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dosciencetoitPart IV – I Didn’t Pick You Up Just To Drag You Through The Dirt
New York – Late 2002
Rusted From The Rain
It was late when Dean packed up the rough sketches for the most recent contract he’d been assigned to. Work was easy enough; for all that it bored Dean out of his mind. Working in an office and drawing up blueprints was a far cry from the hands on tinkering he’d expected when he went for an engineering degree, but it paid the bills better than volunteering at the community centre had. The other consolation was that the new job provided ample opportunity to avoid going home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and Dad was happy enough that he was working a real job not to question him.
Loosening his tie and the first few buttons on the dress shirt he’d finally gotten used to, Dean took the steps out of the subway station two at a time. He didn’t have anything, or anyone, pressing to get home to, but he hated being surrounded by strangers with only one sure exit. He only took the public transport because getting anywhere in Manhattan by car was out of the question. It was only a five minute walk from the station to his apartment, and he’d finally broken in the dress shoes enough that they no longer left blisters on his feet.
It wasn’t the life he’d expected to lead, but he was comfortable.
Dean was caught up in deciding between actually throwing something on the stove and just ordering take out again when he spotted the figure sitting on the front steps to his apartment building. Broad shoulders told Dean it was a man, and the way the guy had his hands buried in his pockets, and the way his head was bowed made Dean wonder if the man was homeless. It wasn’t uncommon, and the man had the same defeated look about him. As he got closer, he was able to see that the coat was too new, and the man’s jaw was clean shaven.
A brief flash of memory had Dean pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the impending headache. It was happening more often, enough to get concerning, and this one had the man on the front steps dressed in a beige trench coat sitting on a bench outside a poorly-lit motel. He shook his head to banish the thought and took a closer look at the man before him.
“Castiel?” he asked, hesitant and quiet. He could feel his heart beat faster, and his mouth went dry. A part of Dean was happy to see Castiel, but the more rational part told him Castiel wouldn’t be sitting on his front step for a social visit, so he held his breath and waited for the other shoe to drop.
After a moment’s pause Castiel looked up, and Dean was forced to let out the breath he’d been holding. Castiel was sporting a split lip, and from the look of his right eye, dark and bruised, he’d be lucky if he could open it in the morning.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean hissed out, unable to stop himself. “What happened?”
“I became better acquainted with a door frame than I would have liked,” Castiel responded. He tried to add a wry smile, but with the pain he was feeling it came out as a wince. Dean watched as he struggled to stand up, one leg giving out when he tried to put weight on it. “I may have been introduced rather quickly to a flight of stairs, as well.”
Running on autopilot, Dean came up to Castiel’s side and ducked under one arm to help support Castiel’s weight. “Come upstairs with me and I’ll help get you patched up.”
“I… yes, that would be the best course of action,” Castiel agreed, then continued in a softer voice, “I believe I need your help.”
“First, we need to get you upstairs and patched up.” Dean struggled to carry Castiel’s surprising weight while fumbling through his pockets for his keys. He weathered a few scathing glances from other tenants while riding the elevator, but made it to his apartment without incident. Once inside, he got Castiel settled on the couch then went about getting the first aid kit and some ice.
“Dean,” Castiel started, but Dean deliberately ignored him, placing the towel wrapped ice in Castiel’s hand and drawing it up to place it on Castiel’s swollen eye. He tried again, but Dean went about taking off Castiel’s shoe to see how badly Castiel had injured himself there.
“I doubt you’ve broken anything if you made it all the way here,” Dean commented, artfully avoiding Castiel’s questioning gaze. “But if you’ve sprained anything you’re going to want to elevate it and get some ice as well.”
“Dean,” Castiel tried once again, softly, but Dean continued to ignore him, moving up to treat Castiel’s split lip.
It was too much for Castiel.
With one swift motion, Castiel batted Dean away with his free hand. At the same time, he barked, “Dean!” and the intensity in his voice was enough to have Dean back up and take a seat on the coffee table in front of Castiel.
Unable to do anything else to avoid the conversation, Dean waited for Castiel to speak.
“You mentioned before that you believed in demonic possession,” Castiel began, voice returning to its usual soft level. Dean nodded, not sure what kind of metaphor or allegory he was setting up for. “Would the signs include the whites of one’s eyes going black and inhuman strength?”
Dean’s whole body jerked in response to the words, becoming more alert. Along with mutilated livestock, clouds of black smoke, flickering lights and strange weather patterns, demon-sign couldn’t be any clearer. The only pertinent question remaining was, “Who?”
“Richard,” Castiel sighed, unhappy to be right about the situation. In a sense, it was a relief that the abusive behaviour wasn’t Richard’s fault, but at the same time, he had no idea how to deal with a possession. The absurdity of the situation forced out a bark of laughter, bordering on hysterical. Unbidden, Castiel began to explain. “He was waiting at my apartment when I arrived home tonight. It was unexpected, but I didn’t question it until he tried to force his attentions on me. Richard is a sedentary man. He should not have been able to overpower me, but he slammed me into the doorway with ease. I was able to escape the apartment, but he pushed me down the stairs. He looked down on me, and his eyes flashed black.”
“Are you sure,” Dean was compelled to ask, because demonic possession wasn’t common, and he’d already been burned once.
Castiel didn’t blink, and he didn’t give the common answer. “I smelled sulphur.”
With that confirmation, Dean’s mind slipped into hunter-mode, assessing what he would need to deal with it. It bothered him that the demon revealed itself so early, and that it just let Castiel go, but he didn’t voice his concerns. Though demons usually aimed to inflict the greatest amount of pain possible for as long as possible, it wasn’t completely out of the question that this one went for quality rather than duration. It didn’t matter though. The only issue was exorcising the bastard so that Castiel could go back to living his normal life.
“Do we go to the church and ask for help?” Castiel wondered aloud before shaking his head and correcting himself. “No, of course not. That would be crazy. They would have us committed…”
“I’ll deal with this on my own,” Dean responded, standing up again.
“You?” Castiel asked, and from anyone else the tone would have been doubtful.
“Yeah, me,” Dean in a gentle tone, though his voice was filled with firm conviction. “I believe in things like ghosts and demons because I’ve kicked their asses before. Just a quick binding and an exorcism, and your professor will be fine.”
“I’m coming with you.” Castiel pushed himself onto up onto one foot, wincing again as he tried to put weight on his ankle. Dean raised an eyebrow, as though the bum ankle was argument enough against Castiel taking along. Castiel surprised him again by asking, “Can you promise me he won’t remember any of this?”
Dean paused, considering the question. “Most people don’t remember much, because it’s easier for a demon to keep the mind unconscious so they don’t have to fight for dominance.”
“But he could be aware of what’s going on around him?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’m going to be there to make sure he knows he’s not alone,” Castiel stated, and though his voice was mild his eyes dared Dean to defy him.
Dean sighed, wishing he could bring himself to do just that. “Fine, but you’re staying out of the way, and if I tell you to move, you haul ass.”
“That will be… acceptable,” Castiel responded, head cocked to one side. He puzzled over the expression, but understood the context.
With one sharp nod, Dean went about collecting supplies. “You sit back down while I collect everything. Need fresh holy water.”
In silence, Castiel watched Dean move about the apartment pulling out all manner of supplies from will camouflaged cubbies and hidey-holes throughout the apartment. Focusing on Dean’s sure movements was the only thing that kept Castiel from breaking into hysterical laughter at the reality of it all. He’d never expected to have to take the expression “facing your demons” so literally.
Once Dean capped the bottle of holy water, he set about wrapping Castiel’s ankle, his actions surprisingly gentle for the tense mood hanging in the air. “Just sprained,” Dean explained gruffly as he secured the bandage.
They didn’t speak as Dean drove them across city to Castiel’s apartment. Dean doubted the demon would still be there, but it would be a good place to search for any clues.
Overconfident, and complacent with the concept of dealing with low-level possessions, Dean didn’t even bother to take the lid of the jug of holy water before he opened the door to Castiel’s apartment. He went in, aware that the front hall still smelled of sulphur, with Castiel right behind him.
Dean flipped on the lights in the kitchen, ready to start looking around, but it was Castiel’s sharp gasp of breath that let him know something was wrong. Turning on one heel, Dean saw the professor sitting in the middle of the couch in Castiel’s living room.
His lips twisted into a grim parody of a smile, out of place on ridged features. Dean was reminded of a feral dog baring its teeth. He didn’t even need to see the black eyes to confirm it. “Glad you could join me, Dean Winchester. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show. And you brought the fag with you, too. That makes things so much easier.”
Behind him, Dean felt Castiel stiffen. Reflexively, he stretched out one arm, stopping Castiel from surging forward. Holding Castiel back, Dean raised an eyebrow at the smug demon. “Makes things easier for what?”
The demon’s smile grew wider. “You’ll see.”
Dean didn’t get a chance to respond before something solid connected with the back of his head and he went down like a sack of bricks.
Dean woke up with a gasp, sputtering as cold water made it into his mouth and up his nose. Shaking the water out of his eyes, it didn’t taking him long to assess his situation. He was in Castiel’s apartment, tied to a chair, gagged, and some punk-ass kid had just thrown his own holy water on him.
“Welcome back, Dean,” the kid said, a friendly smile on his face showing too many straight white teeth. Demon-possessed Richard stood off to the side, with his arms crossed over his bulky chest, while Castiel lay prone on the floor. The kid came closer, smiling the whole time. “Can I call you Dean? I feel like I know you so well already.”
The bindings around his wrists were tight, but Dean struggled against them to see if they would come loose. There was enough give for him to try and grab the small blade he’d tucked into his sleeve, but it would be slow work to make sure it wasn’t obvious. Meanwhile, he would have to try and keep the kid’s attention on him and away from Castiel’s unconscious form lying against the kitchen island.
Fighting harder against the zip tie holding his wrists together, Dean tried to force the gag out of his mouth by rubbing it against his shoulder. His struggles seemed to amuse his captor. The kid pulled up a chair and sat straddling it, directly in front of Dean. “I’ll take that as a yes. You can call me Brady. It’s always nice to be on a first name basis when you’re entering into business dealings.”
Dean wasn’t surprised to see black eyes again, though the thought of another demon walking around in the city made his skin crawl and the hairs stand up at the back of his neck. He managed to get the gag out of his mouth. It slipped down around his neck as he drew his head back to spit on the demon’s face.
The spittle landed just below one eye, and Dean had a moment’s satisfaction watching it slide down Brady’s cheek before he was rewarded with a backhand to the face. It was forceful enough to set his ears ringing, and he tasted blood in his mouth. Spitting the blood onto the floor, he jerked his head back to look the demon head on. Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, he bit out a harsh, “Fuck you.”
Brady only smiled benignly. “I would, but I worry that you might find it pleasurable, and that really isn’t the point of this exercise. At least not yet. Play nice and I can help you get anything you want.”
Eyes fixed on Brady, Dean kept his mouth shut, waiting for the demon to reveal its hand. With Brady’s attention focused on his face, Dean was able to slip the small knife out. He carefully angled it to start cutting the zip tie, willing Brady to keep talking.
“We would have possessed your friend,” Brady confided, walking around Castiel’s prone form. “We figured one look from his little blue eyes and you’d do anything we wanted you do. We can’t seem to get an in with him, though. His mind is all gibberish to me, so we took the next best thing. I’ve got to say, though, I am surprised you brought him with you to deal with this.”
Glancing over to Castiel, Dean watched his lips moving, forming incoherent words. If he listened hard enough, he could hear something, but he couldn’t make it out. Enochian, his mind supplied, but he banished the thought, not knowing what it meant.
“The idiot wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Dean replied callously, not bothering to lie. Instead, he bent the truth to downplay Castiel’s importance.
Brady laughed. “More like you couldn’t say no to him. I don’t really blame you. He kind of looks like a wet cat when he gets worked up. It’s pitiful, really. Richard here couldn’t even bring himself to put his foot down when it came to you. Still, I’m not sure what it is about him that invokes such emotion in you guys. Closeted gay comes to the big city to embrace his flaming side, and gets a job in art. I thought they were a dime a dozen here.”
Keep talking, chucklehead, Dean thought, cutting through the zip tie. He held it tight in one hand to stop it from dropping to the floor. His other hand felt for the binding sigils he’d stuffed into his back pocket. He would have to wait until Brady’s back was turned, but he was pretty certain if he could paralyze Broody, he could get to Richard before the weaker demon would be able to react.
Brady didn’t give Dean the opportunity, coming to sit on the chair once again. He flashed Dean another grin. “Doesn’t really matter, though. I really just needed him to get you here, anyway. I’ve got more than one way to get you to deal with me.”
The idea of dealing with a demon drew a bark of laughter from Dean; it was outrageous. “You expect me to deal with you? I thought you had to have something I wanted for that to happen.”
“It’s more that I have things you don’t want,” Brady answered, leaning forward onto the back of the chair. “See, I know all about you, Dean. I know your dad’s a mechanic in Lawrence, and he actually loves his job. He denies all things supernatural with a rather peculiar fervour.
“Your mom, a pretty little blonde, wishes she had more to do now that you and Sam are out of the house, and she really wishes you would come home to visit more often.
“And then there’s Sam. He’s got a real complex about you. He pretty much worshipped you growing up, but he thinks you lied to him about your medication before you left for school. That’s the reason he doesn’t talk to you anymore. He figures you broke his trust, but he’d forgive you if you apologized for it. Sammy is doing really well in school, though. Wants to be a lawyer. He’s got a heart of gold, helped his good friend Brady get back on his feet after he got mixed up in drugs. He’s seeing a really sweet blonde, Jessica. He thinks she might be the one, but he’s worried it might be too soon to propose.”
Brady leaned further forward, until the chair was balancing on two legs, a smug smile on his face. “I told him he should probably wait another year, and then get married after graduation. Nobody likes a long engagement.”
Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. His fingers itched to place the binding on Brady, but even at that distance, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move fast enough to do it. His only chance would be surprise.
Taking his silence as fear, Brady stood up again before continuing. “Lastly, we’ve got Castiel. He’s in love with you, for reasons even he can’t understand. He thinks you’re a good, righteous man, but it’s more than that. He told Richard his feelings for you are frightening, and he doesn’t want to risk getting burned again.
“All of these people, so near and dear to your heart, and so very, very unprotected.” Brady emphasized his point with a swift kick to Castiel’s stomach
Castiel groaned, but didn’t wake up. His muttering became louder, though, enough to draw Brady’s attention. Still facing Dean, he dropped down to one knee and grabbed a handful of Castiel’s hair. Brady pulled Castiel’s head up with a sharp jerk, but the unconscious litany didn’t stop.
“What are you on about?” Brady muttered to himself, trying to make out the words. Realization washed across his features after a moment, eyes wide, lips pulling into a genuine grin. “I’ve got to say, you keep really interesting company, Dean. This here, I didn’t expect.”
Dean didn’t bother to question him. As soon as Brady leaned down to put his ear next to Castiel’s lips to catch what he was saying, Dean surged up from his seat and lunged towards Brady to slam the sigil on Brady’s cheek.
Brady screamed in pain, but Dean was already rolling in to avoid Brady’s flailing arm. He came out of the roll where Richard had been standing guard, another sigil in hand, but Richard was already running, heading for the door. He wanted to give chase, but the top priority was exercising the demon he had and getting Castiel out of harm’s way.
Rounding on Brady, he expected to find a demon bound in place. Instead, Brady was standing, peeling the paper sigil from his face, his boyish features screwed into a look of contempt. The skin beneath the sigil was blistered, but that was the only damage.
“Things like this don’t work on demons like me,” Brady said with a sneer. Letting the paper flutter harmlessly to the floor, he started to advance on Dean, his eyes black. “The only thing they do is make me angry, and you’re the only one awake for me to vent my frustrations on.”
Dean tried to back up, to come up with some way of escape, but with the holy water gone and the binding sigils useless, the situation wasn’t looking good. There was the chance he could make it out of the apartment, but he would be leaving Castiel at the mercy of the demon, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do. Mind racing, Dean watched Brady close the distance. Going for broke, he started the exorcism, spitting the words out as fast as he could.
“Regna terrae, cantate deo, psallite domino, tribuite virtutem deo.”
The words made Brady flinch, but it didn’t stop him from attacking. He threw a punch that connected squarely with Dean’s jaw, forceful enough to send him to the ground. Dean kept chanting.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spirit…”
“Give it up,” Brady yelled, delivering a swift kick to Dean’s middle.
It forced the air out of his lungs, and he curled up to protect his stomach, but as soon as he sucked in the breath, he continued, “Spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incuriso…”
Brady kicked him again, this time with enough force to send him across the floor and into the coffee table. From the floor, he could see Brady aiming a kick at his face, hoping to break his jaw and stop him from completing the exorcism. Knowing it was almost over for him, Dean tried to keep going, but it was getting hard to breathe.
“Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,” he managed to get out, but the words were slurred and weak. He closed his eyes as he spoke, waiting for the booted foot to make contact.
“Stop!”
The kick never came, and after a moment Dean opened his eyes to see the boot a fraction of an inch away from his face. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see another figure enter the room. Dean let out a short lived sigh of relief, figuring someone was there to help.
“What do you think you’re doing, Brady?” the figure said, and Dean detected a hint of a British accent.
“Crowley,” Brady started, turning to face the new arrival. “This is my assignment.”
Another one? Dean thought, unwilling to believe it. How have things gone from one or two possessions a year to three in one place?
“Your assignment was to make a deal,” the new demon, Crowley, pointed out. “That’s not going to happen if the man can’t talk.”
Under his breath, Dean had started on the exorcism again, hoping to get both of them while they argued, but Crowley only laughed. “That’s not going to happen. I’m particularly fond of this form, so I’ve taken steps to keep it. But by all means, continue. I really wouldn’t mind if you got rid of my companion.”
Brady started to protest, moving into Crowley’s personal space. “You can’t just come here and…”
Crowley sent him a sharp look, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. When that didn’t work, he silenced Brady with a slap to the face. “I go where I’m sent and do what I’m told. You should do the same. Now get out.”
Huffing like a sullen teenager, Brady brought his hand up to his cheek, less because of the pain and more from the shock of actually being struck in front of a human. Lower jaw thrust forward in anger, he motioned Richard to follow him with a jerking wave of his arm.
“Actually,” Crowley started, causing Brady to stop halfway to the door, “Minion leaves the meat suit here, as a token of good will. Now.”
With hesitant steps, Richard turned to face Crowley. He opened his mouth, dropping his jaw and stretching thin lips impossibly wide. Immediately, black smoke began to poor out, pooling up towards the ceiling. When it stopped, Richard’s jaw snapped shut and his knees buckled, sending him crashing down in a heap. The floor vibrated with the force of his fall, while the black smoke roiled across the ceiling and slipped out the window.
Huffing again, Brady stalked out of the apartment with heavy steps and slammed the door behind him. The sound reverberated through the apartment, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Dean took a chance and glanced up at the remaining demon in the room. Crowley was dressed in a smart black wool coat, and was middling in years. He was a stark contrast to Brady, calm nobility versus upstart frat boy. Despite no longer being in immediate physical danger, Dean got the impression that things had decidedly taken a turn for the worst.
After a moment’s pause to confirm Brady had left, Crowley turned his attention to Dean, finally able to see the human he’d been fetched the deal with. Crowley sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes widening as a flash or recognition passed across his face.
“Jesus bloody Christ,” he hissed under his breath. Turning on one heel, he took in the rest of the room, but stopped short when he saw Castiel lying on the floor. “Bugger me.”
Dean pushed himself up in to a seated position, trying to decide whether he’d met the poor guy the demon was possessing before, or whether the familiarity he felt towards the demon was another of his false memories. He took another chance. “Not the normal talk you expect to hear from a demon.”
Crowley turned back to face Dean again. “I think you’ll find I’m not the same as most demons you’ll come to deal with. I’ve been around the block enough times to know a few things they don’t.”
“Like what?” Dean shot back, voice laced with sarcasm.
“Like I really don’t want to have to face Armageddon yet again,” Crowley answered wryly.
“Then why don’t you stop it?”
“Because you’ve put me in a very awkward position, Dean Winchester,” Crowley responded, voice serious once again. “You see, my brethren have a lot of plans for you. They know all about your family, and your nocturnal hobbies. You’re a bit of a thorn in their sides, so they really want your soul. Unfortunately, their plans also include jump starting the apocalypse, and I never really got on that band wagon.
“Still, they send me to lure a soul, I lure the soul, because if I disobeyed the higher ups might be suspicious and, as I mentioned, I’m rather fond of my body and I’m a huge adherent to self-preservation.
“So, I’m going to deal with you, but I’m going to do anything in my power to make you say no.”
Dean frowned, trying to reconcile what Crowley was saying. “You’re going to offer me things I don’t find tempting in return for my soul in ten years?”
“Actually, five. Hell’s on a bit of a tight timeline.”
“So, you lay it out on the table, I say no, and you just let me walk out of here?”
Crowley nodded, hands clasped in front. “Exactly.”
Still sceptical, Dean kept digging. “What about Castiel and the professor?”
Crowley frowned. “I can’t make any promises.”
“And my family? Can you guarantee that they’ll be left alone?”
“Hell will have no reason to bother your friends or family once they see you’re too cold hearted to bargain to save their lives.”
“Demon’s lie,” Dean pointed out.
“Unless the truth hurts more,” Crowley responded.
“So you won’t blame me if I’m slow to trust you?” Dean struggled to prop himself up against the coffee table, realizing he wasn’t in any position to put up much resistance. “You guys know about my family, infiltrate my brother’s life, possess my friend’s partner, and you expect me to just walk away from it all?”
“It’s better than the alternative,” Crowley stated, voice full on conviction?
“Not to me,” Dean spat back. “Five years for the assurance that you guys can’t interfere in any way, directly or indirectly, with my family’s lives. There’s no question.”
Crowley played with the cufflink on is left sleeve, making sure the shirt lay flat. He was feigning disinterest, but Dean could see the way his gaze lingered on Castiel’s unconscious form. “Are you sure he’s worth it?”
Dean shot him a sharp look, and probably would have flipped him the bird if he could have summoned the energy.
“This guy leads you on for months, admits to being in love with you, then cuts you out of his life until he needs your help to save his lover, who, may I remind you, isn’t you.” Crowley paced as he spoke, raising one finger in the air to emphasize the last point. He stopped, rounding in Dean, looking him in the eye. “There’s selflessness, and then there is stupidity.”
Dean glared back. “Family looks after family. Not that I’d expect you to understand, being a huge proponent for self-preservation and all.”
“You’re just dying to sign your soul away,” Crowley muttered under his breath before crouching down to Dean’s level. He looked Dean head on, studying him, and said aloud, “I’m not sure things went at all the way your friend planned.”
“What do you mean?”
Crowley shrugged, sitting back on his heels. “It means Castiel over there will hate himself when he finds out you’ve bargained to save his skin.”
“He won’t have to know,” Dean replied, before he could start to think of all of the reasons why this was a terrible idea. “Do we have a deal, or not?”
“You say no, you walk away and no one gets hurt. I say no, I get torn limb from limb by the lower downs, and you still get the chance to stop this.” Sighing, Crowley leaned forward again. “Five years, and lifelong protection for your mother, father and brother, in exchange for your soul.”
“Include Castiel and any of Sam’s girlfriends, past, present or future,” Dean clarified, throwing the last in.
“That would go with indirect harm,” Crowley pointed out, a stickler for semantics. “But sure. I’ll even throw in healing you up. Might as well go big.”
“Alright.” Dean stuck out his hand expecting to shake on it.
Crowley didn’t waste time explaining the procedure. He leaned forward and closed the rest of the distance to Dean. Taking Dean’s head in both hands, he pressed his lips hard against Dean’s and forced in some tongue. He felt the contract form, and pulled away. He ignored the looks of confusion, disgust and anger that flickered across Dean’s face in rapid succession.
“Your contract is held by a demon called Lilith,” Crowley informed him, standing up and straightening his jacket. “Find a way out of it.”
Even as he tried to wipe at his mouth, Dean felt his broken bones and bruised skin knitting itself back together. He struggled to stand up as well, but Crowley was already out of the apartment before he found his feet.
At the kitchen, he heard Castiel starting to stir. Crowley’s words running through his head, Dean grabbed his things, penned a quick note to Castiel, and made a swift exit. He was in the Impala, on the way back to his apartment before he could pause to think.
As soon as he was in the door, he picked up the phone and called his parents. The answering machine picked up, and Dean hesitated a moment before he decided what to say.
“Mom, it’s me. New job isn’t really working out for me. I think I’m going to go on a road trip. I’ll call you guys soon.”
Don’t Say A Word
West Virginia – Late 2007
“Hey mom, it’s me. I’m just calling to say that I’m fine. I’m just wandering along. I love you guys. Tell Sam I’m sorr… Tell Sam and Jess I love them too. Bye.”
Slipping under the ice cold water, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if it would be easier to drown or face the hell hounds. He let the weight of the werewolf’s body, shot in the heart seconds before it careened into him, carry him further under; thought about inhaling the water and just ending it himself. It was supposed to be agony, death by drowning, but it would probably beat the alternative.
Not finished yet, came the small voice in the back of his head, sounding very much like his father. Got to keep fighting.
Chest burning for oxygen, Dean pushed away from the body and righted himself under the water. His feet touched the riverbed, and with black-spotted vision, he pushed up towards the surface. He broke the surface and took a gasping breath.
With weary limbs, he half swam, half drifted towards the river’s edge. He dragged himself out of the water, and drew in long lungful’s of cold crisp air. On his hands and knees, he was able to catch his breath, but in the minutes it took to calm his breathing the shivering threatened to set in.
Cursing himself again for leaving the Impala back at the motel, Dean pushed himself to his feet. He hadn’t expected the werewolf to lead him on a merry goose chase through the woods, but then, it was easy to make mistakes when one didn’t care about living or dying.
He took staggered half steps along the river, heading back in the direction of the motel, hoping the exertion would warm him up and keep the chill at bay until he could get a change of clothes. It didn’t work, and by the time he got back, his body was wracked with uncontrolled shivering, and he couldn’t hear his thoughts over the sound of his teeth chattering. He had to assume hallucinations were also a sign of hypothermia, because he saw Castiel leaning against his car.
“Hello, Dean.” The gruff voice was the same, and as Castiel approached, Dean realized it couldn’t be a hallucination. Castiel had aged over the last five years, and he wore it well. He also held himself differently, still unassuming, but also confident rather than meek. The bird-like head tilt was still the same, however, as was his ability to state the obvious. “Your lips are blue.”
“I decided to go for a swim,” Dean replied, but the attempted sarcasm and the cocky grin he’d planned to add were lost when he had to force his lips to form the words.
Castiel’s thought process was visible on his face. He went from furrowing his brows in confusion, wondering why Dean would swim in such bad weather, to narrowing his eyes in annoyance that Dean would make such a flippant comment when he was in distress to concern, his eyes softening, a soft sigh escaping barely parted lips. He finally settled on resolved, jaw set with an unfamiliar light in his eyes, ready to take charge. “You need to go inside and remove your wet clothing.”
Dean hid behind a flippant response again, still trying to figure out why and how Castiel had tracked him down. “If you want to get me naked, you just have to ask.”
The words came out sluggishly, though, and he stumbled as he tried to take a step forward. Before he knew what was happening, Castiel was tucked under his arm with a firm grip around his waist. With his free hand, he started searching through Dean’s pockets for the motel room key.
The room was close to the car, and Castiel maneuverer Dean inside. Dean tried to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t seem get his limbs to work properly. Without regard for Dean’s dignity, Castiel manhandled him out of his clothes and bundled him into the blanket off of the bed. Next, he led Dean to the bathroom, and bent down to turn on the tap.
“Water heater’s broken,” Dean mumbled, knowing a hot bath would be the best way to bring his body temperature back up.
Castiel let out a growl of frustration. He stood with jerky movements and led, half-carried, Dean back to the bed. He pushed Dean down onto the bed and started stripping out of his own clothing. In another situation, it might have been arousing, but Dean couldn’t really think past how cold he was.
The bed shifted under Castiel’s weight as he aligned himself next to Dean under the blankets. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, gasping when he felt how cold Dean was, and pulled him close until Dean’s back was flush against his chest. As they lay together Castiel held his breath, waiting to see how Dean would react. There was no response beyond a large shudder, so Castiel allowed himself to entangle his legs with Dean’s to increase the skin contact.
They stayed entwined until Dean’s breathing evened out and the shivering subsided. Castiel found himself dozing off when he felt Dean shift in his arms. Dean’s shoulders started to shake slightly, and it took Castiel a moment to realize it was from laughter.
“If I’d know this is all it would take to get you into bed with me, I would have done it sooner,” Dean said with a chuckle, though his speech was still somewhat halted.
“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was low in warning, enough to make the laughter stop.
“Sorry,” Dean replied, properly chastised. After a long pause, he spoke again. “How did you find me?”
“Cassie told me you were in the area, so I came here and looked for the Impala.”
Dean considered the answer, and after another pause, he asked, “How did you get her number?”
Hesitant, Castiel wondered how much to share. “I contacted your mother. She told me you still keep in touch with Cassie.”
“Why?”
Castiel sighed, his breath ghosting over Dean’s neck. Realizing he was still holding Dean, he started to pull away.
Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand mid-motion, forcing him to stay where he was. It was a reflexive motion, something Dean probably wouldn’t have done had he been functioning at full capacity, but Castiel allowed himself to settle back into the bed and took Dean’s hand in his own.
“I’m not sure what happened when I saw you last,” Castiel began, thumb rubbing back and forth over Dean’s knuckles. He looked at the faint, indistinct scar on Dean’s shoulder as he talked. “I couldn’t face Richard after what happened. I didn’t blame him, but I couldn’t look at him the same way. I left New York. And then I started remembering.”
“Remembering what?” Dean spoke softly, hesitant to ask, but desperate to know the answer.
After another pause, Castiel drew his hand back, and traced Dean’s scar. “My past life. I’m not sure exactly how much you recall, but you have memories of it too.”
A part of Dean wanted to jump off the bed, to yell at Castiel, to call him crazy, to blame him for everything that had gone wrong. The rest of him just wanted to accept it. Castiel’s explanation made a twisted sort of sense, and Dean’s life had been better than the life his false memories hinted at.
Castiel continued talking. “I disobeyed every law of the universe and altered the timeline to try and give you a better life. I wanted you to have the chance to grow up normally. To have your mother around, to be able to love someone other than family. Something went wrong though. I changed your environment, but you became the same man I tried to save. I reset the world. I thought you would be happier, but I failed.
Part of Dean wanted to remember what kind of man Castiel must have been to go through so much trouble just for him. Mostly, though, Dean just wanted to rest. After five years of hunting, the release of the demons from Hell, and trying to find a way out of his deal, Dean just wanted peace.
“Things were better,” Dean murmured, reaching up to place his hand atop Castiel’s on his shoulder. “My parents are alive. Sam married his college sweetheart. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I wanted things to be better for you.”
“I was happy.” Dean said it to placate Castiel, but too his surprise, he actually meant it. He’d been happy, while it lasted. Those few months spend in Castiel’s company had been some of the best of his life. And then it occurred to him. “Was this better for you?”
Castiel nodded into Dean’s shoulder. “I’m with you now.”
Whether he meant it as a friend or something more, it rendered Dean speechless, because he couldn’t stay.
Seeming to notice Dean’s discomfort, Castiel pulled back a little. “You need to rest now. I’ll stay to keep you warm.”
Dean had no intention of falling asleep, knew he had to leave before midnight, but the stress and the exhaustion of the day got too be too much, and he drifted off waiting for Castiel to fall asleep first.
Dean woke suddenly, his eyes snapping open. Castiel pressed firmly against his back, he noticed the red light on the motel alarm clock flipped over to read 12:00.
Moments later, he heard the hounds braying in the distance.
Closing his eyes, Dean sucked in a quiet breath and slowly untangled himself from Castiel’s limbs. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep; didn’t want Castiel to see what was going to happen next.
As quietly as he could, Dean slipped out of the bed and grabbed Castiel’s dry clothes. The hounds’ barking grew louder as he got dressed, letting him know there was no time left, no place to run.
Quietly, he stepped outside and closed the door to the room behind him. Across the road he could see two large black dogs racing towards him. He closed his eyes, considering how long it would take them to get to him, and what would be the best way to go.
Looking back at the motel room, he considered Castiel; he realized he might have a reason to keep fighting. With a split second decision, he went to the trunk of the Impala and dug out a shot gun and iron rounds. He wasn’t sure it would even work, but there was the chance he could take out the hounds and make an escape, maybe buy himself some more time.
Dean took aim on the nearest hound and fired, the gun’s recoil jarring his shoulder. The first hound stumbled, the second overtaking it, but it kept coming. He shot the second, hitting it square between the eyes and it went down with a loud whimper. He fired on the first again, but it managed to dodge, and then it was on the other side of the road, and three more were coming up behind it.
Woken up by the sound of gunfire, Castiel came outside when he noticed Dean was missing. He came outside in time to see Dean shoot for the fourth time, but he couldn’t see what he was shooting at.
“Dean,” he started, before realizing what kind of targets were invisible. Voice hard, he question, “Dean, what did you do?”
Dean reloaded and fired off one more shot. Then he dropped the gun and turned to face Castiel, face screwed up in anguish. “Cas, I’m sorry…”
It was all he got out before he was knocked over by an unseen force. Castiel could only watch as invisible claws flayed the flesh from Dean’s back while he cried out in agony.
Epilogue
