Secret weapon, secret family - luxshine (2024)

Chapter 1: Michael's Experiment

Chapter Text

Time has not much meaning to a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, but after more than a thousand years waiting for the apocalypse to come, Michael was experiencing impatience.

He looked at the human baby, peacefully sleeping inside the recently assembled crib, wondering how such a fragile little thing could grow into the strong willed time-displaced soul he had met just a year before. Michael also was experiencing something akin to human anger, a feeling he had thought buried and forgotten when the Morning Star had been banished to his cage in hell.

Dean Winchester would never say yes. Not without trickery, threats or treason involved. Michael understood that now, and he was sure his future self knew it too.

Was the apocalypse worth to see angels become cold murderers like Annael? Or as broken as Castiel had been in that hotel room?

As Michael saw it, he had three paths open to him. Continue the plan as it had been laid by their Father, as the prophecies stated; to take Dean now, stay hidden to allow the body to grow and thus risk that Heaven fell in disarray in his absence; or somehow earn Dean’s trust, before the hardships that fate had planned for him made his soul harden against all angels and the divine will.

Angels, even archangels, weren’t made to make choices.

The baby’s soul was shining, but it wasn’t as bright as the older Dean’s soul had been. And Michael realized that he wanted to see how that soul grew, how it became stronger. After all, souls were sources of power, and any advantage against Lucifer was an advantage Michael would take.

Dean still had three years of happiness before him. Three years before his brother was born. Lucifer’s vessel, to whom Michael had paid little attention. A boy tainted with demon blood, who, at least according to Annael’s last thoughts, had been too easy to manipulate into breaking the last seal.

Demon blood.

That gave Micheal an idea. It had never been done before to his knowledge, so he would have to watch his vessel carefully to insure his plan worked. So that when the time came, Dean would finally say yes.

Micheal reached for his Sword, for his vessel, and placed his fingers on Dean’s forehead. Dean kept on sleeping, peacefully, but his soul reached up, curious and inquisitive. Micheal let his grace touch Dean’s soul carefully, like a parent offering a finger to a baby to grasp, and, once that tiny portion of grace was surrounded by Dean’s soul, Michael just let it go, let that small part of him to fall, to stay within the human baby, to protect him in the years to come, and, hopefully, to make Dean more agreeable to Heaven’s needs in the future.

Dean kept on sleeping, peacefully, and completely ignorant of his future role in the end of the world.

Chapter 2: Michael's Plan

Chapter Text

For the span of an earth year, Michael was satisfied with the results of his experiment.

The few times he had gone to check on his vessel, he had been surprised to see that the small drop of grace he had granted to the little human had been easily accepted by the human soul.

It didn’t swirl around the soul, like it was going to do when Michael finally took his vessel for the final battle, surrounding the human soul completely to keep it dormant and safe. Instead, it was the human soul the one that orbited around the spark of grace, as if it was trying to protect it.

It amused Michael that something as finite and fragile as a human soul believed it would be able to protect an archangel’s grace.

During the second year, as his vessel grew, Michael had still to introduce himself to the human. He had many reasons to stall for time, the main one being that he had no real need yet. Lucifer’s vessel hadn’t even been born. The other reason was that he wasn’t sure that the small amount of grace he had given the human would be enough to allow the child to see him.

There was an easy solution to that, he mused. On the child’s second birthday, he gave his sleeping vessel one more drop of his grace. And, when it didn’t have any ill effect either on the human or in Michael himself, he repeated the action on his third birthday and his fourth.

Every time, the child’s bright soul welcomed the grace willingly. The grace joined with the one already inside, it’s blue glow overpowering the whiteness of the soul for one second… and then the human’s soul enveloped it again, protecting it from the outside.

And while the idea that even a portion of his grace could be so easily covered by a mere soul still bothered Michael, it had a great tactical advantage. The grace was buried so deep inside the child soul, so perfectly covered and protected, that if a demon or another supernatural creature happened upon the Winchester’s house, Michael’s vessel still felt and looked like a common human.

The archangel always kept his visits short, even as they increased in number as the years advanced. He didn’t want the rest of the host to know about his experiment. Michael knew that Zacariah would insist that his own plan was flawless and that there was no need for the general of the heavenly host to lower himself to visit Earth, and there was the slight chance that if the rest of the host could sense the grace within the human child, they would confuse him with a Nephelim and try to destroy him.

No. It was better if the Host remained ignorant.

It was better if the child’s bright soul was Michael’s secret.

And there still was much to do. In less than 22 human years the final part of the plan would be put in motion.

64 seals had to be broken in the time span of an Earth year, and Michael wanted to make sure that Heaven, and not Hell, decided which ones would break. While there was not a specific list of the seals that could open Lucifer’s cage except for the first and the last, there were some that have side-effects that could create more difficulties in the following battle.

He was discussing the strategy with Raphael, the only other Archangel that remained on Heaven, when it happened.

FEAR/PAIN/FEAR/HEAT/FEAR

cut through his grace, through his very being. FEAR such as he hadn’t feel since Lucifer first talked to him about rebellion.

He could hear Raphael, calling his name with concern. But before he could answer his brother, before he could control the alien emotion coursing through his grace, a new one took its place.

LOSS/GRIEF/LOSS/MOM/DAD/GRIEF

The same grief that Michael had felt the day he discovered Father had left Heaven. And then he realized where the emotions came from.

Without paying any attention to Raphael’s increasingly worried inquires, Michael took flight towards Earth, sword blazing, ready to destroy the demon that had dared to make Dean feel such devastating emotion that it had managed to cross Dean’s soul and the grace it contained, using it as a conduit until it reached Michael.

He was going to destroy the demon that had hurt his fledgling.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Michael stopped, hovering right over the state of Kansas, still seconds away from Dean’s side.

Dean Winchester wasn’t a fledgling. He wasn’t an angel, not even a Nephelim. He had no relation to Michael, was only one of the billion humans that lived on Earth.

Then why was Michael still trembling, fighting against the desire to pluck Dean from his mortal parents’ side, take him to heaven and protect him from all harm?

"Michael? Is there something wrong?" Raphael approached him with caution, as if he feared Michael’s reaction.

But his brother’s voice was enough to make him remember his plan, to put things back on focus.

Dean Winchester wasn’t a fledgling angel, he hadn’t been created from Michael’s grace. He was nothing but a place holder, keeping Michael’s vessel alive until the time for the great battle came. If he suffered or lived happily, was of no consequence to Michael.

The only thing that mattered was that Michael earned his trust, in order to make him say yes when the Cage was finally open, so the apocalypse could start.

Chapter 3: Michael's Surprise

Chapter Text

Michael waited two months before going down to Earth again. In that time, Zachariah assured him that the demons had done their part of the deal, and that they would make sure that Lucifer's vessel was ready for the final battle, Raphael and Uriel busied themselves finding the right seals to be broken, and Michael... Michael kept to himself.

There had been no more strange emotions floating through his grace, so Michael had almost convinced himself that it had been just a fluke. But as Dean's birthday came closer, he had to admit that he wanted to visit his vessel just to make sure that he was safe.

The Winchester family were no longer in the small house of Lawrence, but Michael found them in no time. They were staying in a church, with one of the many servants of God that didn't turn a blind eye to the demons and the creatures that preyed on mankind. However, while the two boys were easy to find, there was no sign of their parent in the church or the vicinity.

This made Michael frown. His vessel was too young to be left alone unsupervised. Humans were very prone to accidents when they were little, as evidenced by the thousands of young souls that inhabited the garden. He couldn't let his vessel die before Lucifer was free.

Next to the bed where Dean was sleeping, Lucifer's vessel slept peacefully. Michael growled. The taint on the young soul was barely visible, small red lines that appeared and disappeared inside the white glow that was Samuel Winchester. But Michael knew it would grow in strength every time the human indulged in one of the mortal sins. Pride, Lust, Gluttony, Envy, Greed, Sloth or Wrath would feed the demon's blood flowing through the vessel 's veins. In that sense, the demons had an advantage. As they once had been human, it was easier for them to corrupt human souls. Grace... grace could only grow stronger with more grace, and unlike demon blood was not very compatible with human souls

This brought Michael's attention back to Dean. The boy had moved in his sleep, closer to the edge of the bed near the crib, as if he had sensed someone in the room and felt that had to protect his brother. And his soul was bright and clear... and completely human. Michael couldn't sense any of his grace, as if he had never shared it with the child.

Not willing to let all his experiment go to waste, Michael decided to try again. He would have to give him more grace now, as Dean was already too old for his soul to accept the grace without question. Still, he had to try. He refused to be rejected by Dean as he had been in the Past.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, caressing Dean's hair. The little boy didn't wake up, and, to Michael's surprise, he even smiled in dreams. That gave the archangel an idea about how to approach the boy's consciousness first, in order to avoid interruptions. But first, he extended his grace to touch the soul that he already knew so well, nudging it carefully.

Dean's soul flickered for one second, recognizing Michael's touch. And then, to Michael's surprise it swiftly unfurled, becoming even more bright as it did. And then... Michael was no longer watching a human soul, but instead, it was grace. When Michael retreated, surprised, Dean's grace folded on itself and once again, it was only a human soul.

Michael blinked, as this was completely unexpected. He reached out again, with the same effect only that this time, he let the fledgling grace touch him, and once again let part of himself go, to join what was already inside Dean. He watched, enraptured, as the grace joined the rest, fusing with the soul, as if they were one and the same.

It took Michael one year to go back to check on Dean. However, this time, he was perfectly aware of where Dean was at all time. It seemed that the little soul knew instinctively how to hide itself because most of the time, there were no signs of grace at all. The only reason why Michael knew how to find him was because he had gotten very good at sensing his young vessel.

But there were times when the bright spark of angelic grace on earth was obvious. Times where Michael had to restrain himself from going downstairs to check on the little fledgling.

Times where even the rest of the host sensed one of their own on Earth, and Michael had to create excuses to make sure that no one went to check who was it that walked on Earth when they all were supposed to be laying low, waiting for the first seal to break.

It was only then when Michael thanked Father that Gabriel had run away from the host so long ago. His erstwhile brother was the perfect excuse to keep Dean hidden, as long as everyone was clear that the only one who could go down to Earth to look for the missing messenger.

As the incidents were more and more often, Michael came to realize that he could no longer trust Dean's soul instincts. He had to teach his vessel how to keep his grace hidden, folded within his human half. It was the only way in which he could make sure that none of the host would confuse him with a Nephelim, that no one would threaten his vessel.

This time, Dean and his family were in a small hotel outside Ohio. This time, John Winchester was around and awake, so Michael was very careful to remain invisible, since he remembered that Dean's father could hear him without consequences. The man was writing something in a notebook, while his sons slept peacefully in the next room.

He looked very different from the last time Michael had seen him. Older, yes, but also, more focused. And there was an aura around him that Michael didn't like. A dark obsession, that stank of demonic influence. But Michael couldn't do anything about that. it had to be part of Zachariah's plan, and thus, he had to let it run its course.

Michael turned his attention towards the sleeping Dean, slipping easily into the child's dream.

The dream was very different from what Michael expected. The landscape was pretty much the same hotel room where the family was sleeping, only that there were no signs of either John or the baby. Just Dean, sitting on the table, watching intently what seemed to be parts of a gun. Repeating the names of them over, and over, as if memorizing them. Michael approved this. While human weapons were useless for angels, any extra knowledge that Michael could gleam from Dean's memories for the last battle would be useful. And, until the time came for the prophecy to pass, Dean would need to defend himself. It was a good thing that his father was making sure that he was being trained, and it was even better that even in his sleep, Dean was memorizing those lessons.

Michael looked down at himself, surprised to see that, inside Dean's dreamscape, he had taken the same looks as the last vessel he used, the young John Winchester. This pleased him. John had changed enough in the years in between that Dean wouldn't recognize him as his father, but there would be enough familiarity not to suspect Michael right away.

With this face, he could easily win his fledgling' trust.

"Hello, Dean."

Chapter 4: Michael's Training

Chapter Text

"Hello, Dean."

To Michael's surprise, Dean looked at him and in that second, the gun that was in pieces on the table was armed, ready and in his hands. The boy didn't waste time, didn't even look scared.

Even in his dreams, he was ready to defend himself. Michael couldn't deny he was impressed.

"I mean you no harm, Dean. I am your friend."

The boy didn't lower the gun but he seemed less sure about pulling the trigger than before so Michael took the chance and came closer to him, sitting on the empty chair next to Dean.

Dean just frowned at him, waiting until he was completely sure that Michael was not going to move again to lower the gun. However, he stayed silent, when, in Michael's experience, most humans would have questions.

Instead, the child seemed focused on Michael's hand. Michael looked down, following the child's sight line and discovered that parts of his grace were shining through the fake body that he had created to shield Dean from his true form. It was manifesting as small sparks, twirling around his hands.

Michael looked at Dean again, wondering if the obvious show of otherness was scaring the child. To his surprise, Dean raised his own right hand, that started glowing blue, sparkling just like Michael's. And then the archangel understood the unspoken question.

"Yes, Dean," Michael said, touching the child's open palm with his own. "I'm just like you."

It took one more year before Dean spoke to Michael in dreams. However, Michael had the small consolation that Dean didn't talk to anyone when he was awake. It even took two more months before Dean spoke to his father and his brother, which Michael took as a battle won. It meant that the childling trusted him more than his human family, at least up to a point.

Dean also took his lessons very seriously, as there were no more incidents in which his grace was visible. Michael sensed that Dean was afraid of his own grace, afraid of what his father would say if he knew about it. Part of him wished he could teach Dean not to be afraid of his angelic side, see how strong it could become with proper training, proper care. But then, it would be impossible to hide a Nephelim from the host. It was better to keep the grace and the soul sides of Dean balanced. The love and care that his human family gave him was enough to keep the soul side sustained, and Michael's visits kept the Grace at the same level. Of course, once Dean started asking questions, things became more difficult.

The little childing was curious about everything. And while Michael tried to keep his answers as cryptic as possible, some things had slipped through.

Dean knew that he was an angel, for example, even if he still was under the delusion that his half-graced soul was something that could happen to some humans and not something that Michael himself had done. And the day Dean asked about his mother, Michael thanked his Father that he had learned to lie the day he started his experiment, and told Dean that Mary Winchester was happy in heaven, watching over him and his brother.

The truth was that Michael didn't know where Mary was, and really didn't care. The female had brought her death upon herself, and thus, was not important for Michael. But Dean had been so earnest, and not knowing if his mother was in peace would've brought anguish to his heart.

Michael tried not to think about how much he did to make sure that Dean wouldn't suffer more than what was necessary. He was quite impressed by the way in which his young vessel took almost everything fate threw at him and answered with a smile. The young boy took care of his brother whenever their father left for a hunt, took care of himself, and while it seemed that he really disliked human school, Michael knew that Dean excelled on his studies about the supernatural.

"Why Sam's soul doesn't glow?" Dean asked, pulling Michael out of his thoughts. The young human was nine years old now, and his dreams had changed, from mimicking the hotel rooms where they stayed to an open park, where Michael knew that Dean had played once with one of his father's friends, a man named Bobby.

"What do you mean, Dean?" Michael asked. That night he had no particular reason to visit the young boy, except to keep his trust. Dean's soul grace only unfurled when he was present, when the Host would mistake that energy for Michael's own, so no more training was required. "Your brother's soul is very bright."

At least, it had been the last time Michael had seen it, almost three years ago. He had no time to waste on Lucifer's vessel. That was the demons' responsibility, not his won.

"But it doesn't glow blue, like mine," Dean insisted. "Or is he hiding it too? Do you teach him when he's asleep?"

"Your brother soul is only human, Dean," Michael explained, frowning. He had never taught Dean how to see human souls. They had breached the subject of auras, little after Dean started speaking and only because John was always surrounded by his own sadness, but not souls themselves. "Since when you can see his soul?"

"It looks broken," Dean answered, ignoring Michael's question. "Like, cracked all over, with big red lines. Can you fix that?"

Michael fell silent. He didn't want to disappoint Dean, and it was within his powers to erase the taint in Lucifer's vessel soul. But if he did that, he would be derailing Zachariah's plan. The demons wouldn't look kindly on that and could try to attack Dean. And with his power, there was no way of just leaving the most minimal trace of taint.

Which gave him another idea.

"I'm afraid I'm too powerful, Dean. I could hurt your brother trying to heal him," Michael said. As he expected, Dean's face fell. And the desire to see his fledgling smile again was enough to make him continue. "However, I could teach you how to do it. As long as you take your time and only heal a crack at a time, no one will notice."

Dean smiled at him, his grace completely open so that only a sliver of human soul was visible. And despite himself, Michael found that he wished Dean to succeed.

From time to time, Michael actually went down to Earth in order to look for Gabriel. His younger brother had been missing for almost three millennia now, but Michael wasn't ready to give up hope.

He was traveling through Greece when, once again, Dean's despair cut through his grace. This time he knew exactly what it was because, for the first time since he had contacted the young boy, Dean was calling him.

"MIKE!"

It took him exactly one minute to get to the room where Dean was. It was the same room where he had found him, so many years ago, after Mary's death. Only that this time, he was alone and awake.

As soon as Michael appeared, Dean turned around to see him. And in that moment, Michael realized what was wrong.

Dean's bright green eyes were no longer green. They were blue, shinning with grace. Even from a distance, he could feel Dean's grace straining, trying to fold unto itself, and failing.

"Mike... what is wrong with me?"

Chapter 5: Michael's Decision

Chapter Text

"Mike... what is wrong with me?"

Dean's voice was terrified, inside his head. And Michael couldn't blame him. He could feel the grace pouring out of the little mortal body, getting stronger. If it continued, Dean's body wouldn't be able to contain it for much longer.

Unless the grace went somewhere else.

Without even doubting the course of action, Michael walked up to Dean and embraced the young boy with his own grace. It was the first time he did so, the first time he took advantage of the fact that Dean perceived him as having a human body. Keeping the boy sheltered within his own begin, he started siphoning the excess grace at the same time that he extended his powers outward to insure that no human would try to enter Dean's room.

But as Dean fell unconscious due to the strain of the energy, Michael realized that his own grace was feeding Dean's, in a never ending cycle. If he let go of his childling, then there would be no way to stop the build up and Dean's body would be gone.

And Michael didn't know what would happen to the beautiful soul that was still hidden behind the growing grace. Part of him hoped it would be like a fallen angel recovering their wings, and the sudden image of Dean, his vessel, as a full angel, tempted him to let go of his charge. But Dean was not a fallen angel, and Michael couldn't take that risk.

As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

"RAPHAEL! I need you, brother!"

Raphael was waiting in his favorite heaven, the one belonging to one of the many prophets he had protected over the millennia, when he heard Michael's panicked call.

The fear, the sheer hopelessness that Raphael could feel made him fly to his brother's side immediately, expecting the worst. Lucifer being free before it was time. Irrefutable proof that Father was dead. Another fallen angel.

He was not prepared to see his brother curled around a young, unknown fledgling whose grace resonated in the same frequency as Michael.

A young fledgling that seemed to be about to lose control inside Michael's true vessel, which made absolute no sense. Because there was only one way in which something like this could happen, and the last angel he would've thought would actually create a fledgling was Michael. Especially now, that they were so close to the apocalypse. And even if Michael had lost all control of himself and decided to become a parent... there was no reason why he would put the fledgling inside his true vessel and not in one of the other vessels in the bloodline.

"Raphael, help me!" Michael said, raising his eyes to meet Raphael's. "His soul can't contain the grace, and I don't know what to do."

Raphael didn't know what shocked him more, if the fact that Michael, the first Archangel and the leader of the Host, was asking for help, or that he had just said that he was worried about the human soul anchoring the fledgling in his arm. Except that no matter how deep Raphael looked into the young vessel, he couldn't find a trace of human soul.

"What did you do, Michael?" He asked, kneeling down next to his brother, asking for permission to touch the child. The levels of powers were too big for a newborn fledgling inside a human vessel. And without a strong soul to anchor him at the beginning of it's existence, the fledgling could die. Not that it explained why Michael had decided to have a fledgling now.

"Help me save him, and I'll explain," Michael said, as he kept most of his attention in keeping the childling asleep.

Raphael nodded, and touched the boy. Up close, he could feel the clear difference between the fledgling's grace and Michael's. It was older than he expected, at least 10 years old. And very powerful on its own. It had been nourished with love, with patience, and with Grace. A very healthy fledgling, and Raphael had to stop himself from congratulating Michael. There would be no congratulations if they couldn't manage to stabilize the young angel.

Deep within the grace, he suddenly found something that was not supposed to be there. Bright patches of a human soul, not protected by the Grace of Michael's young, but... fused to it. As if they were one and the same. The soul parts were bright, far brighter than what Raphael would have expected even if the child was a nephelim, and in parts, it was impossible to distinguish the brightness of the soul from the one created by the Grace. In fact...

The grace was eating away the soul. Transforming it. If Raphael didn't do something quick, there would be no soul left and then, without something remotely like an anchor, the angel would die soon.

Without asking for further instructions, Raphael touched the part that was still unequivocally human, and tried to channel every single feeling of love he had gotten from humans through prayer. As the healer of heaven, humans prayed to him for the recovery of their loved ones, for their safe passing. And while he had no use for that love, no understanding for that love, at the moment, it came in handy.

Brothers, Parents, Lovers, Friends. All the love humanity could give. And Raphael channeled into the tiny soul, trying to make it stronger, strong enough to balance the heavenly grace and the love of the host.

Michael only let go of Dean when he couldn't feel anymore grace pouring out of his body. His soul half had finally grown strong enough to envelop the grace again, and no one except Raphael and himself would know the truth now.

He knew that he should go back to heaven, explain his actions to his brother. But he was hesitant to leave his vessel alone while he was sleeping. Especially since he still didn't know why the careful balance between the grace half and the soul half of Dean's being had been disturbed.

"What is this thing, Michael? It's not a fledgling, and it's not human..." Raphael asked, when it became obvious that he was not going to fly away.

"Dean is not a thing, he's a human boy. He's my vessel."As he spoke, Michael kept his hand on Dean's hair. He had seen Mary Winchester caress him like so many times. It seemed to soothe the boy. "You saw his soul."

"I saw a soul transforming into grace, which should be impossible," Raphael pointed out, crossing his arms. Michael didn't answer, because he knew that his brother would realize the truth soon. No one knew nephelim better than Raphael, as he had been the one in charge of that particular experiment before all that first generation went insane.

At the memory of the blood crazed nephelim that had had to be put down, Michael's grace stilled. He couldn't bear the thought of something similar happening to Dean.

"It's my fault," He finally said, covering Dean's sleeping body with one of his wings. He looked at his brother, expecting to find disgust. But, to his surprise, there was none in Raphael's eyes.

Sending a prayer to his absent Father that Raphael wouldn't hate him for what he did, Michael then proceeded to explain what had happened since the night when he had met the future Dean Winchester in 1978.

Chapter 6: Raphael's Experience

Chapter Text

Despite what humans thought, the Host numbers were not infinite. Many of them had fell during Lucifer's rebellion, and more had either died or chosen to fall. So they had searched for a way to reproduce. After all, their enemies had the advantage. Every human that ended in Perdition, sooner or later became a demon. The souls that went to Heaven went to their eternal rest, they didn't become angels, they didn't even help the host. They became the host responsibility, one more tax on their resources.

Raphael had overseen every single failed attempt. The Nephelims. The Mutations. The absolute proof that humans and angels weren't supposed to mix. And every failure, every childing that died on its own or had to be killed for the greater good weighted on Raphael's grace. Every death was one more nail in the coffin of his faith, because he couldn't understand how Father would allow this much suffering. Until he and Gabriel had stumbled accidentally upon the answer, using the children's souls as a template of how a fledgling should grow.

And yet, of all the archangels only Gabriel had chosen to create fledglings. Raphael was too busy helping the rest of the host through the process, and Michael only had thoughts for the upcoming battle. Even if the battle was still millennia in the future.

Which explained why his brother had forgotten that all that was needed to start the process was the intent of create a fledgling, and a little drop of grace, left alone in the vicinity of a child's soul.

It didn't explain the fusion of the soul and the grace, though. That had never happened. Even young Annael, who had clung to her human twin's body until it had been almost too late to stop her from falling at birth, had stayed separated from the human soul.

(and, had Gabriel been in heaven when his darling Annael finally decided to rip her grace and fall, Raphael was sure that his brother wouldn't have been surprised. Annael had loved humanity since the moment she was born)

Dean Winchester was something entirely different.

"What possessed you to try and have a fledgling without help inside your true vessel?" Raphael finally asked. Because as far as he could tell, that had been Michael's intention. Even if the subsequent applications of Grace had probably caused the problem in the first place.

"Dean is not my fledgling..." Michael began to protest, but Raphael was not willing to let his brother lie to him.

"So you would be happy with letting me kill him now? Destroy his Grace and leave just enough of the human soul for you to occupy the body when the time comes?"

Michael's eyes flashed with power, and before Raphael could react, he was flung to the other side of the room by his brother's power. Michael had left the human's side to stand before him with his sword unsheathed. The flames that engulfed him showed the archangel that his brother was serious.

Raphael raised his hands to show that he wasn't a danger. It was strange to realize that his brother had not only lied to the Host but apparently had become proficient enough at this particular human sin to lie to himself.

"If he's not your fledgling, why do you defend his existence, brother? If you truly don't care, why don't you want to salvage your vessel and write this childling as a loss? Don't fool yourself, Michael, you are not protecting your Vessel."

Michael looked at him, looking lost and confused as if he couldn't quite understand his actions, before letting his sword fall to the floor.

"Brother, what did I do?"

Michael sat back down where Dean was sleeping, now looking at the boy in a completely different light. Raphael was right, he hadn't thought about the child as his vessel in years. Almost since the day he had shared his Grace with the child, with the intent of gaining his trust.

He had never intended to create a fledgling, but Dean was not exactly a child angel. A ten year old child angel would be almost ready to leave the body of its twin soul without damaging the human. Dean, on the other hand, had no human soul separated from his Grace. No separation would be possible.

His fledgling was closer to a Nephelim than to an angel and once again, the idea of losing Dean to madness set heavily on him.

Someone knocked on the door, and Michael willed himself invisible. Raphael followed his lead. They had already taken too much time on Earth, and sooner or later, someone would notice if Dean didn't come out of his room. With Raphael's agreement, he touched Dean's forehead, allowing him to wake up.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam Winchester entered the room, obviously worried about his older brother. While Dean hugged his brother and told him that he had only missed dinner because he felt a little sick, Michael took the chance to look at Sam's soul. It looked just like Dean had described years ago, crisscrossed with a very fine net of red veins. Now he understood why Dean was so keen about learning how to heal souls even as Michael tried to distract him by teaching him how to heal bodies. If he let the corruption grow further, Sam Winchester would become an abomination.

"That's the problem, right there," Raphael said, as Michael moved away to let Dean walk away with his younger brother. "You are projecting love directly into his grace, unbalancing it with the soul."

"What do you mean? I have been very careful to keep his inner balance, as soon as I realized that I had turned him into a Nephelim. His soul and his grace were perfectly balanced..."

"Then something happened, that made him feel your love more keenly than the one he gets from his human family." Raphael explained, crossing his arms. He was obviously trying to control himself and not smite the two brothers, not that Michael would let him raise a finger against Dean.

His fledgling.

"Stop that," Raphael scolded him. "We barely avoided one grace explosion, I don't know if we can avoid a second one so soon."

"You are asking me to stop loving my fledgling," Michael said. It was easier now, something that had been just hiding behind his consciousness. An undeniable truth that, unfortunately he still had to keep hidden from the rest of the host. "I don't think I can do that. I never realized when I started loving him."

"Then... we will have to find another way."

Dean looked at the new angel with some distrust. Michael had said that his younger brother was the best possible teacher for him to learn how to cure Sam, but still, Dean was a little afraid.

Michael had been very clear that, until he died, no other angel could see his blue bright soul. It was important for Dean to live as a human, to help and save people without any power, without any miracles. Humankind had to be able to save themselves, not waiting for god or angels to save them.

So yes, being in the presence of another angel, was intimidating.

Even in his dreamscape, where Michael assured him he was completely safe.

"Is Mike... Michael mad at me?" He finally asked, hating how weak his voice sounded. But after how he had failed Dad by leaving Sammy alone, he was afraid that he had also let his angel friend down.

"No, little one," Raphael, the angel assured him, making Dean frown. In his dreamscape, Raphael looked like a black teen, probably five years older than Dean himself. Michael had explained that full angels needed human vessels that were far younger than themselves and while it sounded a little too much like demonic possession, Dean understood why it was needed. Especially after he had almost exploded once. But still, hearing a 16 year old guy call him 'little one' was not cool. "He just has too many responsibilities. He asked me to oversee your training."

Dean nodded, but didn't let his powers show. Even in his dreams, he was afraid of what would happen after last time, and, ashamed of his own weakness, he admitted as much to Raphael.

The angel frowned, before sitting in one of the picnic benches of Dean's dream park.

"What happened before you lost control?" Raphael asked, making Dean feel even worse. As he remembered his father's disappointed face he could feel his control start to slip as blue sparks started to swirl around his hands. "Dean, calm down... what are you thinking about?"

Dean bit his lips, ashamed. He didn't want to admit how badly he had f*cked up, but he knew from experience with Michael that it was impossible to lie to an angel.

"I messed up," he confessed softly. "And Sammy almost got killed because of me."

As he expected, Raphael frowned. Of course, Michael's friend would think Dean was a failure. Someone who saved people wouldn't have left his brother alone just because he was bored.

"You did your best, Dean Winchester," Raphael said. And while Dean didn't quite believed him, for the first time since they had left Fort Douglas he didn't feel as if he had let everyone down.

Chapter 7: Raphael's Decision

Chapter Text

Raphael didn't have a lot of experience with human dreamscapes, but he wondered if it was normal that Dean's never changed. The empty park was calm, and, as far as Raphael was concerned, perfect for training, but he wondered why Dean was alone. Two weeks had passed, and Raphael had yet to see a shade of Dean's brother, father, or any friend appear with the boy.

At first, he had been testing the boy, trying to figure out exactly what Michael had taught him and what his real power level was. A Nephelim that old was usually just stronger than the average human, but if Dean could fold his grace unto itself to hide from detection, there had to be more to his abilities.

Unlike other days, however, today Dean was strangely subdued. Almost like the day when they had been introduced.

"You are hurt, Dean Winchester," Raphael said, as he looked down at the young hybrid in front of him. It had been ten months since he learned of his existence, and he still didn't know exactly what to make of him.

He wasn't really a fledgling angel, but he wasn't quite a Nephelim. His soul wasn't a full grace-core, nor exactly a human soul, and not the strange fighting swirling chaos that a Nephelim represented.

Quite simply, Michael's fledgling was a puzzle.

"It's nothing, a ghost threw me down some stairs," Dean shrugged, trying to hide a wince. "Dad said I was lucky I didn't break my neck"

Raphael narrowed his eyes, expanding his awareness to Dean's sleeping body to catalogue his wounds.

"You did break your neck. It's broken in two different points." Raphael frowned as he said that. It was strange that no one had noticed it before he did.

"No way!" Dean scoffed. "If I had broken my neck, I'd be dead, or paralyzed. I'm just sore. I'm ok, I just... wasn't paying attention."

"I am the healer of Heaven, Dean Winchester," Raphael insisted. Now that he was paying more attention to the mortal body of Michael's fledgling he could see a myriad small wounds, and a couple more serious ones. Not quite unlike what an occupied vessel would look after a year of not taking care of his body. "Do not presume I don't know how a broken neck looks like."

"Woah, sorry. I didn't mean to imply you don't do a good job, but... seriously, I'm ok."

Raphael sighed. While he had promised that he would train Dean in the intricate skill of soul healing, perhaps it would be better if he taught him first how to keep his body in top shape. After all, healing one own bones was a lot easier than healing a soul.

"Dean, I want you to turn your awareness to your body. Try to feel your bones, your muscles. Tell me what you feel."

Dean frowned, obviously not very convinced, but he did as Raphael said. Fortunately, his human father had been teaching him first aid, so Raphael could see that the fledgling had some knowledge on how human bones were supposed to look.

He waited patiently, wondering if he would have to guide the youth through his introspection until Dean opened his eyes, terrified.

"f*ck me, it is broken! How the hell I'm alive?"

"Do not use Perdition name, Dean Winchester, it's beneath you," Raphael chastised. "You are alive because unlike other humans, your core sustains your body not the other way around. Now concentrate, I'll teach you how to fix your wounds."

"But... what if Dad notices?"

"I'll teach you how to be discreet too," Raphael promised, since he knew Michael wouldn't approve otherwise. "Now, concentrate."

"Tomorrow is my birthday," Dean said as he stood in front of the mirror that Raphael had conjured on his dreamscape just for this lesson. "I'll be fourteen."

"I know, Dean Winchester. Now, focus on your bones," Raphael answered, not looking at his charge.

"You've been training me for four years and a half, dude. You can call me just Dean."

"Is there any reason why you are counting the passage of time, Dean?" Raphael asked, wondering if his charge was trying to stall for time as much as Raphael himself had done in the past.

Once Dean had mastered self healing, Raphael had insisted that they needed to be careful. After all, if the childling's father realized that Dean's wounds healed immediately, there could be problems. And if Dean healed a mortal wound, extending his energy too fast, the Host would know. It was important to be subtle.

Not getting hurt in the first place spent much less energy than healing.

"Well... last year only Michael came to visit..." Dean continued, as the image in the mirror started to shift and change, showing only Dean's skeleton. Raphael nodded, impressed. Dean's control of his own dreamscape had gotten much better in the last few months.

"Michael will never miss the anniversary of your birth, Dean, you shouldn't worry about that."

"Way to make it sound weird, Raph. I just... Well, I was wondering if you were going to drop by. I could try and conjure up a pie for all of us or something." Raphael stared at the fledgling, confused. He hadn't expected to be invited to what he saw as a private moment between Michael and his fledgling. Unfortunately, Dean took his silence as a negative. "I mean... you don't have to come if you don't want to... I just..."

"I'll be here," Raphael interrupted, knowing that Dean was not fond of making emotional speeches. "Thank you."

Dean smiled at him, and Raphael was surprised to feel a small warmth brush against his Grace. He was happy that Dean invited him, happy that he had made Dean happy.

"You are not concentrating, Dean," Raphael chided his charge. As years had passed, he had realized that he liked training Michael's fledlging. Dean usually said that he wasn't smart and hated learning, but Raphael had yet to find that to be true. In the six years he had been training him, Dean never struggled long with any of the concepts that Raphael introduced.

In fact, the problem Raphael was hitting was that he had not many things to teach Dean about healing bodies in order to move on to healing souls, the one subject that Dean really wanted to learn. The one subject that Raphael was trying to avoid, as it would only complicate matters when Zachariah's plan came to fruition.

"I'm worried about Sammy," Dean sighed, sitting down on one of the cars behind Singer's Scrapyard, Dean's latest dreamscape. "And about Dad. He should have come back yesterday."

"Come back?" Raphael frowned. He had been planning to use John Winchester as his test subject for Dean's abilities. Healing Sam Winchester's soul was not advisable, given the importance of his corruption, but perhaps easing John's pain over losing his soulmate could help. But if Winchester was not near his son, there was not much they could do.

"Well, yeah. He got a call from a friend a week ago. Something about a nest, for what I could hear," Dean shrugged as he concentrated on his arm. He was peeling the skin off the muscle, following Raphael instructions, in order to learn how to mimic a werewolf scratch. That had been Dean's idea, since he thought that not getting even a little bit hurt during hunts would also be suspicious.

Both Raphael and Michael had been very proud of how Dean was learning the finer points of strategy. Raphael knew that his brother wanted nothing more than to expand Dean's training, even if at the moment their hands were tied.

Perhaps they would have the time after the apocalypse, when Dean ascended to his place in heaven.

If Dean ascended. Raphael was still not that sure it would happen. Nephelims couldn't become full angels, but at the very least, they were allowed outside the Garden of Heaven.

"So you are staying with Robert Singer again?" Raphael asked, partly to distract himself from the thoughts of Dean dying, and partly because perhaps the old man could serve as a suitable replacement for John. All hunters carried sin, obsession and sadness on their souls.

"Nah, we were too far for that. We're staying in a hotel in Ohio. Sam's happy because he got to stay a bit longer in school but I'm dying of boredom."

"You two are alone?" Raphael tilted his head, trying to understand what Dean was saying. He was not as versed as watching humanity as he had been back when there was a new Prophet born every generation, but even he remembered that young humans needed their parents well until adulthood.

"It's not a big deal, Raph," Dean shrugged, lifting his arm to show it to Raphael. The scratch looked real, and it wasn't deep enough to warrant attention. "I mean, it's not the first time he does that."

Anger surged through Raphael's core, unbidden and unexplained. Not wanting to alarm Dean, he quickly finished the lesson and let the childling go back to sleep.

He needed to make sure of the situation before he acted.

Dean sighed as he opened his eyes. Lately, it was really hard for him to sleep unless he was going to meet Raphael for a lesson. Most of the time, he just closed his eyes to get into the dreamscape, and sometimes, after the lesson, he managed to actually sleep. But generally, as soon as Raphael left, Dean was awake again.

He got out of his bed, trying not to get discouraged because Raphael had cut their lesson short. He wanted to start working on healing other people, but if his teacher kept flying away, he was sure that day was never going to arrive.

And who would've imagine that he wanted to actually learn new things. If any of his teachers knew that, they would think he was sick.

Five hours later he had Sam's breakfast ready, and had cleaned all the guns that Dad had left them for protections. Double checked the ammo and, since he had an hour to kill, washed the few clothes that were dirty.

Part of him wanted to go back to the dreamscape. See if Raphael returned, or maybe, if he was lucky, Michael was free. The rest of him wanted to go out, walk around. Drive away for a while, clear his mind.

But the memory of the stryga kept him where he was. While Sam now knew what to do in case of an emergency, Dean couldn't bring himself to let him alone again. Everyone needs backup, that was Dad's number one rule, and Dean was not going to be the one breaking it. Not now, not ever.

Around seven, Sam was ready to go to school. He didn't ask about Dad, which was always a bad sign. Ever since he had found out about the truth of what Dad really did, he had less patience for when a hunt went on for too long. Dean couldn't understand that. Neither how Sam simply refused to train with Dean if he could find an excuse not to practice shooting, although he wasn't that bad when it came to latin or ancient greek.

As they were getting ready to go to school, someone knocked on the door. Sam was immediately alert which eased Dean's worries a bit. The last thing they needed was a good Samaritan from CSP coming to check on the family living at the motel.

"Who is it?" he asked, hating the fact that the window was not close enough to the door to see the person behind the door.

"Dean Winchester?" A very familiar voice answered him, making Dean pinch himself. He knew who was behind the door, but it was impossible. He had never seen him outside the dreamscape.

"Dean?" Sam asked, as if waiting for his signal to act. And that alone proved that he wasn't dreaming. Dean had never been able to conjure up an image of his brother into the dreamscape and even if he had been able to, the mirage wouldn't have the crisscrossed aura that surrounded Sam's heart.

"It's ok, Sammy," Dean said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. "It's just a friend from school."

Thankfully, Raphael's vessel looked just like in the dreamscape, a tall, black teenager that couldn't be two years older than Dean himself. And well, if Sam thought that Dean's friend was a bit strange or had a bad habit of not blinking, Dean wasn't going to think about that.

Hopefully, Sam wouldn't mention Raphael to Dad.

Michael hadn't liked Raphael's solution to Dean's balance problem when his brother had suggested it, but as the years passed, he liked it even less. Because apparently, Michael loved his fledgling too much, and when he had contact with him after his human family made him feel unloved, it created a power surge.

Since Raphael had volunteered to train Dean further, to make sure he was able to control his own emotions, Michael watched from above and tried to find a way to hide Dean from the host, researching among the vast libraries of heaven if there was any way to salvage the situation for the Apocalypse, given that an angel couldn't let another angel posses his Vessel. He also took the time to watch the second, third and fourth generation angels. But as even the youngest of them, Gabriel's last son, Samandiriel, was older than most human civilizations, Michael doubted they could remember how they had come in control of their abilities. Not even if they had been allowed to remember that for a while, they had been attached to a human soul.

And there was no way for him to talk to any of the angels who had created fledglings without revealing Dean's existence. It was already bad that Raphael knew, if Naomi or Zachariah found out, Michael didn't know if his authority would be enough to save his fledgling.

His fledgling.

If the library failed him, his only hope was to find Gabriel. His brother had sired four fledglings before fleeing to Earth for unknown reasons. Gabriel would understand Michael, after all, the youngest archangel always had liked humanity.

"Michael, we need to talk," Both Zachariah and Raphael appeared before him at the same time, making his core tremble. For one second he feared that Zachariah had found out about Dean, and wanted to destroy what he would see as a threat to the great plan. But Raphael's presence was even worse. Because his brother had been watching over Dean for almost six years now,

"Speak, Zachariah," Michael forced to address the lower angel first. He wanted to dismiss him and have a private meeting with Raphael, but he knew that would be suspicious.

"We have a problem with the demons, sir," Zachariah said calmly. Michael was glad he was not inside of a vessel, as if he had been his blood would've turn to ice. "It seems that they believe an angel is circling their... abomination. Your Vessel's brother."

"Are you keeping watch on D... my Vessel?"

"I'm afraid to say that not very closely, no," Zachariah admitted as if he was ashamed. Thankfully, he didn't realize that Michael was relieved at the news."We didn't think it was necessary until the time for the breaking of the seals arrive since the demons are bound by our contract not to kill him. But Mara, our demonic contact, claims that there are traces of grace around your Vessel and the abomination. She insists that whoever it is is 'cleaning' the abomination and that we're breaking the contact."

"And is there an angel around my Vessel?" Michael asked, trying to pretend to be angry. After all, no one knew he had changed his mind about the apocalypse. Any kind of interruption wouldn't be seen kindly.

"As far as I know, no, but..."

"If the abomination is not as tainted as the demons expected, it might not be because of an angel," Raphael interrupted Zachariah. Michael noticed a small pause when he called Dean's brother an abomination, and hoped that the other angel hadn't realized that. As it stood, Michael was surprised. It almost sounded as if Raphael didn't consider Samuel Winchester an abomination. "But because of his proximity to Dean Winchester. After all, the boy is not only Michael's Vessel, he's also the Righteous man. It's entirely possible that his soul has an effect on those around him."

Michael knew that Raphael had been spending too much time with Dean, as that was one of the best lies he had heard the Archangel said. And, as his fledgling would say, utter bullsh*t. But it seemed that Zachariah believed it, as he nodded in agreement.

"I'll inform Mara of the situation. Perhaps separating the brothers would be advisable."

"Or perhaps the demons should learn patience," Michael said, dismissing Zachariah. "The first seal won't break before the decade passes. Instead of worrying about my brother's vessel, they should get ready to break the seals. Go and tell them that."

Once Zachariah was gone, Michael turned to see his brother.

"Separating the brothers might be advisable, Michael. Not for Sam, but for Dean's sake," Raphael said. He looked infinitely younger inside his vessel, and Michael wondered why he had decided to take it so soon.

"What do you mean, Raphael? Dean dotes on Sam, and without Sam's love, his balance..."

"Could be lost, yes. But perhaps we could find other sources of nourishment for Dean's soul half. Better sources."

"What do you mean, Raphael?" Michael started to get worried. A human emotion he had found very unsettling in the past years.

"I think it's time you see how your fledgling lives outside the dreamscape, brother. And I fear you won't like what you will find."

Chapter 8: Dean's Growth

Chapter Text

Raphael and Michael appeared, invisible, behind the hotel where the Winchesters were living that month. It was a road motel, where the rooms had small kitchenettes and the staff didn't ask many questions. The Impala was not in the parking lot, which was not a surprise to Raphael. He had been on and off visiting Dean outside the dreamscape -always careful not to be seen by Sam after with his children.

"I can sense Dean and his brother, but not his father," Michael said, puzzled. "I cannot sense John inside the town, where is he?"

"He's two towns over," Raphael explained, "Investigating a vengeful ghost. Dean convinced him not to move away so that Sam could have longer in his current school."

Michael frowned, looking at the hotel with distaste. Raphael didn't blame him, he had also had to fight the urge to go and fetch John Winchester to force him to stay with Dean. He had only managed to restrain himself when he remembered how important John Winchester's revenge was for the apocalypse plan.

Even if at this point in time, Raphael wasn't quite sure that he wanted the apocalypse to go on.

"How long as this been going on?" Michael asked, his core brimming with anger.

"Dean didn't want to tell me, but I suspect ever since Dean could cook by himself," Raphael said, not surprised that he also felt anger. He and Michael had to steal moments in the dreamscape to see Dean, and his father, the one person who could be around Dean as long as he wanted was just squandering that benefit. "I blame myself for this oversight."

"Why, brother?" Michael asked, even as his attention was focused on Dean's bright soul inside the building. As expected, there was no trace of grace visible, but even so, Dean's soul shone with far more intensity than a normal human soul. In due time, it would be impossible to hide him.

"I made the assumption that, as we are angels, our love would be immediately more powerful than any human emotion. That's why I asked you to stay away from Dean once you called me for help. I never considered that the reason why his human father's love was not enough to balance yours was because he was not around."

Michael smiled at Raphael's addition that he also loved Dean. Even if he only had Raphael's support, having the only other Archangel in heaven accepting his fledgling was better than being alone.

"Zachariah prefers that we don't get involved with our Vessels until it's time to take them. Usually, I'd agree," Raphael said, very carefully. "And you know Dean will never accept to stay away from Sam. However, the Demons have a more... close investment in Dean's brother. We could manipulate that to our benefit."

Michael looked at his brother, then to the hotel again. It was true that if he and Raphael did anything to separate Dean from Sam, Dean would resent them. But the demons? Thanks to Raphael's lie they would be far more interested into keeping the brothers apart. The only thing the Host had to do was to give them an opening.

* * *

"Hello, Dean," Michael appeared in Dean's newest dreamscape, an abandoned barn, surprising his fledgling.

"Mike!" Dean's face brightened immediately as his grace bloomed out. While Dean himself didn't move, Michael could feel his fledgling's Grace brushing against his, in a tentative embrace. "Where's Raph?"

"Raphael had some business to attend, but he will come as soon as he can," Michael explained. He wanted to ask Dean about the changes in his life, but didn't know how to breach the subject. All he knew from Zachariah was that the demons had found a way to keep the brothers apart and that they had not hurt Dean's body. "I had some free time so I decided to come and visit you. I missed you, Dean."

Dean didn't answer, blushing a little. "At least something hasn't changed."

"What do you mean, Dean?" Michael asked, taking advantage of the opening.

"I messed up and got caught," Dean started to explain. "I... I really don't want to talk about that."

Michael raised an eyebrow. He wanted to learn more about what had happened, but he didn't want to hurt his fledgling. Fortunately, there were other options.

"Do you mean that you don't want me to know, or you don't want to say the actual words?"

Dean frowned, as if he was considering Michael's words and trying to figure out what he meant. "I don't mind you knowing but... how can you find out if I don't tell you?"

"Grace can be used to share memories and thoughts, Childling," Michael answered. This was the one lesson he had hoped Raphael hadn't reached yet. He wanted to be the first one who showed his fledgling how to connect to other minds.

"Like telepathy? You would be reading my mind?"

"No, Dean. You would be projecting your thoughts at me. Do you remember the day when you had the first power surge?"

"You mean the day I almost exploded?" Dean scoffed. "Yeah. That was scary. If you hadn't decided to visit me as a surprise that day..."

"You called for me, Dean" Michael interrupted. "I remember clearly hearing your voice, even as I was in Greece. I thought you had noticed, that's why I never commented anything to Raphael."

"So... If I learn how to do this, I could talk to you all the time?" Dean's eyes lit up. "Even when I'm awake?"

"With practice, yes," Michael assured him. He was very glad that Dean seemed on board with the plan. "And it also will allow you to keep whatever secret you want from me. It's not me reading your mind, it's you projecting what you want me to know."

Dean's grace flared up again, hugging Michael closely. That made Michael feel warmth and wish once more that he could just grab his fledgling and carry him away, consequences be damned. But he had a mission to fulfill for his Father, and he wouldn't be a good parent himself if he disobeyed.

It took some attempts, bur Dean finally managed to start projecting his thoughts through his Grace, rather than opening his soul for Michael to read. Once again, Michael had to stop himself from wanting to smite John Winchester when he found out how Dean had ended up in what humans called a house for 'troubled' boys. Apparently, Dean had lost the money his human father left him to feed Sam and he had been caught trying to steal food for his brother.

And John Winchester had decided to leave him there.

"I know. I was an idiot for letting myself be caught," Dean said, self depreciation tinting his voice. It was only then when Michael realized that his fledgling had sensed and misinterpreted his anger.

"I'm not angry with you, Dean," Michael quickly said, trying to ease the childling's pain. "I'm angry at your father."

"He's doing the best he can," Dean insisted, his grace flaring in defense of his human father. "It was my fault, really. When he asked me how much money we needed, I only asked for just enough. I should've guessed we could have an emergency."

"Next time, you could call us," Michael offered. He didn't know if John would come back for his son, or even if Dean would want to go. But now he was sure that no matter what, he would try to be present for his child. "Why don't you try to call Raphael?"

"You said he was busy."

"Even if he can't come, he could answer you in your mind. It would be good practice," Michael told him, wondering if his brother would now approve for longer visits. Wondering how would Dean's life be away from his human father and his brother, but most of all, if he could be strong enough to go against Father's plans to insure that his fledgling could be happier until his ascension came.

* * *

Two months.

That's how long Michael had to enjoy seeing his fledgling grow like a completely normal human. Watching him going to school, hearing Dean's commentary about his boring teachers in his head. Training him in the finer points of telepathy with Raphael, so that he could, in an emergency, erase the memory of a human who saw something they shouldn't.

See Dean's soul half grow stronger, brighter, the day Dean kissed a human for the first time.

Time had no meaning for Michael, but if he had known that it was going to be so short, he would've tried to make it last more.

As it was, he already felt keenly the lack of a Vessel, because unlike Raphael who had visited Dean more than once, he was limited to see his fledgling inside the Dreamscape.

So despite the risk of creating a power surge, he couldn't stop himself from going to visit Dean the first night he was back with John and Sam Winchester.

He needed to understand why.

"You were happy at Sonny's," Michael said, while he watched Dean carefully heal the visible bruises on his skin, to later just recreate them without the actual injury under Raphael's careful guidance. During Dean's time at Sonny's, they often went together to overview Dean's training. "Why did you agreed to return to your... father?"

Dean looked at them, and Michael was surprised to see that his eyes were not reflecting the sadness he could feel in his soul and grace. No, instead, Dean looked determined.

"I was going to tell Sonny to tell my dad to come back later," Dean confessed, slowly. " I still want to help people, but I thought maybe... I could wait a few years? Finish school in one place and all... But then I saw Sammy through the window. He's getting worse."

"What do you mean, Dean?" Raphael asked, intrigued.

"His soul is getting worse," Dean explained. "Two months ago, it had a few cracks. It looked bad, but not really bad, you know? Now it looks like if it was enveloped in a spider web. They're not... huge cracks, but they're way too many. You have to tell me how to fix that, Raph, please!"

"Dean," Raphael tried to explain, but Dean interrupted him, soul and grace flaring in anger.

"Don't tell me that we can't! I don't know what that web is, but I know it's bad. I have to help him before his soul actually starts to break!"

Michael and Raphael looked at each other. Both had known this was going to happen, Dean loved his brother too much to let him fall into Perdition. From the moment Dean had been able to see human souls, this day had been predetermined.

"Very well, Dean," Michael finally said, surprising Raphael. "Let's start with how to touch someone else's soul."

* * *

"Why can't I heal my brother completely?" Dean asked, obviously frustrated. Raphael looked away to study the newest dreamscape the young man had conjured. It was the barn from the youth house where Dean had spent two months away from all his worries. The reason why he didn't want to meet Dean's eyes was because unlike Michael, deception wasn't his strong point, and he couldn't actually tell Dean that it wasn't part of the plan to let him to completely heal his brother. "You've been training me for this for two years now, and all I can manage is to keep those tainted lines as a small crack. I should be able to erase them completely."

"Human souls are complicated," Raphael settled for omitting information. It was easier than lying. "And your brother indulges in some very serious sins."

"You're insane. Sammy is so good that he should've up for sainthood. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, hates when dad and I get money hustling. He ain't indulging in anything. Besides, if that was what it took for a soul to get tainted, mine would be black, like a witch's."

Raphael sighed, and then berated himself for having such a human reaction. He had originally thought that Michael's increased... affinity... for human emotions had been a secondary effect of creating a fledgling, even with the unexpected complications around Dean's core. But after seven years of taking care of Dean's training, of insuring that Dean wouldn't lose control... he had to admit they were a side effect of being around Dean himself.

In those years, he had gone from thinking of the childling as flawed to feel ashamed of himself for that line of thinking. And now, to use a human term, he felt as if he was the fledgling's uncle.

Not that he would ever tell Dean that, because it would bring complicated questions about Michael.

He didn't even want to mention it to Michael, as he certainly didn't feel that way about any of Gabriel's fledglings. His only 'nephew' was Dean.

"You do not indulge in sin for sin's sake, Dean. Even if you didn't possess Grace, your soul would still be righteous."

"So you keep saying. But Sammy doesn't indulge in sin at all, you know that. So, what gives? Why are there so many cracks in his soul no matter what I do?"

"Perhaps we have hit a limit to your abilities. Your core is powerful, but you are only seventeen. And we've only studied soul healing for one year." Dean had excelled in that, driven to heal his brother no matter what, but Raphael was sure that if they delved in other lessons, Dean's control over his own grace would improve.

As it was, Raphael was sure that once Dean ascended, he would be one of the most powerful Seraphs. With a little more training, he could become an Archangel.

Michael would probably like that, to see his fledgling's grace enveloped with eight wings.

"I thought you said that I couldn't do anything outside the dreamscape or I could risk burning people's souls," Dean pointed out, throwing a knife to a makeshift target that was on the other end of the barn. Raphael nodded, impressed. The knife had missed the center, but it was nothing that a bit more of practice couldn't solve.

"There is more to protecting people than just healing their souls," Raphael smiled. While he was a healer, as the Archangel in charge of the prophets, he also excelled at hand to hand combat and he was actually looking forward to train his nephew in that art. Even if he was sure that Michael would prefer to do it himself. "Wouldn't you like me or Michael to teach you sword fighting? To complement your father and Robert Singer's training."

"Michael could do it?" Dean brightened up so much, that Raphael couldn't even feel hurt that the fledgling preferred his father to him. "But.. you said he was too busy..."

"Your birthday is coming soon, isn't it? You mentioned that your father was going to allow you to travel alone for a few days. We could fit some training on those days."

"Outside the dreamscape?" Dean asked, producing another knife to practice his throw again. Before he did, Raphael came closer and helped him adjust his aim. This time, the throw was better. Had it been a human-shaped enemy, he only missed the heart for an inch. "Seriously?"

"If you found a place isolated enough so no humans would be able to find it, yes," Raphael promised. "Or he could train you in the dreamscape and I'd train you in the real world."

"Well, the plan was to try and go through five states in five days, it could work," Dean smiled at him. "Say, why can you be out in the waking world? I thought all angels do the whole burning eyes thing if they appear on the real world. That's why people like me are born, right? So there are sort of angels on earth."

"That's... close to it, yes," Raphael said. He knew that Michael had not revealed the truth about his creation to Dean -if nothing else because until Dean's death, they wouldn't know if he was a nephelim or something new- but he hadn't quite remembered the explanation his brother had given Dean about his grace-souled core. "But there are times in which we also need to wak the Earth, and for that, we need a Vessel."

"A Vessel? Like... a special body or something?" Dean frowned.

"A faithful man that was chosen for this mission, and has allowed me to use his body as my own," Raphael continued, cautiously. He didn't want to lie to Dean, but the subject of a vessel was not exactly something he wanted to discuss with him. Still, it was better if he did it, rather than Michael. "I keep his soul safe within my Grace."

"That's a real guy you're possessing, then," Dean said, obviously bothered by the idea. "You first appeared in the real world when he was, what? Fifteen? Has he been trapped inside his body for two years? Do you even know his name?"

"His name is Donald. Donald Finnerman. And I assure you he knew what I was asking of him," Raphael found himself defending his choice. Truth was, Donald had been almost eager to let Raphael use his body. His life hadn't been much better than Dean's.

"And when you're up in Heaven? Do you let him have his body?" Dean insisted. "I mean... I'd like to meet him, if it's possible. Since you possessed him just to train me."

Raphael considered it for a moment, while Dean kept throwing knives, each closer to its intended target. It was not an usual situation, usually once an archangel took a vessel it was until said vessel was unneeded. He had originally planned to stay in Donald until the apocalypse was done and over with, but now he was starting to believe that perhaps there would be no apocalypse.

Dean's idea had some merit. And, if he proved possible to leave and possess a Vessel multiple times, if he let Donald's soul grow stronger on his own, perhaps he could find a solution to Michael's current vessel problem.

"We will see. Now, maybe you can try to conjure a bigger knife?"

Dean obeyed dutifully, as he always did when Raphael offered new challenges. But as he was going to throw a new knife, his grace flared up slightly so Dean stopped.

"sh*t. Sam about to wake up. I should be making his breakfast."

"You should not be monitoring your brother sleeping patterns, Dean," Raphael chastised. He had taught Dean how to track human dreamscapes in order to help him heal his brother's soul, but the control needed to keep a constant monitor and his grace completely locked down had to be a huge strain to Dean's energy.

"I don't do it every day, " Dean answered, but he was already folding every bit of power inside himself. "Just when Dad's away. I swear, Raph, I'm not exhausting myself."

Raphael wanted to say something more, but the dreamscape around him vanished with Dean, proving that the young man was done with the conversation.

* * *

Although he would never admit it, Dean liked to be away from his father and Sammy. He missed them, yes, and he had worried for weeks about the effect five days away could have on Sam's soul, but the truth was that he liked not having to hide all the time.

Not staying with his family meant that he didn't have to pretend to sleep anymore. He had stopped when he was sixteen, and while he still went to the dreamscape, he didn't actually need to sleep to rest. And while he still loved the taste of pie, he almost never was hungry, so he could actually save his food money for emergency supplies.

Without sleeping or stopping to eat, Dean could cover a lot more ground on the Impala than what he had told his dad he would. He had planned to go to the Mojave Desert, where he was sure Michael could come down in the real world not risking anyone eyeballs.

On the first day, he almost got derailed from his plan when he met a very cute yoga instructor in a Gas n' Sip in Arizona named Lisa Braeden. Her soul was bright and warm, her aura a welcoming green. But between spending five days with a girl he would probably never see again or get the chance to improve his abilities so he could heal Sam faster? There was no competition.

That night, Raphael appeared on the passenger seat of the Impala, still wearing Donald. And, to Dean's surprise, then left so that Dean could get to know Don while they got to Mojave. Unlike Dean, Don needed to sleep and eat, but he didn't mind doing both on the backseat of the Impala, so by the night of the second day, they had reached their destiny.

During that time, Dean and Donald (Or, actually, Donnie, as he prefferred to be called) got to know each other. Donnie was surprised to know that Dean wasn't a Vessel like himself, and Dean couldn't believe that Donnie had wished to disappear for a while from his own life just because he had been deemed not fit for the police academy due to a congenital heart problem.

" You could ask Raph to help you with that, you know?" Dean told him as they walked through the empty trail. "I could try it but... I'm not that good at healing internal organs yet."

"I dunno, man, Raphael might wear my body but I'm not sure he'd like me asking for a favor," Donnie said, sounding so dejected that Dean wished he could dare to try and heal his heart. "Besides, he still needs my body, right? When I'm going to have time to go to the Academy if he's off doing angelic things inside me?"

"I don't know.. Maybe you could have an agreement? Like, he only gets you on the weekends or for emergencies?"

"What? Like a superhero?" Donnie laughed. "Cop by day, Archangel by night? Sounds like a bad X-men spinoff."

"You don't lose anything by asking," Dean pointed out. It was somewhat freeing to be able to talk to someone else about the angels, someone who understood. Of course, their situations weren't exactly the same, as Dean wasn't a vessel and Donnie's soul was completely normal, but at the very least they both knew what it felt like to talk to a member of the Heavenly Host. "Besides, Raph likes to try new things. If you convince him it's an experiment, he might agree."

"Well, he did let me have my body for a while because you asked," Donnie grudgingly admitted. As Dean laughed, he stopped short, looking upwards. "Oh, speaking of the angel... he's coming."

"Here?" Dean looked around. There weren't any other tourists around, and the sky was darkening. "Ok, you need something?"

"No, I got this," Donnie smiled at him as a bright blue light started to surround him. "All I've got to do is say YES."

The blue light around Donnie's body became brighter, almost to the point of hurting Dean's eyes. But he kept watching, as the light turned into white vapor and entered Donnie's mouth. When the light was completely gone, the one looking at Dean through Donnie's eyes was Raphael.

"That was a very showy entrance," Dean said, as he opened his soul as Michael had taught him to greet his friend. "I don't think you guys can do that in a phone booth."

"Why would we need to do that?" Raphael asked, tilting his head like a confused pigeon.

"I'll tell you later, because I'm sure Donnie won't," Dean shook his head. "Where's Mike? I thought part of the whole coming to a completely deserted place was so I could see him."

"He's coming," Raphael told him. "Just remember, Michael doesn't have a vessel, so his entrance might look more... 'showy' than mine."

Dean was going to say that he doubted it, when the sky suddenly became very bright, almost as if it was day instead of dusk. But it wasn't a white light, no, it shone in all the colors Dean had ever seen, and a couple that he didn't know existed. It was almost like the images he had seen of the Aurora Borealis, but somewhat more solid. The colors and light began to swirl around him and Raphael. As it did, Dean started to feel warm, loved, as if his mother had just hugged him tight, and never let go. It was a feeling that filled his soul, made of all the good memories of his life, of the love he felt for his Dad, Sammy, Raphael... and Michael.

And then he realized that that feeling was Michael, saying hi.

The lights swirled and merged into a single, humanoid figure, very slim and a head taller than Dean. As the figure became more solid, the light around it died until only his skin was still shinning making it impossible for Dean to see his features.

"Ok, that was far showier," Dean laughed, before going towards his friend to greet him with a hug for the first time but Michael stopped him before he could touch him.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Michael whispered. Even so, his voice resonated around the desert, making the ground shake. "But it's not safe for... humans to touch us when we're not inside a vessel. Even now, we're risking a lot."

"Why don't you have a vessel?" Dean asked, confused. For what he had talked to Donnie and what little Raphael had told him, he had come to understand that all angels had a destined vessel somewhere in the world. It was strange that Michael didn't have one.

Michael turned to look at Raphael, in a way that Dean was sure it had to be a glare.

"I'm a very powerful archangel, Dean," Michael said, slowly. As if he was trying to convince himself and not Dean. "Not any human can hold my Grace."

Dean nodded, realizing that Michael didn't want to talk about the subject. Still, he was not going to forget that. If Michael and Raphael didn't want to talk about Vessels, he was not going to force them. But next time he was at Bobby's, he was going to do some research on his own.

* * *

"Dean is growing stronger every day," Raphael commented as he and Michael were standing on top of Stull Cementery, where they knew that the final confrontation would start. "Maybe we should let his Grace consume what's left of his human soul. At this point, he might be able to keep the Vessel for you to use."

"That would require him dying as a human," Michael pointed out. "And he can't do that until he travels to the past to meet me again. Then, his soul was beautiful, vibrant, and human."

"Then what will we do? It's destiny that you and your sword will vanquish Lucifer and bring Paradise to Earth. Without your Vessel..."

"I've been thinking about that, since we started training him to use a blade," Michael interrupted. "When Dean ascends to Heaven, he will need a title. Michael's Sword has a good ring to it."

Michael smiled at his brother, waiting for him to understand what he was implying. It was a neat solution. Back when Michael and Lucifer had first crossed blades, Michael had been unable to kill his own brother and that had brought the need for a cage. Dean wouldn't have any problem destroying the Father of Lies. His fledgling could be his sword, fighting with his own power, and still fulfill what Father had set on stone.

"You enjoyed training him for five days in a row," Raphael pointed out, smirking. It was good to see his brother happy again. In the many years their Father had been absent, Raphael had become sullen. While he still was not as happy as he had been at the beginning of time, he was starting his recovery. "In order to defeat our brother, he'd need more training."

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you have increased your visits, brother. You enjoy my fledgling's company too." Michael sighed. Dean was now nearing his nineteen birthday. He wondered if he would do as many humans and leave his father. If he did, maybe Michael could stay longer next time. "You also care for him. Doesn't that upset his balance?"

"He's not my fledgling," Raphael said. "My love for him is not as powerful as yours. It balances quite well with his brother's love."

"MICHAEL! RAPHAEL! PLEASE, HELP! I CAN'T FIND SAMMY!!"

Dean's cry for help rang through Michael's Grace, clear as a bell. As Raphael said, he was getting more powerful every day. Barely sparing a glance to his brother, Michael took flight, ready to answer Dean's call for help.

Chapter 9: Michael's Realization

Chapter Text

Sam Winchester had ran away, taking advantage of his brother's trust and his father's absence. As a frantic Dean explained that he had only gone to get groceries, that he had no idea how to find his brother by himself, Raphael wondered if it would be possible to convince Michael and Dean to let the young boy go. After all, the demons would not let anything happen to their king's vessel.

However, Dean was adamant about finding his brother before his father returned and realized that he had failed once again to keep Sam safe.

Raphael could understand perfectly well the feeling of letting your Father down, so he kept his opinions about Sam to himself and agreed to help Dean search for the lost teen.

It took them two weeks to find the kid in a huge amusem*nt park, where the security staff didn't notice a fifteen year old human and a dog living within the premises . Apparently, the demons had aided Sam's escape, as his soul was again riddled with black cracks. Not enough to be worrisome, as Dean could deal with them easily, but still a clear enough mark of the way Perdition kept tags on Lucifer's Vessel.

"Remind us to teach you how to track your family outside the dreamscape so this won't happen again," Raphael said, right outside the park. Both he and Michael had agreed to let Dean talk to his brother alone, but that didn't mean that either liked the idea.

"After this scare, I'm never letting Sam out of my sight again!" Dean thought back as he passed the ticket booth without paying or calling attention to himself. Once Dean had mastered telepathy, he had become quite adept at hiding himself from human thought. It was not complete invisibility, but he could push people thoughts away from him in order to make them forget they had seen him.

"He is young and he's rebellious," Michael sighed. "Sometimes, the only thing to do with rebellious brothers is to let them run free."

"Or lock them in their rooms," Raphael finished, not missing the parallel Michael was drawing not between Sam and Lucifer, but between Sam and Gabriel.

"I like Raph's solution better," Dean admitted grudgingly. "At least that way I'll know where... Oh, f*ck me!"

"Dean?" Michael asked, confused at his fledgling's outburst. Raphael was far more familiar with Dean's ever-growing colorful swears but even he thought it was strange.

"I found Sammy but... he's not alone," Dean opened his grace completely, to let them see what he saw. Once more, Raphael had time to feel wonder at Dean's trust in them. Unfortunately, said wonder was followed by guilt. After all, he and Michael had lied to him many times over during his young life.

Dean was seeing young Sam, who was sitting on a bench eating a hamburger. Immediately, both archangels realized what had Dean so worried. Next to Sam, obviously with the human youth, a dog was sitting, wagging his tail and waiting for Sam to give him a piece of his meal. To any onlooker, it was a heartwarming image of a young boy and his dog, but Dean saw things differently. The Dog was surrounded by a sickly looking yellowish humanoid aura, that marked it as a skin walker. Thankfully, Sam's body didn't reveal any infection, but Dean didn't want to wait for longer.

"We have your back, Dean," Michael said, calmly. "Just get your brother to safety."

"You can't manifest here, Mike! There's way too many people around." Dean answered, and Raphael sensed that Dean was getting his silver knife ready. Apparently, the fledling seemed sure that he could keep himself invisible from humans even as he killed a skin walker in their midst. "I think I can handle this. Can you like, run interference for me?"

Or he trusted Michael and Raphael's blindly. The thought humbled Raphael..

Without breaking the connection, Dean hurried towards his brother. Sam looked up just as the dog started growling, no doubt sensing Dean's grace. The fledling was so angry that he was not even attempting to hide his nature, so it was a good thing that Michael and Raphael were there or every angel in Heaven would have known about Dean immediately.

"Dean?" Raphael realized that Sam didn't sound happy to see his older brother, and wondered exactly how the relationship between the two of them was. He remembered quite well the suspicious look the kid had sent his way the only time they had meet face to face. "What are you...?"

"Get away from the dog, now, Sam," Dean said, very calmly. Raphael could feel Michael's pride at his fledgling's reactions. "We'll talk later."

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam asked, but, to Raphael's relief, the kid still walked towards his brother and away from the skin walker. It made a move to grab Sam's pant leg but Dean was quicker, grabbing Sam by the shoulder, and pushing his brother behind him.

"Did you test it before you started sharing food with it?" Dean asked, showing the hilt of his knife to the skinwalker, who kept growling not noticing that no one around seemed to realize what was happening. It seemed unwilling to change, but Raphael couldn't divine if it was because he thought the other humans would notice, or because it was trying to keep the charade so that Dean would lower his defenses.

"What? Of course not, Dean, it's a stray dog! Not everything is a monster!" Sam whispered, also unaware of the fact that no one would notice them as long as Michael and Raphael didn't will it so.

"That's a skin walker," Dean half growled as he pulled out his knife, not taking his eyes away from the fake dog. "f*ck, Sammy, why did you run away? It could have bitten you and then dad..."

"Riot is just a dog, Dean!" Sam said grabbing Dean's arm to make him turn around. The skin walker seemed to think it had an opportunity, probably not realizing what Dean was. It had been cowed by Dean's aura of power, but it didn't really understood what he was facing.

It jumped straight at Dean, who sensed him and managed to free his arm from Sam's grasp and put it out to defend his brother. The skin walker's closed its jaws around Dean's arm, biting hard.

And then it happened.

Dean's grace flared out through the wound, invisible to all but the archangels, who watched in surprise as Dean's grace tied the skin walker's aura around it's canine body, constricting it and sealing it so that it wouldn't be able to take human form again. At the same time, Dean's grace burned the poison that the skin walker had tried to inject in Dean's body.

Raphael was very impressed, even if he didn't understand why Dean had done that.

"Jesus, Dean, what the hell?" Sam was yelling, as Dean managed to free his arm. The skin walker, confused at what was happening, decided to make a run for it. Raphael was going to follow it later to finish the work that Dean had started. A skin walker near Lucifer's vessel could be a coincidence, but if Dean's seal failed, and the skin walker talked to a demon about the powers of the older Winchester, Michael's secret could be discovered.

"Well, that was a way to prove it was not a skin walker," Dean joked, and Raphael understood. Dean hadn't wanted to break Sam's illusion that he could be safe. Even if at the end would have been better if Sam realized how much danger he had been in. "Now, let's go back home. We have like a day before Dad comes back and decides to let me have it for letting you out of my sight."

The boy glared at his brother, but didn't protest further. At least that crisis had been averted.

"The boy was with a demon at some point of the week," Michael told Raphael, as they both assured Dean they would deal with the skin walker discretely while Dean returned with Sam to the hotel they had been calling home, and Dean closed the connection between them. "Our brother's army is keeping a close eye on his vessel."

"Do you think that maybe they convinced him to run away?" Raphael wondered, as he appeared before the now terrified skin walker. It had been trying to shift, to no avail. "To insure that he was away from Dean's cleansing aura?"

"It is possible. Its' something I would have planned, if the apocalypse hinged on the corruption of Sam Winchester."

"Dean will not take kindly that information," Raphael said, as he burned the skin walker immediately, making it completely disappear. There would be no witness to Dean's real power. "He loves his brother, as we loved Lucifer once upon a time."

* * *

Dean's birthdays were always a special day for Michael. Even when Raphael relaxed his rules and allowed Michael to visit Dean more often, it was a reminder of the many years he had spent with little contact with his dear fledgling.

Every year, like a clock, he would wait patiently until he felt Dean enter the dreamscape, and ready himself to visit Earth. Always with a good excuse, in case Zachariah grew suspicious, and always informing the host that he wasn't to be bothered for the next four hours.

Unfortunately, as Dean grew, his need for sleep had almost disappeared. And even if it hadn't, John still didn't expect a full time hunter to sleep more than six hours a night, so Michael's time with his fledgling had been reduced again.

"You're twenty one today, right?" Michael asked, as he looked around at the beautiful, peaceful lake that was Dean's choice of the day. "Are you going to take another trip away from John and Sam?"

"Not this time," Dean shook his head, looking at the lake as if he was actually considering fishing in his dream. "Sam and Dad have been fighting more and more, and I don't want another Six Flags incident if I'm not around."

"That's wise," Michael said, even if he didn't quite believe his own words. He had suffered a lot being made his brother's keeper. He hadn't wished the same destiny to befell his fledgling. Even if the prophecy demanded exactly that to happen to him. "So what do you want to do to celebrate?"

"I want to learn to astral walk," Dean told him, smiling. "Raphael said that you were much better than he was, since you're always around without a vessel."

"Raphael said that, uh?" Michael smiling, sitting next to Dean. "And why do you want to learn it? Is dreamwalking not enough for you?"

"You know I never go outside my own dreamscape, Mike," Dean shook his head as he pulled out the fishing rod and threw the line on the water. "But it gets a bit boring when you and Raph aren't around. So I thought, maybe if I learned to get out of my body, I could help dad. Do some research before we go and find the ghosts or whatever. And..."

"And?" Michael prodded. He was very proud of Dean's strategic prowess. How he had learned to use his abilities even within the strict limits that Raphael and Michael set for him.

"Well, if I'm not in my body at the time... maybe... you could use it? I mean, I know that you're all powerful and thus there's no vessel for you but if it's one hour or two, it would be ok, right?"

Michael looked at Dean, stunned. His fledgling, his dear childling who had no idea of what he had just offered. Who had such a big heart to offer this, his second more priced possession, without a second thought.

And would so again, Michael was sure now.

"Mike? Did I say something wrong?" Dean asked, obviously worried at Michael's silence.

"Never offer that again," Michael said, trying to reign his anger.

"Ok? Look, Mike, I know my body isn't the best you can get but..."

"Do not belittle yourself, Dean," Michael insisted. "But understand that your body is your own vessel. And a vessel is a precious thing to have. Others would be ready to steal it from you if you offer it so freely."

"But not you," Dean insisted, stubbornly.

"I do not know what I would do with such temptation," Michael said, truthfully. "So promise me that you will never offer again. And that if any angel asks you to give up your righ to your own body, you will tell him no. PROMISE ME!"

Dean looked up, frightened, and Michael realized that he had used his full voice. But he couldn't stop himself. Because at the end, he didn't want Dean to offer his body, to find himself locked out of Earth just because he thought he was doing the right thing.

"Ok, Mike. I promise. Calm down," Dean said, obviously trying to placate Michael's anger. "So... Astral walking is out?"

"No, I can still teach you that," Michael said. "But the first thing I'll teach you is how to keep your body protected from invaders while you're not in it."

As Dean smiled, fear forgotten, Michael could relax.

It wasn't until much later, when he was back in heaven, that he realized that his experiment had worked. Dean trusted him without question, enough as to offer him his body without hesitation.

But it was also a failure. Because now, Michael would die before taking his fledgling's vessel. Nothing on Earth, Heaven or Hell would force him to do that.

* * *

Donnie Finnerman had had a very strange life. At 18, he had been approached by an archangel to become his human vessel and he had thought that was it. That was about what she wrote. Surprisingly, at 22, the same archangel had let him go for a day, so he could meet the reason why the Archangel had insisted that he needed a body, one Dean Winchester.

Donnie wasn't exactly sure what was the relationship between the angels and Dean, but even wrapped deep inside the angel, he had felt the love Raphael had for the not quite human teen.

And, by actually meeting Dean, Donnie could understand a bit why the archangel cared for him. After all, Dean had not only worried about why Donnie had chosen to put his life in eternal pause, but also had found a way to convince Raphael to have a... time share with Donnie. Which meant that Donnie had finally managed to reach his life dream, to become a police officer.

Sure, from time to time, Raphael still needed him. But, unlike the first time, when Raphael had been practically demanding and Donnie had barely had the time to close his bedroom door before being surrounded by the archangel's grace, now Raphael actually asked before time, making sure that Donnie had time to finish whatever he was doing when the archangel called.

However, nothing had prepared him for the shock that was that Raphael contacted him not to ask him to use his body, but to ask him to make a phone call.

"Come again?" Donnie asked in his mind, trying to figure out if he was being tested. Or maybe, if he was misunderstanding.

"It's Dean's phone," Raphael explained, his voice grave and deep, but at the same time, familiar. Almost as if James Earl Jones was trying to imitate Donnie's own voice. "I'm afraid that he's distressed, and neither Michael nor I have the ability to comfort him in this time of need."

"Something happened to Dean?" As he asked, Donnie was already on his way to his small apartment. If he was going to call Dean, it was not going to be on the streets. At the same time, he wondered what kind of emergency would need a Maine street cop rather than the two most powerful archangels in Heaven.

"His brother left him and his father in order to study at an University called Stanford," Raphael elaborated. "He is very distraught."

"I can imagine, but... what can I do?" Donnie asked, confused.

"Angels do not experience temporary separation. The only angels that have left the host are completely lost to us. That doesn't help us to ease Dean's fears."

"Oh. And because my sister went to college and I decided to check out of the universe by accepting to be your vessel, I'm the person to talk to him?" Donnie asked, before realizing that Raphael wouldn't understand the sarcasm. "Ok. So, send me his phone, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Donald," Raphael said, and Donnie realized how important the situation was. Raphael had never thanked him for anything.

"Don't mention it..." Donnie said, smiling as he picked up his cell phone and the number appeared on his head. Encouraged by the success, he decided to speak up his mind. "And Raphael? Look, I don't really know what's going on when you're in my body, but I can sense some things. And I know you and Michael care a lot about Dean."

"What is your point, Donald?"

"Well... I sense things, ok? It's not that I want to eavesdrop or anything. I just get... flashes. And I know that you're not telling Dean the whole truth. He... Heck, I don't know the whole truth and I'm in your head most of the time. But... well, it's not my life. You haven't lied to me. Don't lie to Dean either. Because if he finds out on his own, he'll be really mad."

* * *

Since Sam had left, life with Dad was getting harder for Dean. John simply didn't seem to want to stop for a while as he did when Sam and Dean were growing up, just to look for a next hunt.

If Dean thought that John had been driven before, now he had to admit that Sam had had a point when he called his father "obsessed".

But without Sam to distract Dad's attention from time to time, that meant that John was starting to notice certain things that were different in Dean, no matter how careful Dean was. In hindsight, he should've realized that his father was suspicious when his beer started to taste slightly different.

John was spiking it with holy water.

The fact that holy water make him feel a light buzz, as if he had been drinking coffee rather than water, also was starting to worry Dean. Because while he had been able to ignore things like not needing to sleep and eat, and whatever that had happened when the skin walker bit him but didn't infect him, having an obvious reaction to something that humans didn't notice was a bit harder to ignore.

Besides, what would happen if suddenly he developed sensibility to silver or something like that? Michael and Raphael seemed sure it wouldn't happen but then, they hadn't warned him about holy water being some sort of energy drink for him.

Dean knew deep down, that he should've researched a bit about what he really was long ago. When he was younger, the only thing he knew was that here was a light inside of him that wasn't inside his Dad, Mom or Sammy . He tried very hard to forget what had happened the day his Mom died and the light had tried to go out, at the dark man standing over Sammy's cradle. For a long time, he had believed that his light had started the fire. That he had killed Mom. It had taken meeting Michael had been a relief. There was someone else with the same light, he wasn't a freak. That his light couldn't create fires. That Mom's death hadn't been his fault.

So he hadn't asked questions. If Michael said that he was an earthbound angel, then Dean believed him, heart and soul. He had read Pastor Jim's books on angels. Michael was an Archangel, the one who had defeated Lucifer. And, according to the books, Angels couldn't lie. That had been more than enough for an eight year old Dean.

Besides, being with Michael felt good. Almost like being back with Mom and Dad before the fire. Before everything went to hell. So Dean had never once thought that Michael could've deceived him.

But now, 18 years after his first meeting with the Archangel, he was starting to doubt.

He didn't want to doubt Michael. It felt wrong, it made his insides twist and coil.

But as he grew older, he also worried about himself, about the changes he could feel within that he hadn't mentioned to Raphael or Michael. How he didn't need to sleep or eat anymore. They knew he could see people's souls, and he remembered how surprised Michael had been at that development which he hadn't questioned at the time, but it made no sense. If Michael knew that he was an Earthbound angel, he should've known how his abilities were evolving.

Dean should've thought of that before. But between his training with Dad, with Michael, Raphael, and caring for Sam, he had never had any time to stop and think about those things. At the time, as long as he could help Sammy and heal his brother's soul, he was happy.

But now Sam was in Stanford, and Dad kept sending him to easy lone hunts made easier thanks to Michael and Raphael's training, so Dean had a long, long time to think.

And he realized that he needed answers.

The sooner, the better.

The only problem was that he didn't know where to find them.

* * *

"John Winchester is letting Dean hunt alone. And Dean just killed his first Wendigo without any help," Raphael told Michael, and this time, he didn't even try to hide the pride on his voice. Besides the sword training, Raphael had insisted on teaching Dean hand to hand combat. The only thing they hadn't trained Dean to do was to use his Grace in an offensive manner, and that had been only because there was no way to do that without creating a beacon for all angels to follow.

"A cannibal human becoming a demon in life can be dangerous. I'm glad he is safe," Michael nodded. His fledgling was 22 human years, an adult in mortal terms. As such, he had stopped asking for Michael or Raphael's presence when they didn't have a training session scheduled. But Michael still felt the need to keep tabs on him. After all, in angelic terms, Dean was still a childling, an infant to be protected. It was really hard to fight against those instincts, but unfortunately he had some practice at it. "Without his father and his brother, isn't that a danger for his balance?"

"I believe Dean's Core has matured enough for that not to be a problem anymore, brother," Raphael was smiling, as if he had found the answer to a particularly interesting puzzle. It was entirely possible he had. Ever since Dean had suggested to Raphael to let his Vessel free when not needed, the healer of heaven had returned to his experiments trying to understand all possible variables of the communion between an angel and his vessel.

"A Nephelim's balance is always in danger, brother. That's the reason why we had to eliminate most of them," Michael frowned, confused. That was his second biggest fear regarding his fledgling. If Paradise on Earth was obtained, would there would be enough human love to keep Dean balanced? Or he would have to be destroyed so that Michael would never be able to see his Fledgling again? After all, Nephelim didn't go to rest in the Heaven Garden, they were vanished to Purgatory, with all the abominations.

Michael's Core trembled at the mere idea of his precious fledgling trapped in the unending battle that was Purgatory.

"Which would be a problem if your fledgling was a Nephelim, but he is not," Raphael stated, his smile even bigger than before. Michael frowned at him, confused.

"Brother, my childling core is composed of soul and grace. That is what marks a Nephelim. You said it so yourself when you met him."

"We don't know what Dean is. He wasn't conceived like a Nephelim, and even if at first he reacted as one, he hasn't grown like they did. Think about it, Michael. Could Nephelims seal skin walkers within their animal forms? Or purify a soul that has been tainted by hell?"

"Are you... are you saying that Dean will... ascend? " Michael asked cautiously, not wanting to get his hopes high in case he was misunderstanding his brother. He had talked about the possibility before, as if it was a sure "Become a full angel?"

"I'm almost sure he will, brother," Raphael assured him, as he opened his mind to Michael, so that Michael could see how Dean looked now through Raphael's eyes. His young fledgling's soul was now very bright, almost as it had been the first time Michael had set eyes on him. Bright, and for all appearances, human. But now that he knew what to look for, Michael could also see Dean's grace, shimmering right below the human soul, as if the soul was just a veil shrouding his fledgling true nature.

But the most wondrous thing was that Dean's core was now too big for his human shape. There were wisps of soul/grace creating an aura of smoke around him, concentrating on his back. Small puffs of grace, that, in an angelic fledgling, would later grow into beautiful wings.

"I can't tell how many he has, but I think they're more than two," Raphael said, when Michael failed to voice his relief . "Your fledgling will grow wings one day, Michael. And Nepehlim never had wings."

* * *

"Mike? You have a minute?"

Dean's voice was clear as a bell in Michael's mind. And while he still had to worry about running interference with Zachariah regarding why he liked to spend time on Earth without a vessel and so close to the apocalypse, Michael couldn't just ignore his fledgling.

And if Zachariah asked questions, Michael still had to find Gabriel. While the Messenger's presence wasn't needed for the Apocalypse, Michael wanted to have his whole family near.

"What is it, Dean?" He asked, as he appeared in Dean's dreamscape. This time it was a placid lake, where Robert Singer had taken Dean to fish one day. Michael had liked Mr. Singer a lot. It was a pity that the older man had had a near fatal disagreement with John Winchester.

To Michael's surprise, Dean didn't look all that happy to see him. In fact, he looked worried. Far more worried than when he had realized that no matter what, he couldn't completely erase the dark taint in Sam's soul.

"What am I?" Dean asked, looking at Michael with apprehensive eyes. "You told me once that I was an Earthbound angel, but no matter how much I looked, I couldn't find any information of such a thing. It's as if they don't exist at all. So if I'm not that... what am I? Am I a Nephelim?... Am I a monster?"

The last question was asked in such a low voice that even inside Dean's head, Michael had to strain to hear it.

"You are not a monster, Dean, why would you think that?" Michael asked, confused, not realizing that Dean would misunderstand his meaning.

"So, I'm a Nephelim?" Dean asked, still looking completely crushed at the possibility. "Because for what I've read, that's just another fancy name for monster."

Michael's heart broke completely, and he couldn't stop himself from hugging Dean. After all, they were in the dreamscape where it was safe for him to touch his fledgling without fearing any harm coming to the young one. Dean resisted a little, but then he let himself be hugged, so Michael could feel everything. Every little fear, every doubt, and the absolute confidence that there was something wrong with Dean.

This was his fault, Michael realized. He had always known that lies only beget misery. That's what Lucifer's fall taught him. And yet, he had found himself stretching the truth when he, Raphael and Zachariah had decided that the best way to bring Father back to Heaven was to fulfill the Apocalypse Prophecy and told the rest of the Host that it was Father's will.

And he had lied for the first time when Dean had asked him what he was, back when Dean was barely four years old.

There were many lies that had followed that first one. Many of them he couldn't undo, many of them were to protect the fledgling in his arms. But that first one? Now he saw that it had been a mistake.

A mistake created by his fears and his stubborn denial of what he had done, but thankfully, one that could be rectified.

But first he had to know what had brought that pain to his fledgling's heart.

"You are not a Nephelim either, Dean. Tell me, what brought this idea to your mind?"

"What am I then?" Dean insisted. He didn't try to free himself from Michael's embrace, but t was obvious that he was feeling embarrassed. Still, Michael couldn't let him go. Not when he could project his love freely like this. "I met a psychic during my last case. She said that my soul was not human, that it hurt her eyes just to glance at me. As if her eyes were going to burn."

"That wouldn't have happened, Dean. You keep your core tightly under control. It's bright, yes, but not bright enough to hurt human eyes."

"... So what am I? I know that I'm not human, no matter how much I pretend I am," Dean said, moving away from Michael, who felt the loss immediately. "You keep talking about my core, instead of my soul. So, I don't have a soul, right?"

"It's complicated, Dean," Michael said. He was determined to tell the truth, but at the same time, he was afraid of Dean's reaction. He was afraid he would try to reject his angelic nature and try to fall. And while Raphael was sure that Dean would ascend to Heaven as an angel after his human body died, neither was sure of what would happen if Dean wanted to fall.

"We got all night," Dean pointed out, sitting on the dock so his feet touched the water. "Please, Michael. I need to know."

"There's not another like you in the whole Creation... I called you Earthbound angel, because that's the closest I could come to describe what you are. Angels... angels are born when grace is exposed to a human soul. They grow next to the human soul, protected within the body, and then leave when they're strong enough with the human never knowing they were there. But you... in your case, from the first moment, the grace that would become an angel merged with what was just a human soul and in that moment, you were born."

Dean listened to Michael's explanation, his face growing somber by the minute.

"So... I'm a parasite that ate it's host?" Dean shook his head, and Michael could see the tears forming in his eyes. This was going completely wrong. Instead of convincing Dean of his worthiness, he seemed to be reaffirming his inhumanity. "And even so... half human, half angel? That sounds a lot like what the books say it's a Nephelim... and they were monsters that the angels had to kills. So why didn't you and Raphael killed me when I was four?"

"You are not a Parasite, Dean. You are the son of Mary and John Winchester. Your bright soul took that piece of unthinking grace and made it part of itself, making you different, yes, but not a freak or a monster." Michael had to control his anger, as he didn't want it to affect Dean's already high emotions. "And neither I nor Raphael would ever hurt you. We want you to have a full human life, and then, as I told you before, when the time comes, ascend to Heaven as an angel."

Dean remained silent, considering Michael's words. Michael took this chance to take a look at his fledgling's back, where the wisps of grace were growing. They were still too small to be counted, too ethereal to be sure how they would grow. But just seeing them made Michael feel better about the future of his fledgling. Even if he only had two wings, they would be enough to show the host that Dean was also an angel.

"Who's my father then?" Dean asked, looking at the water. "I mean... did he know what happened? Did he just hand me over to you and forgot about me? Or he was just disgusted that his son was not a full angel?"

"Of course not!" Michael hugged Dean again, despite his fledgling's reluctance to accept physical contact. "Dean... you have to understand, Angels are very different from humans. Until you came into existence, I never thought I could have emotions. You taught me as much as I taught you."

Michael was blaming himself. He hadn't been able to say the words that Dean needed to hear because he still was afraid of his fledgling's reaction. And yet, he wished nothing more than to tell Dean who he was. As good as it had been to admit that Dean was his fledgling, he still was terrified of the possibility that Dean would reject him as a parent.

After all, he hadn't been a very good one.

He was still trying to find the courage to tell Dean the truth, when Dean grew very still. Michael had forgotten that no matter how much Dean put himself down, his fledgling was very smart.

"It's... it's you, isn't it?" Dean asked, looking up at Michael. It had been sudden, so sudden that at first Michael didn't know how to answer. In the end, he preferred actions to words, as he tightened his hug, channeling everything he felt for his fledgling into his grace. He opened his wings, that he had never once revealed into Dean's dreamscape, and covered them both tightly n them.

And was rewarded as Dean's core bloomed, a little hesitant at first, but slowly more surely and returned the same feelings to him.

They stayed like that for a long time, Michael thanking Father that Dean was not angry, until Dean started to shake. Michael let go, confused, but then realized that his fledgling was laughing.

"Dean?" He asked, confused. Dean looked up, smiling, although Michael could still see traces of fear in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just... I was just thinking Dad's reaction if he found out that I have two Dads..."

Michael smiled at him, relieved. Although he didn't understand the habit, Dean often used humor to hide what he really felt. Jokingly or not, he had called Michael "Dad".

And for the Archangel, nothing was more important than knowing that his fledgling accepted him, lies, secrets and all.

* * *

Michael returned to heaven feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Not everything was fine, as he still was keeping secrets from Dean, but now Dean knew he was his son. His fledgling. And the freedom to treat Dean as his childling was just enough for now.

Of course, changes had to be made to the plan.

Until he had faced the very real possibility of Dean's rejection, Michael had been willing to go onwards with the apocalypse plan just as it had been outlined, thousands of years before. Find the two branches of the original bloodlines, Cain and Abel, and make sure they intersected to have two children, two brothers that would become the perfect vessels for Michael and Lucifer, then free Lucifer, kill him and bring Paradise to Earth.

Michael still wanted Paradise, because Paradise meant that Father would be back to them. But just as he was no longer willing to take Dean's body as his Vessel, now he was questioning the wisdom of letting Lucifer have Sam.

Dean loved Sam, there was no doubt about that. He had sacrificed a lot for his younger brother. In fact, Michael was sure that if he had offered Dean to bring him to Heaven, Dean would have refused, just because Sam would not be allowed outside his personal reward.

Perhaps then, Michael mused, there could be another way. The Winchester line, Cain's line, was almost dying, but the Campbell line, Abel's, had always been fruitful. Maybe he could convince Zachariah of the tactical advantage of making Lucifer take a temporal vessel and just purify Sam Winchester completely.

The plan had to go forward, Paradise had to be achieved, but Michael wanted to make sure that Dean would suffer as little as possible.

"Michael, we have a problem." Raphael appeared before him, even somber than the day he had come to inform him that Gabriel was nowhere to be found. "I'm afraid you won't be able to keep Dean's existence a secret any longer."

"What do you mean, brother?" Michael asked, confused. He and Raphael were the highest ranking members of the whole Host. There was no one who could interrogate them, no one who could threaten their secrets. While they still were not powerful enough to go against Father's law about nephelims and thus it was important to keep Dean's existence a secret until his wings came out, they still had the authority to keep everyone else from guessing the truth.

"Chuck Shurley will soon awake as a Prophet," Raphael explained. As the archangel charged with the protection of all Prophets, Raphael not only knew their names, he also knew exactly when they would be called to the Service of the Lord. "He'll be the one to write the Winchester's Gospels, and because of that..."

"He'll know everything that Dean knows..." Michael finished, realizing the full implications of what Raphael was not saying. It was impossible to hide things from a Prophet Scribe, unlike some of the other Prophets who only got half the information they needed at any given time. But a Scribe knew everything, saw everything and, in time, would write everything. Which meant that not only the Host would know about Dean, but also the Demons could learn the truth. By telling Dean exactly who he was, Michael had painted a huge target on his back.

Chapter 10: Separation

Chapter Text

Michael appeared, invisible, outside the small hotel in New Orleans where Dean was staying.

His fledgling had been in the city to deal with a voodoun priest gone evil, and decided to stay to help the rescue workers after the hurricane that had devastated the region.

His eyes were drawn to the Imapala, Dean's most prized possession, and grieved as he realized that he would never ride along his fledgling. It had never been an option, as he had no vessel, but after what he was planning to do? He would be banned from his child's presence.

And yet, it was the only way to keep Dean safe.

HIis childling was inside the room, and yet Michael was afraid to go inside. As much as he needed to go on with his plan, as much as Dean's safety was on danger, the archangel still was stalling.

Part of him was tempted to put his plan in motion where he was. At a safe distance, where he couldn't see his son's face, his son's pain. But he knew that that was the coward's way out. This was all his doing, and he had to face the consequences.

If he was going to tear his son's mind and core apart, he at the very least owed Dean to watch.

As he was debating with himself, he felt Dean's grace brush against his own in greeting. In the last twenty years, Dean had gotten better at manipulating his grace like an angel would, always hidden within the soul part that still remained. Michael imagined that it could be disconcerting so someone who didn't know Dean as, to outsiders, it would look as a soul trying to act like an Angel's grace.

Sadly, Michael returned the gesture, as he finally gathered enough courage to appear in front of his childling.

"Hey, Mi... Dad?" Dean greeted him as soon as Michael entered the dreamscape. The placid lake that Michael would never visit again. "I... don't know how to call you now. Sorry."

"Whatever you want to call me will be fine, Dean," Michael answered, not wanting to acknowledge the warmth around his core at hearing Dean call him Dad. Unfortunately, he couldn't hide the sadness from his voice, and his fledgling noticed it.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, frowning. His grace withdrew away from Michael, as if he was afraid. And Michael didn't blame him for it. His fledgling had reasons to fear now.

"There has been an unexpected development in Heaven, my child," Michael said, walking closer to Dean, opening his grace to hug him. It was going to be the last time he had this privilege, he was not going to waste it. "I'm afraid that ... I have bad news."

"Can I help?" Dean asked, letting himself be hugged even when it was obvious that he was not understanding what was going on. "I mean, I know I am not a full fledged angel but..."

"Not yet, Dean," Michael said, hugging Dean closer. "I'm afraid your time hasn't come yet, and that is the problem."

"Mike... Dad... You're scaring me," Dean said, even as he was wrapping his grace around Michael, obviously trying to make him better. And in that moment, Michael realized he would not be able to go forward with his plan. Not without explaining some things to Dean first.

"There is a storm brewing, Dean. The battle to end all battles is coming," he said, breaking the embrace. "Everything has been foretold already, even the result."

"There's nothing written on stone, Mike," Dean protested immediately, as Michael knew he would. His soul was still not as bright as it had been in 1978, but it was getting there. And Dean was already strong willed. He would never bend for destiny. "Whatever it is, it can be changed."

"You are teaching me that, Dean, and I'm grateful every day for that," Michael smiled sadly at his fledgling. "And that is part of the problem. Everything is foretold... except you. No one knows that you exist, and thus, you could change the whole battle."

"So I'm your secret weapon. I can help!"

"That is the problem, Dean. The battle is still years away, but now... your existence will no longer be a secret. There's a prophet about to be called, and he will know everything you do, and what he knows, the host will know too. And because they don't know you like Raphael and I do... they might think that you're a Nephelim.

Dean looked at Michael, obviously shocked. But Michael couldn't tell if it was because of what he was saying, or because this was the longest he had ever talked to Dean about Heaven's politics. And then, his fledgling lowered his eyes sadly. At that moment, Michael realized that Dean understood exactly what had to be done.

And it broke his core, because now he saw his own pain reflected in Dean's eyes.

"You need me to forget," Dean said, slowly. "And you need to forget me. That's it, isn't it? That's why you are here."

"I don't need to forget you, Dean. I would never be able to, even if Father himself willed it," Michael said, realizing that he was for the first time expressing blasphemy but unable to feel regret. "And the one who can follow your actions cannot read my mind. But yes... it would be for the best that you forgot me... and what you are."

Dean nodded, and Michael realized that between his training, and John's training, Dean had gotten used to follow orders from people he trusted. It was a contradiction, how he had just told him seconds ago that nothing was written on stone, that nothing had to be as it was foretold.. and in the next, he just accepted what Michael was telling him.

Even if it meant to shut down half of his being. Half of his core.

"Will it hurt?" Dean asked, after a long silence. He sounded resigned, and Michael hated himself for causing such pain to his child. Part of him wished he had gone with his original plan, just take Dean's memories while he was distracted. But no, Dean deserved to know, even if he was going to forget everything in a few moments. "And... won't it be dangerous, if I can do... well, the sealing and healing thing and I don't remember?"

"It will be necessary to seal your Grace too, Dean. It's imperative that anyone who sees at you sees and senses only a normal human being." Michael explained. His plan had been that, just to seal everything, memories, grace, and all, just block them in the furthest place of Dean's consciousness and pray he never faced an enemy capable of dragging it up. "Inside of you, it will be safe until you need it."

"Until you need me," Dean corrected. He bit his lip, in the way he usually did when he was thinking about something. "Then you can't put the lock inside of me. What if it breaks before it's time?"

Michael blinked, amazed. Here they were, both of them hurt for the action that needed to be taken... and his child was trying to think about it in a practical way. He hadn't actually considered the possibility of an outside seal, as he believed those could be easily lost or found and said so to Dean.

"But that's the thing," Dean told him. "Look, you put a seal inside of me, and how are you going to convince a me that doesn't know you and knows that everything supernatural is dangerous to get close enough to break said seal? I bet Bobby could find a way to hurt an angel if we had to go against you."

"But I could break an outside seal easily when the time comes," Michal agreed. And Dean's plan had another advantage. "But it has to be something that you can't break yourself by accident. Or even in case of a dire emergency."

"Make it a double seal? So even if the first part gets broken, the second one will hold? Or even better, seal my memories with one seal, and then my grace-core with another." Dean suggested. "I mean, yes, it's would be dangerous if the grace-core seal breaks before the memory seal, but even if that happen... my abilities wouldn't come out immediately. You could get a warning and re-do the seals if necessary."

Michael looked at his son, and smiled sadly. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he needed to make both seals. The two things that Dean never let out of his sight, and never took off.

"I will need your help," Michael finally said. "I need you to suppress your grace as much as you can. Like you did when you were younger, leave only your soul visible."

"I'm going to miss you... Dad," Dean said, brushing his grace with Michael one last time, then did as he was told. Michael once more felt his own core break as he saw the brightness of his child start to diminish, to become completely and absolutely human to any curious eyes. The dreamscape around them disappeared, as Dean's control over it was lost, but Michael paid no attention to that. After all, they were in Dean's empty hotel room, where no other human was in danger of seeing Michael's true form, and he was busy creating a net with Dean's own soul, making it so that it would be impossible for Dean himself to free himself and no one would notice Michael's own manipulation. Then he grabbed Dean's amulet, the one his brother had given him so many years ago, and carefully weaved every single thread of the net into it. As long as Dean kept the amulet on him, there would be no way in which he could access his own powers.

Then came the hardest part. Dean's memories of himself, of Raphael, of everything they had lived together. Once again, Dean helped, pushing all the memories forward. Their first meeting when Dean was dreaming of the lessons John taught them, when Michael taught him to hide, when Raphael came to start training him. He also put forward his memories of Donnie, and Michael realized with a pang of pain that he would also have to erase Dean's friend from his mind. If not, Dean could start questioning the holes in his memory and hurt himself of destroy the seal.

Once he had every bit and scrap of memory together, Michael made them into a box, hiding them behind a wall that he created very carefully inside Dean's mind, so very well hidden that no one would know that there was even a wall to look for. However, he left a very small closed door on it, the exact same shape as Dean's bedroom door back in Lawrence. A door, with a lock that could be opened with the right key.

Finally, he hid the key in the only other object that he knew never left Dean's person: his mother's wedding ring.

Once he was finished, he watched Dean sleep. With his grace so tightly locked, his fledgling wouldn't be able to hear him or see him without suffering any damage. So he kept the words inside of him, promising himself and Dean that it would only be for a short time. That soon, he would've unlocking the door and breaking those seals.

He just have to have patience, and he would have his fledgling back.

* * *

Raphael stood in front of Heaven's armory, frowning. He understood Michael's absolute need to keep his fledgling safe, and that in order to do so and keep the Apocalypse plan together certain actions had to be taken. So far, since Dean had been conceived, Michael had, in order, killed an angel, lied to the whole host, decided to go explicitly again scripture by letting something very similar to a Nephelim live, trained said not-Nephelim, convinced Raphael to do the same -which had let do Raphael becoming... close to a human, but that was a different problem- and was trying to circumvent the words of Father himself by not taking his True Vessel for the Last Battle. It was as close as one angel could get without falling.

Raphael knew he was no better. He liked Dean, and Donnie. And humanity was no longer just a group of wild mud monkeys created by Father just to pass the time.

Still, he'd have thought he would have drawn a line at stealing from Heaven. Except that he had sent Virgil to do a complicated errand, in order to insure that the Weapon's master wouldn't be around, and he now was waiting for the only angel in the whole Host that could carry the mission that completed Michael's crazy plan.

"What do you need me for, General?" Balthazar appeared in front of him, already within his vessel as Raphael had instructed him. For a moment, Raphael wondered who was the tall blond man who had accepted an Angel within his body, and then shook his head to dispel that thought. Angels were not really supposed to think about their Vessels as individuals, and Balthazar could suspect something if he asked.

"I need you to carry a very specific mission on Earth, Balthazar. And to... hide certain objects, while you are there," Raphael said. It was as close to the truth as he could make it, which was imperative given what he was about to hand to the other angel. "I'm afraid there might be some... corruption in Heaven."

"Sir?" Balthazar lifted one eyebrow, dubious. Raphael didn't blame him, but after Michael had killed Annael -a loss that still weighted heavily on Michael's heart after 26 years - he had realized that there had to be a reason for a former Fallen Angel to get her status as Heaven Enforcer back. A Heavenly Enforcer that had been sent to insure that the Apocalypse failed. So yes, there was the chance that someone within the host was working against Father's will.

"Your sister fell two decades ago, didn't she?" Raphael asked, hoping that the eldest of Gabriel's children wouldn't take offence at the reminder. "She was not happy with what we have here."

"Annael loved humanity a little too much, yes," Balthazar answered, but there didn't seem to be any negative emotion on his voice. "But she was not a Fallen. She was not corrupt."

"I never intended to imply that, Balthazar. I know you and your siblings are nothing but pure. However, I fear that she might have been the target of others who are not that clean. There have been rumors of Angels consorting with Demons. And thus, there aren't many in whom I can trust."

"You can trust me, General," Balthazar said immediately, and Raphael had to fight back a smile. He wasn't supposed to smile.

"I know. Which is why I want you to take the most dangerous weapons we have, and hide on Earth until I call for you. Take all what you think won't be missed... and..."

"And?"

"Gabriel's Horn," Raphael finished. That had been the last one, the one that really mattered to Michael, because with it, someone could force them to tell the truth about Dean.

"But... I'm sorry, but... wouldn't that be more useful here? To find the corrupt ones?" Balthazar asked, looking suspicious. Raphael couldn't blame him. The whole situation was suspicious.

"Only in the hands of your father, Balthazar." Raphael was not sure that it was true, but then no one but Gabriel had ever used the horn. "Which is the other part of your mission. I need you to find your sister, keep her safe, away from the host. And if you can... find your father."

"That is not an easy task, sir," Balthazar said, cautiously. It made Raphael think that perhaps he and Michael had missed some obvious seeds of doubt in Heaven, but also feel far more comfortable with his choice. "It could take me years. Gabriel hasn't been seen in almost 30 Earth centuries."

"Take all the time you need, Balthazar," Raphael assured the younger angel. "And don't contact anyone about it, except me."

* * *

Dad wasn't answering his calls.

Dean berated him for the thousand time as he drove the highway to California, wondering why he was feeling so anxious. It was not the first time John got so involved in a hunt that he forgot to touch base with Dean, but never more than a day or two.

And Dean couldn't stop the feeling that he was never going to see Dad again.

Not only that, he felt wrong.

It had started about a week before John's last phone call, when he realized he was getting tired faster than he used to. He was always hungry too. Dean even worried that maybe he had caught something down at New Orleans and had seated himself in an emergency room with a fake id and fake health insurance only to get back a complete clean bill of health. There was nothing wrong with him.

Except that he was sleeping too much, eating too much.

And there was a pit deep inside him. He felt empty and alone and no matter what he did, he couldn't ignore that feeling.

So he drove, and ate and slept. And then he had nightmares, that he didn't remember once he was awake.

Only that dreadful feeling that Dad was lost, that Dad had abandoned him.

After a week, he couldn't stand the radio silence and the voice in his head, so he had packed up everything in Baby and headed down to California. He knew it was wrong, he knew that John wanted to respect Sam's choice to leave the family business, but Dean needed help. And the only one he trusted to help him find John, was Sam.

He needed to be with his family.

Even if it made him sound like a four year old, he needed his Dad.

* * *

Sam looked at his brother sleep and frowned.

He knew that he hadn't been in touch with Dean or dad for four years, but he couldn't believe that his brother had changed so much.

Back when he was younger, he could count with the fingers of one hand the times he had been awake when Dean was asleep and he wouldn't even need all his fingers. Dean always seemed to have energy to spare, awake before the crack of dawn and still up and alert when Sam was falling on his feet.

Now, as soon as they got to a hotel, or Dean accepted to let Sam drive, Dean was dead to the world in seconds. Sure, it was still really easy to wake him up, and now Sam knew it was a terrible idea to wake up Dean without some warning unless he wanted to practice dodging knifes early in the morning.

There was also the food thing. Sam would remember if Dean had packed as much food as he was this days. He wasn't sure that the hunting lifestyle would've been enough to keep Dean in shape if he had been eating as much as he had been lately.

But the most worrying thing? Was that lately, Sam couldn't help but feel irritated at Dean's every move.

It was as if Dean's mere existence made Sam's skin crawl.

And that made no sense, because four years ago? The hardest thing about going to college had been losing contact with Dean. He loved his brother, and the only reason why he hadn't tried to run away again after those great two weeks in Six Flags was because Dean made living with John Winchester bearable. In many ways, Sam considered Dean the glue that had kept the family together.

But now? Every bit of admiration he had felt for Dean seemed to be forgotten as he couldn't help himself from making snide remarks about Dean's lack of formal education, Dean's obsession with hunting, Dean's admiration for Dad. Hell, he had even gone as far as to mock his brother for his admittedly impressive homemade EMF.

Even when afterwards he felt horrible with himself, at the moment, Sam had even felt smug. As if part of him had wanted to make Dean suffer as much as he could, for the sin of bringing Sam back to the hunting life.

Sam closed his eyes as the thought crossed his mind and shook his head. That was wrong. Dean hadn't dragged him anywhere. Sam had agreed to help Dean look for John, and then insisted of coming along to find Jess's killer. Sam knew that and wasn't blaming Dean for anything... except when he wasn't focusing on his positive feelings about his brother.

That terrified Sam. Because there wasn't a single reason he could think for that to happen.

A couple of years before he had gotten to Stanford, they had hunted a grudge ghost that was making all the members of a motor club kill each other over what were very petty reasons. Anyone who got closer to it got affected, except the Winchesters. At the time, John had explained that it was because they already had a specific goal in mind: revenge for Mary; but that made no sense to Sam as he didn't feel the need to go and look for whatever thing killed his mother. He didn't remember his mother. And Dean never acted as irrationally as Dad about it, so Sam had always figured that he wasn't on board with the plan either.

To this day, he had no idea why they hadn't been affected.

But now? Now he was starting to think that maybe he had. Maybe the ghost had left something inside him, something that had been dormant until now. Either that, or at some point he had picked some cursed object without realizing it, but nothing in his possession came to mind.

At it wasn't only against Dean. Yes, he felt angry, irritated and sometimes even afraid to be alone with Dean for no good reason. But he was also starting to feel annoyed at other people. People he didn't know, and who had done nothing to deserve that attitude from him.

Just two days ago, he had actually suggested to leave three civilians alone to be eaten by a Wendigo just because Dad wasn't on the mountain as they had originally suspected. As soon as the words left his mouth he had felt horrified at them, but he just couldn't take them back. And while Dean forgave him, just as he shrugged off everything nasty Sam said to him as a joke, that didn't mean that Sam didn't feel awful after the fact.

The worst part of it all was that he only seemed to be able to think about the fact when Dean was away, unconscious, or asleep. At any other moment, it took effort to even remember that he had to look out for those negative thoughts. And, between those and the dreams, he was afraid to talk to Dean about it.

So he had a plan. He was going to give himself time, and try to figure it out on his own. If he couldn't, or it got worse, he would talk to Dean. In the meantime, he pulled out a notebook and his pen. It was probably a silly coping mechanism, something that once Jess had told him she did when she got mad at her parents and sister. But right now? Sam needed all the help he could get.

Chapter 11: Suspicion

Chapter Text

Michael had learned a lot of things since that fateful January in Lawerence, Kansas, 1979.

But nothing had ever prepared him for the absolute dread he felt when he realized that Dean and his brother were chasing a demon obsessed with air travel. He could fear Dean's fear through his locked grace, the fear and horror as his childling boarded the metal tube that humans used for transport.

And then he realized with horrible sadness that, completely obsessed with training Dean, he had never flown with him. He had never showed Dean the joys of being high up in heaven, sustained with nothing but your own power.

Dean feared flying now. Was that an old fear, or just a side effect of losing contact with his wings, Michael didn't know. What he knew was that Dean's fear could make him vulnerable to be possessed, and he didn't even what to think about what would happen if a demon managed to make itself at home within Dean, and find his sealed grace.

The worst part was that he just couldn't try and help Dean. He, the mightiest and most powerful archangel was powerless to help his own fledgling, not because he couldn't just go and smite the demon into atoms but because if he did that, Dean's pain, their pain, would have been for nothing.

So he stayed where he was, just watching, silently, feeling just like billions of human parents had felt before him.

"Sir?" Unfortunately, it was the exact moment that Zachariah choose to interrupt his careful watch on Earth, just as he felt Dean's panic flare as the plane nose dived. "We have reached an impasse about the first and last seals... it seems that they're fixed points and I am not sure if my reading of the first..."

"I'm busy, Zachariah!" Michael yelled, harsher than he intended, because he couldn't see, couldn't feel if Dean was safe, or if the plane was still going down.

He didn't want to imagine what would happen if Dean died now, with his grace so completely sealed.

"I understand, sir, but the first seal..." Zachariah tried again, finally breaking Michael's patience.

"Zachariah, I thought you were capable to deal with the Seals by yourself. If you cannot do that and insist on pestering me, I will put someone else in your post. Someone who is capable of following orders, without needing reassurance every step of the way!"

Zachariah flinched, not used to see Michael's anger.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll deal with the situation, do not worry about anything," he said, walking backwards. "I'll take care of everything, and it will be ready for the chosen day."

Michael waited until Zachariah was gone, to return his attention to Dean. The plane was once again under control, and his fledgling was safe, although completely terrified. Only then Michael could feel calm returning to his core.

And he wondered how he was going to be able to keep doing the same thing for the next five years.

* * *

Sam watched Dean sleep, wondering if he could get pass his brother's usual jumpiness just to get that cursed thing away from him.

He knew his brother kept secrets from him. Had suspected it for a long time -although most of the time he was sure the paranoid thoughts came from that part of his mind that he was trying very hard to ignore- but their case with Bloody Mary had confirmed it.

Dean's eyes had started to bleed. Dean was hiding a secret guilt and Sam was going to be damned if he told Dean his own secret before Dean confessed his.

He deserved to know.

He shook his head to clear it. It was the only way he had to remember that no, his brother didn't owe him explanations and had the same right as Sam had to keep his secrets. It was just SO hard to keep that in mind

However, now he had a clear suspect. When they had been in St. Louis helping Becky and Zach, the apprehension and anger that Sam felt towards Dean had disappeared momentarily, so suddenly, that Sam had almost gotten whiplash out of it.

He had been angry, furious at Dean for being so stupid as to let the shape shifter get the best of him. It was an amateur mistake, and he was ready to tell Dean that it was completely his fault if they got killed when the shape shifter tied him in his lair.

But as soon as he heard Dean's voice? The real Dean's voice? All the anger melted, as if it had never been there, and was replaced by an incredible feeling of peace. His brother was with him, and nothing was going to be wrong ever again.

However, when the case was over, the animosity was building back up. Not as strong as it had been before, but still there, still quite clear, twisting his words and thoughts against his brother. Worse part, it was that it had been gradual, creeping through his mind without him really noticing until they were in Iowa, trying to get rid of good old Reverend Karns and he was thinking that his brother was an useless bastard who couldn't even burn bones right when he realized it was back.

Thankfully, he hadn't said that out loud. Dean would never forgive him if he did.

Still, it was a close call. And he would have said something to Dean, if it wasn't because Jacob Karns himself gave him a clue.

In order to completely impersonate Dean, the shifter had taken Dean's amulet. It was something inherently Dean, that his brother had never taken off since Sam had given it to him. It was that why Sam hadn't suspected immediately that the shifter wasn't Dean, and why he hadn't noticed the effect it had on him now.

But it had to be it. Somehow, in those four years that they hadn't been together, something had gotten hold of Dean's amulet and cursed it so that people... no, family, would get irrationally angry at Dean. That was a very good theory, and even explained why Dad had disappeared. It fit, even, since Dean said that he had been working a case in New Orleans. Maybe Dad had realized the effect of that thing before Sam had, and had decided to bail to find a cure before he did something horrible to Dean.

It did sound like John Winchester, to try and fix something without telling anyone else.

Sam took a deep breath and left the room, careful not to wake up Dean. Now that he had a suspect, he needed help.

The problem was that he couldn't ask Dean for help. Doing that meant telling Dean about his horrible thoughts about him, and there was no way Sam would ever tell Dean that at times, that cursed medallion was making him think Dean wasn't his brother.

His father's phone only gave him the message to call Dean, but still, Sam tried to leave a message. Maybe John would break his long standing tradition of being a horrible dad and call him back. Then, he dialed the only other number that he knew could help him with a cursed object.

It took two rings for the phone to be answered. Thankfully he knew that the old man slept even less than Sam himself.

"Hey, Bobby," he said, when the other man greeted him. "It's me, Sam Winchester. I... I need your help."

* * *

Missouri Mosley wasn't one to brag about her own abilities. She knew she was good, she knew she was better than most in the 'trade', but other than that, she kept her most uncommon findings to herself.

The one time she had broken her rule? John Winchester had become a hunter.

She knew, before she told him about the demonic presence in his house, that it was destined. She had seen the man in a vision, and thus, hadn't had the heart to give him any platitude so he could live a normal life. Sometimes, when he called her and she could feel the dark aura around him, she regretted her actions. But then she would dream about the fire rain and the doors of hell opening, and she knew that John and his kids were pivotal to stop that from happening.

So she kept her doubts to herself, and helped John as much as he could whenever he called.

It was funny that she had never met his kids, only seen pictures. Upon seeing them now, all grown up, she was glad she hadn't.

Sam was powerful, there was no doubt about that. The gift was noticeable on him, as he was practically projecting his thoughts, his fears, everything. She was sure that, with time and training, he could be better than her. But there was something else, something hidden, like a snake in a basket, just waiting to uncoil. Dark and dangerous. And she was sure that Sam knew it too, because even as he explained to her what he felt she could sense his trepidation.

Dean, on the other hand? Was a puzzle.

At first, Dean had been closed, and that alone was weird. It wasn't like a person without the gift, but like someone who knew perfectly well how to shield everything. Thoughts, emotions... Dean was a perfect blank wall and she had to use all her experience reading people in order to make it look as if she was reading him the same way she had read Sam.

Normal people weren't blank. They weren't white noise for her sight.

So she tried to look closer, which was probably the reason why she really didn't notice that the poltergeist hadn't been vanished. And also why she had been far more strict with him than needed.

He... aggravated her. There was no other word for it.

So, against her better judgment, she had tried to get a good look at Dean's true self. The one the boy kept carefully wrapped between lawyers of bravado and fake posturing.

It had been just a peek, but it had been more than enough to make her head hurt. Whatever that Dean was, whatever talent the boy was hiding? Was incredibly powerful.

Powerful enough, that he knew how to hide himself. But apparently, despite his great powers, he hadn't been able to sense his own father in Missouri's house.

Especially as John was irradiating misery, sitting on Missouri's couch. In the exact same spot where Dean had been sitting earlier.

"Since when is the truth more important than your children's happiness, John?" She asked, curious, as she placed the teapot in the heater. After what had happened in the old house, after that just brief look at the brightness inside Dean Winchester's mind? She needed tea. "You have lied to them before. "

"I have never lied to Dean," John defended himself. Of course, he had lied to Sam, at least until he was ten years old. That was clear in John's mind, but it made no sense. It didn't fit with what she had learned.

"That's weird," she mused, sitting down. The water would take some time to boil. "I just had a peek of your kid's mind. And the only thing he was thinking was that you lied to him . His exact words were 'Dad lied, Mom wasn't in Heaven.'"

John frowned, and even with the huge headache that had started, she could see that he was confused.

"I never told Dean that."

Missouri shook her head, trying to dispel the headache.

"Then John, you may have to put your search for Mary's killer behind. There's something going on with your sons, and they need you right now."

* * *

"Bobby? Please tell me you've got something for me!" Sam practically screamed on his cellphone as soon as he was sure that Dean was out of hearing distance.

"I'm sorry, kid, but Polynesian protection charms aren't exactly easy to find," Bobby answered, and Sam could hear the frustration in his voice. The older man was the best source of information for all hunters in the country, but from time to time, it got to his nerves. Apparently, Sam had caught him in one of the bad moments. "You sure the one Dean has is haunted? Because I wouldn't blame you if you didn't like your brother from time to time, that's what family means. You can't be all love and sunshine all the time."

"I tried to shoot my brother today," Sam said. "I had a gun in my hands, and I pulled the trigger, and if Dean hadn't handed me an empty gun, I would've killed him. Now tell me that's normal family behavior!"

"Balls!"

"So yeah, I'm freaking out!" Sam ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. True, what he had done had been mostly Dr. Ellicott's influence but what he didn't told Dean or Bobby was that even after the doctor was gone, he still felt the underlying anger against his brother. Not bad enough to try and kill him, but enough to be noticeable.

He was mad at Dean for having subjected him to Dr. Ellicott in the first place, even when he had agreed to keep hunting while they found dad. He was mad because dad wasn't there and somehow, his amulet influenced mind had decided that that was Dean's fault.

He still thought his brother was pathetic, looking for John's approval.

And he hated himself for those thoughts. Because that was wrong. He had never thought that about Dean before, and he knew he really didn't feel that way.

Hell, he was even angry at Dean for being able to resist Ellicott long enough to burn his body. For like, three hours, he had been convinced that Dean was hiding something from Sam. A possession, a charm, psychic powers like Sam's own. Something.

It made no sense.

"Look Sam, if you're that bad, maybe you should tell your brother..."

"What? That the necklace I gave him as a gift is making me hate him? Bobby, he's never going to believe me!" Sam sighed, leaning down against the wall. "Best case scenario, he'll think its some residual effect from Ellicott... worst..."

"Boy?"

"Worst case, he'll think I really hate him and I'm only looking for excuses," Sam finished. He was again feeling the negative thoughts creep in his mind, so he opened the notebook he had for those situations. Right in the first page, he had a long list of reasons why he knew Dean loved him.

Dean always let me have the last of the lucky charms
Dean let me be Batman when we played, because he knew he was my favorite.
Batman was my favorite because Dean always has been like Batman.
Dean always made sure I had lunch money.
Dean kept the bullies away from me at school.

Many were silly things, many were things from the past. But when Sam read them over, and over again, they helped to keep his mind clear from the influence of the curse.

Especially the last one, that he had added just a couple of weeks before.

Dean saved me from the fire.

"Look, Sam, I'm doing the best I can," Bobby said after a moment of silence. "But you have to understand, finding the same amulet is going to be impossible. I have to make a duplicate, but it's going to take some time."

"We're running out of time, Bobby," Sam sighed. At least now he had some hope that this nightmare would be over. "What if Dean gets hurt on the job and I don't care enough to save him?"

"Idjit, that's never going to happen," Bobby told him, making him feel a little bit better. "It would take more than a witch messing around to make you hate your brother."

Sam nodded before hanging up, hoping against hope that Bobby was right.

* * *

Most demons had been human once, human souls tortured into corruption, until nothing of their old selves remained.

Most of them were like that, twisted reflections of humanity. Lucifer's final f*ck you against the Father who had cast him out of Heaven for the sin of loving him too much.

Others, however, had no such connection to humanity or god. They had been created whole by Lucifer, without a human soul as template. They were the pure demons, the true children of Lucifer, his knights of hell. And while most of the true demons had been decimated by the traitor Cain -proving that nothing that came from humanity could be trusted- some of them still remained.

Mara was one of them. She had been created to tempt the holy men on Earth, to make them stray from the path of righteousness. Because of that, she had never been a knight, instead, she worked behind the shadows. In all Hell, only three others knew her real origin, while everyone else thought she was just one more human shade.

Astharoth was one of those. In life, Astharoth had been a witch, who had welcomed Hell with open arms, and then slept her way up to the top, becoming Lilith's right hand. Mara hated the bitch then, and now that she was forced to work with her in order to insure the Apocalypse, she hated her more.

Especially since Azazael had forced Mara to work under Astharoth's orders.

So Astharoth had convinced Azazael that it was better to let the brothers be alone for a while, so that the resentment and anger that they had planted on Sam had time to grow and flourish into hate for his family, and, finally, for humanity.

The problem was that said hate was not coming forward. Azazael had planted the seeds at the same time he had corrupted Sam's soul with his blood, so by this time? Little WInchester should be a psychopath killing for pleasure. He certainly wouldn't have let "Meg" have the bed of their hotel room, much less run back to save his brother from whatever the hell Dean was hunting.

The problem was that, just as she had told that prick Zachariah so many years ago, someone was purifying Sam's soul. It had stopped when the idiot giant had gone to college, and Mara had had a lot of fun jumping from vessel to vessel in order to check that the ball of darkness inside the human was growing, but now? It had stopped.

Jessica Moore's death was supposed to push him over the edge and yet, something seemed to be holding him up. Mara supposed it could be his big brothers' love or something, but no human feeling was strong enough to stall demonic corruption. Hell, of all the children Azazael had infected, only one had managed not to become a misanthropist, and even he used the powers Azazael had granted him to abuse all the pleasures he could find.

Sam Winchester was an anomaly, and the only answer Mara could find was that there had to be a feathered freak hiding close to the brothers.

So she was going to keep a close eye on them, Astharoth be damned.

And if she got her hands on the angel that was ruining Heaven and Hell plans, she was going to pluck all his feathers with her own hands, before tossing it to Alastair to play with.

* * *

Angels, in general, paid no heed to the prayers of Earth. They were a constant background noise, that only served the purpose of reminding angels how useless and pathetic human beings were. Always asking Father for something, a miracle, a sign, but, more often than not, help with the most absurd and mundane tasks.

So easy to ignore.

But the prayer that echoed through all heaven, the open call for Father, or any angel who was willing to listen, was impossible to block. Because it came powered not only by the strength of filial love, but also marred with the corruption of Perdition.

Lucifer's Vessel, the abomination with demon blood, was praying.

Zachariah shuddered at the realization, and wondered why the demons were so useless that they couldn't completely corrupt one mud monkey so that it would ask for demonic help rather than pray, before he actually realized what the abomination was asking for.

"Please, please, let me find a way to save my brother. He can't die like this."

Which, of course, was a problem since said brother couldn't die just now. The demons hadn't made their move, the garrison wasn't ready, and it was two years too early according to Zachariah's last timetable.

More to the point, it was a prayer that even Michael himself could hear, and after the fiasco with the translation of the first seal -once more Zachariah cursed Metatron for having fled from Heaven so long ago- he didn't want to incur on the wrath of his superior again.

He had already tested Michael's patience too much this century.

And to confirm his fears, Zachariah found Michael talking with Raphael. The fury of the Archangel was noticeable, his eight wings raised up in anger, his halo burning. The last time Michael had looked like that? Lucifer had ended up in the cage. Angels were not supposed to feel fear, but Zachariah thought that given the circ*mstances? It was understandable.

"Raphael, did you hear that?! My...!" Michael was saying, only to be interrupted by Raphael, who had seen Zachariah arrive.

"ZACHARIAH!" Raphael greeted, far louder than needed. Zachariah would've been very happy if the attention of the First Archangel had been away from him for a bit longer. "Why is Lucifer's vessel praying to us to save Michael's Vessel? Wasn't he to be safe until the final battle?"

"There was a mishap, but we are working on solving it without calling undue attention to our interest in the vessel," Zachariah said, his wings cowering a little as Michael's fury grew at the mention of his vessel. "Unfortunately, that means that we need to be discreet. Perhaps even let it die temporarily..."

"A dead vessel is not good for Michael," Raphael said. Behind him, Michael was trembling with fury. Obviously, he was not pleased at Zachariah's poor planning. "Leave this one to me. I will save my brother's vessel. You keep working on the seals and make sure that the demons don't overstep their boundaries."

Zachariah nodded, and took flight, not waiting for Michael to speak. As it was, he considered himself lucky. The general of heaven looked ready to smite whoever stood in the path of the Apocalypse if they dared to speak to him now.

* * *

Raphael took a deep breath inside of Donnie's body. It had taken him a long time to calm Michael down after Zachariah had talked about Dean as if he was a simple tool to be discarded once he had outlived his usefulness, and then he had had to chase down a Cherub to do one little job for him.

Michael had originally wanted him to go down and directly heal Dean, but that was impossible. Chuck Surley was seeing everything that happened around the brothers, writing it for the future, and any obvious act of divine will around Dean would alert the demons to Dean's importance. f Dean was to remain safe, it was necessary to take long detours to help Michael's child.

Just as he expected, the phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered, trying to keep what Dean had once called 'natural stillness' out of his voice. To sound completely human, in order to fool the person on the other side.

"Ah, is this Don Finnerman?" Sam Winchester sounded even more panicked out loud than in his prayer. Raphael hoped that it wasn't because Dean had taken a turn for the worst, or nothing would keep Michael in heaven.

"Ye... Yeah, who is this?"

"I'm Sam Winchester, I'm John's son. I found your card on his journal and..."

"I know John." A lie, but a necessary one. Besides, he had seen John in Dean's memories. It counted. "What can I do for you?"

Donnie and Dean had told Raphael many times that his small chat sucked. And perhaps that was true, but Sam didn't seem to notice. He just told him he needed a healer, someone who could cure anything and who was the real deal. And while Raphael didn't know any, he had a name in mind. A Reverend who had prayed to him often, thanking him for his gift of healing. Raphael had never done such a thing, but the man was actually healing people and there was nothing demonic around him. Which meant he was the perfect person to heal Dean. He just needed to inspire him in dreams to pick Michael's fledgling as soon as Dean stepped into his tent.

Chuck would be none the wiser, and even if Raphael couldn't go and see Dean on his own, at least he would've helped to save his brother's son.

* * *

Sam didn't know who to be more grateful. If to Don Finnerman for finding Reverend Le Grange, or the doctors for having taking off all of Dean's jewelry in order to treat him, or to Bobby, who had created a perfect replica of Dean's amulet and given it to him when he and Dean were separated in Indiana.

It had been just in time, too, because all the way from the house where Dean had electrocuted himself destroying the Rawhead to the hospital, Sam had been fighting with the urge of just letting his brother die. And once again, as soon as the doctors took off the amulet from his brother's neck, he was back to normal, hating himself for even thinking that he could hurt Dean.

Now, with the amulet safely hidden in a box especially made for cursed objects until he could ship it to Bobby, Sam could rest easy.

Driving to Nebraska, he still had those stray thoughts about how Dean was to blame for his situation, but they were less powerful than before. And the feeling of revulsion every time he looked at his brother was diminishing with the hour. Whatever the hell had latched to the amulet, was losing its power, so Sam was sure that once they got Dean cured, it all would go back to normal.

Then they could find Dad, and find Jess and Mom's killer.

Everything was going to be fine. He just had to convince Le Grange to heal Dean, and have faith.

Dean had slept most of the way, and that at first had worried Sam to no end. But as the miles passed, he seemed to be getting a bit more color in his skin. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was being outside the hospital, but even so, until they had seen the faith healer and then the hospital, Sam was not going to rest easily.

Once they arrived to the tent, Dean started to complain. It was raining, the weather was cold, and there were a lot of people around. That last part worried Sam, because there was no guarantee that LeGrange would choose Dean to be healed. But unless demons themselves dragged them out of there, Sam was not leaving until his brother was healthy, and didn't need to lean on him to walk.

He shouldn't have worried.

Thanks to Dean's vocal protest, Le Grange focused on him immediately. Of course, Sam had been half-counting on that. In their experience, faith healers tended to choose the unbelievers in order to show their power.

And he had to admit, it had been impressive. Especially when the Reverend touched Dean's forehead. Just before Dean fainted, almost taking years out of Sam's life, he could've sworn his brother had been surrounded by a white light, bright and warm. Sam had almost imagined he had seen the shape of small wings on that light.

He remembered what Dean said their mom used to tell him. Angels are watching over you.

Thankfully, this time they seemed to be paying attention.

* * *

Humankind, as a whole, did not interest Death. As one of the two cosmic constants, Death had many things to care about that did not include the existence of such short flashes of life in one tiny mudball in the edge of the universe.

However, they had their uses.

For example, there was a small baseball stadium in Maine that made the most delicious potato chips Death had ever tasted.

So he went there on occasion to eat, just outside the human realm's perception. And it was there where one of his Reapers found him.

"I couldn't reap a soul today, sir," the Reaper said, confused. "It... disappeared from my list, without any one changing it for a new one."

Death raised an eyebrow, as he bit on one of his potato chips. That was a new one. In the dark ages there had been a bothersome witch that had found a way to bind his reapers and exchange lives in the list, but until now, no one had ever found a way to completely cheat the system. One death per line in the ledger, as it had been since the beginning of time, and would continue until Death reaped his old friend God.

A new development from the little ants in this small piece of stardust. And not one that settled well within Death, unlike the lovely invention that had been corndogs.

Death held out his hand, so the Reaper could give him his list. Indeed, there was an empty line where a name should have been. Death touched it, frowning. It was a confusing situation and if there was something Death didn't like was confusing situations.

Chaos had been dreadfully uneven. The one good thing about Creation had been that it had finally put some order into things.

He pulled out his own ledger from his jacket, and willed it to show the list for the month following. Sometimes, Fate changed her mind, and moved a death from one day to another. It wasn't common, but it happened. It never left an empty line, though. Usually, the name was just struck out. with a new date, and that was it.

There was an empty line in his ledger. Death frowned, and kept reviewing it.

Four months later, he found the first struck out name.

Layla Rourke. Who now, instead of dying then of a brain tumor, had now about 60 more years to live.

That was unusual. Death knew that humans were not at the point in which they could cure brain tumors that easily. But it could happen, so he kept passing pages.

Two more months, and he found the first real anomaly.

Dean Winchester

The name wasn't struck out, but it looked faded, as if Fate wasn't sure it went there. Which was absurd, because Fate was always sure. And from the moment that Death's Old Friend created his pet monkeys, there had never been a faded name in the ledger.

That merited some research.

Dean Winchester.

The name echoed around all the reapers in the world, with one clear instruction.

If you meet him, observe, but don't reap. I am curious to know who Dean Winchester is.

* * *

"Asataroth, you bring your smoky ass here right now or I swear, I'll jam you inside a Devil's trap!" Mara yelled, as she concentrated on keeping her meat suit standing. She had a couple of broken ribs, and she was pretty sure that as soon as she left it, the meat suit would start bleeding internally, but it would do for now. Besides, as long as the Winchesters thought she was some sort of low level demon, she didn't want to change vessels.

"That would be treason, Mara, dear. And what would Lilith say to that?" Asatharoth appeared in front of her, wearing a blonde woman with long hair and green eyes. Mara snorted. After all what Asataroth had said about Mara's vessel and how it was just made to remind Sam of his long lost love, there she went and did the same thing.

Ah, if only Azazael or Lilith had listened to Mara, they wouldn't have killed the Moore woman. She would've been far more useful as a vessel than as a symbol of Winchester's great revenge.

"She would thank me because then she wouldn't have to stand your face," Mara growled. She was not happy that Asataroth had replaced her as the contact with heaven. She really didn't trust the other demon. It wasn't even a pure demon, it was just an old witch with delusions of power. "I just saw the Winchesters again. They met with their father and it seems that John knows far more about our plans than he should."

"That's impossible," Asataroth scoffed. "Not even Azazael knows the full extent of the plan. That's just between Lucifer, Lilith, me, the feathered manager and you. Or are you actually saying that you let something slip?"

"Don't be stupid, I'm not the one who has the great plan of 'sharing just enough' with the one who will break the seal," Mara said. She was not going to let herself be tricked into a verbal fight with the other demon. There were bigger fish to fry. "But you need to talk to your angel. Someone upstairs is messing with the deal."

"What do you mean?" Asataroth frowned, looking comically confused. "You think they're feeding Winchester information? Angels don't come here, their big honcho doesn't allow it..."

"Well, something is cleaning up the corruption we so carefully planted in the younger Winchester," Mara repeated. "I saw him three months ago, and his soul was almost completely covered with evil. Last night? I could see it shine. He should be indulging in sin, and instead? He is being self righteous. So tell me, how is that all our hard work is being undone?"

Asataroth glared at her, obviously unhappy with the news. Good, Mara thought. That would make two of them, and now she would have to tell Lilith. Better Asataroth than Mara, as the first demon had a terrible temper.

"It's the brother," Asataroth finally say. "We have to get the brother out of the way."

"What do you mean? A human can't erase demonic corruption, not without being a prophet or a saint. And trust me, Dean Winchester is none of the above."

"No, but he's the Righteous soul that can break the first seal," Asataroth explained. "Zachariah says that his soul could have a cleaning effect on those around him and that's why it took so long to corrupt Sam."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Mara yelled. She was furious that Asataroth hadn't come with this information before. There had been so many lost opportunities to get Sam away from his brother. Teachers, doctors, people in authority that had exerted their influence on the impressionable kid, feeding the dark spot created by Azazael. But instead, Asataroth had kept her secrets and all that work had been undone just by sleeping in the same room as his idiotic older brother. "If we kill Dean, he won't be going to hell to spill blood!"

"We have that covered," Asataroth scoffed. "It's a question of time. We'll get John to hand us Dean in exchange for his revenge. "

"What? How?" Mara asked, suspicious. Asataroth was keeping too many secrets for her liking.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about that, Mara dear," Asataroth laughed. "Just do as I say, and be ready to start killing the Winchester's allies when I say so and you'll see how all the pieces will fall onto place."

* * *

Growing up a hunter, Sam had learned to be observant. Sure, he was a bit rusty, and in hindsight he had missed some very serious clues that perhaps "Meg" was actually a demon the day he met her, but he was getting up to speed.

There was something seriously wrong with his brother.

It had started right after they fought the reaper. Or maybe when LaGrange touched Dean, and Sam had seen the white halo around his brother. After that, things had seemingly gone back to normal and Sam had originally thought that it was because Dean's original amulet was sitting in the back of the Impala carefully warded in an anti-curse box, while the one on his brother's neck was a good facsimile. Yes, he still had the stray not so nice thought about Dean, but they were far and between, and nothing to the point of how it had been right after fighting dr. Ellicot.

The repulsion was still there. But Sam had gotten very good at hiding the fact that he wanted to flinch every time that Dean touched him unexpectedly. As long as he knew contact was coming, there was no problem.

Sam was starting to fear that the repulsion was not part of the amulet curse, but something that had to do with his visions. He dearly hoped it wasn't, but after meeting Max Miller, he couldn't be sure. The kid had been jumpy from the get go, but Sam was almost sure that Max had been trying to avoid Dean's touch at all times.

Bobby didn't flinch at Dean's touch, unless the man was a far better actor than Sam suspected. And then Meg... or rather, the demon that had been possessing Meg. She had hid it well. If Sam hadn't been focused on her as he read the exorcism he wouldn't have noticed that despite her bravado, she flinched whenever Dean leaned close.

If it had only been that, Sam would have been afraid. Thought that there was something wrong with himself, not with Dean. But then there were the other things, small little things that he had no way to explain.

Dean was sleeping less and less every day. There were nights in which Dean didn't sleep at all and that was a problem because now Sam couldn't hide that he wasn't sleeping well because Dean always knew. When Sam tried to pretend he was going to sleep in order to keep Dean from worrying, his brother would stay up all night cleaning weapons. And when Sam did sleep, Dean was up and ready to go long before Sam had finished fighting the last traces of sleep. Even worse? Sam looked as if he was not sleeping. He was tired, and irritable and exhausted. Dean? He seemed to have energy to burn. If they weren't together 24/7, Sam would suspect that Dean was sleeping off somewhere because he never seemed to tire.

He was eating less too. Or, to be more accurate, forgetting that they needed to eat. Despite the fact that Sam hated the greasy dinners that Dean preferred, for weeks now he had to remind Dean when they had spend more than 10 hours on the road without stopping. And every time, Dean looked surprised. As if he really wasn't hungry. As if it hadn't occurred to him that he had to be hungry.

Sam wasn't blind. He had tried to check if something was possessing his brother, being as discreet as he could. But Dean passed every test with flying colors. Silver. Lead. Iron. Salt. Holy Water. His brother was human, just ... different.

And he didn't seem to notice.

"You think she'll be fine?" Sam asked, once he couldn't stand the silence inside the Impala any longer. They were on their way to Jefferson City to save their father... if 'Meg' or whatever the demon's name was, hadn't lied.

"Bobby said that he'd call us if he had news," Dean answered, not taking his eyes off the road. Sam had never seen his brother this focused on something, not even when dad had told them that he had finally got a lead on the yellow eyed demon and they were the ones who would end the search for revenge. "But I think she'll make it. The paramedics said that she was stable, remember?"

Sam nodded, but that was yet another thing that nagged at him. He had been sure that Meg Masters was close to death when they finished the exorcism. Meg had whispered one word to Dean, and then grew still. Sam had been ready to get his brother away from her when he started shaking her, only to be surprised when Bobby told them that she still was breathing, still had a pulse.

The paramedics of Sioux Falls' hospital said that it was going to be touch and go, and they didn't think that she would wake up soon but she was alive when Dean and Sam left the hospital. Alive, and breathing on her own. Apparently, one of the nurses had called it a miracle. It reminded Sam that Dean had gotten a call, not three weeks ago, from Layla Rourke. In her last checkup, the tumor in her brain had disappeared in its entirely. Another miracle. And while Dean researched if there had been any strange deaths around the Rourkes, around LaGrange, Sam had remembered how Dean had hugged Layla one last time back in Nebraska. How the sun light seemed to reflect itself around them, making a halo around his brother.

Two miracles, both around Dean.

It was yet another piece that didn't quite fit the puzzle that was whatever that had happened to his brother in the four years they hadn't seen each other.

"What are we going to do if Dad's..."

"Dad's not dead!" Dean interrupted him, gripping the wheel even harder. "Don't even think about that!"

Sam wisely shut up. Because there was another possibility that had occurred to him, after seeing Meg flinch at Dean's touch, after noticing how easy it seemed for demons to possess humans. He didn't doubt that they would find their father's body breathing, but when they did? Sam was going to pay attention and keep his eyes open. If demons and psychics flinched at his brother's touch? That was going to be a lot more discreet that just yelling Christo.

Later he would try to figure out what that meant. And what it said about himself that he was one of the people that couldn't just touch Dean without consequences.

* * *

In the past years, Raphael had realized that he had done the right thing when he had decided never to create fledglings. He still remembered how Gabriel had been during the developing stages of his four childlings with what most humans would call a headache, but it didn't compare at all with the abrupt personality change that he had witnessed in Michael during the past 26 years.

The rest of the Host hadn't noticed, of course, but that was because Michael wasn't known for mingling with the others. He had a reputation for being a loner, and none of the lower ranking angels dared to approach him. But for Raphael, who had known Michael since the beginnings of time? The change was obvious.

Gone was the ice cold resolution to fulfill their Father's prophecy. Gone was the apparent disdain for the human souls that lived in the garden. In fact, Raphael knew that Michael had been the one to greet Mary Winchester into Heaven, once she really ascended. He knew that his brother, taking advantage of the fact that his mimicked human form was that of a younger John Winchester, went to visit Mary often, blending into her few memories of their Dean.

Of course, Michael wasn't the only one who had changed. In the past, Raphael would've said that those actions were pathetic, unbecoming of Heaven's General. Now? He thought it was sad because Mary's memories were the only contact Michael could have with his fledgling.

But the biggest change was how easily it was for Michael to forget that there was a plan, that the plan had to be followed in order for Paradise to be achieved especially whenever Dean was in danger.

Which was the reason why in the second Raphael felt the tell tale sign of Dean's soul leaving his body to astral walk, his first impulse was to fly to his brother's side.

As he had suspected, Michael was already half way to the hospital where Raphael could feel Dean's bright soul. It was too bright, in fact, which made him confused. Michael had sealed Dean's grace, so it should not look different from any other human souls. It was... upsetting. Even more because there was no reason for Dean to die now, five years before the final battle, and much less for him to remember how to astral walk.

Something was wrong.

"Michael, you can't show yourself to Dean," Raphael reminded his brother. "If you do, Chuck will see you and your secret will be over."

"I can't let my son die, Raphael!" Michael yelled, opening his eight wings menacingly. Once again, Raphael was reminded that when Dean's life was on the line, Michael would forget everything they had worked for and loose his damn mind. "Not when he doesn't even remember who he is!"

"Dean can't die yet, I am sure he'll be fine," Raphael insisted. The plan was in motion and it didn't require Dean dying anytime soon. Michael's Sword had to be on Earth, alive and in a vessel in order to fight Lucifer, on the fated day in Stull Cemetery. "Listen! John is praying!"

Unfortunately, John's prayer did nothing to calm Michael. Apparently, both of Dean's parents seemed to lose perspective about everything around. Although, in Michael's defense? He had never done something as stupid as what John was planning.

"We can't let him make a deal with Azazael," Michael said, looking at Raphael. "It was bad enough that John got possessed for a while, but if they get his soul, they will have the time to review all his memories."

"Why would that be a problem?" Raphael asked, confused. He understood why Michael felt certain closeness to Mary Winchester's soul, but so far John hadn't caused them anything but extreme anger due to his treatment of Dean.

"John suspects something is different about Dean," Michael explained. "And while he would never guess what is what makes Dean not human, with enough time, demons could figure out what happened."

Raphael nodded, understanding Michael's fear. But it made no difference. As long as the plan was to be followed, they couldn't reveal themselves and he said as much.

"Then we work around the plan," Michael said; his tone clearly indicating that he was not going to accept any discussion. "It is important that John Winchester is taken off the map according to the demons, isn't it? To make young Samuel more agreeable."

"Are you suggesting we kill John Winchester ourselves?" Raphael was surprised. He had suggested that course of action in jest a couple of times in the past, but Michael had insisted that Dean wouldn't agree to that. It was strange to see his brother change his mind.

"No," Michael shook his head. "I think it's time to offer him a deal of our own."

* * *

Dean couldn't stop himself from thinking that this had happened to him before. He didn't remember any time he had been comatose, but walking around the hospital as a disembodied ghost seemed... almost natural, as horrible as it was to think that.

And yet, he was careful. He knew he couldn't actually talk to Sam, for example. He wanted to, he needed to make his brother realize that he was there, that they didn't have to unplug his body from the machines keeping him alive... but something stopped him.

His father's voice in his head, reminding him that if he spoke to Sam like this, he would burst Sam's eardrums.

It made no sense, because John sounded... softer than usual, and no matter how much Dean tried to remember when that had happened, he couldn't. It was as if it had been a dream.

And yet, he just whispered under his breath whenever Sam was close, and tried to keep himself right out of his eyesight even when he knew that his brother couldn't see him. Because he couldn't take the risk.

It made him nervous, to know that something was not right. It was not just the specter he had seen, killing that woman, or the fact that he and Tessa seemed to be the only souls walking around... It was that sense of familiarity that was making him jumpy.

There was that annoying blue shimmer around his arms. It came and went, disappearing completely when he was with Tessa, but not when he was with his Dad and Sam. It looked as if he had a weak led light under his skin but the real problem was that it wasn't the light itself what bothered him but the moments where he couldn't see it.

It was as if his subconscious knew that the light had to be there. As if it was something natural despite the fact that he knew that humans didn't shine.

He just tried to ignore the fact that as far as he knew, humans didn't walk outside their bodies when they were in a coma.

Which meant, of course, that Tessa wasn't human.

"Son of a bitch!"

* * *

Tessa remained silent as the soul before him, not knowing what to do. Her orders had been not to try and reap him but what was she supposed to do if he was walking outside his body ? Usually souls didn't do that unless something was wrong around their deaths or their reaper lost sight of them at the second their bodies died.

She had been watching Dean Winchester too closely for that.

So she did the only thing she could think off, while she waited for further instructions. She stalled.

Once Dean figured her out, that became harder. She was supposed to be convincing him to let himself be reaped, but the truth was, she couldn't do that and didn't want him to realize it. It was really hard, since it went against all her instincts.

"Look, I'm sure you've heard this before, but... you've gotta make an exception," Dean asked her, almost pleading. " You've gotta cut me a break."

The thing was, no one ever had asked her that. Yes, she heard the occasional 'I can't be dead yet', but never once had any soul tried to bargain with her.

And she had no idea what was up with Dean's soul. It didn't seem to want to stay in human shape, which was absolutely impossible. Souls might look different to human's eyes but to Reapers they always looked human. Dean's soul looked as if it was made of smoke, as if it was evaporating slowly.

It made no sense.

"The fight is over for you, Dean," She said, even as she didn't believe her words. The problem was that even if she wanted to let him go, as per her boss's orders, she couldn't without warning him. Human souls that went unreaped became monsters. And even as they spoke? His name was too faint in her list. Almost as if he wasn't supposed to be there. What she needed was a way to make him go back to his body.

But she was a Reaper. Giving life was not in her job description. So she had to stall for time, and pray for her boss to find a solution.

"I'm not going with you. I don't care what you do," Dean said, absently looking at the hallway. Almost as if he could hear the call of the souls that Tessa knew her co-workers were reaping. But that was impossible. No human could hear dying souls.

What the hell was Dean Winchester?

"There's always a choice," Tessa answered, as truthfully as she could. Maybe the answer wasn't in her boss. Maybe Dean himself could get back to his body with a little encouragement. A little reverse psychology, so to speak. "I can't make you come with me, but there's no way you're getting back in your body. And if you stay here, disembodied, scared... you will go mad. You will become one of the things you hunt."

"How do I know I'm not already one?" Dean asked, and as he did, the lights started flickering around them. Tessa frowned, because there was an echo around them, a strange energy that she had never felt before, but all Reapers knew thanks to the boss.

An energy that shouldn't be there.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked again, confused. "Why are you doing it?"

"I'm not doing this," Tessa said. For the first time in her existence, she was truly scared. Even more as the room started to lighten up and she realized exactly what was coming, as the light focused on her and she knew what was going to happen. "No! You can't do that! Get away!"

She wasn't talking to the light at the end. They could do whatever they wanted, she knew it. But she wanted Dean to get away, because in the last second she had realized that perhaps he would've considered an abomination by those in Heaven. And she knew what they did to abominations.

Perhaps it would've been better if the boss had let her reap Dean. Better than what was coming to the poor man.

No one was more surprised than Tessa when she heard her own voice, full of compassion and love rather than heavenly wrath, as her body turned around to see Dean.

"It's not your time yet, my dear child," She heard herself say, before everything turned dark.

* * *

John watched silently as Sam fuzzed around Dean and the doctor. Dean looked tired, confused, but he was alive. It was far better than how he had looked just minutes ago. Despite himself, John smiled. Yes, if Dean ever figured out what had happened, he would hate John. But at least, he would be alive to hate him.

Of course, Sam couldn't leave things alone. Sam had to know how Dean had managed to ditch his Reaper, how he was alive again. And while usually John was proud of that side of Sam, not that he had ever told his boy that, right now, he needed Dean distracted. He couldn't let his oldest son realize what he had done.

"How you feeling, dude?" He asked, even as he knew the answer. The light had promised him that Dean would be in perfect health, and, for some strange reason, John trusted it.

After all, it was giving him the chance to say goodbye. John wasn't sure that his original plan of summoning the yellow eyed demon would have had the same result.

"Where were you last night?" Sam immediately asked, furious. And John wanted to explain, wanted to tell Sam everything , because if Dean's mission was going to be hard, Sam would've harder. John had managed to pick enough out of the yellow eyed demon's mind to know that Sam was the target of a long plan, but not to know what it meant. So Dean had to protect Sam, had to make sure that his brother stayed human, no matter what.

But Sam...

Sam had to keep an eye on Dean.

John wasn't stupid. He had noticed things about Dean before, and he knew, deep down, that the light was far more interested in Dean than it was in Sam. And if Dean was going to keep an eye on the demons' plans, then Sam had to keep an eye on his older brother. Only that if they kept fighting each other, John wasn't sure how he was going to make Sam see the truth.

Saying goodbye to Dean was easier than he expected. Yes, Dean suspected something, because he had always listened to John's lessons, but John hoped it wouldn't be enough to realize what had happening. That the shock of coming back to life would be enough to make him forget everything. That the knowledge of what he had to do about Sam would be enough to make him stop asking questions, joining dots.

Facing Sam was a lot harder.

"Dad, got your coffee but... why didn't you stay with Dean?" Sam entered the room, with a cup of coffee in his hand. John took it, realizing that it would be the last thing he ever ate. Somehow, the situation still didn't seem final.

"I needed to talk to you," John answered, looking at Sam, really looking at him. There was no sign that his son was anything but human, no strange glow behind his eyes, no unearthly peace irradiating from his body. No wonder he could always relate better to Sam, despite the way they always ended up fighting. "About Dean."

Sam nodded, surprising John. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had noticed something different about Dean.

"You know what's wrong with him?" Sam asked. "Because I've been researching and found a whole lot of nothing."

"You've got to keep an eye on him, Sam." John knew that time was drawing close. He could feel it in his bones. A strange vibration that told him that the light had ran out of patience and wanted his end of the deal finished now. "I left a journal in the trunk of the Impala. It has everything I observed over the years, don't let your brother read it. And if it comes to that..."

What John had wanted to say was the same as he had told Dean. If it comes to that, make sure your brother dies human. But before the words were formed, all the light bulbs on the room broke down. He had the vague impression of Sam yelling something, something inside the brightness of the sunlight outside.

Only that it wasn't the sunlight.

It was the light, the light that had promised that Dean would be saved in exchange of six years of John's life.

And then, John knew no more.

* * *

Michael blinked once, getting used to being in John Winchester's body again. At his feet, Sam Winchester lay, unconscious. He'd had to fix his memories, make sure that he didn't remember either his conversation with his father, nor Michael's arrival.

That had been a miscalculation. He had expected John to be alone when he arrived. Not that it really mattered, since he still had to make sure that both Sam and Dean thought that their father was death, that they had cremated the body and had no explanation for his death. That they wouldn't investigate, and instead, try to move on with their lives.

"You could stay with them, you know?" Raphael said, appearing next to Sam's body. "As closely related as John is to Dean, there should be no vessel decay. You could stay in him indefinitely."

"I only asked him for six years, that's all I'll need," Michael answered, flexing his fingers. "And I can't be around Dean... the seal... is weakening, I don't know why. I'm afraid my presence might weaken it further. And besides, the Prophet would know, wouldn't he?"

"I took the liberty of reading his writing," Raphael told him, smiling. It was strange, to see his brother so human. Strange, but at the same time, uplifting. "I believe he is.... editing his own visions somehow, as his manuscript maintains that John Winchester made a deal with Azazael."

"For the Colt. I saw it in his mind," Michael said, taking the gun out of John's pocket. "Give it to Zachariah. I assume the demons need it to break one of the seals."

"So the plan is still in motion?" There was doubt in Raphael's voice. As if he was expecting a negative answer. If he was honest with himself, Michael wanted to oblige.

"Unless you have a better option."

"I follow your lead, Michael. I'm a healer, you're the general. It's your strategy that got us to this place," Raphael leaned down to pick up Sam, placing him on the chair for visitors. Michael shook his head. He should've thought of that, rather than just let the boy fall to the floor. "And what will you do now? Zachariah will question your decision to take John as a vessel."

"Which is why he won't learn of this. I'll trust you to keep order within the host while I'm away."

"What?" Raphael didn't seem amused at the idea. And Michael understood, but he needed to go. There were too many questions in his head, and he needed to find answers. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to look for Father," Michael said calmly, as he flexed his wings. They felt somewhat constricted, like they had been back in 1978. Yes, John wasn't his true vessel. But as Raphael said, he would do.

"You know that if He doesn't want to be found, it will be impossible for you to find him, brother."

"I know," Michael admitted. "But If there's anything I've learned from my childling, is that hope is one thing one must never lose. I will not cut myself from the host, as Gabriel did, so you will be able to find me if you or Dean need me, but with all that has happened... I need to try."

Raphael nodded, finally understanding. And thus, Michael walked back into Dean's room, this time invisible, in order to once again modify his child's memories. As he did, he noticed that the doctors had taken off his necklace and rings, and realized that that was probably what had caused the seal around Dean's grace to weaken. There was no time to strengthen the seal, in case anyone saw him, but he decided to add one small compulsion to his son's mind. As long as it held, Dean would never take off the amulet again, not even in case of life or death.

Satisfied, he kissed Dean's forehead. It was an indulgence, but in all his fledgling's life, he had never been allowed to touch him. So it was a goodbye, and a blessing. His son would feel sadness at the memories of John Winchester's death, yes, but no pain.

At the very least, Michael could do that for his son.

Before he could change his mind, he spread his wings and flew away. The plan was in motion, and there was little he could do to ease Dean's pain. Except to find Father, and stay away. His Sword would slay Lucifer, Paradise would come to Earth, and then... then he would have an eternity to beg his son for forgiveness, for all the pain Michael had caused him.

Chapter 12: Realizations

Chapter Text

Sam looked at the book in his hand, unsure of what to do with it.

Before picking Dean at the hospital, he and Bobby had pulled every single thing out of the Impala's trunk. The weapons, the salt, the crucifixes... and of course, the special box that he had carved to keep Dean's cursed amulet inside.

That was now inside a special safe box, back in Bobby's studio. The farthest he and Dean were from that thing, the better.

But the book in his hands was different. He had found it tucked in the fake ids box. It hadn't been there before they rescued his dad, so he guessed John had put it there at some point before summoning the yellow eyed demon to try and kill it.

He was just glad that he had found it before Dean started working on restoring the Impala. If his brother knew what John had been thinking, he would not take it kindly.

Apparently, Sam had been wrong about the changes in Dean. They hadn't happened overnight, or during the four years he hadn't seen his older brother. John had also noticed Dean's lack of sleep and eating, sometime around 2002. He had come to the same conclusion as Sam then, that something might have gotten a hold of Dean, and ran the same tests.

Salt, Iron, Silver, Cooper, Wood, Mistletoe... Dean had passed them all. There was a small mark next to the Holy Water test, but it could've been just John pressing the paper too hard.

However, where Sam had started to research outside sources, John had decided to research their past, trying to remember every small detail of Dean's childhood. If Sam weren't so worried about his brother, he would've appreciated that at the very least, John had realized that he hadn't paid enough attention to them as they were growing up.

He couldn't help but feel guilty about everything that had happened between him and dad before he died. He finally understood why Dean was so angry at him, so angry at the world. He needed to apologize, and help his brother, because the way he saw it, Dean was coping even less.

It was as if his brother was just going through the motions, rather than allow himself to be honestly sad. And while Sam still had a lot to read, a lot to research to figure out what was going on with Dean, he figured that first, they needed to be able to cope with Dad's loss.

* * *

Dean watched Sam go, feeling empty inside.

It was the same emptiness that had been creeping on him since he had left the hospital, since they had cremated Dad. He was sad, of course he was, but he wasn't devastated. He hadn't even cried. All he could feel was the cold emptiness in his heart, as if a piece was missing.

He was numb.

There was nothing of the pain, of the sorrow, that he still remembered with perfect clarity from when Mary had died. Just a horrible void where he knew his feelings should be. And behind the emotional void, there was anger, and disappointment because he knew that it wasn't John's time to die. His father had been on the mend, hadn't been as hurt as Dean had been. Sam and the Doctors had told him that it had been a clot in his brain, but it made no sense.

Dean knew, deep down, that John had been healthy. There was no doubt in his mind that his father had been ready to walk out of the hospital without aid. More importantly, he knew that he was supposed to be dead.

It was just like with the bound reaper. Someone else had died in his place. And the worst part was what he hadn't told Sam because he didn't know how to express it. He pretended not to remember what had happened, and it was mostly true.

But he remembered one thing clearly, as it repeat itself in his head during the few moments he had had to sleep. He was talking to someone, a woman, telling her he was a monster.

Dean grabbed the crowbar he had used to pry open the Impala back door when he had started to fix her. He was a monster, and he didn't know how, but he had killed his father. It was the only explanation he could find for the fact that he didn't feel anything about it. He raised the crowbar high, and let it fall against the trunk. Once, twice, thrice... so many times, until he lost count. He kept hitting, until he realized that at some point, he had let the crowbar go and had been hitting baby with his bare hands.

The metal was bent, twisted, broken.

But he didn't have a single wound.

* * *

Sam looked at Dean, horrified as Dean simply rattled to Andy exactly what were they doing and why.

"He's psychic. Kinda like you. Well, not really like you, because he can't control people, I think. And I'm something else. But see, he thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And I can see it, because you got this webby thing around you, dark and red but I also know he's wrong because neither of you are completely dark, not like the other kid. And I'm starting to get a little scared that I know that, and even more scared that the dark parts might grow and then he might be right."

Sam blinked, trying to parse everything Dean had just said. But then Andy was running away, and since Sam seemed to be immune to his powers, he was the only one who could reach him. Even if now he wanted to forget about his stupid vision and the people on it and concentrate on what Dean had said.

And I'm something else.

All this time, Sam had had the hope that Dean was just a different kind of psychic, with powers that they hadn't encountered before. But then, Dean would've admitted that they were both psychics. Instead... Did Dean thought he wasn't human? Hell, Was Dean human? He was almost sure that Dean was really Dean, the one who had carried him out of the fire when he was four, who had shared his Lucky Charms, who had tried to shield him from the hunting life for years, but then it meant that either Dean had been turned into something else at some point while Sam was away or, if Dad's second journal was to be believed, maybe around when Dean had turned ten.

But if that was true, if Dean wasn't human, what was Sam supposed to do?

Kill him like they did with all monsters? He wasn't sure he could do it, kill his brother. But Dean? If Dean knew he was a monster, if he had no doubt of that, he would follow John Winchester's teaching and kill himself. Sam was sure of that.

There had to be a way to win time, to make sure that that "I'm something else" didn't turn into "I'm a monster".

It wasn't until later, when they had saved Andy and Tracy from Webber when a solution came to him. It was not perfect, and it would only win him some time, but it was the only solution he could think of.

"Andy, I need a favor," he said, stopping Andy's commiseration about how Tracy was afraid of him. Sam felt bad for him, but his problem was more urgent. "I need you to... talk to Dean."

"What?" Andy frowned, until he realized that Sam didn't mean casual conversation. "Oh, you want him to forget that you're a psychic?

"No," The offer was tempting, but Sam was still afraid of what he could do if he was left alone. Dean was his rock. He couldn't lose that. "Make him forget what he said about himself. About being different. Convince him that he's just a normal human."

"What is he? He said he wasn't like us..." Andy asked, looking at Dean talking with Tracy. Even at a distance, Sam could see that the girl was relaxing. She looked up, and, to Andy surprise, she managed a weak smile at them.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that he must believe he's human. Can you do that?"

"I don't know if it'll hold," Andy shook his head. "It has never lasted for long."

"Can you try?"

Andy looked at him, and for a second Sam thought he would say no. But the man turned to see the ambulance where they had loaded his twin's body and, biting his lip, nodded.

Sam let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Maybe Andy was only buying him a couple of days, but it was a couple of days during which he could figure out what Dean was, and how to make sure no one else found out.

* * *

"Can you explain me how Dean Winchester not only didn't sell his soul to you, but also managed to exorcise you?"

Lilith's anger could be heard all over the fifth circle of hell, where Crossroad Demons were created. Crowley sighed, taking a sip of his bourbon, trying to keep himself as hidden as possible. It seemed that neither Lilith, not Asataroth had noticed him yet, and the poor sap that was now getting the brunt of Her Majesty's wrath.

Since his promotion from the second circle, Crowley had been climbing the ladder to higher management in Hell, to the point that he was precisely behind Asataroth and Lilith. He dealt with most of the contracts made in the Crossroads, and only the very important ones were handed to Lilith herself. Of course, this was mostly because unlike Lilith, HE could get out of hell and maintain control of the operations from a comfortable office in New York rather than in the dreary place where the likes of Alastair and Mara liked to dwell.

Part of his success was that he knew when to keep his mouth shut, unlike that fool Asataroth, who prided herself to be as close as one could be to the original demons of Hell, to the point of changing her name to a demonic one. Crowley didn't see the appeal on that, humanity was over rated, and he had shed it like an old coat, but there was nothing to be gain from imitating the old ones.

"I am sorry! Please, I beg thee, my queen, forgive me! I won't fail again!" The demon whimpered, twisting herself in the rack where Alastair's latest graduate had put her.

"My instructions were clear," Lilith insisted, leaning down from her throne. It was a tacky red thing, made with human skulls. Crowley shuddered at the cliché.. " Any demon who is summoned by the oldest Winchester must get his soul. What was so hard about that? All humans have a price."

"He doesn't!" The demon insisted, writhing in pain. Crowley sneered. Torture was useful as long as the tortured didn't know what you wanted to hear. There was too much of a chance of them lying just to get on the rack. "He thinks making a deal is weak!"

"I do not care what you offer him, money, booze, women, men, all the contracts pending voided and broken, I want Dean Winchester in HELL!" Lilith bellowed, burning the outer layer of the demon's fake skin. Crowley shuddered, and frowned. Why was this so important to Lilith? It was just another hunter who tried to keep fighting the good fight. Sooner or later, a monster would get the upper hand, sending the bastard to Heaven. It wasn't as if hunters' souls weren't a dime a dozen. All of them were pretty unremarkable. "And if you can't do it, I'll send a demon who can!"

At Lilith's command, the torturer began cutting into the demon's smoky core. Crowley braced himself since it hadn't been that long ago that he had been a human soul, tied to that same rack, suffering the same torture. That's how demons got created. Slice a soul, put it back together just a bit wrong, with just a bit more of pain, anger, resentment and hate, and before you knew it, the weak light that made a human became dark smoke. Smoke that could be twisted even more, tortured even harder. Adding just a little more hate every time. Lilith knew, as that was how she had been born, twisted by Lucifer beyond all recognition, even while she was in her human shell.

"But, your highness! There's something that might work!" The demon yelled, as the tortured skinned her slowly. "I saw his mind! He believes that his father made a deal with us! He actually thinks his life is not worth saving and..."

"And you couldn't use that to make a deal?" Lilith narrowed her eyes. Before the demon could blink, she waved her hand, sending a powerful wave of energy that completely obliterated the core of the poor bastard. Crowley frowned. While he approved of torturing those who weren't doing their jobs competently, the complete destruction of a demon was not something he wanted to encourage.

Once the torturer was gone, Lilith started pacing. Crowley just blended into the shadows as he was sure that if she saw him now, there would be no guarantee for his survival. Soon, only she and Asataroth remained, all the other demons had decided to flee for their safety. And yet, Crowley remained hidden, listening, learning.

"I don't want to wait ten more years, Asataroth," Lilith said, looking at her right hand demon. "We must get Dean Winchester's soul before it's too late."

"We will, my queen," Asataroth smiled, making Crowley shiver. "If needed be, I'll kill him and then storm heaven myself to bring him to you. I believe they would hand him to us with a pretty bow if we asked."

Lilith smiled, a cold, calculating smile that chilled Crowley to the core.

"As much as I'd enjoy seeing you bathing in the blood of our celestial enemies, Winchester must come here willingly or the plan will fail," Lilith sighed, sitting back on her throne. "We need to get him here, without corrupting him. If he sells his soul for any of the sins, it will not work."

"I'll get you his shinny soul to wear as a necklace," Asataroth said, walking behind the queen of hell. Crowley frowned. That didn't sound right. A good soul, without sin in hell? That would be hard to break even if it was possible to get it. Made absolutely no sense.

Crowley decided that he was going to keep his ears open. Something was more rotten than usual in the depths of Hell.

* * *

Sam felt anger and fury burning through his veins the moment when the infected blood mixed with his system, but he managed to keep a tight grip on his temper, on his humanity. It felt somewhat familiar, the anger and hate that was growing inside him was just like the way he had felt about his brother for months after Jess's death. And that was good, because it meant he could fight them, just as he had done then. There was also something more, a growing conviction that he was strong, powerful, that he could take out all his enemies with just a thought, but Sam tried to keep those down.

He knew how he could survive this, even if it was a long shot. It all hinged on managing to be alone with Dean, to get Dean completely focused on him for just a couple of minutes.

When he had been checking the samples with Dr. Lee, Dean had walked close to them to ask about something. If Sam hadn't been looking at the microscope right at that minute, he would've missed the change, but as soon as Dean was close, the demonic virus started to dissipate. Right there was the proof that Sam needed, whatever Dean was, he could heal without even concentrating.

Useful little talent, if Sam could take advantage of it somehow. Making sure that Dean didn't realize what he was doing because if he did, then he would realize that he wasn't human. And then, Dean's talent wouldn't be on Sam's control. A nd Sam wanted to know what else his brother could do if encouraged.

Making sure that everyone left them alone was pathetically easy. Dean had always been susceptible to reverse psychology.

"I'm infected;" Sam said, keeping his face expressionless. Trying to fool everyone into thinking that he was not being affected by the virus. "Give me the gun, and I'll do it myself."

Of course, Dean was not going to give him the gun. Of course, Dean was going to fight. And as Dean yelled, and forced everyone else out, Sam could feel the anger come and go in waves. The hate was still there, the contempt for those stupid townspeople who hadn't noticed a demonic epidemic in their town was very strong, but the rage that the other infected had obviously felt was not present.

It made him wonder if he could just harness that power that the virus gave him, make it work for him somehow. The infected seemed stronger, faster. And if Dean kept the rage at bay, it was an useful power to have.

"You can keep going," Sam said, more to himself than to Dean. So he was really surprised when his brother answered.

"Who says I want to?"

"What?" Sam lifted his head, worry cutting through his thoughts of power and strength like a knife. Dean sounded defeated, even worse than he had after Dad died, almost as bad as when he had been sure he was going to die due to his heart. His brother sounded suicidal, and Sam had promised himself he was not going to let Dean sound like that ever again.

Dean shrugged, crossing the room to the opposite wall. He didn't seem to be trying to contain Sam, not even as he pulled out his handgun.

"I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life..." Dean shook his head as he spoke, looking down. And as he did, Sam could feel a wave of sadness just cover him. Making him feel as if the universe itself was telling him to die. It took him a second to realize that it was not coming from him, but from Dean. "...this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it."

Sam blinked, trying to fight the depression as well as the rage. Still, the rage was receding. It was as if whatever Dean did to heal people was still active, burning down the demonic possession in Sam's blood, despite his own depression

"So what?" He asked, trying to make his brother snap out of it. Empathic projection was new, and too similar to Andy for comfort, so he needed to make his brother feel better soon, before both of them decided to kiss their guns. "So you're just going to give up? You're just gonna lay down and die? Look, Dean, I know this stuff with Dad has..."

"You're wrong," Dean interrupted, shrugging his shoulders again. It almost looked as if he was trying to release some tension from his shoulders. "It's not about Dad. I mean, part of it is, sure, but..."

Unfortunately, Sam couldn't ask further, as Dr. Lee choose that precise moment to come back, to inform them that the whole town had disappeared. By the time Sam was able to think about what had happened, he was too ashamed of his thoughts while under the Croatoan's influence.

Once again, he had left himself loose against the darker parts of his own mind. If it wasn't for Dean, he would've probably joined the infected, even after saying he wouldn't.

Checking Dad's notes, Sam knew that John had been afraid that Dean was an evil creature. After all, there were too many worrying signs, like the lack of sleep and the fact that whatever Dean was eating? It was not normal food. However, now Sam wasn't that sure that Dad had been right. Dean certainly wasn't human, but he couldn't be evil. Not when his mere presence seemed to exorcise demon taint.

So then, the evil one was Sam. It made sense, in a sick, twisted way. It explained how easily dark thought crept into his brain, why demons and monsters seemed attracted to him. Just like the other psychic kids, he was probably going to end up going insane and killing everyone. Dean was right about that, he was going to become a murderer.

Unless he stayed close to his brother. His brother kept those thoughts at bay. And maybe that was why he was less powerful than all the others. More human.

Which meant that now more than ever, he couldn't tell Dean about his suspicions. He needed to keep his brother as worry free as he could in order to avoid another wave of depression like the one he had felt back at the hospital, and not let Dean figure out the truth. So unless a new urgent vision about the yellow eyed demon came through, he was going to pretend that all his powers were gone.

* * *

"Finnerman! You're with me!" As Agent Hericksen passed by, Donnie barely had the time to nod in agreement. After two years in the Bureau, he had gotten used to the way the higher agents usually just barked orders without any explanation. It reminded him a bit of Raphael in the beginning, although the Archangel had felt offended at the comparison.

At the very least, since Donnie mentioned it, Raphael had become far more forthcoming with the problems they were facing in Heaven. Except that Donnie didn't know if it was because Raphael was learning the importance of collaboration, or because he had no one else to complain about how Michael had just decided to disappear from Heaven, how an angel named Zachariah was slimier than any demon, and how much he missed his nephew Dean.

On those days, Donnie felt as if he was the only sane member of a very big dysfunctional family. He only knew Michael and Raphael, but he had the feeling that they were two of the most balanced angels, and the thought of that was scary.

"Sir?" He asked, as they reached Hericksen's office. He was prepared for the worst, ever since he had seen the bulletin about Dean and Sam's arrest warrant. Even if Dean didn't remember him, there was the chance that the FBI had found a connection between them. And then, his career would've over.

"I know you're one of the best of your generation, Finnerman, so I need you to listen carefully," Hericksen said, putting up a tape recorder. "I just came back from St. Louis, and the Winchesters escaped again. I want you to hear the tape, of the call, watch the tapes of the bank, and tell me if you see anything, anything, that can help us narrow down their next destination. There has to be something in there that we can use."

Donnie nodded, while Hericksen pressed play. That was what he had trained to do, to be a field agent as well as a profiler. He thought he was ready for everything.

Except of course to hear Dean's voice on the tape.

"I'm not really in the negotiating mood"

And wasn't that an understatement. Donnie had never heard Dean that tired, that cold. Since Dean had convinced Raphael to let him have his own life whenever the archangel didn't actually need a vessel, Donnie had gotten much better at reading people's emotions. He assumed it was a side effect of being a vessel, especially since back then Dean had also been great at empathy. And what he was hearing now was a man ready to die. A man who would welcome a bullet to his head, without hesitation.

What the hell had Michael done to his son?

As soon as he could, Donnie was going to have a long talk with Raphael. He knew he couldn't approach Dean, the archangel had been clear on that, but since he could practically hear Dean broadcasting his wish to die, he had to do something. Especially if the FBI was so intent on catching him.

* * *

Mara was furious since her plan had failed completely. At the very least, she hoped news of what she had tried wouldn't get back to Lilith. It was bad enough that she had failed to learn anything useful from the Winchesters, if Lilith found that her plan to get Dean in hell involved actually possessing Sam Winchester? She was sure that Lilith would destroy her.

Even now, miles away from Sam's body, she still felt as if she had to be punished for her actions.

And that was a problem. Because although trying to use the body that was destined to her Father was high in the list of things that a demon should never do, demons were made to break rules. When she had come up with the plan of making Dean kill Sam in order to doom his soul to hell? Mara had been giddy at the chance to occupy the same place that her Father would later as he marched through Earth and Heaven, destroying all in his path. Even as she killed the old hunter and threatened the girl, Mara had been riding an ecstasy as no demon before her had known.

It all had changed when she had gotten caught.

She thought she had been ready for the strange burning presence of the righteous man. She had stood it before, even as she was being exorcised, so this time should have been easier. But every time she came close to him, it had come back with a vengeance. Only that instead of burning her, harming her as it tried to exorcise her? It had felt warm, soothing. Made it so hard for her to remember that she hated Dean Winchester, humanity. It had been so easy to slip into Sam's mind patterns, to pretend she was Sam and to even forget her mission when she was with him.

It scared Mara, because there was no reason why a man, even the future vessel of Heaven's General, could have that power.

She felt... clean. And it made her horrified.

She looked at the mirror, at her new vessel. She had gone to the hospital, fully intending to reclaim Meg Masters as her. The girl was out of her coma, but still in intensive care due to the numerous internal injuries that Mara had inflicted on her. But as she hovered in smoke above the human, something had stopped her. Part of it had been fear, Masters had also been near Winchester, her body had felt the same warmth that Mara had. What if the body remembered it? What if Mara sealed herself in a meatsuit that constantly reminded her of that love that she would never feel again?

The other part, the one that she would never confess, not even to herself, was compassion. Meg Masters had suffered enough at her hand. Mara could have some pity on that soul.

And so, she had slithered around the hospital until she found another body. A girl, just brought from an accident. Mara remained hidden, as she saw the Reaper come and pick her soul, and just in the last second, before the doctors realized that she was gone, she occupied it completely. It was the first time she used a body that was empty before hand and the silence was disturbingly soothing. It helped her forget Winchester's touch as he had tried to exorcise her from his brother's body.

The doctors wanted to keep her in observation and, for once, Mara didn't escape. She needed her body in the best shape possible for the future, and she needed to think about her next step. As much as she wanted to ignore it, something inside her had changed. Her current vessel proved it without doubt because she had chosen it with mercy in her core. Mercy, a feeling that no Demon should feel.

She looked down at her arm, and, idly, picked up a pen to start tracing the bounding sigil that she had used to insure that no one would exorcise her again. As she did she wondered if perhaps that was the problem. She had been bound to Sam Winchester while Dean tried a strange exorcism that Mara had never heard before. Perhaps since she couldn't escape, the exorcism had worked as a purifying ritual.

Long ago, before the last Knight of Hell disappeared, Mara had heard rumors about a demon that had been completely cleansed by a priest. Turned human, after a grueling torture. Could Dean Winchester have gotten her hands on something like that?

She didn't know. And that was the other problem. While on Sam's body, she had been unable to pick up nothing but his surface memories. Most of what she had said about Jo had been educated guesses, because Sam had been fighting her with all his might, keeping her away from what made him thick. If it hadn't been for the bounding sigil, he might have succeeded in throwing her out. That was the strength of Lucifer's vessel.

Mara lowered her head into the comfortable pillow and sighed. Let Asataroth deal with the Winchesters for now. She needed to rest, and to try and scrub the stench of humanity that seemed to cling to her now.

* * *

Sam was crying. His arm hurt, he had fallen from Mr. Singer's shed and hurt it, and he couldn't move it. He was pretty sure he had broken his arm, and he needed help, but Mr. Singer's and dad were at the house and that was too far so they probably didn't hear him and Dean...

"Don't cry, Sammy, I'm here," Dean's voice came from somewhere above his head. Sam raised his head, and saw Dean, dressed in his Superman costume, surrounded by a white halo that almost looked like wings around him. Huge, white wings that made Sam feel protected just by looking at him.

And then Dean was kneeling next to him, smiling. He touched his arm, and it stopped hurting. Sam blinked, surprised, and Dean smiled at him.

"Dean? Did you just...?" Sam tried to ask, sounding far older than what he felt.

"Sorry, Sammy, I should've been paying attention," Dean said, raising his hand to touch Sam's forehead. "But Raph says that I can't let you remember this."

Sam woke up, drenched in sweat, and looked to the other bed immediately. The bed, that wasn't even unmade this time. It seemed that Dean had just gotten tired of pretending he slept, and that meant that it was time to call Andy again. Except that if he got Andy to mind whip his brother again, then he had to be careful to make sure that Dean didn't notice his nightmares.

Because he couldn't tell Dean that he was rewriting his own memories in his dreams. He remembered that broken arm. Bobby and dad hadn't been at home, had gone to Sioux Falls to get provisions. Dean had taken him to the ER in his bicycle and he had worn a cast for...

Sam frowned.

He couldn't remember how long he had been wearing that cast.

Sam passed his hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves. There was the possibility that it was not just a dream. While he was completely sure that he or dad would've noticed if Dean had wings sooner or later, the extreme healing could've gone unnoticed. Especially if Dean could also modify his memories.

Except that if Dean could do that, it meant that he was far more adept to use his powers than what Sam had observed in the past few months. It just didn't fit. Unless, of course, it was just a dream, and he was just mixing his memories with what he suspected about Dean.

He pulled out dad's secret journal, and started reading again. He didn't have much time lately to read the journal, since Dean was always around, especially after they found out that the FBI was on their tails. They had to be more careful, and that meant more sleeping on the car and less motel rooms near towns.

It also meant less privacy.

By now, Sam had read his father's journal so many times that he could recite it by heart. But it didn't made more sense the more he read it, because he didn't want to agree with dad's last entry.

The one entry he wanted to tear off and burn, because he would die before he let Dean know that at one point, John had thought that Mary had cheated on him. That Dean was someone else's son, a demonic creature sent to make sure that Mary was targeted like all the other victims of the yellow eyed demon. Especially because all of the other kids had been first born. Sam was the only one who broke the pattern.

Sam knew that his father thought all supernatural creatures were evil, which explained his conflict about Dean. John himself wrote how much he worried about Dean, how much he loved his oldest son. And even if he hadn't written about those worries, Sam knew that, in the end, dad had sacrificed himself for Dean.

Dean was alive only because John had given up his own life. That had to prove that John loved Dean.

And yet the darkest part of Sam's mind, the part that had been feed by the Croatoan virus, the part that he fought daily, kept whispering that it was not love. That John had only done it to insure that Sam had a supernatural bodyguard, one that could in the end kill him if he strayed too far. One that could've molded for Sam's needs, rather than to John's.

He already knew that Dean's healing powers were out of control, but they had limits. Little wounds and scratches had simply no staying power, but when the security guard had been killed, Dean had been unable to bring him back. And he had tried. Sam now knew exactly how it felt when Dean healed people, a warmth that seemed to radiate from his brother. Dean had ran, kneeled in front of the guy, and the warmth had been so intense, it felt like a heat wave in Florida. Sam was willing to bet that every single person near the bank had suddenly become healthier in just that second. If anyone had a cold, a sore throat, a hurt knee, or even cancer? Dean had taken care of it.

But the dead guard had remained dead.

That was a very important limit to take in account, especially given Dean's mental state after the fact. And still, he had no idea of what it was adding to. What was the full picture? What kind of creature didn't sleep, didn't eat (unless he had found the first supernatural thing whose diet consisted of hamburgers and pie whenever it remembered to pretend to be human), could heal even cancer but couldn't bring people back from the dead, and scared demons with a touch.

He knew he should ask Bobby for help, but he couldn't bring himself to tell someone else besides Andy that Dean had powers. Hell, he didn't even want Andy knowing.

His phone began to ring, and he picked it up, hoping that Dean wouldn't choose that precise moment to appear through the door.

"Hey, Bobby, what do you got for me?" He asked, stifling a yawn. The nightmares were making him feel exhausted all the time.

"Still nothing, Sam. I'm starting to think there's nothing to be found," Bobby said, sounding as tired as Sam felt.

"Bobby, that amulet was making me hate Dean. There has to be something about it!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I ran it through every possible spell detector I know, and it came out a big fat of nothing," Bobby explained. "There's a chance that the spell was time-sensitive and it ran out."

Sam bit his lip, thinking. There had to be something there. True, without the amulet he still had the occasional unkind thought about Dean, but they were brief, easy to control. But to explain that to Bobby, he would have to tell him about Dean's powers, and he was not ready to do that just yet.

Especially because he knew that Bobby would want to tell Dean. And it was important to keep Dean believing he was human. That was the most important thing to do.

"Just... keep looking when you have the time," Sam closed his eyes, deciding to take a risk. "And.. Bobby? have you ever heard of a creature that heals humans?"

"What do you mean, heal humans?" Bobby sounded intrigued.

"Just like that. Maybe eats sickness? I don't exactly know the details, I'm just... making sure we didn't miss something." Sam knew it was a lie, but he hoped it was one that would hold against Bobby's questions."I've got reports about people still being healed at Lagrange's but no deaths"

"I'll give it a look," Bobby promised. "And Sam? Talk to your brother. Maybe the amulet wasn't the problem."

Sam promised he would, even if he didn't intend to fulfill said promise. Talking with Dean was definitively not possible. At least not until he figured what Dean was.

* * *

Gabriel frowned as he looked at the two hunters that were trying to put an end to his fun in Springfield. Which was just not fair, since he actually liked Springfield. And it wasn't as if he had been doing damage to innocents, he still had personal lines that he was not going to cross.

The problem was that he couldn't do something really flashy in order to stay in Springfield, like, turn back time so that the brothers would never even come. Balthazar was looking for him and while his kid was easily distracted by the pleasures Earth could bring, if Balthy ever got even a clue of where he was hiding? there would be no escaping his son.

So he had tried bargaining with the elder Winchester, only to have his offer rebuked. That was impressive, on its own way. When the brothers had entered Springfield, he had thought that Dean would be the kind of people who deserved to get a painful lesson taught. A deadly one because he knew those kind of humans. The co*cky, arrogant ones who thought they knew better than anyone else. But instead, both brothers had shown themselves to be quite descent, as humans went. Yes, there was a noticeable corruption in Sam's soul, but Gabriel had seen that kind of corruption before on hunters. Usually the result of a deal, or of killing an innocent just for being different.

Dean, however, intrigued him.

When he had looked at his soul, he had been enthralled for a moment. Dean's soul was a bright, warm spot completely untouched by corruption. Too bright for a human soul, in Gabriel's opinion, but no matter how much he tried to test Dean, he was nothing but a human being. A human being that killed supernatural things regularly, who apparently indulged in many vices and yet... remained uncorrupted. Untouched.

That had been what made him actually go as himself to meet them, disguised as the janitor, rather than just use a dupe. He needed to get a closer look to that bright soul, that seemed to try and stretch out of the meatsuit it was stuck in.

He had to admit, the offer he made to Dean was a little out of character for him. Two of his best female creations, to play as he wanted. Not because he hadn't used similar tricks to get his victims, but because he actually meant it. It was not a trick, but a gift. Like something he would give to his kids...

"Oh, Father, don't tell me that one of my childlings went and made me a grandpa..." Gabriel muttered to himself as he saw the brothers climb into the Impala to leave Springfield forever. Back when he had made Samandiriel, the protocol was to use a young human as a template, but perhaps that had changed in the years he had been off the loop. It would explain the brilliance of Dean's soul, even if it didn't account for the fact that there was no grace residuals around him.

Still, if he squinted, he could almost make wisps of soul trying to arch from behind Dean. Almost like wings. So if it was a childling, it really could be from one of his kids. He could count at least four distinct shapes, one pair below the Seraphs.

Perhaps that was why Balthazar was looking for him? Had he made a fledlging and something went wrong and the kid hadn't ascended?

Gabriel frowned as he watched the car drive away. He needed to get back on the loop of what the Host was doing, without breaking his cover. And he needed to keep an eye on the Winchesters, while he was at it.

* * *

Sam closed his eyes as Madison went to make some coffee and, in a fit of what later he'd call madness, he started to pray.

But he didn't pray to god or any angel, even if Pastor Jim had been very through in his religious education since extra help during hunting was always welcomed. No. He prayed to Dean.

Dean had cured a woman's brain tumor, Sam was sure he could make Madison human again. Especially as Madison hadn't killed anyone yet. Lycanthropy was a disease, and if Dean could cure cancer, he could cure a supernatural virus.

Please, Dean, don't let her die. I love her. I only met her today, but I love her. Don't let her become a monster, don't make me kill her tomorrow morning.

That was all that was in his mind as they waited for the night to be over. At moments, he thought that perhaps Dean was looking at him, confused, but he didn't stop his mind prayer. His brother had always been his hero, the one who managed to make everything better. He needed to believe Dean could give him this one miracle.

It wasn't until she went to sleep, as the sun started to shine in the horizon, when Sam let himself breathe again. He didn't know if killing the werewolf who had bitten Madison had been what did the trick, or if it had been Dean's presence and powers. By the time he had made breakfast and the smell of scrambled eggs woke up Madison again, he had decided that if it had been Dean? He was not planning on wasting his brother's miracle.

"So.. you're still you," Sam said, as Madison smiled weakly at him. "You held out through the night and nothing happened."

"I still think that this is a dream," Madison answered, accepting the cup of coffee that he handed her. "That I'm going to wake up, and attack you. Or someone else."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Sam said, trying to make her feel better. "You didn't turn in the full moon, so the lore was right. You're cured."

"Is there any way to know for sure?" Madison asked, looking at her hands. She was trembling, and Sam didn't blame her. He still remembered how horrible it had been to wait for the rage virus to engulf him, as the thoughts of killing Dean kept appearing in his head. He doubted that Madison was thinking about killing him now, but the whole experience had to be terrifying.

"Hold this," Sam offered her one of the silver bullets Dean had made him carry, just in case. It was such a small thing, but he knew that in the moment she touched it they would have their answer. And, against himself, he also took out his gun. Just in case, even if he didn't want to admit there was a possibility that it would be needed.

"A bullet?" Madison turned the bullet in her hand, confused. But her confusion was sweet for Sam since there was no pain underneath. She was touching silver and not reacting. It was the miracle that he had been praying for. And now he was sure it had worked.

"Silver bullet. If you were still infected, you wouldn't be able to touch it. It would burn your skin." Sam explained, relief obvious in his voice. "Keep it if you want. Most supernatural creatures don't like silver."

"It seems that there's a lot I have to learn about all this, don't I?" She asked, smiling. "Will you teach me? Or this is going to be good bye?"

"My brother and I are always moving around, comes with the job," Sam said. And he knew that Dean was probably coming to pick him, and then he'd never see Madison again. "But... I could keep in touch?"

"I'd love that," Madison smiled, and then, to Sam's surprise, pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

Dean stood in front of the house, trying to control his breathing. Everything that had happened since the moment he had woke up at the fire station was too unreal, too strange. Everyone was trying to convince him that he was not a hunter, that he and Sam hadn't lived the last 22 years of their lives in the back of the Impala, chasing after a yellow eyed demon with his father.

No. According to the guys in the fire station, just like his old man had been, and he had lived in Lawerence his whole life. He had been so out of it, that the chief, who just happened to be Bobby Singer had forced one of the other firemen, a man called Don Finnerman, to take him home.

To his mother.

"Are you going to be ok if I leave you here?" Donnie asked, leaning on is car. Apparently, Dean lived with his mother when he was not at the station, which was not very often really, more like one or two days out of every month. And while he still owed the Impala, he left it at his mother's when on duty to make sure nothing happened to it.

It made sense, it was something he would do and still, it felt utterly wrong.

"Yeah.. I just... I had a weird ass dream last night," Dean shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for Donnie to follow him. The guy was apparently his best friend according to everyone at the station, but Dean still didn't remember that friendship and didn't want the other man around his family yet.

If it was really his mother the one who lived there.

"Try to get your head screwed back on before you come back, bro," Donnie said, watching him hesitate. "Chief Singer will have both our asses if you're distracted on the job."

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist. I only need a weekend, ok? That's all." Realizing that he couldn't stall any longer, he walked to the door, pulling out his keychain. Thankfully, he found the house key at the first try, which made him doubt again his certainty that this had to be fake. He didn't remember living there, but his body remembered the movements needed. It was too strange.

"Dean, honey? Is that you?"

Dean looked up to meet Mom. Mary, who was just coming out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a red washcloth that had white apples on the edge. Who looked a older than what Dean remembered, but was alive, and frowning at him worried. Dean couldn't stop staring.

"Dean? What's wrong? Chief Singer said that you were acting weird and..." Mary began, but Dean interrupted her. As much as every instinct told him that this was a trap, he wanted to believe it was the truth.

"Let me ask you a question," he said, refusing to call her mom. It couldn't be her. She had died twenty three years ago. "When I was a kid, what did you always tell me when you put me to bed?"

"Dean, I don't understand..." She began, looking at him as if she was scared. She should be, Dean thought, since the moment he figured what she was, she would regret trying to pretend she was Mary.

"Answer the question," Dean insisted, trying to steel himself. He had never had to kill a creature that looked like someone he loved.

"I told you angels were watching over you," She said, and it was then when Dean realized that she wasn't afraid. She was worried.

And she was really his mom.

He just ran to her, hugging her close. The tears that he had been trying to fight since the moment he had heard she was alive came out freely, and he didn't care that crying was unmanly, that he was acting like a child. It was Mom, and she was alive, and for the first time in years, he felt complete.

"Dean? Sweety, you're starting to worry me..." Mary said, even as she hugged him. "Did something happen at work?"

"No," Dean shook his head, still hugging her. "I just... I had a bad dream."

"Oh, honey," Mary kissed his cheek. "I have told you to rest a little. Your job is too stressful."

"I will be fine, I just... need to spend a little time with the whole family," Dean said. He had tried to call Sam when he woke up in the fire station, but all his messages ended up going to voice mail.

"Well, then you're in luck, Sam and his girlfriend will arrive tomorrow, and If I know your father, he and Michael will be arriving in no time wanting to eat," Mary smiled. "Want to help me with dinner?"

"I... yeah," Dean blinked, trying to stop more tears. Dad was also alive now, and everything was just a dream. He was not a hunter, he was not going to hell and his parents were alive and well. His brother had a girlfriend, and he was a firefighter. It was almost perfect. "Wait... Michael?"

"Your uncle Michael?" Mary said, looking concerned again. "Are you sure you're ok? It's not like you to forget your favorite uncle..."

Dean shook his head. He hadn't meant to alarm her again. As he did so, he discreetly looked at the family pictures on the wall. There was him, with Donnie and other guys at the firestation. And Sammy, in what was obviously his graduation. And then... there was a picture of Dad, in a softball uniform, standing next to... another John Winchester, in a similar uniform but with a different number.

"No... I just thought... he was on a trip.." Dean stumbled the excuse, but it seemed to convince Mary, that simply shook her head and walked towards the kitchen. Dean looked at the pictures for a while longer, trying to come to terms that yes, this was his life. Everything else had just been a horrible nightmare.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the steps of the house, drinking a glass of iced tea that his mom was made, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. He had taken the time to go to a nearby college just to research the last thing he remembered clearly before his world turned Bedford Falls on him. He had been hunting a djinn, and every minute that passed, he was starting to believe that his prey had actually granted him his greatest wish.

That the fire had never happened, and mom was still alive. And the sonofabitch had granted it to him.

Dean still remembered his old life. His mom, dying at the yellow eyed demon's hand, his dad, dragging him and Sam all over the country looking for revenge. He could almost believe that it was a nightmare, especially when he took on the different people in his new reality.

Michael, his favorite uncle that he didn't remember, who looked exactly like John but was somewhat warmer to Dean. John had joked during dinner that Michael was Dean's other father, and Dean had to admit... it felt right. Right in a way that had to be a dream, because the John Winchester Dean remembered wouldn't joke about Mary cheating on him with his twin brother. And when this John and Michael told Dean that they were proud of his job as a Firefighter and of the work he'd done on the Imapala, Dean could believe them. It didn't feel wrong, as it had when the yellow eyed demon possessed dad.

Then there was Donnie, his friend at the station. Dean had called him again before dinner, just to calm the other man. And then, despite not really remembering, spent an hour chatting about their day, and Donnie's problems with his brother Raphael, who, according to Donnie, was probably a robot in disguise. Dean didn't remember Raphael either, but at the mention of his name, he felt a warmth acceptance in his chest. As if part of him knew that Raphael was his friend.

It made Dean feel like a normal person, like a civilian. And for a moment, he was almost happy.

Right until the moment when the cab stopped in front of the house.

Sam looked... different. It was not just the clothes, a perfectly fitted expensive black suit, or the douche ponytail, not even the permanent scowl that Sam got in the instant he saw Dean. It was rather a darkness... As if Sam was always standing in the shadows, even as it was clear daylight outside.

It made Dean shiver.

"Dean," Sam greeted, looking very unhappy about seeing his brother. "I thought you'd be at the station today."

"Uhm... No. I had my free days lined up with your visit for months," Dean said, confused. While no one had told him that, he had checked his calendar. His other self had marked it with a red circle and the note 'talk to Sam', so he figured it was important.

"Oh," Sam seemed put out at that, before helping a woman out of the cab. One that Dean had only seen once before but even so, Dean couldn't stop himself from hugging her. Because if she was there, that meant his brother was going to be happy.

"Jess! I'm so glad to see you're ok!" He said, hugging his brother's girlfriend, with far more familiarity than the two times he had seen her warranted. "I am so glad to see you!"

"Uhm... thank you?" She said, obviously confused. However, it was not the same confusion that Mary had shown. Jess sounded as if she had never talked to him before. But that was impossible. After all, she was going to marry Sam, wasn't she? They had to know each other.

"You never told me you knew Dean, darling," Sam said, frowning. And his voice sounded cold. TOO cold, for Dean's tastes. As if he was accusing them of something.

"Not that I remember, Sam.... " Jess started saying, obviously uncomfortable. And then it clicked Dean's head. She was upset because SAM was getting angry. Which was so out of character from the Sam he remembered that made Dean feel immediately in the defensive.

If he had been looking for a reason not to like his life, or a suspect to be the djinn in disguise? This 'Sam' was now his number one suspect. More than the uncle he didn't remember having, who was everything he wished Dad had been, or the good friend he had in Donnie. It just.. didn't feel like his Sam.

"I just feel like I know her from your emails, Sammy," Dean said, trying to smile even as all his instincts yelled at him that something was wrong. "Hey, mom, Michael and dad are waiting, come inside."

"It's Sam," Sam said, as he pushed past Dean and into the house, making Dean frown. This was seriously wrong. But he figured, maybe he could stand that. A world where his mom was alive, his dad was happy, and the Winchesters had a family. No demons, no ghosts, no djinns... He could live with that, if the only price was his and Sam's friendship. And in time, maybe he could fix that problem. It was not that big of a sacrifice, if the only one who would know was Dean himself.

* * *

While Dean could live with Sam hating him, even with Sam hating the whole family , the one thing he couldn't live with was with human lives on his shoulders.

Seeing the memorial for the plane crash that he and Sam had stopped cemented it in his mind. He had to undo his wish, even if he would be carving a hole in his heart by doing so.

* * *

Dean was sitting down on his bed, trying to calm himself down. He felt weak, hungry, and vulnerable, three states that he hated. Even more importantly, he was feeling anxious. He couldn't stop spinning his mother's wedding ring that now seemed too big for his fingers, thanks to a week and a half on a completely liquid diet.

"I talked to the hospital," Sam came through the door, carrying his phone and a paper bag from the dinner that Dean had seen as they drove through town. "Girl's been stabilized and there's a good chance she's gonna pull through. We got her out on time."

"Good," Dean said, accepting the bag. As he did, his mother's ring almost slipped out of his finger so Dean closed his fist to make it stay where it was. He was being paranoid, he knew, but he just couldn't lose his last memento of his mother.

"How 'bout you? You all right?" Sam asked, sitting in front of him. It made Dean nervous, as it was so different from the dream Sam. The dream Sam hadn't wanted to talk to Dean about anything, seemed to be happy to stay away from the whole family. The dream Sam had even treated Jess as a commodity, as if he didn't really love her and just was with her because she made him look better.

The dream Sam had called him crazy, a freak, an idiot, and had refused to help him hunt the djinn. Donnie... Donnie had been there for him, had begged him not to take his own life, even tried to wrestle the knife out of his hands.

Twirling his mom's ring in his hand, Dean wondered where the hell had Donnie come from. What part of his subconscious had created such a friend for him.

"I'm ok," he finally said, trying to keep his voice calm. He really didn't know why he was on edge. Was it the memories of what the djinn had created using his subconscious as a blue print? Or the horrible feeling that he was going to lose his mom's ring. "I need a chain"

Sam nodded, still looking at Dean as if Dean was going to break. And Dean felt like he was. His headache had turned into a migraine, as he tried to remember where could he have seen Donnie, or gotten the idea of a kind uncle that looked like Dad.

* * *

Michael was walking a dirt path in Osaka, following the trail of a kitsune, when he felt his core almost break. The PAIN/LOSS/GRIEF reached him, making him stagger. It was the same blind call he had felt 28 years ago, the day he realized that Dean was not a human experiment, but his beloved childling.

And as he realized what the pain meant, what was what made Dean's core break through the cracks in the seal that was covering it, the pain echoed through his vessel's soul as, for the first time since Michael had taken him, John tried to fight him for control of the body.

Something had happened to Sam.

And Dean... Dean was breaking. His pain and sorrow was so strong that Michael was sure the host would hear him soon. Without even thinking about it, he called his wings to himself, and took flight towards America. He needed to see Dean, now, try and figure out what had happened to Sam and...

fix it

Michael gasped, as he heard his vessel's voice, but he agreed. He needed to fix whatever that had happened to Sam, if only to make sure that Dean wouldn't suffer. They needed to help Dean.

"Lord Michael?!"

Michael stopped in mid air, turning to see Zachariah. he had not wanted the other angel to see him while in John Winchester, but there was no helping it now.

"What do you want Zachariah?" He asked, even as he was aching to get to his fledgling's side. "Right now is not the time."

"Michael, I didn't know you had chosen John Winchester as your temporary vessel..." Zachariah began, obviously sidetracked. Michael sighed inwardly, even as John was yelling at him to go and get to their son's side. "I can see how that might be useful in order to convince your vessel to..."

"Zachariah? What do you want? " Michael interrupted. He had yet to explain John everything about Heaven, Hell, and the role Sam and Dean had to play in the final battle and he didn't want the man to start asking questions, not when he was so close to his senses. " I do not have time for you right now."

"I... " Zachariah lowered his wings, in a sort of apology. "I wanted to inform you that the first step to break the First Seal has been taken. In a year, the Righteous Man will be taken to hell, as Prophecy demands."

"What?! "Right then, Michael realized that it was a good thing that Zachariah was not versed in human emotion, and thus confused the reason of his anger into impatience.

"I am sorry... we tried to make a shorter Deal, but it was not possible. But in a year, he'll be at the mercy of the best torturer in Hell... we'll have the seal broken in no time."

Michael stared at the other angel, unable to believe his words. He couldn't ask what the First Seal was, he had the sickening idea that he should've asked long time ago, before it was an issue. Especially if it meant that now, he had doomed his son to an eternity of torment in Hell.

"You do realize that if he dies, he can't consent to being my vessel, don't you, Zachariah?!" He asked, trying to control himself and not smite the other angel immediately.

"Do not worry about it, Lord Michael, we'll make sure that your vessel is ready for you when the final battle comes," Zachariah said, proudly. It was obvious that he felt that Dean selling his soul was an accomplishment.

It was almost enough to make him smite the other angel.

"You better. Or Lucifer will have a cellmate," He threatened, before flying off again, disappearing from everyone senses. He needed to be with his son. Needed to see him, before he lost him again.

* * *

Michael stood outside the Singer's scrapyard, watching Dean sleep. It had been a tiresome day for his son, and the only thing he felt he could do for him was to shield his soul from any nightmares.

Inside his core, John's soul stirred, wanting to be let in control. Michael sighed. He understood John's agitation. After all, he had let John out for just the moment needed to grab Azazael and extract his revenge, just as he had promised the mortal. But, just as they had agreed, John had been forbidden from talking to Dean or Sam, and that was not sitting well with the human who missed his sons.

Michael understood him all too well. There was nothing he wanted more than take his fledgling, break the seals and take him to heaven, Apocalypse forgotten. But he had a duty to fulfill, and that meant that there were sacrifices to be made.

Still, he promised himself he was not going to let his son down again. That Dean was going to Hell was Michael's fault. And while he couldn't do anything to stop it, not without failing his mission, he could make sure he never failed his son again.

He opened his wings, looking one last time at the window of his son's room before taking flight. All of this could've been avoided if he had paid more attention to the details of the Prophecy, rather than just wait for the final battle, so that was what he was going to do now. He was not going to wait for Zachariah to bring him the news, he was going to find out every possible detail that could go wrong.

And wait. Because the second his son was taken to Hell, he'd be flying down to get him out.

* * *

Lilith stretched her stolen arms, and smiled. The little girl she had chosen was screaming in her head, as all her nightmares chased her around her subconscious. It would be an excellent vessel to start building her realm of horror, the real she'd leave for her Lord and Father.

But before she could become really comfortable with her new skin, she needed to take care of something else.

"Asataroth?" She called, looking at the female body slumped on the floor. The babysitter of her meatsuit, a blonde girl probably two years or so younger than Lucifer's Vessel. The perfect bait for the trap they were going to lay.

"I'm here," the blonde looked up, her eyes black as the pit. The demon looked at herself in the mirror, fixing the red leather jacket the human girl had been wearing. "This will work. She looks a bit like Mara's last meatsuit, doesn't it?"

"Don't pretend to be her," Lilith admonished, looking at herself in the mirror. Blonde, blue eyes, angelic smile. Just the kind of vessels she had enjoyed before getting exiled to the Pit by the damned angels. The better to corrupt. "You need to win the brothers's trust, and Mara wasn't their ally."

"I will," Asataroth rummaged through the jacket's pockets, bringing out a college identification. She looked at it, grinning. "Ruby Cortese.. It's not a bad name. Can't go around using my real one."

Lilith smiled, and waited for Asataroth to kneel in front of her. She petted the blonde hair of her loyal servant, before getting up from the bed. It was time to start making clear to the demons that had escaped that Azazael's death meant that she was now in charge.

"Give them a gift," She said, as she walked to the door of her meatsuit bedroom. "I think... the Kurd knife would be a good one. Make them get used to the idea of killing our meatsuits instead of exorcising us... Taint Sam's soul, make sure he's ready for Father... but keep Dean as pure as you can. We need the Righteous Man in hell, not a common dog."

"You wound me, Lilith," Ruby grinned, walking behind her. "You know I am the best temptress in Hell. By the time I'm done with Sam? Not even his own mother will recognize his soul. Dean... I won't touch the little human. After all, he'll have a lot of fun once he's in Alastair's hands."

"Good," Lilith opened the door, and looked at the hallway. She could sense her meatsuit anguish as she surveyed the house where the young human lived with her parents and grandparents. Oh, this house was going to be fun. " And if the mysterious angel appears? Make me a pillow with his wings, and a crown with his bones."

Chapter 13: Despair

Chapter Text

Sam closed up his laptop, sighing. It was not that he disliked keeping secrets from Dean. He had always insisted that Dean's insistence on sharing everything was unhealthy; he could keep secrets. He hadn't told Dean that the visions weren't completely gone. Or that he still got those flashes of pure hatred against Dean. Hell, the flashes themselves were still a secret. He didn't have a problem with not sharing with Dean that he was being followed by Buffy the vampire slayer's more sarcastic sister since he still wasn't sure that she wasn't a demon. And lying about the fact that he still was looking for a way to get Dean out of his stupid deal was easy. Too easy, since Dean was an idiot that was only interested in sex and food...

Sam groaned, shaking his head. Dean wasn't an idiot. Dean had sacrificed himself to save him. Dean was his brother, and he loved him.

It took him about five minutes to make the anger go away. It came less frequently, true, but it still worried him. Especially since now it seemed to come whenever he *wasn't* with Dean.

And that was the secret that was eating Sam.

Everything he now knew about Dean, everything Dad had suspected about Dean.

He had a file, listing all the things he didn't know about Dean. Every little surprise that came around.

For example... Bobby had told him he had warded himself all over to keep the Sins from affecting him. Sam had faced three of the demons on his own, but he had to admit, Pride hadn't tried to do anything... he had just... talked a lot. But Dean... Dean had faced Lust, alone, and survived. And Sam knew Dean... no, he knew Dean's reputation. Lust would have never just let him dunk her in holy water.

And yet, Dean had been immune to her.

The problem was that there were only three creatures that could be immune to demon's influence, and two of them were mythical... and Sam couldn't believe that his brother was a demon.

* * *

Dean was not happy. The fact that Sam was chatting up with a demon made him angrier than anything that had happened before. Even his father selling his soul hadn't made Dean feel such a burning anger. It beat against his chest, as an angry bird trying to escape his cage.

And Sam didn't. Get. It.

Dean had less than a year to live. He didn't regret his choice of selling his soul for Sam. That was an acceptable loss, no matter what Bobby thought. Sometimes, he worried that he didn't care that he was going to hell, that his soul would be torn out of his vessel. His body. But most of the time all he could think about was helping others. Making sure Sam wouldn't explode without him near. Keeping the demons at bay, just one more day.

Trying to ignore the voice on the back of his head that kept telling him that he deserved to die, to go to hell. That he wasn't human, that he was a freak, worse than any of the kids that had been chosen by Azazael.

In his nightmares, his father yelled at him for failing to protect Sam. Yelled at him for failing to pass as human. For not saving mom.

And very, very faint, Andy's dying whisper: 'you're human. Nothing more. Can’t save us. You're just human'.

Counterpoint to Azazael's laugh, asking him if he was sure that Sam had come back right.

It was enough to make him avoid sleeping. It was just blind luck that Sam hadn't noticed yet.

And that made Dean wonder too. Why Sam hadn't noticed? There was a time in which Dean hadn't been able to do anything without Sam questioning him about it. Now.. his brother seemed distant, leaving for hours to talk to that demon, to Ruby, when he thought Dean was asleep.

When Sam came back, Azazael's voice in his head was always stronger. He felt sick around his own brother, as if he was next to the demon that had killed their mother.

Sometimes, Sam made him feel just as he had felt when he had been trapped with Casey on the mansion basem*nt. Claustrophobic and feeling as if ants were crawling all over him. The feeling intensified whenever Sam came back from his night expeditions, when he was trying to 'interrogate' Ruby.

It almost made Dean wish that his year was over, just so he could stop feeling as if his father and Azazael had been right... as if Dean had to kill Sam, before it was too late.

* * *

Balthazar stopped at the edge of the Broward County edge, frowning. There was something in the town that didn't let him in. If he put one foot inside the County, he found himself transported to the other side, and the town itself was a black hole in his perception.

He was a Seraphim, second only to archangels. There were only six being s in the universe who could blind him like this. The first one wouldn't let him even notice that he was being blinded. The second wouldn't care enough to blind him. Third was trapped in a cage in hell, Fourth was busy commanding Heaven, and Fifth had sent him into this mission. Which left only one suspect in his list.

"Father? " He whispered at the edge of the town, not wanting to use his true voice. It had taken a lot of power to be able to hide himself from the whole host, it wouldn't do to let them discover him now. Especially if he had found the missing Archangel. "Father, is this you? We need to talk."

There was no answer, not that Balthazar expected it. His father had been absent ever since Samandiriel had lost the fledgling dawn on his wings. The Messenger of God had simply packed up and left, not eve telling his own children were to find him.

"Fine, be this way, Father. I just figured you would want to know that you were right and there's something rotten in Denmark," Balthazar scoffed at his own foolishness. He had always told his siblings that they were fools to believe that their father would come back to Heaven and the host, and here he was, trying to communicate with him in the middle of a deserted terran road. "I just hope you also know that Annael fell and she's alone and unprotected somewhere in this mud marble, and that my brothers are defenseless against the other seraphs because I couldn't shield them from all the taint in Heaven. So what are you going to do about it?"

Balthazar waited, watching the trucks pass by. But there was no answer, direct or otherwise. Not for the last time, he wondered why his father had even cared to create so many nestlings, if he had no interest in their lives once they had left the nest.

Finally, tired of waiting, he extended his six wings and took to the sky. He still had some weapons to hid, and a new mission. If Gabriel was not going to protect Annael, he would find his sister and make sure she'd be safe from the Host.

* * *

Sam looked at the tree and ornaments he had managed to get, and sighed. He still didn't know why he had been so against the idea of spending one last Christmas with his brother, why he had wanted to make sure that Dean knew he was going to be alone on that day.

Christmas had always been special to Dean, for some reason. Even Dad had made notes about it on his secret journal, the one where e kept his suspicions about Dean's non-human nature. According to the journal, Dean had only missed one Christmas celebration in his life. The year after Sam decided to leave for Stanford. The Journal wasn't very clear on what had happened, but it seemed as if Dean had lost all his will to live for a while.

Sam closed his eyes at the gift in his hand. He had not had a lot of time to buy something, again, and it made him feel guilty. Sure, he knew Dean would love the whiskey but... that was not special enough. Not for his brother's last Christmas.

It wasn't until later, when Dean was drunkenly humming Christmas Carols under his breath, when he realized that the real problem was that he didn't really know his brother.

Between the dreams of weird moments when Dean did things that no human could do, and Dad's journal, Sam had even doubted Dean WAS his brother. But right now, under the fake lights of the tree he had gotten from the gas station, he realized...it didn't matter if Dean was a demon, a changeling, or... any of the things that dad had suspected... at the end, Dean was the one who had pulled him out of the fire, took care of him all those years. The one who despite having cool friends like that guy in the police academy, spend time with his little brother.

And that reminded him of something.

"Hey, Dean? Did you keep in touch with Raph? I was under the impression he knew what we do, no? So... what happened to him?

"Who? " Dean looked at him, really confused. That didn't make sense, Dean wasn't drunk enough to forget things.

"Raphael... your friend from high school? He used to come to visit us when Dad wasn't around because his dad was a real salesman and traveled a lot too?" Sam remembered Raphael very well, as Dean always seemed to lit up when his friend came around to spend some time with them.

Always when Dad was not around.

"Dude, I don't remember the name of most of my girlfriends in high school, why would I keep tabs on a guy?

"Because he was your best friend and you kept in touch with him until I left for Stanford. I know you called him a thousand times, him and another guy named Don or something..." Sam frowned, now worried. Dean had very few friends, he never let people close to him. But Raphael had been the exception for some reason. Even if they had fought, Dean wouldn't pretend not to know him.

"Were you drinking before I came in, Sammy?" Dean smiled as he poured himself another glass. "You were the one who kept in touch with everyone, not me. As soon as we were out of the town limits, I forgot everyone. Now, let's go back to the game."

Sam let Dean close the subject, but he couldn't stop worrying. He remembered Raphael very clearly, the tall, black teenager who almost never smiled, and seemed to be from a really religious family from the way he talked. Once he had even helped Dean translate a latin text.

But Dean claimed not to remember him. The dark part of Sam's mind insisted that Dean was lying, keeping a secret. Showing how untrustworthy he was, again. But Sam was good shutting that part off, even if lately it seemed to come up almost as often as it had back when Dean was wearing the stupid cursed amulet that was now hidden at Bobby's. He knew Dean wasn't lying, he really didn't remember Raphael.

Which meant that something had made him forget. Sam knew there were monsters that fed on memories, that there were creatures that could create full new ones to hid their existence. He had never forgotten that dream, where Dean had healed his broken arm instead of taking him to the hospital.

"Raph says I can't let you remember this,"

The memory shocked Sam so much that he almost let his glass drop, making Dean chuckle.

"I think that's the last one for you, light weight," Dean laughed, drinking from his own glass, the previous conversation forgotten. Sam smiled, weakly, knowing that he looked drunk.

Dream Dean had said that Raph told him that Sam's memories had to be changed. Whatever Dean was, he could manipulate memories. And Raph... Raphael told him to do that to Sam.

Dean wasn't human. Sam had come to terms with that the day he realized his brother could cure cancer. It was just that he kept that in the back of his mind, trying to ignore it. Trying hard to pretend that Dean was human, even going as far as making him believe he was human and suppress his true nature as deep as he could.

But Sam had never considered that Dean wasn't unique. That there were others like his brother, that could teach Dean how to use his powers... how to embrace his true nature.

Only humans could sell their souls.

Sam smiled as he took another sip of his glass, ignoring how Dean was joking that he was a lightweight. Now he had a new chance. If he found Raphael again, if he could figure out what Dean was... he could save Dean.

He could save his brother, as long as he could accept that his brother wasn't human.

* * *

Being the vessel of an Archangel was a strange sensation, really hard to describe. Sometimes, Donald wished that Michael would let John Winchester out, if only to have someone who would be willing to compare notes.

Not that he particularly wanted to meet John Winchester. Not after reading the FBI' very huge file on the man.

Sure, a lot of the things that the man was blamed for were things that had saved a lot of lives. Even if he couldn't tell his superiors that, Donnie had to give the man credit for at least that. But other things were a bit harder to forgive.

For example, Mrs. Milligan.

Now, Donnie knew that he had no right to feel angry that his friend's dad had a second wife, a second life that was far removed from the supernatural. After all, it wasn't as if HE had any ties to the man. But still, seeing the few pictures of John Winchester actually being a father to a kid that wasn't either Dean or Sam? Made Donnie mad. Because now he had proof that yes, Winchester could be a good parent... he had just chosen not to when it came to Sam and Dean.

Dean just had bad luck with parents, it seemed.

Michael is not that bad.

Raphael's voice echoed on his head, and Donnie shook his head, before he remembered he was at the Bureau, and he already had a reputation for being a bit absent minded, thanks to all the conversations he had with Raphael in his head.

Michael erased Dean's memory of himself, Donnie retorted, biting down the 'and you let him' that he wanted to say. Not that Raphael wouldn't know about it. Full disclosure with his angel meant no secrets.

It was necessary.

The hell it was, Donnie huffed in his mind. You heard Dean's voice! He sounds dead inside, alone and miserable, and THAT was Michael's fault!

Raphael muttered something in Enochian that Donnie didn't get, but he could figure the feeling behind the words. The archangel was not happy.

And that's not our only problem, Donnie insisted. You keep telling me that Sam and Dean are protected from the worst in the world but... what about John's other child?

What other child? Raphael sounded confused. In Donnie experience, that was never good.

A kid he had with a woman in a small town where he stayed for a month for some reason, he went to visit him almost every day until three years ago. He explained, looking clear at the picture, so that Raphael would see it too. Kid's name is Adam, doesn't seem to know what his dad did. He was under surveillance for a while but that was stopped when Michael helped John fake his dead. No use for him if the brothers don't know he exists.

The FBI may not have any use for him... but others might, Raphael sounded very concerned, another thing to make Donnie worry. He swore that next time he had some vacation time saved, he was going to insist on talking one on one with the archangel somewhere private. I need to make sure his existence is secret from them. I'll return later.

And just with that, Donnie was alone in his mind again. And now he wondered how everyone else could stand such silence.

* * *

Dean walked inside the house, trying to figure out where he was. The truth was, he was happy to be alone. The last thing he needed was Sam poking around his dreams. Bad enough was that he had seen that little bit of that recurring dream when he was back at the djinn world, working with Raph and Donnie while fixing Baby... He really didn't want Sam to see the nightmare side of that particular scene.

He looked around the doors, trying to figure out where they lead. It was not a hallway that he recognized, not from any of the hotels that he had seen during his life. And yet, as he looked around the wallpaper shifted and morphed, until it settled on the one that Dean saw in every nightmare, no matter how hard he tried not to.

No wonder he disliked dreaming.

He was back in Lawrence. Back in the house where his mother died, where he had lost all semblance of a happy life.

"All semblance of a life, you mean." At the sound of the voice, Dean turned around, confused. It was his own voice, only... distorted. As if he had been sick for a long time… or was talking through a very broken phone.

“Well, aren’t you handsome,” Dean said, looking at his mirror self. This was new. Usually, his nightmares involved his mother on the ceiling… Or his father, flying… running away from him. Not himself. So maybe this wasn’t a nightmare, but Jeremy trying to hide himself from Dean.

The fake Dean didn’t smile.

“We need to talk.”

Dean took a deep breath, and started to try and circle the fake him. Who did the same thing, as if he was reading his mind.

“I get it, you’re my own worst nightmare, yeah? Very Superman III. A mano a mano with myself?” Dean chuckled. “Jeremy is not very original.”

“I’m not here because of that human,” the fake Dean sneered the last word, making Dean frown. It was strange to hear his own voice like that. So full of hate. “And you can joke all you want, but you can’t lie to me. I know the truth. I know how dead you are inside, how worthless you feel. How much you hate yourself.”

Dean glared at the other him, trying to remind himself that it was just an illusion created by Jeremy to distract him.

“Sorry, pal. It’s not gonna work. I know you’re not real.”

“Sure I am,” the other Dean grinned. It made Dean feel uncomfortable. As he felt when he had faced Azazael. But that made no sense. The yellow eyed demon was dead. “I am you.”

“I don’t think so. ‘Cause see? This is my siesta. Not yours.” Dean lifted his left hand, watching the fake him closely. It was a nightmare. He shouldn’t be afraid. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.”

However, as he snapped his fingers, the other Dean was still there. Grinning.

“I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you,” the other Dean pulled out a sawed off shotgun that Dean recognized very well. The first one he had made. “Like I said… we need to talk.”

“I don’t need to talk, I need to wake up,” Dean glared at his shadow self, trying to figure out how to get out without getting shot. The shadows around them seemed to grow bigger, darker… as if the darkness was threatening to choke him.

And he knew, without a doubt, that if he died there, his body would die in the real world. Dreamscape was dangerous that way, Dad had taught him that.

“Dad taught you that?” The shadow Dean laughed. “Dad didn’t teach you anything. He was just training an attack dog.”

Dean glared at his double, wondering why couldn’t he break out of the Dreamscape. He knew how, now he was sure of it. The Dreamscape was familiar now, and if he just could remember how to modify it, he could stop his double from talking.

“That’s not true,” he said, as he chanted that he had to wake up. Change the dreamscape. Something.

“No? What are the things that you want? The things that you dream… when you dream? Your car, was John’s. Your leather jacket? John’s. Your mission? John’s. And Dad? Dad left you.”

Dean glared again, getting tired of the game. He knew, deep down, that there had to be an exit from the room. It was buzzing in the back of his head, as a long-forgotten memory that was getting clearer by the minute. But he couldn’t focus on the memory because his double kept laughing at him, talking and mocking all his life.

“Just shut up.”

“Think about it… All Dad ever did… was train you, boss you around,” The dream Dean laughed, coming closer. So close that Dean could’ve gotten the shotgun away from him but for some reason, he was stuck. He couldn’t move. “And at the same time… John doted on Sam… he loved Sam.”

Dad. John.

The buzz on Dean’s head grew louder, and he wondered if it was possible to have a headache inside a dream.

“Shut up. I mean it, I’m getting angry,” he warned his doppleganger, as they kept circling each other. And now, now he wished Sam was there. At least with Sam there, he could control his dreamscape a bit more. Because this? This was something Sam shouldn’t see. Ever.

“Dad knew who you really were,” the dark Dean said. The shadows around him grew bigger, making his eyes look darker. “A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy’s blunt little instrument. Daddy’s Sword.”

That was the last straw. The buzz in his head was so loud, Dean couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop the anger that boiled in his veins at that last mocking remark, so he threw himself against the doppleganger, pushing him hard against the wall and grabbing the shotgun before the other could react.

“John was an obsessed bastard!” Dean yelled, as he kicked his doppleganger, pinning him down with the sawed off shotgun. “But Dad… Dad… “

Dean stopped, confused. The buzzing was now so loud, it was amazing he could hear himself think. He never noticed when the other him grabbed the shotgun and pushed him backward with superhuman strength.

It was only then when Dean realized that it was not the shadows what made his doppleganger’s eyes seem black. They were really black. Like a demon’s.

“Dad abandoned you, Dean. You’re going to die… And this?” the demon with his face pointed at his chest, smiling. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

“No!” Dean didn’t know where the light came from. It started as a warm spot inside his chest, and then it grew bigger, like his anger. He could see the surprised face of his demonic double as the light engulfed them both.

And then, he woke up.

* * *

Gabriel watched as the Winchesters finally left his little hideout. Well, former hideout as he now really had a reason to leave. After all that had happened, Balthazar was surely going to try and break the barrier again and Gabriel really didn’t want to face his oldest.

He was being a coward, he knew. But after what had just happened, he really couldn’t see any of the host. Not if he wanted Dean Winchester to live.

Of all the things he had suspected when he had first spied Dean’s strange soul, a nephelim was not even in the running. Someone up home was either very brave, or very stupid. Gabriel wasn’t sure which. Because not only they had possessed John Winchester long enough to make sure that Mike’s prom suit was born a nephelim… they had also had the smarts to bind said nephelim so tightly that the poor kid had no idea who he was or what he was once out of his body.

Gabriel had had fun with the kid, who sure, looked like a twenty something human with smoke coming out of his back but in angel terms was barely a nestling. Not much older than Samandiriel had been when Gabriel abandoned heaven. No wings, no memory, all his grace sealed… it made for a pitiful sight. And he knew that if anyone from the host had found him… well, Dean Winchester would be dead.

Sure, the host would leave the body alive for when Mike needed it but…. Nephelims had never been tolerated by the host.

Gabriel didn’t know who had sired Dean. It was not one of his own childlings, as he knew their grace as well as his own, and the seal seemed to be made with Dean’s own strength. Whoever it was, they had abandoned their defenseless childling. Even Gabriel hadn’t been that cruel to his own children.

Dean didn’t remember anything that had happened during the six months outside his body, and that made Gabriel sad. Sure, it meant that his little secret was still safe, but it also meant that Dean didn’t remember he had an ally he could call. So despite his best judgment, Gabriel decided to scribble a small sigil of his own on Dean’s bones.

If he were ever in danger from the Host, Gabriel would know.

* * *

Agent Henriksen took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do next. He had finally captured the infamous Winchester brothers, both of them, thanks to an anonymous tip. For the first time in years, he felt that his world would make sense.

He had decided to leave Finnerman behind. The kid was good at his job, but he had a soft spot for the Winchesters, especially the older brother, for some strange reason. Ever since the bank case, Finnerman had insisted that perhaps there was more to the case than what they knew. So it was better to keep the kid away, safe from weird mind games.

The first time they had talked, he had thought that maybe the younger Winchester wasn’t as far gone as the rest of his family. For a while, the kid had kept clean, studying law in Stanford. Even now, he didn’t have anything to pin on Sam except maybe aiding a known criminal. But he was sure Sam was as rotten as his brother. Had to be, if he kept his crazy brother company.

Then Director Groves died, and black smoke had surrounded him. It was then when he realized that he had been wrong, and Finnerman was right. There was more to the Winchester case than what they knew. It just made no sense.

Fighting back to back with the Winchesters had been strange. They were exactly the opposite of what he had pegged them for. Dean was not Hannibal Lecter. HE was methodical, ruthless against the supernatural enemy. A soldier. But he was not soulless. Once he had decided to trust Winchester, Henriksen was seeing a whole different side of the man.

Hell. Winchester… Dean… had tried to make him feel better about shooting the Deputy while he was possessed. Had been patient as he taught him about demons, ghosts, and evil clowns that killed people.

Had been nice enough that now Henriksen was considering maybe leaving the FBI. Become a hunter.

Sam, on the other hand set his instincts on fire. Even before he found out that apparently Sam had a demon friend, he didn’t want to be in the same room as the younger Winchester. More so once Sam seemed to consider the possibility of human sacrifice. It hadn’t escaped Henriksen’s attention that Sam had not said anything against it, nor than Dean had also noticed it.

The brothers were not the perfect team the FBI files said they were.

After all was said and done, he was trying to think what to do now that the Winchesters were officially dead.

“A… agent Henriksen?” Nancy interrupted his thoughts, and he looked over to see that she was terrified. As scared as she had been when the demons arrived.

“What’s wrong, Nancy?”

“Phil… Deputy Amici and I… we fixed the devil traps… covered them with rugs,” she started, looking down.

“That was smart,” Henricksen said, impressed. He should’ve thought of that before he started doing paperwork. After all Dean had said that there were thousands of demons in the world. And just because they had exorcised the ones in the station, it didn’t mean others wouldn’t come. Fixing the devil traps was insurance, just like the necklace he was still wearing. As soon as he could, he would be stopping at a tattoo parlor. Make himself safer.

“There… “ Nancy took a deep breath, holding her own anti possession sigil. She was trembling. “There’s a woman… and a little girl. They’re standing on one of the rugs.”

Henriksen blinked, then looked over at the entrance of the station. And true, there was a little girl and a woman standing right where Henrikson remembered Sam had painted a devil trap. She didn’t look happy at all. In fact, she looked just like Sam Winchester’s demon friend.

“We need to get out of here,” he told Nancy, who just looked at him surprised.

“But… the little girl?”

“If she’s a demon, there’s nothing we can do for her. Sam Winchester took the exorcism tape. Right now, I need you and Amici safe, understood? So I will distract her, and you two will leave through the back door. Get a car, and get as far away from here as you can.”

Nancy nodded, side eyeing the girl, who was not glaring directly at them. Her eyes weren’t black like the other demons. Instead they were completely white.

“If you let me out now… I will kill you quickly,” the girl said, mockingly. “ I only came to pick the Winchesters. I could even let you live.”

“The Winchesters are dead, kid,” Henricksen walked towards the hallway, trying to keep her attention on him. “That bomb the other demon put on the copter killed them.”

“You are lying, agent Henriksen,” the girl said, pouting. “I don’t like liars.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like demons,” he pulled out his gun, co*cking the trigger.

“That’s not going to hurt me,” the girl said, as she glanced at her companion. “And you made me mad.”

Before Henriksen could react, the woman with the girl swiftly broke her own neck, and a cloud of black smoke left her body. For a moment, Hendrickson didn’t understand what they were planning to do, and then the woman’s body fell, right across the devil trap. The little girl grinned, as she stepped out of the invisible field that had kept her prisoner.

“Now I am going to make you suffer,” she said, and raised her hand.

Henricksen gripped his gun, ready to die there. A last stand for humanity, he guessed, when suddenly, the room started to shake. Every light became brighter, and the last thing Henriksen saw before having to close his eyes or risk blindness was the little girl glaring, stomping her feet in the ground and disappearing.

It took a few minutes before Henricksen managed to open his eyes. The light had dimmed, and now he could see someone standing right next to the devil trap.

“Finnerman?”

“Hey boss,” the younger agent smiled, looking a bit nervous. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Meg Masters considered herself lucky.

It had been almost two years since she had had a bad trip, and ended up possessed by an ancient demon named Mara. A year since the Winchester brothers had exorcised it and set Meg free. And eleven months since she had been allowed to leave the hospital, able to walk on her own legs with almost no help.

The doctors called it a miracle. Meg agreed with them, but didn’t dare to say that out loud. As far as her doctors and family knew, she had spent a year with really bad company. Now she went to AA, kept herself clean, and tried little by little to rebuild her life.

Just not exactly as it used to be.

She had gotten a new job at the Sioux Fall’s post office, the same town where she had been saved by the Winchesters. She was an hour away from Singer’s scrapyard and while she hadn’t gone there yet –the nightmares were bad enough, and she needed time to adjust to that- Mr. Singer had come to visit a couple of times. He had never broached the subject of the exorcism, but she had assured him she remembered, and she would talk to him when she was ready.

After that, she became a sort of auxiliary hunter. He had gotten her a secondary phone line, and she was used to get calls from different sheriffs around the country, asking for the FBI offices and Director Singer. It scares her a bit, but at the same time she is glad she’s doing something to help the people who saved her, and were trying to save everyone in the world.

The doorbell rang and she frowned, as she went to answer it. It was her free day, and while she was friendly with everyone in town, especially with Mr. Mills and his wife, the sheriff, she didn’t had any close friends who would come and visit her.

“One minute, please!” she called out. While she had protection –the first thing she had done with her first paycheck had been a tattoo on her shoulder of the anti-possession sigil- she also wanted insurance, so she picked up the silver letter opener in her table, hiding it under her sleeve before opening the door.

Two tall black men stood at her door, dressed in suits. They looked like the real deal, not like hunters trying to pass off as FBI.

“Miss Masters?” the tallest one asked, as both showed her their badges. She steeled herself. Mr. Singer had told her there was a chance that the real FBI could come knocking on her door at some point. They had a plan for that. “I am Special Agent Hendriksen and this is my partner, Special Agent Finnerman. We need to ask you some questions about the Winchesters.”

Just as she was ready to deny knowing that name, the younger agent, Finnerman, looked at her. It felt as if she was looking directly into her soul.

“And about the demon named Mara.” He said, calmly. Agent Hendricksen shook his head and, after checking no one was looking at them, pulled his jacket down a bit, so that Meg could see the outline of his own anti-possession sigil.

They were hunters. They were safe.

“Come on in,” She said, hurrying them inside. If the Winchester were in trouble, she wanted to help them out.

* * *

Zachariah was getting insistent, and Michael didn’t like that one bit.

Thinking back to that night when he had met Dean, before he had put his doomed plan in motion, he regretted killing Annael. Because if he had kept her alive, she would have given him information about Zachariah and how much he had changed over the years.

He was, as Dean would say, a dick.

A dick who was even more obsessed over the Apocalypse than Michael himself had been. How had his other self been so blind to Zachariah’s ambition? To his obvious distaste of humans? It was even worse than Lucifer. At least, Lucifer had the excuse that back then, he had been the only angel with true free will.

Zachariah wanted to wait until the First Seal was broken before sending a garrison to save Dean. Make sure that the Righteous Man broke so that he’d be more agreeable to become Michael’s vessel. A bit broken, a bit corrupted.

Michael snorted. Fat chance of that. He had seen Dean’s soul once, and that Dean had already been through hell. It did nothing to diminish the brightness of his son’s determination. Nothing would ever make Dean stray from what he knew was right. Not Heaven… and definitively not hell.

Still, he couldn’t let his son be tortured. And there was no way he could go and save Dean himself without demons realizing he was no longer following the shared plan.

Raphael couldn’t go either. An Archangel in Hell would raise all kind of alarms, and Lucifer could suspect that Michael was planning something.

Still, there was one angel Michael could trust. But it was the one angel Michael knew that would never betray the Righteous Man. The one angel who had even abandoned Heaven and the Host for one human sake.

“Castiel, I have a task for you,” he said, appearing in front of the young angel. They were in the human side of heaven, where Michael new that the angel spent most of his time. Keeping company to the lonely ones who didn’t have that many happy memories to form a loop.

“Lord Michael?” Castiel tilted his head, confused. Michael wasn’t sure if it was because he was talking to the Seraph, since it was widely known that Michael didn’t speak to the lower angels, or because he was in a vessel. Or maybe it was true that Castiel was not good with other people. After all, he rarely spent time with other angels.

That alone made Castiel the perfect candidate for the mission, even if Michael hadn’t felt his other self in the past, when he had been helping Dean.

* * *

“This was not as we planned, Asataroth!” Lilith glared at her servant, as she tried to get used to the new meat suit. The blonde girl who had been housing Asataroth until now. “Why did we let Sam Winchester escape?!”

“He is still not ready, My Queen,” Asataroth was kneeling in front of her, using the body of one of the neighbors. They were no longer at the house. As much as Lilith would prefer to go back to the little girl’s body –killing an innocent would only make the seal breaking sweeter- Sam and the other hunters were still around. And they had killed all of her bodyguards. So it was better to retreat. Even if she didn’t like it, they had who they wanted. Dean Winchester on the rack.

“Why not? You were with him for almost a year! He should be ready to kneel at my side!”

“He kept getting cleansed,” Asataroth looked away, angry. “I never saw an angel, or sensed one around. And yet… nothing I did stuck to Sam’s soul.”

“That means we need to get more direct,” Lilith glared at her servant. “We must free Father. And we need Sam for him.”

“Yes, I will make him…”

“You will let him drink from you,” Lilith said, glaring. “ Sleep with him, make him love you. Tell him you can free his brother. Anything to make him stay with you and refuse his angel.”

“And when his brother returns?”

Lilith grinned, as she started walking down the street. Once they found a car, they could go and find better meat suits. In the meantime, Dean Winchester would be getting introduced to Alastair, and soon would know the true meaning of pain and his will would be broken. Everything was coming up to her advantage and the only thing Lilith regretted was that she would not be able to share the carnage with her father.

“It will be too late for him to do anything,” she laughed. “Now, come on. Let’s find you a nice meat suit to seduce Sam Winchester with.”

Chapter 14: Remembrance

Chapter Text

Guarding a prophet was one of the highest honors among the host. Or so Raphael had believed long ago, when mankind was still new and the host thought that watching a prophet was the closest they could be to listening to Father’s words.

However after so many years living with Donnie, seeing all what Father’s creation offered both good and bad, Raphael had to admit that watching a Prophet get drunk, then write, was incredibly boring.

Charles Shurley was not a bad man, as far as Prophets went. He was incredibly jumpy, and Raphael wasn’t sure if he knew that the Archangel was around from time to time, but at the very least he wasn’t out on the streets yelling The Word, as the previous Prophet had. It was just… too secluded. He only left the house to mail his manuscripts and buy booze, and once his store got delivery, not even that.

Raphael was sure that if he didn’t had the chance to go and stay with Donnie from time to time, he’d be plucking his own feathers out just to pass the time.

It was just that boring.

“This is wrong,” the Prophet said suddenly as he glared at his laptop. Raphael looked up from where he was hidden, worried. While the Prophet often talked to his writing –most often that not mumbling about how his editor wouldn’t like what Sam was doing so it was better to edit it out-, it was not often that he looked angry at his words. After all, it was not as if he had any control over what he saw. If he did, Michael wouldn’t have had to seal Dean. “This… makes no sense. It would change everything.”

Just as Raphael was going to get up and see the words the Prophet had written, the mortal man clicked two keys on the computer and deleted everything. Then he started writing again, and now Raphael frowned, as the paragraphs were about Sam Winchester and Robert Singer preparing Dean’s body for the pyre.

Something he knew for a fact was not going to happen.

Raphael glared at the Prophet, now worried. Prophets couldn’t deviate from The Word. Trying to do so was what had gotten Metatron, an Angel, thrown out from the Host. A human wouldn’t be thrown in Perdition, but would loss his connection. And yet, Raphael knew he was still in front of a Prophet. A man he had to protect over all creation.

As the Prophet had said… it made no sense.

* * *

“This is not right, Sam. Your brother…”

“My brother is not here,” Sam was looking down at the hole he had dug up. “So… he doesn’t get a vote.”

Bobby cursed at Sam’s words, but kept his mouth shut as they lowered Dean’s body into the grave, covered with a flimsy sheet they had gotten from Lilith’s vessel’s house, no box. They were in a nice forest, about two days drive away from a summer camp that Sam once had gone to. Chiquawita or something, he didn’t quite remember.

He didn’t care, not right now.

His brother was dead. And it was taking all of Sam’s strength to remember that it hadn’t been Dean’s fault. That Dean hadn’t been a selfish idiot. That Dean had done it out of love.

The moment Dean had stopped breathing, the anger Sam felt towards him came back with a vengeance. In his head, he had started calling Dean all kind of names. It hadn’t been until he had gotten to “you had to make a stupid deal” when he remembered that Dean had made that deal to save his life, that his brother was not a selfish jerk that only cared about sex and having fun.

It had never been the amulet, no matter how much Sam had wanted to believe. His hate for Dean… his darkness… came from himself. And it was Dean’s presence what had eased it a bit. Because Dean wasn’t human.

“I still think we should cremate him, boy. We can still do it, give him a proper Hunter’s funeral,” Bobbie insisted, as he hesitated with the shovel in his hands. It would get dark before they finished, and Sam didn’t want to be near his brother’s grave when that happened. Even in his anger, he still thought HE was to blame for Dean’s situation. If only he hadn’t been so insistent that Dean thought of himself as human, they might have found a loophole on his deal.

“No. He… He’s coming back,” Sam said, slowly. “ I mean… I am going to get him back. And he’s going to need his body.”

“Damn it boy, don’t be an idjit!” Bobby slapped Sam, hard. He hadn’t done that since he had been 13, little before he and John had their falling out. “Your brother is dead! Anything that comes out of this hole, won’t be him.”

Sam didn’t answer, just started pushing the dirt on top of Dean’s body, trying to keep his cool. He was not going to yell or hit Bobby. He wasn’t going to tell the truth about Dean either. No. He was going to find out what Dean was, find Donnie and then figure a way to summon his brother back.

And if Dean’s humanity was the price they had to pay to get Dean back, Sam was very willing to pay it.

His neck felt heavy with the weight of the chain where he had looped Dean’s ring. He had thought about burying it with his brother, but he changed his mind. He needed the weight. The memory of what Dean meant to him so he wouldn’t forget as he had done in Stanford.

* * *

“Winchester is dead,” Agent Henricksen, Victor, sat in front of Donnie’s desk. The office was empty: after the fiasco that had been Jus in Bello, Henricksen’s small task force had been disbanded. Officially, he and Donnie were now partners, but Donnie still saw him as his superior. It would take a while before he saw him as his equal.

“I know. I filled the paperwork. Died in a helicopter crash,” Donnie clarified, confused. Why was Agent Henricksen bringing that up now?

“No, I mean… really dead. Miss Masters just called me on my private line to let me know. Apparently… he couldn’t out run his deal with that creepy little girl your angel saved us from.”

Donnie frowned at that. He knew that, long ago, there had been some vague plan about Dean traveling to Hell for something his father needed. But as far as he knew –as far as Raphael had said around the time when they entered the academy- that plan had been scrapped. Michael wouldn’t let his son die.

“Dean can’t be dead,” he blurted out after a moment. “Not like this, killed by a demon.”

“Why not? He has an angel inside him protecting him too? Because we could’ve used his help with those demons.”

“No, Dean is not a vessel like me,” Donnie sighed. It was a good thing no one was listening to them or they all would end up thinking that he and Henrickson were insane. “But he… he’s important to Raph and others. That’s how we met. I just… “

“So… what does your angel say? Why did they let it happen?”

Donnie couldn’t answer that. Raphael had been away on Prophet duty or something for a week now, and no matter how hard Donnie was praying now, he didn’t seem to be listening.

“I don´t know. But… I´m sure he must be working to solve it.”

* * *

For thousands of years, Mara had always loved to be up on Earth creating chaos. She loved to immerse herself in the human bodies, enjoying every single pleasure the flesh offered and then some more, pushing men and women into Perdition, and squeezing the souls inside with her like a constrictor.

Not anymore.

Ever since the Righteous Man had exorcised her, she felt less and less demonic. The warmth she barely remembered now had become a craving, a need. Perhaps, she mused, she was suffering what they had wanted Sam Winchester to suffer, only in reverse. He would want to drink demon blood, she craved the love and purity that Dean Winchester’s soul offered.

Only she had been too afraid of him. That he would take one look at her and exorcise her again, or worse, kill her now that Asataroth had given the brothers the means to kill a demon.

“You’ve got to put yourself together, girl,” she muttered to herself, as she rubbed her arms. “You made your choice… now live with it…”

She had only had one hit of warmth. One small taste so she figured she could just resist the call to do good, the need to find the brothers and get one more hit. She wasn’t addicted, not yet. All she needed to do was to keep a low profile until the Apocalypse was on track. Then Lucifer would make everything better.

Except…

Except that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to feel the warmth again. She wanted to forget the pain and hate that filled her, and feel loved. But if she was going to be worthy of that warmth, she had to show the Winchesters she had changed. She knew Dean was in hell, had heard it through the grapevine. So she could actually find someone who would want him out. Not Sam, as Sam was being hounded by Asatharoth but maybe the angel everyone thought was around the Winchesters? Mara had never seen it, but it was the only explanation Hell had for Sam’s immunity to the demon blood.

Finding traces of an angel was not easy, especially one that was not working in tandem with Hell, but Mara knew how to find the signs. She just hoped that she would be able to get one word edgewise before the angel decided to smite her for what she had done to Sam and Dean in the past.

“Come on, feathers… I know you are around here. Don’t make me break the old summoning spells because then your guys will know you are down here…” She muttered as she walked around the empty park. She was in a small town named Easter, in Pennsylvania, at least five states away from Sam Winchester. Why had the angel decided to get away from Sam, Mara didn’t know. Maybe he was not actually Sam’s guardian angel, but Dean’s. “Come on, it’s night, it’s cold, and I would love to have this conversation in a nicer place.”

“What in Father’s name is wrong with you?” To her credit, Mara didn’t jump as the angel appeared in front of her. The meatsuit it was wearing was an older man, blonde, wearing a shirt so tight it had to be painted on. Or maybe he had grown it on top of the skin of the human it was riding.

“What do you mean?” Mara frowned. There were a number of ways to take that question. If she had misread the angel… if the angel was also working for Hell… she was toast.

“Your face, “ the angel answered. “I’ve never seen a demon who is not completely dark. You… don’t look dark.”

Mara shivered and looked away, ashamed. She didn’t know how she looked, had refused to see herself and kept her sight firmly on the human realm, where all she saw was her meatsuit face.

“What did you think I meant?” The angel asked after a long moment of silence.

“That I was crazy for calling you here… “ Mara sighed. “Look, is there anywhere were we can talk? I am not sure we can discuss this out in the open…”

The angel frowned, but seemed intrigued enough that he grabbed Mara’s wrist and before she could gather her strength, they were in an incredibly luxurious living room.

“Don’t throw up in the carpet. I just got it installed,” the angel was still looking at her as if she was a strange specimen in a microscope and it was making her nervous.

“I don’t need to throw up,” she said, crossing the room to sit on one of the leather couches. They were as comfortable as they looked.

“Now that’s new. No demon can withstand the bit of grace we use for flying without getting sick.”

“Well, I’m different, and it’s all thanks to your boy Dean, Feathers,” Mara spat, not liking what he was implying.

“My name is Balthazar… and what do you mean with ‘My boy Dean’,” the angel, Balthazar, sat in front of her. A glass of wine appeared on his hand, and another on a table next to her. That was interesting, none of the angels Mara had had the displeasure to talk to had ever offered her some refreshments. “You’re not talking about Dean Winchester, are you?”

“Got it on one, Feathers. The Righteous Man himself,” She grinned, remembering his warmth, then frowned. “Wait, you don’t know who I am, do you? So… you’re not the angel that is perched on his shoulder?”

“There’s no angel protecting Dean Winchester,” Balthazar was frowning too and that was never a good sign when angels started getting tetchy. “The Host is forbidden from contacting him. And how do you know about him? Demons aren’t supposed to know about Michael’s sword.”

Mara couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping her lips. It was too ridiculous; that the one demon no one listened to had been right.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, Feathers. Tell me… what are you? I can’t see your wings, so I can’t count them. You’re not a Cupid, you are dressed. So…. I’m guessing Angel? Lower ranks?”

Balthazar glared at her, and stood up, showing off his wings. Six wings rose from his back, a white and gold glimmer on the wall. They felt warm too, like the warmth she had felt when exorcised by Dean Winchester.

“Wait… you’re a Seraphim?! And you don’t know about the treaty?” Mara couldn’t believe it. IT was even worse than what Crowley had said. If only a few angels knew that the Host was supposed to be working with Hell… how where they supposed hold their end of the bargain? Not that she wanted that bargain to be fulfilled anymore, but it was the principle of the matter the problem. After all, Demons were supposed to be the ones who would betray the Angels, not the other way around.

Balthazar downed his wine in one go, and the glass refilled itself. Neat trick, Mara had to admit. Crowley would probably love to learn it.

“You are going to tell me everything you know, Demon, starting from the beginning, or I will smite you where you stand.”

“No need to threaten me, Feathers,” Mara chuckled. “I am on your side… Or at least, on what I think it’s your side. And the name is Mara.”

* * *

Being the unofficial King of the Crossroads implied a lot more work than what Crowley had imagined at first. In particular, it meant that it was him the one who decided who got to torture which soul and when, while Lilith did whatever she pleased to keep herself entertained. He was very proud of his system, the one that had made Lilith choose him to take care of the job instead of having him doing meaningless deals up on Earth. After all, he had managed to create a good atmosphere of suffering. The trick was, of course, to let humans rest. Get a bit of hopes up, that maybe they could get out of the torture, get a respite and go to heaven… and then start again, with a new torturer, a new kind of pain. Most souls went crazy after the first century.

The system worked, and it had worked for centuries.

Which was why he didn’t understand why someone, probably Lilith herself or Ashtaroth, had decided to change it.

Dean Winchester’s soul was not in the rotation he had set up. Instead, he had been dragged straight to the Rack, the final torture, to be on the hands of Alastair, top torturer in Hell. A demon so cruel that he didn’t want to go up to Earth, and preferred to keep his hands flaying souls on the deepest pit of Hell.

Alaistair rarely had a soul for more than a day in his rack. He got bored quickly.

But now, according to Crowley’s calendar… Alastair was giving Dean Winchester his undivided attention. From the moment the hunter had been dragged to Hell.

Something was rotten in Hell, and Crowley was going to find out what.

* * *

The layers between Heaven and Perdition were thick and hot, like flying into magma. Many times, Castiel wanted to stop, to make sure that his wings weren’t catching fire, but he didn’t. He just kept flying downwards, as fast as he could.

Lord Michael had given him a mission, and Castiel was not going to fail. He wondered why he had been sent alone, why him and not a whole garrison, but he was not questioning orders. He needed to reach the Righteous Man before the First Seal was broken. He needed to make sure that Michael’s Sword wouldn’t be corrupted by Hell.

He kept flying, as fast as he could. He had already wasted 5 years trying to cross the veil; he didn’t want to waste more.

* * *

“Why is Gabriel ‘s Garrison still here?!” Michael growled at Zachariah. He was inside John, but his anger was radiating from their body, creating a tower of fire behind their eight wings. He was furious, worried for his son, and for the first time since he had accepted Dean as his son he could somewhat voice his concern. “They should be flying down to Perdition to bring back my S…word!”

Zachariah was trembling, his six wings almost to the ground. It was as if he had finally realized that he had grievously miscalculated the situation he was in. He hadn’t even questioned the vessel that Michael was occupying.

“But… sir… My Lord… The Seal.. it hasn’t broken yet… we need to wait until it does…”

“And WHAT THEN?!” Michael’s voice reverberated all over heaven, Cupids trembled and even the Human heaven felt the shockwave of it. “How long will you take to get him out?”

“Uh…” Zachariah trembled, but to his credit, he didn’t fly away. “ We think between ten and twenty human years, My Lord.”

“Twenty years?! And what do you think would happen to my sword in twenty years AFTER he broke?!” John’s anger added to his own. Now, he was sure every single angel of the Host was paying attention. All of them, except for the lone Angel who was flying right into Perdition to save his son.

“He… he’s just a human soul… whatever happens to it…”

Zachariah couldn’t finish his sentence, as Michael and John reached forward, grabbing his neck with one hand. It was … strange, how in agreement they were, but Michael didn’t stop to think about it. Punishing Zachariah was more important.

“IF the soul is tainted… My Sword will be tainted,” Michael growled. “It will slowly poison me if I take him, keep me from using my full powers. Is that what you want, Zachariah?”

Zachariah trembled, shaking his head no. The seraph was pale and didn’t dare to speak anymore. And that made Michael feel very satisfied, so he turned around to address the Host.

“Every angel of the Garrison that my brother Gabriel once commanded is to fly towards Perdition right now!” Michael bellowed. “ None of you will return until My Sword, the Righteous Man, has been retrieved!”

None hesitated. They all took flight, following the path down to Perdition, to the realm of demons. Michael had no confidence that any of them would reach Dean before Castiel but at least he knew that they would create a distraction. It would win Castiel time, and that was all he wanted.

Once the Garrison was gone, the rest of the host stopped paying attention. It was only then when Zachariah dared to speak up again.

“But… My Lord Michael… If the Garrison reaches your Vessel before he breaks, then everything will be ruined…” he whispered, keeping his eyes low.

“Then you better make sure that the seal is broken before they get my s…sword out.” Not willing to spend more time with the seraph that had caused his son to be tortured in Perdition, Michael took flight, landing on Mary Winchester’s heaven. It was his favorite heaven now, as most of Mary’s happy memories were of Dean. John also took some comfort there, watching his wife who was finally at peace.

//What you said is true? A tainted vessel could poison an angel?// John asked as soon as they were alone. Like Donald and Raphael, he and John had slowly become friends. In a way, Michael dreaded the day where their deal would be finished. He had grown accustomed to the mortal’s presence in his awareness.

//Yes, it’s true. Of course, to truly taint a human soul, you need more than just a possession. It would require having the human soul become part demon or ingest demon blood//

//And this is true to all the angels? Even Lucifer?// John sounded confused. Which was strange. Since Michael had come clean to John about everything, it was rare to hear the human like that.

//Of course. My brother may be caged in Hell and worshiped by demons as their father but he is still an Archangel. Their blood is poison to him.// Michael was growing weary of the conversation. There was nothing he wanted more than just watch the young Dean playing with his mother instead of worrying that he couldn’t be flying to get his son out of Perdition.

//Then why did Azazael bleed on Sam’s mouth when he was a baby?//

* * *

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

There was not a single second where his mind wasn’t filled with Pain.

The demon, Alastair, kept his full attention on Dean. From the moment where he had started hooking the rack on Dean’s soul, there had been no moment where the demon wasn’t touching him.

It made good use of its eight arms.

And every so often, he would lean down and whisper to Dean’s ear… “I will stop. You just need to take my place, and torture someone else”

Dean always refused.

He would never break. He saved people, he was not going to torture a soul, not even in Hell. He protected souls.

Part of him wished Alastair stopped offering. It only made a little harder to say no each time.

Besides, it was a distraction. From the moment he was put in the rack, he felt strange. He was trapped, tied and broken with a thousand hooks that dig in his skin, in his soul. But at the same time… he felt free. It was a strange dichotomy… as if by being caged, something had been set loose within him.

If he closed his eyes -when he had eyes, or eyelids, because Alastair liked taking things off as long as they regrew after a bit- he could see himself, covered in faint blue and green lines. Like a second rack that kept him tied but didn’t hurt like the real one. That kept him constricted. Only that, unlike the rack, the ropes were getting weaker. A couple of times, while cutting him, Alastair had also cut one of those faint shining ropes.

A little after Alastair asked him if he wanted to take the knife for the 1,825 time, Dean realized what those blue lines were.

//It’s the seal// He thought, even if he had no idea what that meant. He only knew that the blue ropes where sealing his memories, and the green lines sealed… something else. What, he didn’t know. Not then.

All he knew is that Alastair couldn’t see the bright lines. No demon could apparently, as no one ever mentioned them.

“We can stop this Dean, all you have to do is take the knife,” Alastair whispered his offer for the 2,500 time, and all Dean could think was that when Alastair cut one of the ropes, the pain wasn’t as bad.

In fact, the more green knots that were broken, the less it hurt. IT still was painful, it was still torture… but it was as if his threshold of pain increased a little. At least for a second. It wasn’t that he was getting used to it, Dean knew it had to do with the lines since after a moment, the pain intensity returned with a vengeance.

And he knew, deep down, that the blue lines had to be cut before the green ones were.

Everything depended on that. If the green lines were destroyed before the blue ones… something bad would happen.

He almost missed Alastair’s 3000^th offering. Because as one more green knot was gone under Alastair’s whip (Dean hated the whip, more than the knives, more than the pincers, more than the things he had no name for. Because the whip was impossible to predict, so he couldn’t try to put the blue knots on it’s path) instead of Alastair’s word he swore he heard another voice on his head. A voice that asked him to resist, to be strong.

A deep, grave voice that promised that rescue was coming.

It had to be a trick. A new kind of psychological torture.

And yet…

“All this pain will be gone, Dean. Just pick the knife… and it will become pleasure,” Alastair promised for the 3,240^th time, and Dean now could hear the voice clearly. It didn’t speak often, but it was not a hallucination, it was not a trick by Alastair. Dean knew that something… someone was coming for him.

And behind that voice, if he focused, if he ignored the pain and listened to his own instincts… there was something else. A clamor of voices. A battle.

Something was coming to Hell.

Alastair didn’t know about what Dean heard, just kept going, business as usual.

One day, he disemboweled Dean.

Another, he skinned him alive, with such finesse that it was just one long strip of skin, dangling from a hook.

Mutilating Dean, a bone at a time.

Alastair was nothing if not creative.

But there was a slight respite from the pain with every rope that Alastair unknowingly cut. And more important than that Dean now had hope.

Because the grave sounding voice sounded closer every moment. Because the sounds of battle were louder every time.

“It will be fun… just imagine… not having to suffer through this again,” Alastair mocked him for the 3,650^th time. But Dean was not feeling the knife embedded in his stomach. His eyes were focused on the last blue rope that snapped under said knife.

The Seal broke, and when it did, a wave of memories came rushing back to him. It was just luck that his surprised gasp mingled with the scream of pain as Alastair twisted the knife and hooks.

He remembered his grace almost exploding.

He remembered Michael coming to help him.

He remembered Michael teaching him how to control his grace, how to dreamwalk, how to keep an eye on Sammy.

He remembered Raphael, helping him to balance his human side and his grace.

He remembered Raphael, teaching him how to heal bodies.

He remembered Donnie, his friend who knew about the angels.

He remembered the day when Michael told him the truth about his origins. When Michael called him Son.

Dean opened his eyes, and gathered all his grace inside him, twisting it within his human soul so that no one saw a difference between him and the others on the rack.

Michael… Dad… had always told Dean it was important that no one knew about him. Especially not the Demons, who tainted Sam and worked for Lucifer. While he was pretty sure he was powerful enough to face Alastair, Dean knew that his dad hadn’t abandoned him. Now that the seals were gone, the certainty returned. After all, he could still hear someone calling for him. That grave voice… Dean knew, deep down, it had to be an angel.

Dad must have sent him to rescue Dean.

As Alastair resumed his torture, Dean bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. He could resist.

He was Michael’s secret weapon in the war against Hell.

And he was going to make his father proud.

Chapter 15: Return

Chapter Text

Ashtaroth smiled to herself as she left the bartender she had been possessing and went back to the meatsuit she had chosen to get closer to Sam Winchester once she was sure there was no angel perched on his shoulder.

Sam had proven to be difficult to reach, now that Dean was gone. She had tried to talk to him, going back to her “Ruby” cover, but he had tried to exorcise her, calling her a traitor. Apparently, she hadn’t been as convincing as she thought the first time around. So she had fall on Plan B. If she couldn’t corrupt the boy directly, she could just kept to the old plan. Corrupt him little by little, as they had done when Sam had tried the normal life.

Only that this time, Sam wasn’t retiring from hunting, not even with his Dad and Brother six feet under and staying in hell. No, Sam had decided to keep on hunting. Worse, the idiot human had decided to go on hunting with a partner, a dark haired woman who was surrounded by such a peaceful aura that for a moment, Ashtaroth had thought it was the angel.

It took a lot of spying to figure out that no, Madison was not an angel. Just Sam’s new girlfriend who was trying to help him find… something. What, Ashtaroth didn’t know, but she could bet it had to do with bringing Dean out from hell.

She had suggested to Lilith that she could kill the woman, just like Azazael had killed the other one. Make Sam mad with grief , so he would trust the demon again. But Lilith had nixed the plan. According to her, if Dean’s death hadn’t done the trick, killing all of the boy king’s girlfriends wouldn’t make a dent.

So… stealth.

One little drop of blood on his beer, every chance she could. Not enough to make a big difference here and there, but she knew it would build up. And once the visions returned, once they could manipulate him into seeing what his brother was suffering in hell… then he would trust her again.

The plan would go forward. And once she had her hooks into Sam’s brain, then she could kill the girlfriend, and the angel that had derailed their work for so long.

* * *

As the last wall of fire dissolved behind him, Castiel had to take a moment to gather his strength.

Twenty years. That was how long he had flown into the deepest part of hell, fighting every inch of the way. He feared he had been too late, that the Righteous Man had been tainted, broken beyond recognition. He trusted that Father wouldn’t have made the Righteous Man’s soul that fragile, not when it held the First Seal to the Cage, but humans weren’t as strong as angels. Their souls had to be protected, kept away from any harm in their heaven, separated to keep them pure.

In Perdition, there was no such care. And while Castiel doubted they knew that they held Michael’s Sword in their claws, the Demons had to know that Dean Winchester was the Righteous Man. Castiel had already passed three levels filled with the souls of the damned, and he figured that if the Demons didn’t know the value of Dean Winchester, his soul would’ve been there.

It pained Castiel that he couldn’t free those souls along with his mission. Perdition was not a place for human souls.

But now he was finally there. The Infamous Rack where the worst examples of humanity were sent after Judgment. The one place where the Righteous Man shouldn’t be.

Castiel got barely the time to see a glimpse of the soul he was meant to rescue before the Demon that had been torturing him turned around and focused his attentions on fighting the Angel. The Soul was bright, shinning with such strength that it was almost unbelievable that he had been down there for so long. The Righteous Man’s soul was white, and still vaguely human shaped, only small wisps of smoky light showing he was hurt.

“You’re not supposed to be here, pigeon,” The eight armed demon taunted, focusing his attention on Castiel rather than on the soul on the rack. It had two swords, a whip and something Castiel couldn’t immediately recognize as weapons, all of them pointing at him. “I’ll have fun watching how my associates pluck your feathers one by one. “

Castiel brought out his sword, getting ready to fight. He knew that the Demon had the advantage of the territory, and would probably call reinforcements soon. But he had been sent there by a mission from Michael himself, so he was not going to give up or fly away. He would save Michael’s sword, the shinning soul that now was witness to the battle.

But it was hard, it was difficult to keep his mind in the fight when he was trying to keep the battle away from the soul in the rack, trying to make sure that there was no more damage done to the bright, beautiful human soul that still hadn’t broken.

A loud crack from the direction of the rack made Castiel turn, to see the human soul standing free of his shackles. He had no idea how the Rigtheous Man had managed to get free, perhaps one of the Demon’s attacks had weakened the torture devise or something. It was awe inducing, that the soul still retained human shape after all these years. A testament to the strength of Michael’s sword.

And yet, it wasn’t unharmed. It flickered, it’s bright essence dimming for short seconds.

Sharp pain in his outer left wing made Castiel realize he had made a mistake, as he had been distracted, letting the Demon take advantage of his lowered guard. A wounded wing was a liability, he couldn’t let the Demon get a second shot, not when the human soul was defenseless against the Taint of perdition.

But the distraction was proving to be fatal, as the Demon managed to disarm Castiel, making him lose his grip on his Angel Blade. That was even worse. While Castiel was sure one of his brothers or sisters would reach this cavern sooner or later, if a Demon got his hands on an Angel Blade, they would find the way to kill them. That could tip the war into their favor, even if Michael had his Sword against the Serpent.

He tried to reach his sword, and the demon took the chance to stab Castiel’s outer right wing. Two wings damaged would make the flight out of Perdition far more dangerous. But he still could…

“What do you think you can do with that toy, Dean?” The Demon was asking, making Castiel focus again on the human soul he had been sent to rescue.

The Soul… Dean… was standing between him and the Demon, his Angel blade on his right hand. Instead of cowering at the sounds and sights of a celestial battle, Dean was standing tall, ready to help Castiel, even if he was overpowered, even if his soul was still flickering as if the Darkness of Perdition was eating away it’s strength.

“You wanted me to pick a blade, didn’t you?” Dean answer. “Well… I only wanted to see you bleed.”

The Demon laughed, amused. It launched itself against Dean, who despite being just a soul, despite the horrors that he had obviously endured, managed to held his ground, ducking away from the Demon’s grasp and managing to slash the dark flesh with Castiel’s blade.

Both Castiel and the Demon blinked at the bright red that adorned Castiel’s blade. Then, the Demon roared, finally angry, and there was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that he was calling for reinforcements.

There was no time to waste. He got up and grabbed Dean’s arm tightly, flapping his wings despite the pain in the outer pair, flying away just as a single drop of blood from his blade fell on the ground near the rack.

Castiel paid no attention to that. His thoughts were only in the precious charge he was carrying, and focusing all his strength into his inner wings, so he could fly away before the demons could grab them.

As he flew, higher and higher, the pain in the outer wings started to diminish. For a moment, Castiel almost wavered, confused. It felt almost as if one of his brothers were around, another Grace signature near, healing the damage that the Demons had done and helping him fly faster.

He didn’t let go of Dean’s arm. He kept his tight grip as he kept flying, knowing well that the flight out of Hell would be as long as the time it had took for him to find the human Soul.

* * *

The plan was spiraling out of control, and Ashtaroth was running out of time. The angels had betrayed them and got Dean out of the rack before time, even hurting Alastair in the process, which was so not what they had agreed. She still hadn’t managed to get back into Sam’s good graces, even if she knew that the human had enough demon blood in his system to make him pliable to her suggestions.

“The seal was broken, nonetheless,” her Celestial contact said, obviously unconcerned. “And the Angel that has Dean Winchester will be punished for breaking rank. It will be subtle, of course, but you must not worry. They won’t interfere again.”

“You’ve been telling us that ever since the corruption of Sam Winchester went wrong,” Ashtaroth replied, angrily. She was not going to let an Angel make her feel worthless. She, and her kin, were better than the feathered pests. “And yet, the plan keeps getting derailed.”

“What would you suggest?” The Angel asked, his glare making it obvious that he was not happy at the reminder.

Ashtaroth took a deep breath. She had been considering the new plan since she choose her latest vessel, one that Sam Winchester hadn’t seen yet. It was even riskier than feeding Sam demon blood little by little, but the fact that Dean was coming up soon made it necessary.

“I need your help to pretend I am an angel.”

* * *

Sam frowned as he found himself standing in his old Trademark Law classroom.

He hadn’t dreamed of this place in years, and he knew it had to be a dream. Nowadays, the only times he had anything close to a normal life was in his dreams. Only that lately, it was far more common to dream of a house with a picked white fence, a dog and two kids, with Madison at his side, rather than about Stanford and Jess.

The strange thing was that there wasn’t anyone around. Not Jess, not Madison, not Brady or any of his friends.

“I’m sorry, I thought it was best to meet you somewhere familiar for you.” Sam turned around when he heard the voice. Standing at the door of the classroom there was a young, short woman with brown hair, smiling at him. There was something… familiar about her, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Hannael. I bring you sad news, Sam Winchester,” the girl said, not moving from her place at the door. “News about your brother.”

Sam frowned, looking around for a weapon. It was his dream, yes, but he no longer had psychic powers and hadn’t drunk any African dream root.

“I am not going to harm you, Sam,” Hannael said, as a light started surrounding her body. “I am a messenger from Heaven, and I’ve come here to warn you. Your brother’s soul is in danger.”

“My brother is in Hell! Of course his soul is in danger!” Sam was being cautious but… at the same time, he wanted to believe. Dean would’ve told him that it was stupid to trust because angels didn’t exist. But if Demons were real, why couldn’t Angels be real too. And if Angels were real… maybe at least one would care about Sam’s prayers, even if Dean wasn’t human.

“Not anymore, he was taken off the Rack, allowed to come back to Earth” Hannael said, smiling to him. But that smile didn’t reach her eyes. “He will be at your side, soon.”

“Is… “ Sam gulped, remembering some of the things Ruby had told them about hell. “Is Dean a demon?

Hannael shook her head. “No. Not yet. But his soul is in danger, especially because he may believe those who took him out of the rack. That is why my superiors sent me to you, Sam. Because you are the only one who can save your brother.”

And despite his own misgivings, Sam couldn’t help himself. He wanted to believe her.

“How?”

* * *

Uriel watched with distaste how Sam Winchester and his mate, the one that reeked of angelic healing power but was not a vessel, left the motel room where they had been staying. Seconds later, the demon Ashtaroth appeared at his side.

“Did it work?” Uriel asked. He had been following Ashtaroth instructions, leaning her some power in order to dreamwalk and manipulate Sam Winchester’s mindscape but hadn’t been following what was being told to keep some distance and avoid damaging the demon’s cover.

“Oh, he bit the bait, all right,” Ashtaroth smiled, the corruption from perdition showing on her meatsuit eyes. “He is convinced that his brother got out thanks to demons, not angels. He won’t believe anyone but the first angel he saw. Little old me.”

“I hope you are right,” Uriel said, opening his wings. “I will report what we’ve changed. Do not summon me again, unless it is an emergency.”

“Just make sure your idiot brothers don’t stop us from breaking the rest of the seals. We were lucky that Alastair’s blood counted to break the first seal, we can’t get co*cky and think everything will work on our side for the next.”

“The seals will break, it’s our Father’s will’” Uriel answered, and flew away before the demon could reply.

* * *

Anna Milton stopped mid sentence, as the beginnings of a headache started pressuring her forehead.

“Anna? You ok, girl?” Mara, her newest classmate, was frowning at her, obviously worried. Anna shook her head, trying to will the headache away.

“I…” Anna groaned, as the headache grew. It felt as if a thousand bees were suddenly buzzing between her eardrums. She closed her eyes, and was surprised when she felt Mara’s hands, guiding her to sit down. “It’s just a migraine…”

Whatever Mara answered, Anna didn’t know. Because instead of her friend’s voice, what she heard was a male voice, clear as a bell among the buzzing, saying four simple words:

“Dean Winchester is Saved!”

* * *

Sam hadn’t cremated his vessel.

Dean didn’t know if he was glad for that, or if he was going to chew his brother’s head for such a rookie mistake. What if some ghoul or something decided to take a bite out of it when Dean was not occupying it?

He didn’t know if the angel that had rescued him from Alastair’s rack had healed the vessel right after placing Dean inside it again, or if the fact that he had been healing and rebuilding it since he was ten had something to do with it still being in one piece, as if no time had passed and no hellhounds had managed to get their fangs on it.

Dean was really happy for that. He wasn’t sure if he had any other vessel he could use now that he was out of Hell.

It took him three hours to dig himself out without using his powers. Why had the angel not just let him out of the grave, Dean didn’t know, and he was not really sure if he could use his powers without alerting whoever Michael had been afraid of. A least his vessel felt just like before he had left it, so whoever had rescued him had done a good job rebuilding it. As soon as he managed to get somewhere really safe, he’d just take a better look.

Once he was out of the grave, he tried to figure out where he was. Find a payphone, a newspaper, something that told him how long he had really been in Hell. And then… well, it depended on how long it had been. Dean just hoped Sam was still alive.

The empty gas station he found told him that only three months had passed, which made him smile. There was no way Sam would’ve put himself in danger in such a short time. He hoped.

It was just as he was drinking water, letting himself feel the freedom and clean air of Earth, when he started hearing the buzzing in his ears. It was familiar, and at the same time, annoying. Almost as microphone feedback. It took him a minute to realize that it sounded almost like his Father had without a vessel before Raphael had taught Dean how to fix his ears to hear an Angel True Voice.

And Dean couldn’t do that without revealing to the interloper that he wasn’t 100% human.

“Cut that out!” He yelled, as the volume increased, almost causing him pain as all the windows of the place broke. “I can’t understand you! Either go and get a Vessel, or leave me alone!”

* * *

Castiel blinked, confused.

It was obvious that Dean Winchester couldn’t withstand his True Voice, which was strange as he was the Righteous Man and if any human should be able to hear angels, it was Michael’s sword. That Dean didn’t understand him was a small complication, but not something that was completely unheard off.

The fact that despite not understanding him Dean seemed to know that he was an angel AND that Angels needed vessels was not.

Humans hadn’t had contact with angels in millennia. There was no possible way a hunter would know that Angels, like demons, needed to use a human body to interact with humanity.

And even if Dean wanted Castiel to get a Vessel, that was not allowed. No Angel had taken a Vessel since the Messenger had left the Host.

He landed near Zachariah, who was deep in argument with Uriel.

“The Righteous Man was saved from Perdition,” Castiel said, interrupting them. For some reason, neither looked happy at the news. Uriel, Castiel could understand. His brother was known for his ability to cloak his true emotions. But Zachariah was not that skilled, and thus not seeing the Seraphim smile on such joyous occasion, was strange. “The Demons had him on the rack of Hell’s torturer, but he was unbroken and clean when I found him. Michael’s Sword is untainted.”

Zachariah frowned, making Castiel feel more confused.

“You must be mistaken, Castiel. The first seal was broken.”

“He was unbroken. I held his soul in my hands, there was no reason for the seal to break.” Castiel didn’t usually talk back to his superiors, but on this, he feel it was important to defend the Righteous Man’s honor. After all, he had seen the bright soul, still defiant on the rack. “He stood up to the Demon that was torturing him, even…”

Oh.

Castiel’s four wings lowered, ashamed, as he realized why the seal had broken.

“Castiel?” Zachariah’s tone was not angry. It sounded almost concerned. “What were you going to say?”

“This is my fault,” Castiel said. “The Righteous Man broke free of the rack, and faced the Demon who was at the time, distracted with my presence. And then… he made the Demon bleed.”

“When the Righteous Man sheds blood in hell,” Uriel intoned, somberly. “I wouldn’t have suspected demon blood would also cover that requirement.”

“It seems that the Seals are more delicate than we thought,” Zachariah agreed. Then he looked at Castiel, with an expression that looked calculating. Cold. Castiel didn’t understand exactly why his words had merited anything that wasn’t anger. “I will inform Michael of this situation, Castiel. We will stop the other seals from breaking but… should we fail… It is imperative that we keep the Righteous Man safe.”

“I agree,” Castiel nodded. A Garrison protecting Michael’s Sword would insure the Demons would leave him alone.

“It will be your responsibility, Castiel,” Zachariah continued, now smiling. “After all, you saved him from Perdition and were present when he broke the seal. It will be better if you explain the situation to him, and how he must help Heaven to make sure the rest of the seals are unbroken, after all…”

“Only he who started it, can end the Apocalypse,” Uriel finished, nodding.

“But… he can’t understand my voice,” Castiel blinked, even more confused. “ If I try again, I could hurt..”

“Then go and get your vessel,” Zachariah interrupted. “Or do you want to leave Michael’s sword unprotected?!”

“Of course not!” Castiel’s wings flared up, showing up the anger he was trying to keep contained.

“Then go and do as I say, I will report to Michael what happened.”

Castiel didn’t wait for Zachariah to repeat himself; he took flight and went to Chicago, where he knew that he could find his Vessel’s family.

* * *

Robert Steven Singer had seen many impossible things in his life. He had seen his beloved wife turn into a hateful hag because she had been possessed by a demon. Rugarus, Wendigos, Kitsunes, Ghosts, Shtrigas, Poltergeist, and even a Tulpa who had become a protector of those who had dreamed her. Had seen a woman on the brink of death recover so swiftly that even she had doubted that she was no longer possessed.

A shape-shifter wearing Dean Winchester’s face shouldn’t have made him pause. It was a very common trick the bastards used to make hunters lower their guards. If anything, the one in front of him was being stupider than the others, by choosing the face of a hunter that was three months dead.

It was strong, Bobby had to admit, as it twisted his arm to make him drop the silver knife he had as a weapon. It took a while to break said grip, but soon they were face to face again.

It was unnerving how much the monster looked like Dean.

“Bobby! It’s me!” It yelled, sounding a lot like Dean used to.

“My ass!” Bobby replied, trying to get around the chair the monster was using as a barrier.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and... you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby. It's me.”

So, strong, brave and well researched. This shapeshifter was starting to look more and more dangerous by the minute. Bobby tried to get close enough to slash him, but the monster was as good as Dean in a fight, and disarmed him again.

“I am not a shapesh*ter!”

“Then you are Revenant!” Bobby yelled, as he also figured it could be a ghoul. He knew that he should’ve insisted that they burned Dean’s body to avoid this.

The monster rolled his eyes, as he held the silver knife he had taken from Bobby.

“If I was either, would I be able to do this?” Before Bobby could react, the thing in front of him cut his own arm, showing nothing but a red line of blood. What would be seen if a human was cut with the same.

It sounded insane.

“Dean?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” it smiled. And yes, it was Dean’s smile. It made Bobby want to believe that it was true, even if it was impossible. But he couldn’t keep testing the monster if it’s guard was up. So he decided to pretend, and went to hug it. Hug it as if he was hugging the real Dean.

And damn it, it hugged back, with the same enthusiasm and love that Bobby would’ve expected from Dean.

“It’s…” Bobby started, trying to control his voice “ It’s good to see you, boy. How did you bust out?”

“It’s a long story,” the fake Dean shook his head. “But I’d like to tell it just once, Where’s…”

Before it could finish, Bobby splashed him with the holy water he always kept near. Just in case. It just blinked, and smiled as if he had been expecting it.

“I’m definitvely not a demon, you know?”

And it was then when Bobby knew that, as crazy as it sounded, he was really talking with Dean Winchester. A Dean Winchester that was somehow alive again, still finding holy water amusing.

“It doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Bobby said, following Dean into the house. “Your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop. And you’ve been buried three months! Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit…”

“Bobby, I know it sounds crazy right now,” Dean said, looking around and not very comfortable at the mention of the meat suit. “ And trust me, I wish I could tell you how I got back but… I can’t. Where’s Sam? His number is not working.”

“He changed his number when a stalker started bothering him and Madison, a week after… you know.” As Bobby spoke, Dean kept picking up the empty bottles around him. As if he was looking for something. “Don’t you judge me boy, the last few months have been hard on everyone”

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” Dean answered with such honesty Bobby just had to believe him. “So, Madison is hunting now?”

“Just part time, but she had to go and help Meg with something, so Sam’s alone right now. In Pontiac, Illinois.” Bobby frowned. “That’s close to where we buried you. You think he did something to get you out?”

Dean shook his head, then his shoulders, as if he had a sprained muscle.

“If Sam made a deal to get me out, we’ll get him out of it,” Dean smiled and it made Bobby feel better just by looking at him. It was almost like one of his old smiles, the ones he would share with the world before selling his soul, before John’s death. Before Sam had gone to Stanford. The smile of a 15 year old kid whose father had trained as a soldier all his life, and still found a way to share himself with everyone. “So, let’s get him and Baby, and then I’ll explain what is going on.”

* * *

Sam was feeling sick. It had been happening more and more often in the past few weeks, the uneasiness reaching it’s peak right before the dream and his first meeting with Hannael outside the dreamscape. She had given him something to drink that had eased the symptoms, but it never lasted for long. In fact, the relief he felt was shorter every time.

So now, instead of being with Madison, or hunting the Ghost he told Bobby he was going to get, he was lying like a dog in his hotel room, waiting for Hannael to be able to escape heaven and bring him a little bit more of the cure against the hellish sickness he was sure he had gotten from Lilith.

Someone knocked on the door and Sam forced himself to get up. It wouldn’t be Hannael, as she never knocked.

He was not expecting to see Dean and Bobby at the door.

And he knew right away it was Dean, because then he felt even sicker. All he wanted was to punch his brother face right there and then, make him hurt as much as he had when he had seen the Hellhounds kill that ungrateful piece of…

Something tore inside Sam, and he couldn’t stop himself from launching himself against his brother, fist raised.

It was only luck Bobby was there to stop him, to yell that he HAD tried every test and that Dean was really Dean and not some monster wearing his face. It was only luck that he now had that excuse., that split second before he remembered that Dean loved him, that he loved his brother and that he HAD spent the last three months trying to get him back.

Even if his brother wasn’t human and had just crawled out of hell, he loved Dean.

Bobby let him go, so they could hug. And even as Dean’s mere touch made his skin crawl, he just kept hugging him.

They would deal with Dean’s inhumanity later, right now, he was just happy that his brother was back.

* * *

Ashtaroth barely had time to hid herself when she saw Sam, Bobby and Dean come out of the hotel room. While she was sure Sam trusted her completely, since he drank her special medicine without even asking what it was, there was something around the elder Winchester that made her skin crawl.

It was not the stupid angel that had broken the deal between Heaven and Hell, but it was something powerful.

She was definitively not ready to face it right now, so her new pet would have to deal with withdrawal a bit longer. It would surely make him accept her offer to carry some extra pep with him.

* * *

Dean was definitively not happy as Bobby led them towards his Psychic’s friend house. He didn’t need a psychic to tell them how he had gotten back, but he had been so shocked when he saw Sam’s soul that he had forgotten to ask Sam if he had tried to get him out of Hell.

Sam’s soul was so dark it was hard to find any glimpse of light among the dark web of corruption. It was as if Sam had decided to go on a serial killing spree while at the same time embracing all Seven Deadly Sins with all his heart.

It killed Dean to know he couldn’t start healing his little brother right away. Not until he knew exactly what was going on, if it was safe for him to show his true self, or if his Dad would need to seal him again.

He missed Dad, Raph and Donnie. He had been without them for almost seven years now, and now that he knew what had been missing all that time, now that his memories were back where they should be, he felt their absence more keenly.

As he drove in silence, he frowned, as he looked down at the amulet on his neck.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam asked, an edge on his voice that Dean didn’t like at all. Almost as angry as when he had picked him up so many years ago to look for John.

It was, of course, the corruption in Sam’s soul that just couldn’t stand the grace within Dean’s body, even as Dean kept it tightly enclosed within his human side. Now Dean understood that what Dr. Ellicot had dug inside Sam’s skull weren’t Sam’s true feelings, but the corruption that Dean hadn’t been able to cure while sealed.

Except that it seemed that his power-seal was no longer around his neck. And now Dean wondered when had that happen. Alastair had broken his memory seal easily, as the focus was no longer in Dean’s possession at the time. The ring in his right hand was, once again, just a memento from his mother and not the thing that kept his identity hidden even from himself.

But the seal on his Powers hadn’t broken. There were still some points on it. And now that Dean was back on Earth, on his Vessel and with the Amulet on his neck, it should have been enough to help him keep his grace so hidden that Sam wouldn’t feel the effects of the Grace clashing with the Corruption.

“This isn’t my necklace, is it, Sammy?” He said, looking towards his brother. He needed to get the amulet back, because even if he could shield his thoughts from heaven, if his powers keep straining the weakened seal on them, the resulting explosion would alert all heaven and hell that Dean wasn’t human.

“Wh… Of course it is, Dean!” Sam stammered, looking nervous. “What, you think I’d lose it?”

“No, of course not.,.” Dean shook his head as he felt the wave of irritation coming from Sam. Time to change the subject, he guessed. After all, he could control himself. He wasn’t a fledgling anymore. He could keep his Grace locked up. Besides, there were more important things to worry about. “How’d did you make it out? The night that I bit it… Got bit. I thought Lilith was going to kill you.”

“She tried, but she couldn’t,” Sam answered, not looking at him. “There was this… burning light she shoot at me, and didn’t leave a scratch. It was as if I was immune to it. Then she left pretty fast.”

“So… have you been using your powers since then? “ Dean tried for nonchalant, but the spike of annoyance from Sam told him he had landed on judgmental. It was going to be hard to talk to his brother until he could clear the Corruption with Dad’s blessings.

“Wha? No, Dean!”

Dean shrugged, considering his next words. Right now, Sam had no idea of his true nature but Dean knew it wouldn’t be for long. Sooner or later, Dad would tell him it was safe to stop hiding, and Dean was tired of hiding things from Sam. Now that John was no longer alive, there was no reason to keep lying. But first, he needed to make sure Sam was ok with people who weren’t completely human.

“Look, if you did, that’s ok. I mean, you’re immune to freaky demon light, and that’s a plus in my book. So if you have been practicing…”

“No, Dean. I told you. I didn’t want to go down that road, so I didn’t go down that road. I haven’t been using any freak power.” Sam’s tone was clear. The subject was done.

Dean took a deep breath as he kept driving. Perhaps coming out of the non human closet would be a little harder than he thought.

* * *

Despite what he had said about accepting Sam’s powers, Dean didn’t like psychics. He hadn’t liked Missouri Moseley, and the way she always tried to peek inside his head when he was younger –and now that he remembered her actually managing to break through one of his shields afterwards he felt dirty- and he didn’t like Pamela, Bobby’s friends.

There was something about psychics and the way that they acted as if they knew more than everyone else that always set Dean on edge.

But as long as he feigned ignorance about how he had gotten out of Hell, Bobby and Sam wouldn’t stop prodding and trying to figure out what was going on. All he could hope was that the angel that had gotten him out was smart and had managed to convince his Vessel to consent, or would be powerful enough to ignore a psychic call.

“I need to touch something our mystery monster touched,” Pamela said, as she slid her hand on Dean’s inner tight. He jumped back, startled and a little uncomfortable at the attention.

“Well, he didn’t touch me there,” Dean said, moving a bit back. Truth was, he was pretty sure that his vessel hadn’t been touched by the angel.

“What’s that on your shoulder?” Sam asked suddenly, making Dean actually look down. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to his vessel since coming out of the grave. He had been far more worried about making sure no one could detect his grace.

There was a red welt on his shoulder, mostly hidden by his shirtsleeve. Dean pulled it up, revealing a red burn, shaped like a handprint.

“That will do,” Pamela said, and before Dean could protest, she put her hand right on top of the brand, not quite covering it.

Her hand felt cold, wrong, but Dean forced himself to stay still as she started the chant, at the same time he hoped that his savior would not appear.

Dean kept his eyes open, wondering if he could try and block Pamela before she hurt herself, when the television flicked on static. Which mean the angel was close.

“Castiel?” Pamela interrupted her chant, confused. “No. Sorry, Castiel, I don’t scare easy.”

Dean had to admit that she was brave, as she kept chanting and trying to peek at an angel’s face even as Bobby suggested that it would be better to stop.

The candles flickered and then Pamela was screaming, as her eyes were engulfed in white light. And while he knew it was dangerous, he couldn’t let her suffer that fate. Not when all she had been doing was trying to help.

He jumped out of his seat and covered her eyes with his hands, absorbing as much of the grace as he could, trying to remember Raphael’s lessons to heal the burns to her eyes. He was barely aware that Bobby yelled Sam to call 911 as he sent a prayer to the dumbass angel to go and get his vessel NOW instead of scaring psychics to death.

He never noticed Sam glaring at him while he tried to keep Pamela calm.

* * *

Nothing made sense for Castiel. It was obvious that Dean Winchester couldn’t understand his Voice, and yet he seemed pretty sure of when Castiel was around, and what to say.

How did the human know about vessels? How did he know that Castiel hadn’t intended to hurt the psychic, if he couldn’t hear Castiel’s voice?

He couldn’t go back to Zachariah empty handed. It seemed it was time to go and convince his Vessel that God had called him for a greater fate.

* * *

“I don’t understand what’s going on, Michael, the Prophet is not writing the word!” Raphael knew he probably sounded hysterical, and didn’t really care. Sure, years ago he’d have scoffed at the idea of any angel showing human-like emotions, but after all that had gone in his life, he figured he could give himself a break.

“That is impossible, Raphael… No Prophet can go against their calling,” Michael didn’t look very convinced. It had been almost impossible to convince him to come down to the Prophet’s dwelling, but apparently John had also thought it was a good idea. If he hadn’t been so worried about the Prophet’s situation Raphael would’ve found it funny. Despite the fact that John Winchester wasn’t Michael’s true vessel, they seemed to have gotten as used to each other as Raphael and Donnie themselves.

“Well, then read by yourself!” Raphael pointed to Chuck’s computer, where the latest manuscript lay. Chuck himself wasn’t around, he had apparently left to get something to eat or maybe had been forced out by his neighbor, a nosy teacher named Rebecca who, despite her perky attitude, sometimes amused Raphael.

Michael rolled his eyes at Raphael as he sat in front of the computer and started reading. Raphael waited patiently, looking around the room he knew as well as the back of his hand. Something called his attention, though. Chuck was not the most organized human on Earth, but he usually kept his mail in a somewhat logical order: Everything that was open was thrown to the trash, everything that was closed was waiting to be open. So an obviously typed paper with the editorial letterhead was something unusual.

Raphael had just picked it up, curious, when Michael yelled behind him.

“This says that Dean is still in Hell! But Castiel already saved him!” Michael had reached the end of the current document, so Raphael walked towards him.

“You see? It also says that Samuel’s girlfriend died a werewolf, and that Sam is now consorting with a demon named Ruby. That is not what is really happening.” Raphael confirmed. “I’ve read every single book the Prophet has written. I hadn’t noticed before, but he has edited a lot out of Dean’s life. One could almost believe that your son has no role to fulfill in the Apocalypse, the way the Prophet focus on Sam.”

“But… “ Michael frowned, looking lost. “This is… Raphael, I sealed Dean’s memories and took John away from him because I wanted to protect him from the Prophet knowing his true identity. You want to tell me it was all for nothing?! That We could’ve spend those years with our son?!”

Raphael chose not to comment on the fact that Michael was now speaking in plural, as he was not going to argue Angel/Vessel relationships right at that moment. Instead, he focused on the letter on his hand.

“I am sorry… I should’ve noticed before… and there’s something else you should see,” he said, handing the paper to Michael.

Because even if they had been cautious before, even if the books could held some clue to Dean’s identity, the letter made everything moot.

The books were being cancelled. The very last Winchester Gospel would be Dean’s descent into hell.

And that meant that as long as Raphael was the only angel connected to the Prophet, Michael no longer had a reason to be away from his son.

* * *

Sam entered the dark dinner, ready for a fight. He was surprised when instead of the five demons that had surrounded him and Dean, there were four dead bodies. But it was not the usual way in which Demons left their meat suits, not even after a bad exorcism. No, these bodies looked terrified, and all of them had their eyes burnt out.

Sam wondered if that was what would’ve happened to Pamela, had Dean not touched her. Apparently, his brother’s healing power had returned intact.

A whine called his attention, and he turned barely in time to defend himself from the demon waitress that had threatened Dean not three hours before. She was vicious, like a caged animal who had been hurt and it didn’t took long for Sam to realize that she was blind. Her eyes had been burned out.

“Your eyes,” Sam blurted, wondering if the thing that had been summoned by Pamela had come here, trying to find Dean.

“I can still smell your soul a mile away,” the waitress spat. But she didn’t seem eager to keep on fighting.

“You saw it. It came here…” Sam started. He needed to know what was chasing his brother, and more importantly, how to kill it.

And just like that, all the fight went out from her. She slumped on the floor, and started crying.

“I saw it…. I saw it… and it was the last thing I will ever see…”

Sam frowned, wondering what could be so powerful that it had blinded both the demon and the meat suit It was wearing.

“What was it?”

“It’s the end. We’re dead. We’re all dead…” And now the demon was laughing, as if she found the idea of everything dying fun.

“What was it?!” Sam tried again, making her turn towards where he was. Her empty eye sockets making her look like a broken doll.

“Go to hell,” the demon said, shaking her head.

“Funny,” Sam answered, raising his hand. “ I was going to tell you the same thing.”

Exorcising the demon was hard. It was as if the longer he spent not talking to Hannael, the harder it was to use his powers. And sure, he had lied to Dean about them, but it was for a good cause. As long as Dean didn’t know, the thing that had taken him out of hell wouldn’t know. So Sam’s powers were a good ace in the sleeve to make sure no one else could use Dean’s abilities for their own goals.

AS the smoke disappeared into a vortex to hell, he heard clapping behind him.

“You are getting a lot better, Samuel,” Hannael said as she walked inside, looking at the dead humans with an unreadable expression. Perhaps it was disgust at how they had been possessed by demons, Sam guessed. It made sense that angels disliked Demons. “If you keep practicing, you will be strong enough to exorcise Lilith from this realm.”

“What is going on here, Hannael?” Sam asked, trying to ignore the dead bodies around them. “You said you would know when Dean was off the rack but…”

“I am sorry, Samuel. I couldn’t warn you because… our worst fears were confirmed.” Hannael looked down, as if she didn’t want to be there.

“What do you mean?”

“The Soldier who got your brother off the rack… We fear that he might be one of the Tainted Angels…. One of the few who remained in the Host despite having followed the Morning Star.”

* * *

There was only one thing Bobby was sure of was that the Winchester boys were going to be the death of him. Dean was completely committed to summon whatever hell beast had gotten him out and Sam… Sam had been distant for weeks. The fact that Dean wanted to do the summoning without Sam didn’t sit well with Bobby either.

He had a terrible feeling about all this.

And yet, he couldn’t say no to Dean.

So there he was, spraying on his barn every single trap and talisman he knew off, and a couple that he had recently found on a couple of books. Anything to try and keep his boy as safe as possible, even if he still thought they were better counting their blessings and leaving things alone.

“That’s a hell of an art project you got there.” Dean said, as he put another shotgun on the table. “Sure it will work?”

“I’m sure it’s a bad idea. But these are from every faith in the world. Whatever got you out, won’t be able to get out of here.”

Dean smiled, and grabbed the shotgun.

“Well then, time to ring the dinner bell.”

Bobby nodded, still unconvinced about the whole situation and started the chant he had found, an old Latin invocation to summon literally anything as long as they had the true name.

It was an involved invocation that Bobby had only used once, and the less Dean knew about that, the better. As he kept chanting and the smoke rose to the roof he frowned, as there was no sign of the mysterious beast named Castiel.

They waited in silence, until Dean groaned and sat next to the table. After a few minutes, Bobby followed suit.

“You sure you did the right incantation?” Dean asked, frowning.

Bobby glared at Dean. Of course he had done the right incantation. As much as he disagreed with the boy’s plan, he was not going to do something as stupid as recite the wrong incantation so that Dean could try later to do the right one without Bobby around to provide backup.

Before Dean could answer, the roof started to shake, as if a hurricane was coming. Bobby got to his feet, grabbing the shotgun, standing between the door and Dean. While he still thought this was a terrible plan, he was not going to let anything grab Dean without a fight.

As the rattling increased, the doors opened by themselves, and a man walked inside. HE didn’t look like much, dressed in a cheap suit and a beige trench coat but there was something in his eyes that Bobby didn’t like much. As the man walked inside, the light bulbs shattered, showering him with sparkles.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.

But before he could shoot the bastard, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and fell to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Castiel blinked as he saw Dean Winchester bring the weapon he had in his hand down towards the other human’s head, knocking him unconscious. That was not what he expected to happen.

“Sorry Bobby, need to talk to Castiel in private,” the Righteous man muttered, as he checked the other human’s pulse. “Promise you won’t remember a thing.”

“You… know who I am,” Castiel said, slowly, frowning. Nothing about the Righteous Man was what he expected.

“I know you almost burned that poor woman’s eyes,” Dean glared at him, angry. “Seriously, why didn’t you go and get your vessel right after you got me out?”

“You remember that?” Castiel asked, trying to figure out exactly how much Dean knew, and if his services would actually be needed. From where he was standing, Dean Winchester seemed completely aware of his role in Heaven’s plans.

“You didn’t even try to block my memories,” Dean shook his head. “What’s your vessel’s name? Is he trustworthy?”

“His name is James Novak, he’s a devout man,” Castiel said. “ I am sure he is trustworthy, but I don’t see why that matters. He cannot hear or see what I do.”

The human rolled his eyes at him, making Castiel bristle. How could he assume he knew better than Castiel how an angel was connected to his vessel. And, to his surprise, Dean chuckled; as if he had seen his wings shake. Which was impossible, as his wings were completely invisible to all humans.

“Just so you know, no one can hear what happens in this barn,“ Dean said, leaning against the table full of weapons. “Not even the Host.”

Castiel tilted his head, confused.

“No human can block the Host from finding them.”

Dean smiled at that, making Castiel feel even more confused.

“Yeah, well… that’s part of what we need to talk about,” the human said. “I want to arrange a meeting with your superior. I want to talk to Michael.”

Castiel stepped back, now watching the human intently. This was definitively not what he was expecting. This made no sense.

“You… “ Castiel tried to hide his confusion as he spoke, wondering what would the General of the Host make of the tone the human was using. Had Castiel been too late? Had the Righteous man been corrupted by Hell and had the demons given him a distorted version of his mission. “ You cannot speak to the General. I am here to be your contact with the Host. I will tell you what God demands of you, Dean Winchester.”

“You are bad at this,” Dean shook his head. “Fine, if Michael is too busy to talk to me, then I want to talk to Raphael.”

Castiel frowned. Dean had sounded hurt when he said the General was too busy to deal with him. As if that was actually something that the human hadn’t expected. “You are not in a position to bargain. I pulled you out of perdition, Dean Winchester, I can throw you back there again.”

To Castiel’s amazement, Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. You said that God had some mission for me and I’m sure it doesn’t include me being down there. So if you want me to do anything, I want to talk to either Michael or Raph.”

And before Castiel could protest, Dean hit a hidden sigil on the table, sending him far away from the barn.

* * *

Dean cleaned his hands after erasing the angel banishing sigil. It had taken a lot of concentration to avoid being sucked by it too, which meant his powers had grown a lot since coming out from Hell. One more thing to ask Michael about, once his father came to see him.

He had took a big risk by showing Castiel that he knew a lot more about the host than a normal human, but there was something about the angel that made him want to trust them. Dean slightly touched the mark on his arm and sighed. There was no time to think about that. He had to manipulate Bobby’s memories, wake him up, and then deal with Sam’s tattered soul.

He had to find his Dad.

Chapter 16: Strategy

Chapter Text

Dean took a deep breath as he looked at his brother. Sam had insisted they stayed with Bobby for a bit longer, so that Dean could get his bearings on Earth again before going into a hunt. Dean had the sneaky feeling that what Sam really wanted was a way to explain the cracks on his soul, or how he was obviously using his powers rather than keeping a lid on them as he swore he was.

Sam’s attitude puzzled Dean. And now that he had his memory back, he realized that the problem was that Sam kept a lot of secrets. Dean understood that, he had kept a big secret all his life. But he had been supportive of Sam’s powers. Even before he remembered he wasn’t fully human, Dean had always told Sam it was ok if he was a psychic.

So why the hell Sam was hiding himself from Dean?

And that was not the only weird thing. Dean had been as open as he could about Castiel’s identity. He told Bobby and Sam that yes, he had been pulled out from hell by an angel and Sam, who had once lapped every single word out of Pastor Jim’s mouth and insisted on going to church every Sunday they could until John put a stop to that… had immediately denied it.

“Ok, then what else could have been?” Dean asked, trying to keep his temper checked. He was positive the seal he and Michael had weaved around his powers was still intact, but couldn’t tell for sure. And smiting his brother was not a good way to tell them he wasn’t human.

“I don’t know, Dean. But you were not groped by an angel! I mean, he could be some kind of demon. Demons lie!” Sam’s raised voice made Bobby lift his eyebrows. It was obvious the old hunter was not happy about the fifth round of the same argument.

“A demon that’s immune to salt rounds, devil’s traps and Ruby’s knife? Come on, Sam!” Ok, so Dean hadn’t actually used the knife on Castiel. But neither Bobby nor Sam had to know that.

“If angels were real, a hunter somewhere would have seen one before. I mean… “ Sam shook his head, and Dean braced himself. Because whenever Sam got that look on his eyes, the dark lines that crisscrossed his soul grew darker. Dean was definitively not going to like what his brother had to say. “Why would God give a crap about you, personally? I’m sorry, but I’m not buying it!”

“ENOUGH!” And that had been Bobby’s last straw. Which was good, because Dean was getting close to trying and just put everyone to sleep so he could try and summon his father or Raphael again. Both archangels were ignoring his prayers and that was starting to worry him. “Sam, you obviously need a time out so go to the store. Get us some food. Dean, you start reading.”

“Get me some pie,” Dean said to Sam’s back, trying to convey some annoyance. The truth was that he was more worried than angry. Sam’s soul was a mess, and he couldn’t heal it without more information. But if he let it go darker… Sam would turn into a demon. And Dean would die before letting that happen to his brother.

Once Sam was out, Dean pretended to check the book Bobby had handed him. It was nothing he didn’t know already, but it had some great paintings of Michael as the great General of Heaven. Dean considered bookmarking them to show them to his dad, ask him how men knew so much about his role in the Host when Angels weren’t supposed to walk Earth without a vessel.

“We need to talk about your brother, Dean,” Bobby said suddenly, making Dean look up. “You know he didn’t mean what he said.”

“Yeah, he did,” Dean shrugged. It wasn’t the first time Bobby had seen Sam be dismissive of Dean. Sam had a pride problem, and it only got worse when Dean couldn’t cleanse his soul. “But it’s ok, Bobby. I’m used to it.”

“No, Dean!” Bobby got up, walking towards an old safe behind him. “Look, I promised your brother I would keep this a secret but hearing him angry about you getting out from hell? I just can’t. He may be under a spell.”

“A spell?” Now that was new. Of all the things Dean expected Bobby to say, a spell was not even in the top ten. “What do you mean?”

As Bobby opened his safe, he explained everything. Well, everything Sam had told him. About how Sam had strange episodes when he hated Dean with all his heart, and how he had gotten to the conclusion it had to be a spell and it had to be in Dean’s amulet. How Sam had stolen it.

“So I was right. This is not my necklace,” Dean said, taking it off. “But… you don’t think he was right, do you?”

Bobby shook his head, as he handed him a cursed objects box. Dean didn’t even need to touch it to know what was inside. His seal focus. The real one.

“If it was, I would hate you too, boy,” Bobby said, and Dean could hear the old man’s voice cracking. “ And all I can think of is how lucky we are that you are back with us. That you’re alive. So if there is a spell that makes Sam hate you, it’s on Sam… not on you.”

* * *

Asataroth grinned as she saw Sam drive away from her. His soul was still not completely corrupted as Sam had yet to take an innocent life, but it was close enough. Even better, the idiot trusted her completely. No matter what Castiel did or say? Sam would never trust that stupid angel over “Hannael”.

“You look very satisfied with yourself, Asataroth.”

The demon turned around at the sound of a slow clap, then groaned. The one man she hated most on hell was standing next to her.

“Crowley,” she groaned. “What do you want, salesman? You know I am far too busy to bother with crossroad parasites like you.”

“And hello to you too, grand general of Lilith,” Crowley answered. Asataroth narrowed her eyes. Yes, that was her official title, but Crowley always managed to make it sound as if it was an insult. Asataroth couldn’t wait for the moment when all the lesser demons would die on Lucifer’s fire. She hoped Crowley would be the last. So he would suffer more. “I bring news that I was told couldn’t wait.”

Asataroth grabbed Crowley by the neck, pushing him on the back of the store. “Don’t call me that where the humans can hear! Unless you want to answer to Lilith herself!”

“Understood, my liege.” Crowley choked, but he didn’t sound scared enough. It was enough to make Asataroth want to tear him limb by limb. “May I give the message?”

Asataroth let him go, walking away as she cleaned her hands. She hated the crossroad demons, all of them. Unlike herself and Mara, they were originally humans. Parasites that pretended to be demons but weren’t even close to the true power of hell.

“Talk, before I get bored.”

“We were able to raise the Witnesses. As Lilith commanded, we choose the souls that were let down by the Hunters. We’re only 64 seals to go now.”

“Fine, keep on that,” Asataroth laughed. “And next time send Mara. I don’t want to see you around me again.”

Once Crowley was gone, she got her cellphone out. While she didn’t want to be around Sam too much, she couldn’t let the Witnesses get to him. So it was better to get her pawn back to her, while the Witnesses killed every hunter they could find.

Lucifer willing, they would get lucky and maim Dean Winchester. That would make Asataroth’s job a lot easier in the long run.

* * *

Meg Masters hung up the phone, took a deep breath and started dialing a new number. Of the ten calls she had made, two hadn’t answered and she feared the worst. But Raphael had been quite clear on his instructions, and she couldn’t call again. She needed to keep warning hunters of the danger they were in.

Unlike them, she was safe. The day agents Finnerman and Hendrikson had come to talk to her about Dean, Raphael himself had changed the walls and door of the room she was in into pure iron, and the ground surrounding her house into salt. And how many people could say they had a safe room created by an archangel?

Meg tried to keep the chuckle down. IF she started laughing, she feared she would go hysterical.

“Olivia Lowry? My name is Meg Masters,” she said quickly as the hunter answered the phone. “I’m calling you on behalf of Bobby Singer. There’s a spell that has targeted hunters, please, go into a safe room, or put a circle of salt around you. The ghost will be probably a person you failed to save once, but don’t listen to them. Please, stay safe. We will contact you when the spell is gone.”

Another one safe, Meg hoped. And then she hung up and moved on to the next number on her list.

* * *

Bobby hung up the phone, cursing, then turned to see Dean who was pretending to be reading a book in ancient greek. As if Bobby was an idjit and would fall for that trick. Sam was still out in the store as he had apparently forgotten to buy something important, so it was only the two of them.

“Come here, we got to leave the house,” he said, getting his shotgun. Meg hadn’t been very clear on what was the spell, but she had been insistent that they had to get to a safe spot. And in the last year, she had become a great ally even if Bobby was sure she was hiding something lately.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked but thankfully didn’t argue. Unlike his stubborn brother, Dean knew when it wasn’t time to stall.

“That was Meg, something is killing hunters and we need to get to a safe spot,” Bobby stopped as he saw his breath vapor in front of him. Apparently, the warning had come a bit too late, as he could feel the temperature dropping.

“Bobby?” Dean asked, worried. He had his hand on his gun, which was not a good weapon if they were facing ghosts.

Just as he thought that, he felt cold hands grabbing him, pushing him out of the room. He barely had time to get his bearings when he saw the Grady twins staring at him. Pale, their dresses gray with ash, but far more intact than they had been the last time he had seen them.

“Are you scared, Bobby?” The one in the right asked, her voice still sweet despite the horrors she had faced.

“We were scared, Bobby.” The one in the left assured him. Of course they had been. A rabid Rugaru had killed them, and Bobby had been too late to save them. It was the second thing that Bobby regretted the most in his whole hunting career.

“You were right there, Bobby… but you didn’t see us. And we couldn’t scream.” Right-girl… Suzie, if Bobbie remembered correctly, threw him against the cars. Alive, the two girls hadn’t had a chance against a monster, but now as Ghosts they were really powerful. Bobby barely had the time to notice a burnt tattoo on her hand before she grabbed his neck again.

“Bobby!” From the house, Dean screamed. Bobby wasn’t sure if Dean would have time to save him from the twins, or if he’d be forced to watch him die.

“You walked past that door,” Left-girl, Betty, whispered. “Past the door where the monster had us.”

Bobby tried to ignore them. He needed to find a weapon and there had to be something made of iron in the junkyard. But the guilt kept rising; they were right. He had failed to save them, because he hadn’t paid enough attention. If he had been a better hunter, he could have saved them. They wouldn’t have died in their nightgowns and…

“Bobby, shut your eyes!!!” Dean’s voice managed to cut through the guilt and Bobby instinctively listened. He wasn’t sure what Dean was planning, as the cold created by the ghostly twins increased for a moment before stopping. It was not gradual warmth that managed to displace it, but an intense heat that came out of nowhere as the light became so bright he could even see it behind his closed lids.

It reminded him of an explosion caused by a spell, but ten thousand times more powerful.

When he opened his eyes, the junkyard was almost decimated. It was as if a meteor had fallen right there and then. And in the middle of the destruction, his house was intact, except for a faint burnt mark on the door, right where a very spooked Dean was standing.

“sh*t, wasn’t expecting that,” Dean muttered, as he… shook his hands. That were still shinning. “That’s going to be hard to hide…”

“What just happened, boy?” Bobby asked, getting up. There was no sign of the ghosts. There was no sign of anything supernatural… even his dogs were silent, hiding under the porch.

“I… “ Dean bit his lips, then covered his mouth. Those were signs that he was hiding something, as Bobby had learned when Dean was younger before the fall out with John. Then, he put on his amulet again, and the light around his hands disappeared completely. “You said you had a safe place, right?”

“Yeah,” Bobby narrowed his eyes, but pointed towards the end of the yard where now the entrance of the panic room he had built a couple of years ago were perfectly visible. “Come on… but once we’re safe, you’re going to explain what the hell just happened with those ghosts.”

* * *

Castiel lowered his head as Zachariah berated the garrisons for their failure to stop the Witnesses from rising. It was wrong, and deep down Castiel wished he had the courage to speak up. Yes, Zachariah was a Seraph, and thus very high in the command line. But the only ones who had the authority to address all the Garrisons at the same time were the Archangels. Which now meant only Lords Michael and Raphael, as the Messenger had left Heaven long ago.

The ones Dean had wanted to talk to, and who hadn’t been seen in Heaven since the first Seal had broken.

Next to him, Uriel chuckled at the mention of the dead humans. That was strange, and Castiel frowned. Since Balthazar had disappeared, Uriel was possibly his closest friend within the Garrison but there was something… off with him lately. It was no secret that he thought human’s place was safely inside the Garden but to laugh at their violent demise was not something appropriate.

Perhaps Balthazar had been right. Perhaps Castiel was too obsessed with what was appropriate.

“Castiel! A word,” Zachariah’s tone left no room for argument, as the rest of the Garrison flew away to protect the remaining seals. Castiel sighed. He still had made no advances into making Dean trust him, and he didn’t want to admit that. He knew Zachariah would see it as a failure.

He didn’t want to tell his superior that apparently, Dean knew how to ward himself against angels, as the whole Singer property was a blind spot for him.

“I have been keeping an eye on the Righteous man, as ordered. If any of the Witnesses had attacked him, I would have…”

“If the Witnesses had harmed the Righteous Man, you would have been disciplined accordingly,” Zachariah interrupted, the threat clear in his words. “This is about the Abomination. He is too close to the Righteous Man. It’s time to cut that connection. We don’t want the Demons getting too close to Lord Michael’s vessel.”

“I…” Castiel gulped. It was wrong to contradict a superior, even when his superior was making a mistake. “I don’t think that will make Dean Winchester trust us, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have studied the Righteous Man, sir. He loves the abomination. Has been raised to protect him,” Castiel said, quickly. While he had been unable to read Dean’s mind, there had been one moment as they flew out of Perdition when he had felt connected to the human soul. A small spark of something that seared into Castiel’s grace. That’s how he knew that Dean loved his brother, and that he would hate to hear Sam referred to as an Abomination.

He knew a lot of things about Dean that he was not supposed to know. And yet he couldn’t understand the human, at all.

“We need to break them apart,” Zachariah insisted. But then, the Seraph tended to be one-track minded. “He has to learn that the Abomination is not to be trusted.”

“Perhaps if we explained to him?” Castiel suggested. He knew it angered him when Dean spoke in riddles. Perhaps it would be the same thing for Dean. Maybe if they just talked, things would be better between them. It had worked with James Novak, more or less.

“No, he has to learn to have faith in the Host, Castiel,” Zachariah turned around, and then he smiled. Castiel had to admit he didn’t like that smile very much. “Take him to the beginning. Let him see what Mary Campbell did, and how tainted the line of the Abomination is. Then bring him back… and make sure he knows what the Abomination is feeding on. That will do the trick.”

Castiel nodded, and flew to Earth even as he still thought that maybe the best solution was just to tell Dean the truth.

* * *

Dean was going to pluck every single feather in Castiel’s wings. It was official. First thing, once he actually cleared the fact that he had grown more powerful than he remembered being with his Dad, was to smite the idiot angel that had sent him to 1973 without any warning and then had abandoned him there with no explanation.

It was a good thing John didn’t know who Dean was, because he was sure that if his father had remembered that encounter, he’d have hit him for being an obvious idiot.

Then again, neither John nor Michael had ever trained Dean for the possibility to time travel. And now Dean really had to talk to Michael to ask him exactly why he looked just like a young John in the future.

“That would be because John and I had met before,” Dean turned around at the voice he knew almost better than his own and couldn’t believe when he saw his father, just as he had been before being possessed by Azazael, standing in front of him. No, not his father. His parents. Because in what was obviously John Winchester’s body, he could see both Michael’s grace and his father’s soul. “Hello, son.”

* * *

Michael looked at his son, really looked at his son, and smiled. It had been too long since he had laid eyes on Dean, since he had made the stupid choice to seal his son’s memories. Then, Dean had barely come out of his human’s teen years. His grace was barely visible, but when he could let it out it shone with a blue tint that almost made him look angelic.

Now, after his son had kept his grace sealed for years and spent thirty of those years in Perdition, his core shone even brighter. It still looked like a human soul, or at least close enough that no angel would think other wise. Not even Michael himself, now that he thought about it. Dean’s core was almost as bright as it had been the first time he had seen his grown son, before he knew Dean was his son. Almost. Which meant his son would grow even stronger.

“Dad… “ Dean whispered, but didn’t come close. Of course, he didn’t know about time pockets or how they affected the Host. He was probably scared of giving them away. “Dads…”

John stirred within Michael’s mind, trying to come forward. Michael let him, even if he didn’t gave up control of the vessel completely.

He can see me.

Michael frowned. He hadn’t taught Dean to see within angelic cores to see human souls inside. Neither had Raphael.

He can see me. He knows I am here.

“John… he didn’t made a deal with Azazael… he made a deal with you, dad.” Dean said, so low that Michael only heard because he was focused on him and his voice.

Let me talk to him!

Michael was unsure what to do. He didn’t want to upset his son, he didn’t want to ignore John… for the first time in his eternal life, he had no idea what to do. And suddenly his body was moving on it’s own. John had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and had seized the moment, moving to hug Dean.

They were hugging their son. So Michael opened his wings, invisible to everyone around, and curled the four pairs around them, hugging Dean’s core the same way John was hugging Dean’s body.

* * *

John was glad that Michael had a grip on his body functions because he didn’t want to cry. Dean was alive, out of hell… And had called another man “Dad”.

He had to admit that when Michael had confessed what he had done to Dean –after John had noticed some glowing around Dean’s body when they saved him from Azazael-, he had been angry. The angel had taken his son, his and Mary’s first born, and had turned him into something non-human. A nephelim, which according to everything John knew, was a terrible monster that angels were commanded to kill in sight. It had taken Michael a long time, and a trip to the past to see how he had treated his sons while Michael and Raphael tried to keep Dean alive, to calm him down.

And now he realized how badly he had failed Dean. The only good thing he had done for his son had been to give up his body to his other father.

That is not true, John. Michael’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp as a sword. You did many good things.

He knew I was possessed by Azazael because Azazael was nice to him!

You made mistakes, humans make them. Michael sighed. Angels make them. But you also did some things that were not terrible. And you still can repair your relationship with our son.

“Stop talking between yourselves, please,” Dean said, not breaking the hug. “It’s hard to block you two and I don’t want to eavesdrop.”

He can hear me? John was confused. Raphael had never shown any signs of hearing his conversations with Michael.

“Dean is our son,” Michael explained calmly, as he used his wings to mess Dean’s hair. “He alone in all the host can hear our thoughts without even trying because he’s connected to both of us.”

“So, you know that my power seal is not as strong as it used to be?” Dean asked, obviously focusing his attention on Michael. “Since I came back from hell, I’ve been doing a lot of things I wasn’t able to before. Even without the seal, I don’t think I’d be able to block an angel from reading my thoughts without yours or Raph’s help.”

John grimaced at that question. He remembered the long, long nights he had spent trying to figure out what kind of supernatural creature had taken the place of his son and how to kill it or control it to protect Sam. Nights he could’ve used to understand Dean, help him to keep the balance between his humanity and his angelic nature.

Stop berating yourself. You’re giving me a headache.

“Is he doing that thing when he thinks that if he had somehow seen the future, he could’ve fixed everything? “ Dean asked, chuckling. “Dad… oh, this is going to be confusing. “

“What do you mean, Dean?” Michael asked. John had to admit he was also curious, and grateful at Michael for not calling Dean ‘son’ just yet.

Dean chuckled and shook his head, as if he was remembering something, as he finally broke the hug.

“Well, John is my dad. And you are my dad. And if I say ‘Dad’… how would you guys know who am I talking about? I mean… I can’t call either of you Father. It’s too formal and…” Dean trailed off, rubbing his arm. “Dunno. Feels kind of wrong to use that word now.”

Michael nodded, but didn’t open his wings yet. It was impressive how they could keep them all covered, and yet give them some personal space to each. And John knew why the archangel was doing that. Within his wings, they were invisible to the host.

“We don’t have an equivalent word in Ennochian, but… I would not feel hurt if you choose to keep calling me Michael, and use Dad for John.”

“You two have gotten friendly, uh?” There was a hint of hurt in Dean’s voice. And John couldn’t blame him. After all… Dean had thought he was dead. That he had died in his place, and that his life wasn’t worth that price. He deserved that anger.

“John has taught me a lot in the years we’ve been together,” Michael answered calmly, to John’s surprise. “We’re sorry we couldn’t let you know he was alive. We were trying to remain hidden from the Prophet.”

“So… that’s why you sent Castiel to bring me here? Because this Prophet can’t see into the past?” Dean asked. “And… is he trustworthy? He doesn’t seem to know what’s going on…”

“Castiel is the only one in the Host I could trust to save you from Perdition,” Michael said. John rolled his eyes, as he still thought the whole thing had been Michael’s fault for not listening to all the facts. He and the archangel had had many arguments about that. “But no, he wasn’t sent here under my orders. Zachariah… that is the Angel I put on charge of the Apocalypse Watch, he wanted you to see how everything started. So… perhaps I should let you do that. Just remember, you can’t change the past. Everything you do here, is something you already did.”

“Not saving Mom then,” Dean sighed. “Got it. Anything else? I mean, I didn’t just pulled a Marty McFly when I freaked the hell out of Dad, did I?”

John chuckled as he felt Michael frown. The Archangel still didn’t get many references Dean made, even after having been around their kid when Dean had seen those movies the first time. And then he realized, he actually remembered meeting Dean that day in the 70’s. The weird guy who predicted that Sonny and Cher would get divorced, and later introduced himself as Dean Van Halen when they met again at the…

Oh.

Tell him he has to meet me again! He urged Michael. If he doesn’t, he’ll find himself back in the future driving a beat up family van.

* * *

The trip to the past hadn’t been a total waste, Dean thought as he stretched his shoulders. They had started to itch during his fight with Azazael, and he didn’t seem able to get comfortable in his own skin.

Of course, it could’ve been a side effect of his power seal. Michael had warned against breaking it yet –the Prophet seemed content ignoring Dean’s real actions, but now the Host was actively watching him- but Dean wasn’t sure his celestial dad was right about that. It made him feel hobbled, as if he had been chained to a house and yet expected to run a marathon.

He had meet his mother, and found out that the Campbells had been hunters. He lamented not being able to save at least grandma Deanna, but understood that, as Michael said, the past couldn’t be changed.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want to yell at his mom in heaven now. If she had only let John into the family secret earlier, maybe she could’ve saved herself. Maybe John wouldn’t have thought he was all alone in the hunting world.

Sam was a lot like Mary, Dean realized now. Both thought that just ignoring the Supernatural world would somehow mean that the supernatural world would ignore them.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, you couldn’t have stopped it.” Castiel said, appearing behind him. Dean rolled his eyes. He wasn’t beating himself up over anything, but the angel seemed to be following a script.

“I know. Destiny can’t be changed, blah, blah, blah,” Dean laid on his bed, ignoring the ache in his back. “So why’d you send me back then? Just so Dad wouldn’t buy that ugly Mystery Machine Van?”

“You needed to see the truth,” Castiel answered, not missing a beat. “Now you know everything we do.”

Dean scoffed. He was pretty sure he knew more than the angels. Sure, now he knew that the origin of that stupid taint in his brother’s soul had been blood that Azazael had dripped on his mouth and that had been something the Angels had to have known long before. But he also knew that Michael was not on board with the angel’s plan. So he needed now to talk to Raph. After all, Raph had also some things to answer about the whole mess.

“We know what Azazael did to your brother. But we don’t know why… what his endgame is. We need to find out what was he planning,”

“You know where Sam is?” Dean asked, nodding towards the empty bed next to his.

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” Castiel looked down, which made Dean be one hundred percent sure that the angel was lying to him. “But I know your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean. We’re not sure where it leads. So stop it… or we will.”

* * *

Castiel appeared in the empty motel room that Zachariah had insisted would be their center of operations on Earth, while they tried to stop the demons from breaking the seals. They were losing badly, Castiel knew. If things kept going the way they were, the only thing between Lucifer and freedom would be the Abomination’s will power.

For what Castiel had seen, that didn’t give much hope for humanity.

He knew he had to tell Dean what his brother had been doing. That was the plan. Give him the exact address where the Abomination had met with his demon friend, let Dean watch his brother use demonic powers. Make him realize he was all alone.

But Castiel hadn’t been able to do it.

Part of it was because Dean Winchester intrigued him. So far, the human hadn’t acted at all the way he was supposed to act. He knew things no human should know, and looked at Castiel as if Castiel, an angel who held the knowledge of all creation, was a rather small and slow fledgling.

It infuriated Castiel.

To top things off, there was an itching on his vessel’s right arm that would not stop no matter how much grace he expended on healing it. James Novak seemed healthy when he had taken him, so that itch was confusing. When he was near Dean Winchester, he could almost ignore it. But when they were separated it got worse.

Finally, he decided to check the vessel’s body. He took off the trench coat and the suit jacket, putting them carefully on the bed. It was when he started taking off the shirt that he noticed the hand print on his right arm, and frowned.

* * *

Sam glared at his empty flask, while Dean droned on and on about how much he hated witches, and how they never made any sense to him. He hadn’t realized he had drank so much of Hannael’s medicine, and he knew he would need more soon. When he didn’t drink it, his head hurt. Part of him knew that was not a good sign, but he couldn’t just stop.

Not when he needed to be strong and save Dean from the tainted Angels. He had to kill Lilith to get revenge for his brother’s death.

And… once that was done with, he had to figure out what Dean really was. Maybe get him back to his own people.

Of course, that would mean losing his brother. And Sam wasn’t quite ready to do that again. Dean had a place, after all, and that place was as Sam’s sidekick.

“Sam? What did that flask do to you?” Dean asked, frowning. It seemed that his brother had finally finished his rant against witches and was finally paying attention.

“Nothing,” Sam answered, walking towards the motel door. Since Dean had returned, he had had to fight those flashes of anger against his brother. Even his list of things Dean had done for him was not helping anymore. The only thing that managed to cut through the haze of anger was Hannael’s constant reminders that if he didn’t act, his brother’s soul would be sent back to Hell.

He had to save Dean from his own foolishness.

He opened the door to their room, and immediately pulled out his gun as he realized there was someone there. A man who put all his senses in alert, just like Dean did.

“Who are you?!”

Before he could shoot the intruder, Dean ran forward and placed himself between Sam’s gun and the intruder.

“Sam! Sam, wait! It’s Castiel!”

Sam frowned and looked at the thing that looked like a human being in an ill fitting trenchcoat. Unlike Hannael, whose beauty sometimes made Sam wonder if she was even real, this… angel… looked like a normal human. One that made Sam’s skin crawl.

He may have taken too long to lower his gun, as Dean sighed.

“The angel,” Dean continued, then frowned as he looked towards the window where another man was standing. He also made Sam’s skin crawl, but not as much as ‘Castiel’. “Him, I don’t know.”

* * *

Dean frowned as Sam finally lowered the gun, and walked towards Castiel. He didn’t know why, but he really didn’t want his brother touching the angel. He knew it was irrational, that the tainted lines that crisscrossed Sam’s soul couldn’t hurt Castiel. That didn’t make it easier to see his brother doubt the angel.

Of course, it could be that he wasn’t exactly nervous about Castiel meeting Sam, but about the unknown angel. Where he had believed he could trust Castiel the second their cores had touched, Dean was sure that the new angel was not one to be trusted.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sam said, holding out his hand as a greeting. Castiel took a long time to realize what the gesture means, and Dean had to bite his lips not to smile. It reminded him so much of Raphael, back when the archangel was new to Earth.

“And I, you, Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.”

So, ok. Dean would have to teach Castiel some manners. At least the angel hadn’t mentioned the broken, darkened soul.

“So… who’s your friend?” Dean asked, trying to keep things as light as possible. Sam had decided he didn’t trust Castiel before meeting him, and Dean was pretty sure that this encounter wasn’t warming the angel to his brother.

“This is the raising of Samhaim, have you stopped it?” And of course, Castiel couldn’t answer a direct question. What was it with angels and their complete inability to say things straight? Now that Dean thought about it, John was Mike’s perfect vessel. Both loved to talk in riddles to their son.

“We know who the witch is,” Dean answered. His Dad had explained things, of course. It was not enough to find the witch. They had to kill her before she rose Samhaim or the seal would be broken. And while Dean wanted nothing more than to point the angels to the witch and make sure no one died, Michael had insisted that in this situation, he had to play dumb.

Michael and John thought that the demons were planning something bigger than just the Apocalypse. They hadn’t shared all the details with Dean, because of course they hadn’t, but it was imperative that Dean figured out exactly where the individual members of the host stood on the whole thing. Because Michael himself couldn’t do it without revealing his hand to the rest of the Host and possibly the demons, or so John said.

Personally, Dean thought it was a stupid plan. But he had just got his memories and his fathers back, so he could play the good soldier for a few more months.

He couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when they could finally tell him.

“Apparently, the witch knows who you are too,” Castiel showed him a hex bag, and Dean had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He knew that thing was there. It made his shoulders itch. “This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?”

Yes. But he wasn’t going to share that until he knew who the other angel was.

“We’re working on it,” Sam answered, angrily. “What do YOU care?”

Oh, yeah. This was definitively not going well.

* * *

Bobby hung up the phone and sighed. When had his life become so complicated? The day he hadn’t thrown John Winchester on his ass when the man came raving about demons? Or the day when he had pretty much become his kid’s unofficial uncle?

Or a lot earlier, when his wife had been possessed by a demon?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now he was getting cryptic phone calls asking him to paint a huge demon trap in his living room, around one of his comfortable chairs, and then do a very specific summoning.

Part of him wanted to ignore the call. There was no way to know if it was something serious, or just a prank. But ever since Dean had come back from hell, he had learned to pay more attention to anything demonic. And if a demon wanted to talk to him, so badly that he was willing to appear in the middle of a demon trap?

Well, Bobby was intrigued.

The preparations for the most complex and powerful devil trap he knew took him two hours. At first he wanted to do them down at his panic room, but the salt around would make it impossible for the demon to appear there, summon or not, so his living room would suffice. He just put the circle as far as he could from any important text, the door, or window. He put the confortable chair there too, but just because he wondered how long the demon was planning to stay, if he had requested something like that.

The summoning was a lot simpler, and it was only when he found himself facing a man in a sharp suit when Bobby got second thoughts again. The man before him didn’t look dangerous, but in his experience, demons with those kind of meat suits were usually far more powerful than the others. They liked being underestimated.

“So this is denim headquarters, I wasn’t expecting any less,” the demon said, and went to sit down in the chair that Bobby had chosen. “Very well, consider me your first prisoner of war.”

“What?” Bobby frowned, sitting behind his desk. He had a flask of holy water there, just in case. Even if the demon seemed strangely peaceful.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Robert Singer. I know that of all the idiots that call themselves hunters, you are one of the very few who has a head over his shoulders. You know that that boy of yours is being led by heaven to a war with hell.”

“And that makes it weirder that you’re here sitting on my couch,” Bobby finally found his voice, as he decided he needed a drink. “You thought you could spy on us?”

“No, I thought I would be in the safest place possible,” Crowley intercrossed his fingers and stretched his arms. “See, I’m Crowley, the King of the Crossroads. No deal happens without me knowing about it.”

“So what?” Bobby was starting to loose his patience. “You wanna talk about Dean’s deal? That’s over and done with, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly,” Crowley shrugged.” That was a very unusual contract, you see? Didn’t go through the proper channels. So I dug into my files a bit, and found a bunch of souls that swore had made a deal with a demon, but didn’t have a contract. That is annoying, to say the least.”

“Still don’t seeing where I am supposed to care.”

“What if I told you one of those contracts was made by one Mary Campbell, later Winchester? Then you would care?” The demon grinned, knowing he had Bobby’s curiosity. “Or that it seems that the year Dean Winchester made his deal, we had many souls arriving that were already tainted with hellfire… all of them the same age as Sam Winchester? That gets your attention, Robert?”

* * *

“So… where are we going?” Sam asked as Dean pumped gas into the almost empty tank of the Impala. Dean was almost ready to break his promise to Michael and just heal Sam’s soul as he was sure it was going darker by the day. And he couldn’t understand why. He was with Sam almost all the time; unless his brother used those hours at night where he thought Dean was sleeping to overindulge on all seven deadly sins, or mass murdering people, there was no reason why the taint was growing so much. Dean had even checked the news just to check there weren’t mass murderers around. And while he knew he could follow Sam and just find out by himself, he still wanted to give Sam privacy. He wanted to trust his brother, even if he could see his soul darkening day by day.

“Victor called with a tip about demonic activity, I said we would go and check it out,” Dean said, looking away. He could feel Sam’s anger. It had been a constant presence since they had failed to stop Samahaim from rising. Sam had been furious that Dean still trusted Castiel even as he and Uriel insisted that they would destroy the town. Not even after the two angels had agreed to obey Dean and leave them to stop Samaheim. He hadn’t calmed down even a little when Dean had told him that he was proud of the way he had used his powers to exorcise the demon.

Now, he seemed angry that Dean still trusted Victor. Wrath had its claws all over his brother’s soul.

“So what? Now we’re the FBI supernatural hunting dogs?” Sam sneered. “Look, Dean, I am not sure that’s going to work and…”

“Well, it’s on our way. Or you want to let Victor and his agents try to protect everyone from demons? We both know he won’t survive against Lilith!” Dean tried hard to keep his own anger in check. But it was hard. If he couldn’t cleanse his brother soon, things were going to explode.

He was going to explode.

“I’m just saying, we have more important things to worry about, like hunting Lilith.”

“Sam… we’re nowhere ready to get Lilith,” Dean was not quite sure of that. But Michael and John had made clear that killing Lilith would be a bad idea if they didn’t know what the demons’ plan. “Yeah, you did great against Samaheim but…”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about that, Dean,” Sam growled. That pretty much marked the end of the conversation again. Dean sighed and turned up the volume of the radio, trying to ignore his growing desire to just tell Sam about his soul and clean it again.

* * *

Mara was nervous as she saw the Impala parking near the church where they were hiding. Balthy had insisted that she had no reason to be scared. She had been working for the good side for almost a year and a half, she had helped to protect Anna and even killed a couple of demons when they had gotten too close to Balthy and his quest to find his father. He insisted she wasn’t a demon anymore, even if she wasn’t human either. She was good, and that was it.

When he said that, Mara felt a bit better. It was almost the same as the warmth that she remembered when Dean had almost exorcised her.

It had been her idea to contact her old meat suit when Anna started hearing the angelic voices. She was still a bit connected to Meg Masters, but had tried to keep that connection shut. Still, she knew she was now helping both Bobby Singer and the FBI so she was a good way to try and get the Winchesters to come.

It worked. Despite the fact that Meg was obviously angry and scared that Mara had called her on the phone, she had sent the Winchesters to them.

Now came the hard part. To convince them to help them hide Anna without anyone from heaven or hell interfering.

“Heya, Dean, Sam… Missed me? ‘Cause I sure missed you.” She said, trying to gather as much of her old courage as she could. Balthy was right. She had changed, but she was still herself. She was a survivor.

“Meg?” Dean was the first one to recognize her. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Because Dean wasn’t reacting to her words. He was looking at her… as if he was really seeing her. Her real self, and not her meat suit’s. On the other hand, Sam looked… strange. It seemed as if his guardian angel had been lacking on the purification run. That could spell bad news.

“You knew me with that name, yeah,” Mara shrugged. “But I’m pretty sure the real Meg Masters wouldn’t like me to keep using it. You guys can call me Mara.”

“Mara? As in the Hindu demon of nightmares?” Sam had the kurd knife out, and Mara couldn’t stop herself from shivering. She knew Balthy was looking out for her, and that the Seraph was fast enough to stop them from hurting her but that thing still made her nervous. She had no idea why Asatharot had thought it was a good idea to give it to them.

“That was a part time job,” Mara shrugged. “Look, we can talk about my past all you want but I think we should get inside the church. It’s warded and we can avoid any nasty surprises. There’s been a lot of hell activity around here lately.”

“And how do we know it’s not a trap?” Sam asked. To Mara’s surprise, Dean was staying silent, just watching her. It was almost as if he could actually see how she looked like behind her current meat suit. “You were working for the Yellow Eyed demon!”

“His name was Azazael!” Mara couldn’t stop herself from showing anger at the lack of respect they were showing to her father. Yes, he had been a demon, and she was ashamed of all the things she had done under his orders. But he was still her father. And deep down, despite the fact that this was completely anathema to a demon, she still loved him. “And he’s no longer around, so I am no longer working for hell. So, you want the information, or I should just keep it to myself?”

“We could kill you and get whatever you’re hidden later,” Sam took a step forward, raising the knife, when Dean stopped him. “Dean? What the hell? Have you forgotten what she did to us?!”

“No, I haven’t,” Dean said, his eyes still fixed on her, studying her. “But I know that now we know more things about demons than before. You have that tattoo that kept you in your meat suit, Mara?”

Mara nodded, raising her wrist to show it. She had two, in fact, the one in her wrist and another in her lower back. She wasn’t leaving her body, she liked the silence and peace inside it, without any soul to cry in pain.

Dean threw a pair of handcuffs to her, she picked them up curious. They had a devil trap engraved on them. If she put them on, she’d be powerless.

“I never pegged you for the kinky one, Dean-o,” She said, but still put them on. She had to show them she was on their side. And she trusted Balthy to get her out of any problem.

“Dean, you can’t be trusting her! I mean, Castiel is one thing but Mara is a demon!” Sam yelled, angry. It made Mara wince. That was what she had been working forward before the exorcism; to see Sam giving in to all his vices. And it was not a pretty picture, not when it was no longer a goal to be achieved.

“And she’s powerless right now,” Dean answered, walking towards her. “Go on, we’ll follow you. But if you try any funny business, I’ll let Sam gank you.”

* * *

Anna looked up when she felt the new comers enter. She still could sense disquiet in the host, even when the voices in her head had quieted, thanks to Balthazar.

Her brother.

It was still hard for her to parse both her human and angelic memories. Balthazar had been very careful not to let her human memories be erased, and she was grateful for it, even if she still refused to get her grace back. She was out. She was where she wanted to be, on Earth, with humans. Away from the host politics, away from the knowledge that both her Father and her Grandfather had abandoned them.

“Who are you?” She asked, frowning when she realized Mara was handcuffed. The not-quite demon was her friend. She had even done more to protect her from other demons than Balthazar himself, as she was not afraid to show that she had changed allegiances. “What did you do to Mara?”

“Is ok, Dodo. They’re doing this just because I did some very bad things to them back when I was in team Hell,” Mara smiled, trying to calm her down. But Anna knew that she was scared. It was obvious once you knew her body language. Balthazar was still hiding, invisible, behind the altar, and Anna felt a pang of anger at her older brother. She understood he had always been better at the spying game but right now she wished he’d come forward to help instead of staying in the shadows.

“I’m Dean Winchester, this is…”

“Dean Winchester?” Anna interrupted, looking again at the shorter man. For the first time since she had remembered, she wished she had her grace back. She was before the Righteous Man, the one who could put an end to the Apocalypse… and he looked just like every other human she had ever met. “You… you were saved. That’s the first thing I heard… a voice, yelling on my ears, Dean Winchester has been saved.”

“Dodo here can tune on to Angel Radio,” Mara explained. Despite herself, Anna blushed. While Balthazar hated the nickname Mara had given her, Anna liked it. Dodos were flightless birds, and were thought by humans to be silly and the cause of their own extinction. But Anna remembered the Dodo. She knew that flightless or not, they were fierce fighters. “Which is why every demon in America who is not otherwise engaged is trying to capture her. They even brought up some of the big guns from downstairs.”

“You can understand the angels?” The Righteous Man, Dean, didn’t seem surprised. More like worried. As if he knew what that implied.

But that was impossible. There was no way he had seen a Fallen before.

“Yes, they are quite chatty,” Anna said, smiling weakly. “At first I thought I was going insane… I would’ve ended in a padded cell if it hadn’t been for Mara and Balthazar.”

She knew her brother flinched when she mentioned his name. But if they were going to win the Righteous Man’s trust over the Host, they had to be honest with him.

“Balthazar?” The tall one, the one the Host named the Abomination, asked. Anna had to stop herself from stepping back. Even without her grace she could feel the anger rolling off him. “Another demon?”

“Quite the opposite,” Balthazar finally made himself visible, by shutting up all the lights and showing up the shadow of his impressive six winged span. “Besides, you are not one to talk about working with demons, are you, Abomination? After all, to get your soul that dark you must be drinking a demonic blood venti daily, more or less.”

Chapter 17: Pieces on the Board

Chapter Text

“Besides, you are not one to talk about working with demons, are you, Abomination? After all, to get your soul that dark you must be drinking a demonic blood venti daily, more or less.”

The angel’s words echoed in the empty church as everyone’s eyes turned towards Sam. Dean tried to look shocked, tried to pretend that he had no idea what the angel –and Dean was almost sure he was a Seraph, given his aura- was talking about, even if it explained perfectly why Sam’s soul had darkened so much. However, he could see from the corner of his eye that he was not fooling Anna. The woman was a fallen, and she was probably now convinced that Dean was one too.

Perfect. One more lie to add to the growing pile. He was REALLY getting tired of it.

“Sam? What is he talking about?”

“ I have no idea,” Sam glared at Balthazar, and Dean was grateful that his brother was playing dumb. If looks could kill… the angel would very well try and smite his brother for trying to attack him. “I’ve never drunk demon blood. I’m not a vampire, or an idiot.”

“And yet, your soul is so dark, Mara here has more chances to get into heaven than you. And she was a natural born demon,” Balthazar explained, walking over to Sam. It was fast, too fast for Dean to react or even try to protest, but the angel grabbed his younger brother’s wrist just as Sam seemed to be ready to punch him. A healing light went from Balthazar to Sam, almost making Balthazar’s wings visible to Dean, and, to the hunter’s endless relief, it started healing Sam’s soul. It wasn’t enough to destroy the darkness; Dean was sure that there would be a lot more power needed in order to manage a full cleansing. Still… Sam’s soul had been granted time, it had been purified and Dean hadn’t risked his cover. That had to count as a big win. “There you go, feel any different?”

“Wha… what did you do?” Sam coughed, sounding different already. A subtle thing, but Dean could tell that his brother wasn’t angry. He was just shocked.

“He cleansed your soul, Moose,” Mara chuckled. But there was something in her eyes that Dean didn’t quite understand. “That’s something Angels can do… if you ask nicely enough.”

“I didn’t drink demon blood!” Sam insisted, but now he sounded a bit confused himself. As if he wasn’t sure himself. “I haven’t talked to a demon since Dean died!”

Balthazar rolled his eyes, and Dean fought the impulse to punch him. Sam wasn’t lying. Yes, there were obvious signs of demonic manipulation around him, but his voice was clear and now that his soul had been purified, there was no reason to lie. IF Sam had been consorting with demons, he’d tell the truth because a clean soul wouldn’t stand for that corruption.

“If Sam says he’s not drinking demon blood, then he’s not knowingly drinking demon blood,” he said, earning a truly thankful look from Sam. The first one since he had been back, so yeah, the purification had worked. “If he had any on his system, he could’ve been roofied… a demon could’ve spiked his drinks, just like we do with holy water from time to time”

“I haven’t seen a demon since I tried to kill the one who got you to hell and now when we had to see ‘Meg’,” Sam insisted, hitting on the nearest pew before turning to see Dean. “Why are we even listening to this guy? How do we know he’s an angel? f*ck, how do we know he’s not working for Lilith, since he’s so cozy with Meg?!”

Balthazar took a step forward, obviously insulted. Before Dean could react, however, Anna stepped between them.

“I don’t think we have time for this,” she said, looking at Balthazar as if he was an especially belligerent brother. Maybe they were brothers, Dean posited. He wasn’t very sure about how angelic families worked, since his was definitively not the norm. “Mara said they’d help”

“They will,” Mara said, still glaring at Sam. That was very common lately, their allies glaring at Sam. It was starting to tire Dean. “They will help us find a safe house, and keep an eye on anyone looking for Dodo.”

Sam looked at Dean, as if waiting for his lead. Another small proof that yes, he had been purified. If they weren’t really pressed for time, he’d hug Balthazar. He had given him his younger brother back.

“Why can’t Balthazar help? Angels must have better sources than a pair of human hunters,” Dean looked around. There was a buzzing in the edge of his awareness and he knew they had to leave soon.

“I’m doing undercover work, Dean Winchester,” Balthazar explained. “Besides… there are some in Heaven who would like to make sure the Demons don’t get their hands on Anna with a more… permanent solution.”

“What? So you’re saying that not all angels are trustworthy?” Sam seemed a bit too eager to get that reply and Dean choose not to delve too much into that. It could still be the corruption that Balthazar hadn’t been able to destroy, or that Sam really didn’t like Cas. Either option wasn’t good.

“Look, I enjoy a dick measuring contest as much as the next girl but… we have to hurry.” Mara said, suddenly nervous. Anna walked closer to her, putting her hand on her shoulder in silent support.

“Why?” Dean asked, frowning. The buzzing was getting louder, but Balthazar didn’t seem to be reacting to it. He wasn’t ready to be able to sense things that Angels couldn’t.

“Because I can feel a demon’s coming,” Mara looked scared. “One of the big ones… and if he’s coming here… we’re all in danger.”

“Dean…” Sam pointed at the statue of Virgin Mary at the entrance of the church. She was crying tears of blood and that really wasn’t a good sign. Bracing himself, he grabbed Balthazar by the arm and pulled him towards himself to whisper in his ear.

“Take the girls to this address, “ he said, pushing the knowledge of one of John’s many safe houses in Kansas right into Balthazar’s head, not caring for the surprised reaction of the angel at his actions. “We’ll buy you some time.”

* * *

There was nothing that Balthazar hated more than being told what to do. Well, no, correction, he hated not knowing what’s going on. Following orders was not his favorite pastime, but he could grin and bear it as long as he knew what was going on.

Leaving Heaven to hide the deadliest weapons from tainted Angels? Not a problem, even more now that he had definite proof that that corruption existed.

Finding his Father? Oh, yes. He was even glad that he had orders now, as he had been planning to fake his own death just to be able to do so anyway.

Teaming up with a strange half demon that seemed to want to be purified? Well, that was a bit out of the box, but Annael liked Mara, so Balthazar could work with her.

Obeying some upstart human just because he happened to be the Righteous Man? Yeah, that was not among what he was willing to do, not without a good explanation.

But when the Righteous Man –who acted as if he knew much more than what he should know regarding Anna’s situation- came closer, Balthazar felt a zap that he hadn’t feel since Samandiriel had ascended. There was a lot to say about Gabriel as a father, but he had never been ungrateful. Every one of his siblings’ human twins had been marked with Gabriel’s protection sigil, so that other angels would know not to mess with them.

And Dean Winchester, Michael’s Sword and Vessel, was also marked with that sigil. He had been in contact with Gabriel, and due to the sigil, as Gabriel’s oldest, Balthazar couldn’t disobey his request.

Of course, later, he was going to find out when and how the Righteous Man had crossed paths with his Father, and why Gabriel had marked him.

* * *

“Who the hell was that?” Sam asked, as he tried to sew the cut in his left arm. He was still feeling tingly after whatever Balthazar had done to him, as if he had been shot with five Red Bulls at once, or that one time when he had drank about 20 cups of coffee trying not to fall asleep while studying for finals.

As soon as Dean had let Balthazar go, the angel and the two women had disappeared. But before Sam could ask what was going on and what Dean had told Balthazar, the doors of the church had opened to reveal a white-eyed demon.

And his brother, that never once had shown fear in front of Lilith, had gone pale.

“No one good,” Dean sighed. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” Sam admitted, as he cut the thread. He was pretty sure that Dean had also been banged up, not only by their impromptu escape through the stained glass window of the church, but also by his fight with the demon he had called Alastair. But Dean didn’t seem hurt. Once again, the fact that his brother couldn’t be human hit Sam like a train. However, for the first time in at least two months, it didn’t come accompanied by thoughts on how to control him… how to make him remain human.

For the first time in a long time, he was reminded of his original intent of figuring out what Dean was, how to break it to Dean that he wasn’t human… and accept him as whatever he was.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it… he had to have been drinking demon blood. Once he considered everything he had done since Dean had been back? It reminded him too much of his thoughts under the Croatan virus’ influence.

“You don’t need to be, Sam… he could’ve killed us easily, even if we hadn’t lost the magic knife,” Dean, bless his heart, didn’t seem to have noticed the animosity of the last few weeks. Or if he had, he was not going to mention it.

Sam didn’t need his notebook or Madison to realize that Dean always gave him an easy out.

“I’m not talking about that,” he said, bracing himself. He had to be straight with Dean now. For the first time in his life, he was realizing that maybe the biggest problem in their relationship was the secrets they all kept. “About what Balthazar said… and did…”

“Sam, I know you’re not drinking demon blood,” Dean interrupted quickly. He kept glancing at his cellphone, as if he was waiting for a call.

“Maybe I was,” Sam looked down. “I feel really different, Dean. After Balthazar touched me… it was like when I got cured from the Croatan virus…”

And THAT made Dean frown, which was strange as it had been too long ago. Why would Dean care about that now?

“You said it hadn’t affected you. Well, before you insisted I had to kill you myself.” Dean looked at him, frowning. Sam knew he had to come clean, but now he also felt he needed time. Because that time, Dean had been so ready to kill himself, that Sam had been afraid not only for Dean but for anyone around Dean’s empathic blast.

He had to come clean with Dean, but he couldn’t start with “I think you’re not human, and I have no idea what you are”. A shiver passed through his body, and he licked his lips. They felt dry. Ok, bit of change of plans: first figure out what the hell Dean was, try to find others his kind, THEN tell his brother the whole truth. And that he’d always be his brother.

“I… I was. A bit,” Sam finally said. “I remember being really angry at the world, at you. And then… when you said you’d kill yourself after killing me… It all went away. If we hadn’t the demons to worry about, I’d have puked.”

“sh*t, Sam… why didn’t you…?” Dean interrupted himself and shook his shoulder. It was a tick that he had had since his return. Could Castiel have put him back together wrong?

Just as Sam realized that maybe one of the angels could know what Dean was, the door to their room blasted open. Both brothers were up to their feet, but Sam could see that Dean was just a bit faster. As if he knew the danger was coming. Still, he seemed to relax when Uriel and Castiel came through it.

“Please, tell me you’re here to help. We’ve been having demon issues all day,” Dean said, but something in his brother tone that told him that no, he wasn’t expecting the angels to bring him good news.

* * *

“Your plan failed, demon,” Uriel’s voice thundered in the small room that Asataroth had chosen as a meeting place. “The abomination is almost cleansed of sin, and we lost the fallen angel’s track. You are not holding your side of the bargain.”

“Lucifer’s vessel would be corrupted already if you kept better control of your angels,” The demon spat at him. “We can’t move forward if they purify him every chance they have! Who was it? The one who got Dean Winchester out? Or you’ve got more idiots under your charge?”

The angel’s hand was on her meatsuit’s neck fast, and she had no time to react. It was almost as violent as when Lilith got mad… but it lacked the extra tingle that made Asataroth want to make Lilith angry from time to time.

“Do not test me, demon, or you will be the first one to fall upon my sword,” Uriel intoned. “Can you corrupt the human again?”

“I’m sure I can. He’s already hooked… no matter how much they scrub him, he’ll be always craving demon blood.” Asataroth smiled. “But you must really reign in your feathered squad under control. None of us likes to keep bleeding for the mission if we don’t see results.”

“Don’t presume you can tell us what to do,” Uriel replied. “It’s not our side the one that keeps making mistakes.”

* * *

Sam sat in the bed of the hotel room where he and Dean were staying and sighed. At any other time, he would’ve exited about the new case. Not only it seemed to be a “normal” case for them, a witch or poltergeist killing magicians, not an apocalypse thing, but it also had to do with magicians he had worshiped when he was thirteen. He still liked stage magic, if he had to admit it to himself. Stage magic had been a longer phase for him than hair metal, and if he was honest, the only reason he hadn’t tried to purse that as a career was that it was not “normal” enough for his teenage mind.

Boy, had he been an insufferable jerk obsessed with normalcy back then.

However, he couldn’t enjoy the case because now that he had finally got his senses back, now that DEAN was back, Sam was realizing a lot of truths about his actions in the past months… and even before.

The silver flask that Hannael had given him was in the bathroom. Sam had thrown out the liquid into the sink as son as he had been able, then ran cold water from the faucet for about 10 minutes, just to clean the pipes and the flask as much as he could. Even then, he remembered how his hands had shaken when the liquid had hit the porcelain. How much he had wanted just to take a sip.

There was no way to confirm it now, but he was sure that that “medicine” was demon blood. He knew that he felt more powerful, more confident, every time he drank. Which was good, in a way, except that he knew that his powers came from Azazael, and thus, anything that made them stronger couldn’t come from a good place. And while Dean seemed sure that Sam had been roofied at a bar, Sam knew that he was too careful in bars for that to be a possibility. No, he hadn’t been roofied… he had just been stupid enough to take it by himself without asking questions.

A knock on the door took him out of his thoughts, and he went to open it, hand on his gun. Dean had left to check on their only lead, and while before Sam could’ve let himself think that his brother had forgotten his keys, now he was more aware. He had been hunting for most of his life, and just as Dean and Dad had always said, he couldn’t let his guard down.

That was what had gotten him to drink demon blood after all.

“Why haven’t you answered my summons, Samuel?” Hannael was standing in the door, looking as heavenly and gorgeous as she had always done. But now that Sam had met other angels, especially the bloodthirsty Uriel, that perfection made him doubt.

“Why were you feeding me demon blood?” He replied, not moving from the door to let her come in, or letting his gun go. A bullet might not stop an angel, but it would buy him time.

Hannael didn’t reply immediately. Sam could see her hesitating, as if she was considering her next words. He looked at her intently, trying to figure out what her plan was, when he realized he knew those mannerisms.

“Ruby?” The pieces fell in place inside his mind. Now he knew why she always seemed to know what to say.

At this, her face contorted in a grimace, and the heavenly pretense fell. “Darn, Moose… you’re smarter than you look.”

She gave a step forward, but was stopped by an invisible membrane. Belatedly, Sam remembered that Dean had insisted on doing some wards for the place before leaving. That meant that, as long as he was inside, he was safe from her. And while they had just lost the demon killing knife, he could have time to figure out what to do next. And so, with a smile in his face, he closed the door on her face.

Then, as he really didn’t have anything to do until Dean came back, he took out his phone and dialed Madison. He barely had contact with her since Dean came back and he was chugging demon blood, so he had a lot to apologize now.

* * *

Getting rid of the stupid charmed tarot deck had been easy. Too easy, if Dean was honest to himself as he had basically rendered himself invisible to Charlie the Magician and stole the cards from his pocket. Figuring out he was the killer hadn’t been hard either as Charlie had been practically screaming it from the top of his head, piercing Dean’s telepathic defenses. It was long past the time when he could fool himself and say that the seal on his powers was weak, and Dean had to start accepting that he had grown way more powerful after his time in hell and his years without his memory.

Sam’s story about the Croatan virus proved it. He didn’t remember healing his brother, but it sounded like he had.

He took a deep breath in the empty stage where he had decided to kill some time before going back to Sam. He couldn’t go back yet, or Sam would ask how he had been so quick. And besides… his back and arm were killing him. It had come to the point where he could no longer ignore the itch, and he only knew two people in the cosmos that could help him. So he warded the magic stage as well as he could, since he knew that his father still wanted to keep his involvement and powers secret, and called Raphael.

“Hello, Dean,” The grave voice of his mentor came from behind him, and Dean turned around only to be hugged tightly by both Donnie and Raphael, who seemed to have given Donnie the permission to control the body for a minute. “We’re both glad to see you’re whole again.”

“I missed you too, Raph,” Dean replied, once the hug ended. “You and Donnie are doing well in the FBI, right? Victor is not being an ass?”

“Agent Henriksen has ‘mellowed out’, according to Donald,” Raphael replied, smiling. “ I am sorry we couldn’t come to you earlier… Prophet watch has been… complicated.”

“Dad got me up to date on that,” Dean smiled, then flinched as his back pain flared. “Sorry for calling you before you did but… I… I kind of need your help here.”

“What’s wrong?” Raphael immediately sobered up and started looking at Dean with that expression Dean remembered well from his early training days. Now he knew that it meant Rapahel had had no idea what Dean was, but back then he called it the “Doctor” stare.

“My back is itching like crazy, ever since we fought Samaheim. It comes and goes, but it’s really distracting,” Dean explained, as he took off his jacket, to show the handprint on his arm. “And… well… this.”

Raphael had seemed not that interested about the itching, which eased Dean’s mind a bit. While now he knew he was not quite like all the other Angels that were in Raphael’s care, he was similar enough that if the healer wasn’t worried, Dean wasn’t going to be worried. But once Raphael saw the handprint, his demeanor changed completely, as he grabbed Dean’s arm, careful not to touch the handprint itself.

“Dean, when did you get this?” Raphael asked, keeping Dean’s arm in his hands. Dean could feel the tingle of grace around the handprint, and he had to hold himself steady because every instinct was telling him to get as far away from Raph as possible. “And… are you feeling the impulse to hit me right now?”

“A little,” Dean smiled as Raphael let his arm go. “I noticed it when I was back up here and with my memories back. It really didn’t bother me until a couple of weeks ago, when it started itching for no reason.”

“Does it itch all the time?” Raphael asked, as he put his arm on Dean’s shoulder. The itching from his back disappeared immediately, helping to Dean’s theory that at least that was normal, and easily solved.

“No, it comes and goes,” Dean shrugged. “What is it… and what is wrong with my back?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your back, Dean. That’s just a side effect of the long time your powers were sealed,” Raphael was smiling, like a proud parent. It reminded Dean of the time he had mastered astral walking. It was… strange, as Dean didn’t think an itchy back and arm were in the same league as getting better at controlling his abilities. “Have you talked with Castiel about this mark?”

“Wha? No… I… We haven’t exactly had the time to talk… I… “ Dean looked away, as he tried to hide his embarrassment. Although he wasn’t sure why he was embarrassed about this. “… I want to trust Cas, but Dad said that… “

“Castiel is not tainted, Dean,” Raphael was now acting strange, Dean was sure. He had seen that smile more than once: usually in the parents of the girls he had dated in high school when they liked him. “I am sure he only has your best interest in mind, and since he doesn’t know who you really are, he probably only meant this as protection, a mark to show other angels that you are under his protection.“

“Probably?” Dean raised an eyebrow, and then put his jacket back on. He really didn’t want the handprint out in the open, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Talk to Castiel first.”

And with that, Raphael disappeared, leaving Dean a little more confused than before even if he was also a bit less worried. If Raphael didn’t think it was a big deal, then he was going to ignore both his shoulder and his back.

* * *

Castiel had always prided himself of being a good soldier. He did his best to follow orders without question, and was never disrespectful towards his superiors, unlike some of his siblings. However, since meeting the Righteous Man, he had started to question things.

He understood why it was not necessary to explain things to the Righteous Man. After all, why make him worry about what would happen when Lucifer escaped his cage if Lucifer was not going to escape? But there were other things, like the fact that Heaven was losing their fight with the Demons because it seemed that Demons had managed to figure out how to kill Angels, that the first seal breaking had not been Dean’s fault… that his brother was courted by demons because of their bloodline, and not because of some moral failing of Dean.

Castiel didn’t understand why they couldn’t tell him that. Why Zachariah wanted to make Dean hate Sam, when that would only make Sam run to the demon’s side? Yes, the Abomi… Sam didn’t seem to like Dean most of the time, but Castiel could see that it was due to demonic influence. After Annael… the Fallen… had escaped them and recovered her Grace, Sam’s attitude had changed greatly especially around Dean.

Dean, who still was a frustrating mystery to Castiel. The Righteous Man didn’t… shouldn’t… know everything that was happening around Heaven and Hell. And, most of the time, he acted as if he didn’t know, especially around Mr. Singer, whose house was now so well warded that it was a literal blind spot for everyone in the Host, including Castiel who had been told quite clearly by Dean to stay away from them, and Sam.

But whenever he and Castiel were alone? Dean suddenly seemed to know even more than Castiel himself. Or at least, acted as such. As if it was Castiel the one who was acting without complete orders.

And it made Castiel even more unsettled. Especially because now he couldn’t ignore the brand on his vessel’s shoulder, which was a perfect mirror of the one he had accidentally placed on the Righteous Man’s. So far, no one had commented on it, not even Uriel who would sometimes look at Castiel as if he wanted to mention the fact that Castiel had dared to mark Michael’s Sword as his own, with the clear intent of… of growing nearer to that bright human soul; but how long could Castiel expect his superiors to dismiss the fact that Dean Winchester, a normal human with no psychic or magical ability, had also marked Castiel as his. Not Castel’s vessel, but Castiel’s himself as the brand on his vessel was just a reflection of another, deeper mark that only showed in Castiel’s real form, near his sixth wing in an angle only his bee face would see.

Dean Winchester had somehow managed to mark Castiel as his intended, as if he were an angel, as if he and Castiel were equals.

And Castiel found himself… not really minding it. Because, after all, he had done the same. It had been a stupid move, one that he still didn’t understand completely. But when Dean’s soul had protected him, had defended him from Alastair… he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Dean’s soul was, in a simple word, beautiful.

“I have our orders,” Uriel appeared behind him, speaking gravely. “We have to go and get Dean Winchester.”

Castiel nodded. Maybe he would be able to talk to Dean alone again, and ask about the mark. Ask if Dean knew what that meant, given how much he knew about angels.

If Castiel was honest to himself, he only wanted to see Dean again.

Chapter 18: Not breaking

Chapter Text

Dean looked at the room where Uriel had dragged him and sighed. It was a huge warehouse, and in the center of it was Alastair, chained to an hexacle in the middle of a devil trap, looking dead to the world. Knowing the demon, Dean was sure he was faking it.

He tried to leave, but Uriel got in his way. Right then and there, Dean decided that the man had to be one of the corrupted. Maybe it was just that he disliked him, but then, Uriel was the first angel he actively disliked, of all the ones he had met.

“I want to talk to Cas alone,” he finally said, as Uriel kept glaring at him, obviously intent on making him torture Alastair. Not that Dean had any idea how to do that, being under Alastari’s knife didn’t exactly gave him pointers on how to do it. And of course, he wasn’t planning on torture anyone. He hadn’t resisted decades in hell just to start doing it on Earth.

“I think I’ll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders from Michael,” Uriel said, smiling smugly. And right then and there, Dean knew that Uriel was lying. There was no way that this had been ordered by his father, because his father knew that the only way to kill an Angel was with an Angel blade, held by an Angel and powered by Angel’s grace. Even if a demon had managed to get his hands on Lucifer’s blade, the only Angel blade they could hold safely, the worst it would do to an angel was to hurt their vessel.

This was a trap, and Dean only wanted to know what it was what they wanted to catch and for whom.

“What’s going on, Cas?” He asked softly, once all his senses told him they were alone with the demon. “Since when did Uriel put a leash on you?”

Cas sighed and, invisible to Alastair, his wings shuffled. For a moment, Dean thought he saw a spot in the left one that was a different color from the rest of his feathers, and for some reason the sight made him feel warmth.

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies,” Cas said, his eyes fixed on Dean’s shoulder. Where Dean knew that, under his jacket, lay the mark Cas had put on him when rescuing him from hell.

“Your sympathies?” Dean tilted his head, not realizing that he was doing the same thing Cas did when he didn’t understand something. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You,” Cas said, and when Dean heard that, his heart skipped a beat. He tried to reign his reaction, but the truth was he was feeling like a teenager with a crush.

Oh, hell.

In angelic terms… he was a teenager. And in both angelic and human terms? He seemed to have a crush.

Was that why Raphael had told him to talk to Castiel? And how could he explain that to Cas, who seemed to have problems understanding the most basic social interactions AND was working under the command of an angel who was most obviously corrupted?

As he was panicking, he realized that he had missed the rest of what Castiel was saying. Which might have been important, but not as important as the revelation he had just had.

“That… That is not a bad thing, I can’t imagine Michael thinking it’s bad for an angel to care for humans, not if you are going to save them,” he finally said, hoping that Castiel couldn’t see his feelings on his soul or grace.

He was really having a teenage crush. Sam should never find out, or he would never stop mocking him.

“It… conflicts with my orders,” Castiel insisted, looking away. “For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”

Dean sighed and in that time, Cas took his chance and flew away before he could ask why anyone thought that he could get an answer out of Alastair. Remembering the demon, he turned around to look at him and found that he was awake, watching and smiling.

“So… seems that someone finally got you to pick up the knife,” Alastair grinned, despite his terrible situation. And just then, Dean realized that this was a trap. The point was not to get information from Alastair, but to make sure that Dean tortured the demon. For some reason, someone in Heaven really, really wanted Dean to break.

“Who says I’m going to use a knife?” Dean replied and sat down in the chair that was next to all the horrible instruments Uriel had left for him -because he refused to think Cas had anything to do with that.

He wasn’t going to touch Alastair, after all, he had no information about what the angels wanted to know, Dean knew that. And in any case, he also knew the demon. Sooner or later, he’d get bored and would start to talk.

* * *

The silence worried Castiel.

He was not familiar with torture, but he was sure that it would involve noise. Screams of pain, like the ones he had heard when flying onto hell to save Dean. But as minutes passed, almost into an hour, he couldn’t hear a thing.

It was only then when he remembered that Dean had claimed that he knew how to hide himself from Heaven, from Hell, from anyone who would want to spy on him and then doubt started creeping in. Was Dean shielding him from Alastair’s screams? Was he trying to make Castiel feel less guilty for his part on asking him to become Heaven’s torturer?

As he thought of that, the handprint on his wing started to ache, and Castiel’s thoughts turned to the twin of said mark, the one that he had placed on Dean’s arm.

If Michael found out that he had claimed his vessel as his intended mate, Castiel was dead. But the only way to erase a wooing mark was if the intended didn’t accept it and while Castiel had tried to fool himself into thinking that the only reason why Dean hadn’t rejected the mark was because he didn’t know what it meant, not when Dean had marked him in turn.

And his mark was not disappearing, because if Castiel had to be honest, he didn’t mind the idea of being wooed by Dean Winchester.

Even if it meant he’d be punished for defiling Michael’s sword.

“Isn’t making him torture the innocent person inside Alastair a worse defiling?”

The voice came from inside him, startling Castiel.

“Who are you?” He asked, confused. He had never heard of any angel hearing voices. Perhaps he was as defective as Naomi told him constantly.

“Jimmy Novak, your vessel?” The voice sounded frustrated and angry, and just then Castiel remembered that Dean had told him to talk to his vessel. As if he knew that vessels could actually communicate with the angel possessing them. Which, again, was impossible.

“Obviously is not impossible if I’m talking to you, Castiel,” The voice, Jimmy, insisted. “You lied to me.”

“I don’t lie,” Castiel replied, indignant and offended that Jimmy had been reading his thoughts.

“You said you needed my body to save the world, to stop the apocalypse,” Jimmy insisted. “I don’t see how making Dean into a torturer is going to help with that, especially if the whole point of saving him from hell was to stop him from becoming a torturer in the first place!”

“How do you…?” Castiel began to ask, then realized it was a stupid question. He had been already in Jimmy when he was told how the first seal had broken. If Jimmy had been conscious all this time, he had probably heard Zachariah’s reprimand. “It’s not my place to question orders.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Jimmy blasphemed. “Your mission is to protect Dean, no? Tell me how is this protecting him? Alastair could be torturing him right now as we speak!”

“Alastair is safely trapped within a Devil’s Trap…”

“He doesn’t need to touch Dean for this. He was his torturer for 30 years, no? Don’t you think he also knows how to psychologically hurt someone with words?”

And Castiel didn’t have an answer to that. All he could do was to keep listening to the silence and fight the urge to just go inside and take Dean away, to where he would be safe.

* * *

Alastair was getting unnerved. Nothing was following the plan, which was something that Alastair couldn’t comprehend. Why wasn’t Dean jumping at the chance of getting revenge on him? Why wasn’t the Righteous Man acting like every human would, just grabbing the knife and clumsily trying to get information out of the demon who had tortured him beautifully for thirty years?

“You have no idea what you really did for us… “ He began saying, but Dean didn’t even looked up at him. It had been hours, and the human had just sat there, watching his cellphone.

A very small noise called his attention. He could hear water dripping, very slowly, from somewhere over him. So the promise to free him in order to break Dean, one way or another, was being fulfilled, and that was good. He’d teach Dean he should’ve never left the rack with the angel that took him before he accepted Alastair’s offer.

Before he broke.

Because that was what was eating Alastair: Yes, the first seal had broken because Dean made HIM bleed while defending that stupid angel that arrived before the planned time. But he had never broke, he had never agreed to leave his humanity behind and start torturing souls just to avoid being the tortured one. At one point, Alastair had thought that maybe Dean would break soon but something had happened, ten years or so before the angel arrived, that seemed to steel the human’s resolve more. And that was killing Alastair.

Dean Winchester was supposed to be his greatest triumph. Instead, he was his greatest failure even now, because he still refused to take up the knife.

“You know… it was supposed to be your father,” he tried again. “I offered him the same as you, but he never broke…”

“Now, I know you’re lying with that one,” Dean finally spoke, and to Alastair’s shock, the human was smiling. “My father has never been in hell.”

How did Dean know that? His father was dead, and the most obvious place where John Winchester would end up was hell. Any other human would’ve fallen for the lie, hell, Sam Winchester had fallen for the lie that his beloved Jessica was in hell once. But Dean was smiling, as if he knew for a fact that Alastair lied.

How?

“You can’t know that for sure, boy,” Alastair insisted. “Lemme tell you, your father? Screamed almost as nicely as your mother… Now she? She was a treat in my rack…”

He couldn’t continue as Dean began to laugh.

“What is so funny?” Alastair demanded, feeling infuriated. No one laughed at him.

“You,” Dean replied, grinning. “If you think I’m going to fall for that lie? You are getting desperate. I mean, you tortured my dad and now my mom too? Who’s next? My grandfather? My aunt Carol? Because she’s still alive so you could save your saliva.”

Alastair was about to yell at Dean that he wasn’t lying, that he had had Mary Winchester spread eagled in the rack, took her from behind like the whor* she was and how she had liked it… when he realized that the bonds on his powers had disappeared. The devil trap had finally been broken.

So he shut up. He was still angry, furious that Dean had dared to laugh at him when he had been his favorite punching bag back in hell. No, not furious. So angry that he could easily become the new Wrath once he finished with the business of the Apocalypse.

“I’m going to tell you the truth now, Dean,” he said, trying to sound calm. Trying to remember that no matter what, he was the one in control here. “This? All this is thanks to you.”

“I’m not listening,” Dean turned around, towards the door of the warehouse. Was he hearing something out there? That was a stupid thought. Human’s hearing was far worse than demon’s hearing and Alastair could only hear the echo of his own voice. It didn’t matter, because that’s what he had been waiting for. A distraction, a moment in which Dean’s attention wasn’t on him so he could free himself and sucker punch the idiot, grinning human. He was going to kill him now, and then, in hell, he was going to enjoy breaking him over, and over again before the angels needed his broken shell for the final showdown.

He managed to connect his fist with Dean’s face, and send him tumbling into the ground. But there was something wrong with the situation.

His hand hurt.

“You should talk to your plumber about the pipes,” Alastar spat, and went to kick Dean on the kidneys. His foot connected with the human flesh, he felt the flesh give way and heard Dean’s surprised gasp of pain… but it still felt artificial, still felt as if it wasn’t happening.

Why?

And why he had hurt his hand when hitting Dean? The pain was not abating, and it was starting to burn. As if the human had bathed himself in holy water.

But that was ridiculous. Dean was not that smart to think about doing something like that before facing a demon. And even as he kept hitting Dean, making him bleed, he was starting to believe that somehow… he was the one who was losing this battle.

* * *

Castiel was outside, still waiting to hear anything from inside the warehouse, when his right wing started burning, letting him know that someone, somehow, was touching Dean. Was touching HIS intended and in a blind fury, not really thinking about it, he flew to Dean’s side.

Later, he’d need to talk to Dean about that, he thought at the moment. Even if it terrified him what the human would say, given what little he knew about human’s mating rituals and their strange ideas about gender.

What he saw horrified him: Alastair had somehow freed himself and was holding a bloodied Dean by the throat. Castiel didn’t think, he called on his Angel blade and rushed to attack the demon. But trying not to hurt Dean, he missed the demon’s chest and only managed to cut his shoulder, calling its attention towards himself.

“Oh, the Pigeon has joined us,” Alastair laughed, dropping the bleeding and apparently unconscious Dean to the ground. Castiel could see his intended’s soul, so he knew Dean was still alive: the soul was beautiful and bright, unhurt and that made Castiel breathe a bit easier, but it was still a distraction, which Alastair took to grab a knife from the tool cart that Uriel had left for Dean to use and stabbed Castiel’s chest with it. “I dunno who is killing Angels… but I am willing to try to help them.”

Castiel grunted, but it didn’t hurt him. So he took the knife out, and prepared to attack the demon again. Still, it was hard to concentrate knowing that Dean was hurt, so he missed a parry and was again bested by Alastair, who grabbed him from the throat.

“I really wish I knew how to kill you… but all I can do is send you back to heaven…” The demon started chanting in latin, and old spell that had been deemed as heretic and forgotten by humanity. But it was still effective, and Castiel started feeling himself being pulled out of his vessel, even as he also felt Jimmy’s soul grab at him, trying to keep him inside.

And then, it all stopped and Alastair let him go, making his vessel stump to the ground. When his eyes managed to focus again, he realized that Dean was on his feet… but now he looked quite different.

“What the hell?” Alastair was equally surprised, and Castiel didn’t blame him. Dean was surrounded by a soft green light, heavenly grace, if Castiel was not mistaken. The green light swirled around him, creating the shadow of a bigger figure, and on his back, it coalesced in the form of at least six wings. It was breathtaking, at the same time it was terrifying.

Almost like being in Michael’s presence, when the Archangel was angry.

“You are not going to hurt him, never again,” Dean said, and the green light coalesced into a sword in his hand. An angel blade, less solid than Castiel’s, but definitely not less powerful, as Dean rushed into Alastair, stabbing him straight in the heart.

“Dean…” Castiel began saying, but Dean held his hand to silence him. He looked healed, perfectly fine and Castiel realized that the whole thing had been a ruse to make Alastair talk… not that it had worked.

“Sam is coming,” Dean told him, and the green light disappeared, folding onto itself until all Castiel could see was the beautiful human soul that he had gripped tight and saved from Perdition. “I’ll explain later, I swear.”

And then he dropped to the ground, wounds and blood reappearing as he did, creating the perfect illusion of him being hurt to the point of almost death just as Sam came through the doors, yelling for Dean and with his gun out and ready to shoot any threat.

As Sam kneeled in front of his brother, demanding Castiel to heal him even if Castiel knew that there was nothing to heal, he realized the truth. A truth that no one in heaven knew at the time, that no one in heaven should know because if they did, Dean’s life would be forfeit, even if he was Michael’s sword and the Righteous Man.

Because Castiel now knew that Dean Winchester was a Nephelim, and no Nephelim was allowed to live, according to Heaven’s law.