands. “This Castiel, or whatever he's called...He was telling the truth. But you know what I still don't get?”

“What?” asked Sam.

“Why would I have a guardian angel, anyway? I mean what's so important about guarding this?” He gestured up and down his body.

“Boy, you ever think that maybe you're more important than you give yourself credit for?” Missouri said. “The both of you? You've got to stop thinking that your life is disposable.”

“Important?” Dean scoffed, chuckling bitterly. “Maybe, sure...but worth saving from-”

Missouri slapped him hard across the face.

“Ow,” he snapped, pressing a hand to his reddening cheek.

“You stop that talk right now, you hear me?” Missouri commanded, tone leaving no room for negotiation. “I never want to hear you say anything like that again. And Sam?” She turned to him, and he flinched noticeably, seeming to think he might be next. “He ever does, you give him another one of these-” She held her hand up, fingers straight, palm flat and ready to deal another blow if need be. “-you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam choked, and Dean almost chuckled at the look of utter terror on his brother's face. He was right to be scared - Missouri had a wicked arm.

The air rippled around them, and all three of them looked up in confusion when the ground began to quake beneath their feet. Suddenly he was there before them: Castiel - wings outstretched and ruffled, eyes wide with urgency.

He opened his mouth and roared: “GET DOWN!” before lunging at them all, covering them all in the expanse of darkness stretching out from his back and knocking them to the floor. The world shattered around them in a cacophony of exploding glass and howling wind, blinding light burning around them, so bright it couldn't be natural.

Just when it seemed the bedlam would become too much to take, when Dean feared his skull would split in two from the chaos and noise and pressure, it all went silent and dark, and the floor dropped out from underneath him. Just as quickly as the calamity had started, it stopped, and all that was left in its place was cold nothingness as he fell, down, and down, and down.


 
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