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

[winnywriter]

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Sam.

There was a dull ache throbbing just behind Sam's temples as he and Castiel trekked silently through the looming ethereal forest, the trees seeming to bend and shift out of their way before them, as if bidding them to continue on. It was unnerving, like the very trees were taunting them, knowing that they were trudging to their deaths like sheep to a slaughterhouse. But he refused to let it affect him; every time he began to question his own resolve, echoes of the vibrant visions from before, of Dean and the memories of their broken childhood hummed through his mind, and he felt his determination build tenfold.

Castiel ducked under a low branch, tucking his wings in close to keep them from being scratched by the rough leaves, and Sam spoke, breaking the silence for the first time in what felt like hours: “Why are you walking anyway?”

Castiel didn't look back at him as Sam ducked under the same branch. “We won't get anywhere by standing still.”

“No, but I mean, why don't you just...fly?” Castiel paused, and Sam had to lurch to a halt to keep from running into him. Slowly, the angel turned, his feathers ruffling anxiously.

“My power is dwindling,” he said roughly. “Dean is my only charge, and with my connection to him as weakened as it is, I wouldn't be able to carry the both of us. Myself perhaps, but...” He trailed off, shrugging, and Sam furrowed his brow in surprise.

Castiel was trudging through this forest on foot, not because he couldn't fly himself, but because he couldn't fly them both. He was basing his decision on Sam's well-being, not his own. “I thought you weren't...obligated to protect me,” Sam pointed out.

Castiel stared at him, wordlessly, for several moments until he finally said, “I may not be your guardian in the eyes of Heaven, Sam, but that doesn't mean I'm completely heartless.” He turned, continuing on down the path, and Sam blinked several times before following after him, something strange roiling in his chest that he couldn't pinpoint.

Finally, all he could think to say was, “Thanks.” Castiel nodded silently, not looking back.

Something else needed saying, and Sam knew it, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out just what it was. But it was important, and his mind raced as it tried to find the right words. It dawned on him in one unbelievably - almost anticlimactically - brief moment, and he called to the angel again. Castiel glanced at him over his shoulder

“You know,” Sam said as he caught up to him, “I guess I don't...I don't blame you for what happened. For my mom...for the fire...” Castiel stopped, not turning to face Sam, but staying completely still as Sam spoke: “I kinda wish I could, honestly. But you brought my brother back, you know? No matter what happens later, that...that means a lot.”

It was Castiel's turn to nod and force out a somewhat awkward, “Thank you,” and after a beat, he turned fully to face Sam, and added, “I don't know if there's a chance at all, but I will do my best...to keep you both safe.”

“Even though you're not bonded with me?” Sam said, surprising himself with the teasing edge that he heard in his own voice.

“Regardless,” Castiel said, “You deserve it.”

Sam wasn't sure how to respond, but it didn't matter much, because at that moment the trees groaned, twisted and snapped forward, a thick branch smashing into Castiel's back and forcing him stumbling forward with a pained grunt. Before Sam could get out a word, a slick vine wrapped around his ankle, yanking him backwards and dragging him toward the looming treeline.

The trees were coming to life around them, the creaking of their wooden skeletons rising to a terrifying crescendo that sounded like the keening of feral beasts, and Sam's head was spinning as he crawled at the ground, trying to get upright. The vine was tight around his leg, slithering upward, wrapping around his thighs  until he was completely paralyzed from the waist down. He dug his fingernails into the dry dirt, scrambling for purchase, but it did nothing to keep him from being dragged further and further back, toward the shadows that lingered just beyond the squirming trees.

With the last breath he could muster, he cried out for Castiel, and just as he thought the angel was about to disappear from his vision and be lost forever, he was sprinting toward him, wings outstretched, a shining silver blade clutched in his fist. He ducked beneath a thick branch and leaped over Sam, slashing at the vines tethering him like they were nothing before grabbing a fist full of Sam's jacket and yanking him upright and forward.

“Come on!” he barked as they lurched forward, pushing through the branches that reached out to impede their progress. The army of trees stretched out before them without end, it seemed, and each and every one of them bent and screeched, an unearthly keening filling Sam's ears as they blindly advanced, determined skeletal branches reaching ever closer until they tore at his clothes and left angry scratches on his skin. But Castiel's grip on him was strong and unyielding, and the angel's momentum kept building until they were running at an unbelievable pace, much faster than Sam had ever been able to run before even in a full sprint; his feet barely touched the ground, and he had no time to see where they were going. He could only put his trust in Castiel and hope - pray - that they would burst through the treeline before the wooden beasts tore them to shreds.

His hope that they would make it out in one piece was short-lived; the roots of one of the gigantic looming trees snagged Castiel's foot as they ran, and the angel fell headlong into a mess of boney branches, the outreaching arm of another tree wrapping around Sam and pulling him back away from Castiel. The angel cried out in agony as the sharp branches tore at his wings, ripping away feathers and flesh, and Sam's struggles against his bonds were useless. But as Castiel's shouts became louder and more desperate, his blade falling out of reach on the dusty ground, Sam's heart raced and adrenaline flooded tenfold through his veins. He pressed both feet back against the trunk of the tree that held him firm and pushed with all his might, and the wood groaned and heaved until finally giving. Sam fell forward, the thick branch in his hands, and he let out a breath of surprise when it realized that it was almost completely hollow, withering even further in his grasp.

These trees were dead and dry, mere shells of their living counterparts whose form they had assumed, and as Sam looked up from the bone-dry branch, he saw them for what they truly were: skeleton-like trees that twisted and writhed up toward the deep navy sky.

He was moving before he had time to think his actions through, and his fingers touched the cold metal of the lighter in his pocket just as his brain caught up with his instincts. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and pressed the flame to the bony husk of the branch in his hand. Immediately, it burst into flames, too dry to resist the bite of the fire, and Sam brought his arm back and threw it, straight into the twisting mass of branches that was the tree holding Castiel in bondage. The tree shrieked as the fire consumed it with terrifying speed, and Sam grabbed the back of Castiel's trench coat, pulling him unceremoniously from the branches' grasp. The angel was breathless and bruised, his wings ragged, but he was alive.

With the flames roaring to life around them, Sam wondered how long that would last.

Castiel's mind seemed to go to the same place as he took in the sight of the rapidly spreading fire around them. The heat of it was already making Sam sweat, and he had to shield his eyes from the brightness as he tried to stumble away, but there was nowhere to go. They were going to be consumed by the hungry flames, just as the skeletal trees were.

“Sam!” Sam barely had time to register his own name before Castiel was grabbing him again and commanding, “Hold on!” Sam did without question; he had no time to ask why, and the heat was becoming unbearable.

Castiel's wings spread out wide and looming, tinted gold by the fire, and the two of them launched into the air, leaving the crackling flames far below them.

-

For a moment, Sam was weightless. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the powerful flapping of Castiel's gigantic wings as he lifted them through the air, wind rushing past them with an unforgiving howl. Castiel grunted in what sounded like pain, forcing out clipped off words that Sam couldn't understand in the din, and then gravity got a hold of them again, and Sam felt himself being tugged downward, his stomach flipping as they fell.

He couldn't cry out; his breath was glue in his chest, and they were falling, falling, falling towards earth at a dizzying pace. Sam couldn't tell which way was up, couldn't orient himself, couldn't make a sound as they plummeted, but at the last moment, feathery darkness enveloped him, arms wrapping around him protectively, his back pressed against a warm body that lurched sickeningly as they hit the ground.

His head spun, and it took him an agonizingly long time to process that he was, in fact, still breathing, something firm, but yielding shifting slightly underneath him. It was Castiel, he realized in one sudden moment, and he let out a gasp, pushing up off of him and standing. Dark feathers stuck to his jacket and he brushed them off, feeling dread bubble up in his gut as what he was almost certain was blood slicked up his fingers.

He knelt beside Castiel, the smell of burning wood smoky and dry on his pallet and making him cough. The angel seemed disoriented, groaning quietly, his wings shifting meekly by his sides. The once majestic appendages were ripped and scarred, looking terribly worse for wear, but at least, for now, Castiel was alive. Sam shook him by the shoulder, and his blue eyes fluttered open.

“Are you alright?” were the first raspy words from Castiel's throat, and Sam nodded, looking up at the sky. They had been so high up, soaring above the trees and above the fire...there was no way he should have been able to survive that fall, even with Castiel's help.

“How the hell are we still alive?” Sam mused in morbid wonder, and Castiel grimaced as he pushed himself up.

“I'm a guardian angel, Sam,” he said plainly, as if it were the most obvious explanation in the world. “I'm built to protect. And it would take much more than that to kill me.” He, too, gazed upward at the smoke-hazy sky.

“What was that, anyway?” Sam asked after a moment, helping Castiel to stand. The angel winced profoundly as he moved his wings; Sam wondered if perhaps the bones there had been broken. It wouldn't have surprised him at all, after a fall like that, even if Castiel's angelic anatomy could take much more than any human's. What that meant for the fight to follow - if there was to be one - Sam couldn't say, and he didn't particularly want to think of it.

“The trees,” he continued. “Was that...”

Castiel nodded before Sam finished his sentence. “Asaph? Most likely. This piece of Heaven has been twisted to fit his whims...It wouldn't be surprising if there were some kind of obstacle to get in the way of those who would try and face him.” Castiel took a step forward, past Sam, looking at something over his shoulder with intense interest and a touch of macabre wonder, but Sam was preoccupied watching the flames flickering in the distance. He could still barely hear the screeching of the trees, and the snap of their wooden bones breaking in the intense heat. It made him wince, hearing such a sickeningly unearthly sound. He'd never missed the natural simplicity of a grass lawn before, but standing in a place so otherworldly made him yearn for it.

“Sam?” Sam turned at the sound of his name, and when he did, he froze. Castiel was before him, wings drooping at odd, asymmetrical angles over his slumped shoulders, and he was staring up at a great structure looming overhead. It was a gigantic stone cathedral, dark and ominous against the pale sky, and it looked impossibly old enough to have a soul all its own. It seemed to stare down at them, daring them to approach it, to brave its interior and discover its secrets, of which there sure to be many. Sam felt a chill rush through him at the sight, and his breath left him, because a feeling crept up from his toes and through his gut that told him that this would almost certain be his grave site.

But, he thought, he had never felt closer to finding Dean than at this moment.

“A church?” he found himself saying on an exhale that sounded dangerously close to an impressed laugh. “Isn't that a little...predictable? You know, for an angel?” Castiel glanced at him over his shoulder, and Sam added, “No offense.”

“It's a place of worship,” Castiel said as he stepped forward, toward the great wooden doors, and Sam followed, “But not of our Father. Asaph seems to fancy himself a God.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Sam said.

Castiel looked back at him once more. “No,” he said as he pulled the door open, a wicked draft rushing out to meet them, “Not good at all.”

-

The inside of the church was huge, sprawling, and cold. The moment they stepped inside, a chill ran through Sam's body, and his breath puffed white before his lips. The sound of his boots against the unforgiving stone beneath his feet echoed around them in the otherwise silent sanctuary. Light streamed through a stained glass window above a massive, but bare altar; it depicted an angel with huge shining wings, but there was something off about it, just like the rest of this place. Its form was unnaturally thin and disproportionately tall, making it look eerie and unpleasant. Sam had never been a fan of stained glass artwork in churches to begin with, but this...something about it made his stomach turn.

Beneath the arching multicolored window were rows and rows of wooden pews that seemed to grow like living trees from the very stone of the floor, and on them were people: hundreds and hundreds of people of all different races and ages, men and women both. They were all unmoving, seemingly unconscious, their heads tilted forward as if in prayer.

And in the front row, between a small brown-haired woman and a skinny Chinese man, was Dean.

Sam called out his brother's name, rushing toward him, and he felt a rush of air as Castiel did the same. They knelt before Dean, Sam grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him, trying to get him to wake up. He had to wake up... “Dean? Dean!” It was no use; Dean was out cold, and Sam's face fell.

“What's wrong with him?” he asked frantically. “What, is he...is he alive? What...” Castiel placed both hands on the sides of Dean's face, leaning forward so their foreheads were nearly touching and closing his eyes in concentration. When he opened them a moment later, what little color there had been had drained from his cheeks, and a look of something akin to morbid wonder crossed his features.

“I've never...I've never seen anything like this,” he mused.

“Like what?”

“His mind and soul have been bound together with those of all the individuals here. He's alive, Sam, but he...though there's nothing keeping his body here, his mind is trapped.”

“And all these people...” Sam looked around at all of them. God, there were even a few children here. “Are they the ones Asaph stole from the other angels?”

Castiel nodded.

“Well then how do we free them? How do we help Dean?”

“I don't know...” Castiel's voice was heavy and pained, and his shoulders slumped as if he were holding up some horribly heavy weight as he stood slowly.

“But there has to be a way. We came all the way here-”

“I don't know!” Castiel barked, louder this time, and his voice echoed off the walls in the silence. He sighed. “My bond with him...It's been weakened. I can't get through to him like this. And my power is draining...”

“But maybe I can,” Sam said, the words surprising both himself and Castiel. “I was able to help you reach him before, right? Maybe that would work again.”

“It's not the same, Sam,” Castiel said. A breeze rushed through the sanctuary as the wooden doors swung open.

“He's right,” chimed a third voice. “It's quite different than what you pulled before.”

He was tall and skinny, his facial features pale and sharp, his eyes a piercing, icy blue. He strode forward with his hands clasped behind him, back straight, regarding them carefully. He was swathed in a white robe, his fiery red hair spilling down over his shoulders like lava against snow. He radiated power, despite his slim frame, and Sam felt Castiel tense, the tendons in the angel's neck stretching as he set his jaw tightly.

There was no mistaking it; this was Asaph.

In a flash, Castiel was standing, his wings extending and flaring from his back, forming a determined barrier between Asaph and Sam, but Sam still had a clear view of the other angel, and every movement Asaph made sent chills down Sam's spine. There was something just in the way he walked; it was nothing like Castiel's unearthly, but somehow comforting stride. It was as if the power within him was twisting him and eating at him with every step, like he couldn't walk straight with all of it inside him.

Asaph stopped halfway down the aisle between the pews and sighed, looking at Castiel as if he were a puppy who was still trying to learn how to walk on his own legs: endearingly pathetic. “Why did you come all the way here, Castiel?”

“I'm the guardian of Dean Winchester,” Castiel replied, keeping his voice steady despite the fear that Sam knew was roiling within him by the clenching of his fists. “Of course I came all this way for him.”

Asaph chuckled. “He's just a human-”

“He is my human.” Asaph's eyebrows shot up.

“Possessive, aren't you? I understand you'd want to...protect your investment after going to Hell and back for him, but I-”

Sam felt anger blaze in his chest, and before he knew it, he was standing beside Castiel, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “That's my brother you're talking about!” he shouted, “Not a damn investment!” Asaph looked directly at him, and he felt himself pale under the power-flooded gaze, but he kept his shoulders straight. His voice shook as he demanded, “What did you do to him, you son of a bitch?”

Asaph just smirked, looking at Castiel again. “So this is the human you brought with you? He's very...well, let's say spirited? I'll give you that. But I'm just impressed you managed to get a human to Heaven in the first place.”

“This is not Heaven,” Castiel said, and Sam realized for the first time that the angel had a hand extended back towards him, as if to prevent him from moving any closer to Asaph. It was a protective, almost parental gesture, and one that Sam heeded. “Not any Heaven I'm familiar with, anyway.”

“It's my Heaven,” Asaph said. “My own little piece of it. That's all I wanted to begin with. That's why I needed all of them.” He extended his arms outward to encompass all of the people gathered in the sanctuary. He took a step forward, and Sam had to fight not to step back and away. He placed his hand on Dean's arm again instead, the knowledge that his brother was here with him, just within reach, comforting even if his mind was still far from them. “Maybe I could make you see that, if you would just listen-”

“There is no excuse for what you've done,” Castiel said, wings curling in disgust. “And I refuse to hear any that you might dredge up.”

Something like a shadow fell across Asaph's sharp features, his eyes sparking in a way that made Sam want to run and hide. It was unstable and dangerous, and when he smiled, the expression was a wicked one. “You're just like the rest of them,” he said, his voice quavering. “Never would listen. Lord, why won't anyone just listen?” He screamed out the final word with everything he had, suddenly outraged, and his cry echoed on the stone around them as Sam saw the sanity bleeding out of his features.

“Aren't you tired, Castiel?” he raved. “Aren't you tired of being a tool? A hammer? Our Father, He created these humans and forced us to be subservient to them in order to grow strong. And nobody would listen. Nobody cared about the voice of a lowly guardian. All I wanted - all I wanted, Castiel, was to be free of that. You understand, don't you? Don't you understand?”

Castiel had stepped back again, shielding both Sam and Dean from Asaph with his own tattered wings.

“You've gone mad,” Castiel said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. Asaph chuckled, and it was such a dark, heavy sound that Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to fear him or pity him.

Asaph went quiet, his shoulders slumping, and he suddenly looked forlorn as he said, “I didn't want to kill my brothers, Castiel. And I don't want to kill anymore...Just go...please.”

“Not without Dean,” Castiel said. “And I can't just allow you to keep these other people here too. They're meant to be with their guardians, Asaph. They're meant-”

“You're still not listening!” Asaph cried, clutching at his hair. He groaned, staring at Castiel with such intensity that it was frightening. Terrifying.

“Asaph...” Castiel's voice was calm, like he was trying to reason with him, to calm him, but he and Sam both knew that was futile. Still, he held up a hand, keeping his tone steady. “Asaph, this isn't what was meant for you. Please, just...”

Asaph hid his face in his hands, growling unnaturally, and his spine curled, two massive shadows extending out until his wings were visible, and Sam stifled a gasp. They were gigantic, so much larger than Castiel's or even Gabriel's, and they were a bright silver color, but veins of dark, dirty gray and black ran through them from the base of the feathers to the tips, like they were infected or tainted by something awful and disfiguring. The ground shook beneath them as they extended outwards, the air rushing around and making the windows vibrate loudly until Sam thought they might shatter.

Asaph's movement was so quick that neither of them saw it as he lunged forward, and Sam felt himself thrown backward by some invisible force, crashing into the stone wall on the other side of the sanctuary and watching helplessly as Asaph grabbed Castiel and lifted him clear off the ground - a feat that should not have been possible for someone who looked so physically weak apart from the massive, imposing wings arching up from his back.

“Don't make me do this, brother,” Asaph said, so softly that Sam nearly didn't hear him, and instead of flinching away, Castiel faced up as confidently as he could despite being held up by the lapels of his coat. His gaze was intense, his eyes wide with fear, but his expression was hard, his nostrils flaring with each carefully controlled breath as he stared at his once brother.

“Nobody is making you do anything,” Castiel forced out, and he looked over at Sam, sending him an unspoken message as his eyes flicked to Dean. Sam hauled himself up, doing his best to ignore the pain burning down his spine and tail bone from the impact of hitting the wall, and he staggered toward Dean, who was still unconscious in the front pew, staring at nothing.

As Asaph glanced over at Sam, Castiel took the opportunity given to him and reached up, planting his hands flat against Asaph's chest and releasing a burst of energy that shone white from his palms, and Asaph staggered backward, dropping Castiel more in surprise than pain and growling. Castiel's wings flared protectively as he assumed a defensive fighting stance, eyes locked on Asaph.

As Sam knelt next to Dean, the air prickled around him with the power the two beings before him exuded. It burned around him like fire, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, and he buried his fingers in Dean's jacket without realizing it, needing something to anchor him in the familiar, in the earthly, mortal world.

“Dean...” he breathed, as Asaph began to glow over his entire body, from his eyes to the tips of his massive wings, the raw power prickling like static in the air so strongly that Sam nearly couldn't stand it. “Dean, you better be in there, because I'm not leaving without you, you hear me? I'm not leaving without you.”

Just as the last word slipped from his mouth, Sam's arm burned like a red hot iron brand as Asaph's wings burst into righteous white flames. He grabbed Castiel like he weighed nothing, soaring toward the grand, arching rafters and then sending him hurtling into the unforgiving stone below.


 
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