dosciencetoit | Fic: A Love Story Told In Reverse

Prologue – I Die A Thousand Deaths To Make My Way Back To You

Saint Louis, Missouri – September 2010

A swift backhand sent Sam to the ground.

He didn’t respond.

A booted foot connected with his side. He rolled with the impact and stayed where he stopped.

The two thugs went through his bag and took the half eaten sandwich and the chocolate bar he’d saved for later. He made no effort to stop them. The only things that concerned him now was where he could get his next hit of demon blood and how he could stop himself from craving it.

With Lucifer back in the pit, demons were making themselves scarce. Sam had only come across two since he was returned to the mortal plain months ago. He wanted to quit, but the power and strength that came from drinking the blood was too seductive.

It almost made him feel human again.

But only almost.

He dragged himself behind the dumpster and curled up. He would sleep and nurse his wounds until the morning. Then he would move on, probably head further south now that the weather was turning colder.

He wasn’t sure why it mattered, though. Apocalypse averted, Dean happy with Lisa, Sam knew his work was done. He just wanted to rest.

In hindsight, Castiel should have known the younger Winchester wouldn’t be left to rot in the pit. For all of his failings, he was still a righteous man, capable of breaking the first seal all over again. Furthermore, the story would be incomplete if the reward for saving the Lord’s favoured creations was eternal damnation. Of course, God would release Sam and return Adam to Heaven, leaving the former to live his life free from familial interference, just like he’d always wanted.

Sam just couldn’t cope on his own anymore.

Bones and Joints

Cicero – September 2010

The baseball game ended with little fanfare, but they’d been doing the same thing every Sunday for the past few months, and Lisa was conditioned to look up from her book to make sure Ben was getting up to go to bed. Sunday’s were the one night a week that Ben could stay up until eleven, just so that he could watch the game with Dean. There’d been a few times he’d tried to stay up to watch the eleven o’clock news, but for the most part he put himself to bed now.

Lisa watched Dean ruffle Ben’s hair before he left. Ben took it as a gesture of endearment. Lisa could only watch it and note how Dean seemed to do it out of habit. She could easily picture a younger Dean tousling an adolescent Sam’s hair after some family joke. Except that Sam was gone, and Dean was a far cry from the charming, enthusiastic boy she’d spent one amazing weekend with before Ben was born.

If she was honest with herself, he was a far cry from the charismatic, cagey man who’d rescued her son three years ago.

Setting her book down, she went upstairs to make sure Ben was settled into bed. His eyelids were drooping when she came into his room, but his eyes were bright.

“Dean is so cool,” Ben told her, not for the first time. “Did you know he rebuilt the Impala’s engine? And he knows all of the stats for every player on the Kansas City Royals!”

“Dean’s a great guy,” Lisa forced herself to respond. It was true, to an extent. Dean was amazing with Ben. He paid more attention to her son than any other guy she’d ever been with. Every Sunday he made a point of teaching Ben about the Impala. Then, he would show Ben how to grill the best steak, or cook the best burger, or make the hotdogs so that they were crispy and juicy at the same time. After dinner, they would sit down and watch the ball game together, where Dean would point out every player’s strength and weakness.

It was the only time Dean showed even a spark of life.

Lisa should have known better, if she was honest with herself. She had an idea of the kinds of things Dean dealt with in his line of work. When Dean showed up at her door in April, she was shocked and concerned. He’d been broken, and the way he spoke made her worry about the end of the world. She felt as though she could stop it all if Dean would just come inside.

When Dean turned up at her doorstep the second time, she let him inside without question. She was too relieved, knowing that the world wasn’t ending, to ask questions. Ben was safe again, and that was all that mattered.

She hated that she felt that way.

Not enough to ask about Sam, though.

She’d hoped that she would be able to fill the void Sam’s absence left in Dean’s heart. The little girl in her was convinced she could heal his broken soul if she just loved him hard enough.

That he would love her back, in time.

“Sleep tight, Ben,” Lisa said, turning out the light as she left the room. She went back downstairs and found Dean sitting on the couch exactly as she’d left him. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, untouched from when she’d poured it after dinner.

The drinking worried her, but not because Dean overindulged. He’d tried to drown the grief in liquor when he first arrived, but now it seemed as though even that release was too much effort for him.

At first Lisa had seen him twitch whenever there was mention of “unexplained disappearances” or a report that “police were baffled.” She picked up that those were signs he’d looked for with supernatural cases. Now, though, he hardly blinked.

“You should come up to bed,” she told him. She passed in front of the TV to grab her book of the end table. “There are a couple of openings in the paper for construction jobs that I thought you might like to look into tomorrow.”

Dean blinked once before he looked over to her. “I’ll be up once this is over.”

Nodding, Lisa made her way back upstairs. She knew Dean wouldn’t follow her. Even fully clothed, Dean wouldn’t share a bed with her. At first he’d blamed it on the nightmares that would keep her awake. Now she’d come to understand it was the human contact he couldn’t bear.

They went through the motions together, but if she was honest with herself, Lisa knew Dean was broken in a way most people couldn’t survive. Dean was a hero, but he would never be the stable male influence needed. He would never be the kind of partner she deserved.

It wasn’t one-sided, though. She knew she would never be able to understand the things he had witnessed. He’d faced demons, both real and imagined. He’d been forced to make the tough choices most people never dreamed of. Her inability to relate would lead to resentment on both their parts.

Worst of all she couldn’t find it in herself, the courage or compassion, to send him away. The desire to help him was overwhelming, and she was afraid to be alone.

Curling up in bed, Lisa kept to one side in case Dean decided to join her. She drew the line at crying herself to sleep. She told herself they were doing the best they could.

Below her, Dean stared past the flickering pictures on the TV to the wall.

In retrospect, Castiel should have known you couldn’t base any kind of relationship on near-death experiences and sexual intercourse, even if the sex had been bendy. Dean was excellent with Ben and kind to Lisa. There was just no foundation for their acquaintance beyond mutual attraction, intense gratitude and the profound desire to feel safe and normal.

For what it was worth, Dean gave everything he had to follow through on his promise to his brother. After Sam’s death and Castiel’s desertion, he had very left to give. What little remained was slowly giving way to mind numbing apathy. Even the desire to find Sam fell to the wayside. He couldn’t see the point, since he always lost everything he cared about.

If Famine had considered him empty before, he would have been thrilled with the shell of a man Dean had become.

Ready to Start

Sam and Dean were both rewarded twisted mockeries of their most selfish desires, and Castiel found he wasn’t an exception. Grace restored and returned to Heaven, Castiel could only watch as the Winchesters let their lives fall apart. As painful as it had been to be cut off from the Host and devoid of Grace, it was nothing compared to the lack of feeling he was forced to endure.

The slow accumulation of sensation during his time on Earth had been almost imperceptible, enough to forget what it was like to be as emotionless as his brethren. But he couldn’t forget what it had been like to feel and think for himself. It was as though he was operating under a permanent analgesic that rendered him insensitive to everything but the memories of sensation.

It should have made him angry, or distressed. He knew the apathy was unjust, and that was what spurred him into action. His Father had rewarded then and returned Castiel to life. The injustice didn’t follow any logic he could understand.

Armed with these new realizations, he started trying to determine why God would keep them isolated from one another, and so miserable. As Sam withered away and Dean withdrew, Castiel turned to the rest of the world around them.

The answer presented itself in the form of Chuck’s last gospel.

It painted a picture of a kind God who let His children take their first steps without Him. A god who rewarded free will and righteousness. A god who was far more tolerant than previously believed.

This new portrait of his Father portrayed a god far more appealing to the younger generations, and to the global community at large. Regardless of it being a work of “fiction,” the ideas were gestating, and the only people who could prove it wrong were either slowly killing themselves through neglect, or doing holy work on high.

It wasn’t long before the entire situation simply became too much, and the desire to change things for the Winchesters overcame him. He remembered a time when he considered the Winchesters to be family. At one time, he looked at Bobby as a companion and Sam as his brother. He sacrificed everything for them, and never once regretted it.

And then there was Dean. Dean, who made Castiel feel everything: disappointment, anger, despair, pain, lust, levity, joy. Free will. Love.

He remembered loving Dean so much his very essence hurt for it. He’d held Dean above all others, and he’d never once questioned it.

Provoked by memory and force of will alone, Castiel left Heaven.

There was no doubt in his mind what needed to be done.

Running Up That Hill

Opening the box one last time to make sure everything was still there, Castiel reassured himself he was doing the right thing. With a deep breath, he crouched down and placed the small tin in the dirt. He let out the breath, and inhaled again before he pushed the dirt and gravel back over it.

He took his time standing up, straightening his spine before pushing into the heels of his feet. Brushing the dirt from his hands onto the trench coat, he turned to face Crowley. The demon’s scent permeating the air made it easy to shift the blame for his unease.

Castiel waited for the demon to speak.

“You’re probably the last creature I ever expected to have darken my doorstep,” Crowley began, sauntering over with his hands clasped behind his back. “Common consensus is that you’re upstairs reaping the benefits of a new promotion, but a little bird told me you’d gone AWOL. I hear things haven’t been this bad since Lucifer took a swan dive. The first time.”

The statement was left open-ended; a gesture Castiel had learned meant he was supposed to fill in the details. Even so, he continued to wait, head tilted to one side. He hoped his silence might put Crowley on edge, making their negotiations go in his favour.

It seemed to work at bringing out Crowley’s impatience. “I know this isn’t a matter of visiting old friends, so I’ll assume it has something to do with the sorry state of affairs the Winchesters find themselves in.

“Now, tell me,” Crowley said, one side of his mouth quirking up in a wicked grin. He clasped his hands in front of him before presenting his open palms. “What can I do to help an Angel of the Lord that he can’t do for himself?”

“I’m going to go back and change the past.”

Crowley had the decency not to laugh outright, but only just. “It can’t be done. Otherwise your god’s little winged soldiers would be punching holes in the timelines left, right and centre.”

Standing up straight, Castiel let the corner of his lips quirk up in a smile of his own; he knew something Crowley didn’t. “None of my Father’s children embraced free will as I have, and none of them would be willing to deal with your kind.”

Nodding, Crowley conceded the point. “Then where do I come in?”

“You once told Bobby Singer you were capable of granting anything when you were making a deal. I want control over where my Grace falls.”

“You’re going to fall?” Now Crowley was incredulous. Castiel was God’s favourite angel, brought back again and again. There had to be a reason for it. “How will that make things any better?”

“The fallen Grace is capable of producing miraculous things. If I control where it falls, I can control what the miracle is.”

“If I help you, and I might not, what do I get in return?” Crowley wasn’t ready to let an angel of the Lord muck about in the past without knowing what the consequences and rewards might be.

“You give me this; I’ll give you a portion of my Grace to do with as you please.” Castiel said it with a neutral expression, his deep voice devoid of inflection. The only sign that he was discomfited by the arrangement was the way he shrugged his shoulders as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Giving a demon Grace was akin to giving a pyromaniac a blowtorch, but Castiel had the feeling Crowley wasn’t like other demons.

Far from being impressed, Crowley found the entire concept rather frightening. Being in possession of a portion of an angel’s God-given grace would put him in an advantageous bargaining position, but it would also make him the target of a good deal of resentment and envy. “And what would your god say about the whole arrangement? I can’t imagine he would be very pleased.”

“My Father would have nothing to do with it. He returned Grace to an angel in possession of free will. Should I choose to part with some of it in the manner I am suggesting, you’ll be the only person who remembers after I fall.” The spark of interest had returned to Crowley’s eyes as he spoke, but Castiel could tell he was still wary. He didn’t have to wait long for the demon to voice his doubts.

“How can I know you’re telling the truth?”

If he’d been prone to human gestures, Castiel would have rolled his eyes out of exasperation. Instead, he responded in his flat tone. “When have you ever known an angel to be able to lie?”

He cut off Crowley’s attempted argument before he had time to voice it. “We charm and beguile, and I was never very good at either.”

Unable to contradict him, Crowley shrugged and smiled. “Very well. We have a deal. Control of where your grace falls in exchange for a small piece of it.”

“Correct,” Castiel returned with a nod, satisfied they’d come to an agreement. The he noted Crowley observing him expectantly. He cocked his head to one side, trying to observe the situation from a different angle. “Do we need to shake hands to seal it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Crowley responded with a drawl, amusement written across his face. The idea of an angel touching a demon for anything less than death was almost too much.

The only reason Castiel was willing to seal the deal with a kiss, the sheer wrongness of it burning his lips, was that in short order it wouldn’t make a difference what he had done. If his plan worked, only Crowley would remember.

If it didn’t, he would be dead.

The Power Of Love

Lawrence, Kansas – 1973

Mary hadn’t been surprised when her father tracked her down to talk her back into the family business. She also wasn’t surprised when he came out yelling. No matter John’s background or how hard he tried, her father would never think he was good enough for her.

It wasn’t until she watched John come up next to her father that she realized something more serious might be going on. Before she could shout, she was falling under John’s weight, his head turned at an awkward angle. When she hit the ground, she gathered John into her lap, but his body felt wrong. His eyes only stared forward, lifeless.

“Why?” she yelled, looking up at his father. She fell silent when she was confronted by horrifying yellow eyes.

The reality of the situation dawned on her, and she watched in abject terror as the demon possessing her father came down level with her. She couldn’t listen as it explained what it had done to her family, and what it wanted from her. While the concept of selling her soul was anathema, the terms of the demon’s deal seemed worth the price to not be left alone.

She leaned over John’s body to seal the deal; John’s life for access to her house in ten years. The faint hint of her father’s soap lingered under the cloying smell of his blood, so she closed her eyes.

That was why she didn’t see it coming.

A forcible hand on her shoulder dragged her out from under John’s body. Her eyes snapped open in time to see a dark-haired man in a trench coat rounding on the demon, one arm outstretched, and a long metal blade in the other. The yellow-eyed demon scrambled backward, trying to get out of the way.

“You can’t be here,” the demon shouted, but there was fear in its voice, Mary noted as she tried to edge back towards John.

“You’re not allowed to be here,” the demon rephrased, this time surprised as though it’d realized something. “You can’t change this.”

“You would be surprised by the things I can do now, Azazel,” the man stated, low voice gravelly and certain. He kept advancing on the demon, faster than the demon retreated. “I’m ending this here and now. No more women. No more children. The Winchesters are under my protection and you will not touch them.”

He stressed the last words, the air around him vibrating with tension. As the man spoke, Mary watched the demon struggle against invisible bonds. It terrified her. The thought of something being able to hold a demon so powerful against its will... It made her wonder what kind of dark magic the man was conjuring.

Crawling closer to John, Mary watched the man close the gap to the demon. He laid a hand on the demon’s face. Leaning in close, he gripped the demon’s chin more firmly, forcing the demon to look him in the eye. There was a silent exchange, and then Mary found herself fixed by the man’s piercing blue eyes. Though he had striking features that did not lend to blending it with a crowd, it was the man’s eyes that she would remember.

“Avert your gaze, Mary,” the man commanded, and under the power of his voice she could do nothing but obey. Shaking, she closed her eyes and buried her face in John’s chest. Even with that, even behind closed eyes, she could still see the flash of light. Worse, there was nothing that could block out the sound of the demon’s scream. It was her father’s voice calling out in inhuman pain.

As sudden as it had started, it stopped, but Mary kept her face buried. A gentle hand fell on her shoulder, pulling her up. She let it. She was brought to standing. She opened her eyes to look at the man up close. “What are you?”

The man tilted his head, searching her face for something Mary wasn’t quite sure he found. “I am an angel of... I am an angel, and I have come to save you. You and John will have your family, and you will be good to your children. I promise you this.”

Before her the man... angel bent down and placed two fingers on John’s forehead. Mary watched in amazement as John began to stir. “What...?”

But then the man’s fingers were on her forehead.

Mary woke up in John’s bed in the morning with a ring on her finger. She called her parents to tell them, but no one picked up. When she and John drove to the house later that day to tell them in person, she found the house in disarray, the bodies of her parents beaten and bloody.

The police decided it was a robbery gone wrong.

Mary felt compelled not to try and prove them wrong.

Part I