Chapter Text
“No.”
Sam recoiled as if he’d been struck. Dean kept his eyes on the road, fingers occasionally twitching on the wheel as if he was already missing the feel of the Blade in his grip.
Somewhere along the line, Dean had stopped acting like Dean. And it had taken Sam much too long to realize it. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Once they got back to the bunker, Sam collapsed in his bed, exhausted.
His dreams were haunted by his brother.
Sam was woken what felt like five minutes later to rock music blasting in his ears. Instinct took over at the sudden intrusion of unfamiliar sound, and he whipped his gun out from beneath his pillow while rolling over onto his back--
--then quickly lowered it. Dean stood poised over him with his phone out, an impassive look on his face.
Dean shut off the music. “Nice reflexes. Better hair,” he commented, gesturing at Sam’s bedhead.
Sam shakily stowed the gun and squinted into the light from the hallway, heart still galloping in his chest. “What’s wrong with you? I could’ve shot you.” He glanced down at his watch, barely registering the time. “Why aren’t you sleeping? We got in like two hours ago.”
Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Not tired. And we got work to do, so put on your dancing shoes, and let’s boogie.”
Sam scrubbed a weary hand across his face as Dean left the room. Okay, weird. How Dean wasn’t completely spent after his title fight with Abaddon, Sam didn’t know. But something had to be up for Dean to drag him out of bed this early in the morning regardless, or they would be having words.
Sam managed to make his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee after pulling on the least-suspicious smelling clothes he had, and joined Dean in the library. “Alright, what’s up?”
“I called Cas. He said there's something going down in Missouri,” Dean answered.
“What kind of something?”
“He said he couldn't talk about it over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because he is a weird guy, okay? He's a weird, dorky, little guy. But he happens to have an army of angels behind him, and, even though I hate to say it, if we're gonna take a shot at Metatron, they might be useful,” Dean said as he moved to place the First Blade in his duffel.
Sam felt the pit of unease widen within him a little more. “Well, do you think we need the First Blade? Why don't we just leave that here?”
Dean put down the Blade and met Sam’s eyes. “We talked about this, and we decided that--”
“No. In all fairness, we didn't decide. You did,” Sam argued, keeping his voice level.
Dean’s gaze hardened. “Okay, I decided that a hockey stick that can kill anything might come in handy, so sue me.”
Sam wanted to be angry. He really did. After all, he’d been hoping they were passed all this. But what he felt wasn’t anger. It was fear. Of what, he wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to admit.
“How many times have we been around this block? Magic that powerful comes at a price, and right now we don't know what that price is,” Sam reasoned desperately.
Dean spread his hands. “I'm fine. I'm fan-friggin'-tastic,” he exclaimed.
“And I'm glad, honestly. I'm not saying we bury the thing. I'm saying we just save it for when we really need it. Crowley. Metatron. The big boss fights. You don't have to have it with you all the time, right? I mean, just leave it. Please,” Sam begged.
Dean searched Sam’s eyes for moment, then set the Blade to the side. “No problem.”
Sam breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
But there was a look in Dean’s eyes Sam didn’t recognize, and as they loaded the impala and headed out, Sam wondered whether his brother realized how much the Mark had changed him. Or if he cared.
Sam and Dean found Cas at the site of a recent smiting. Several humans and one of Cas’ angels had been killed in the incident. It didn't take long to wrap things up, and the three of them made their way back to Cas’ command center.
Upon arriving, one of the angels who seemed to have a little more authority than the rest--Hannah--approached them with a grim look on her face. An angel named Josiah hadn’t been seen since another of their own was murdered, which likely meant he was the mole.
Sam managed to get a name and relative location using Josiah’s vessel, but before they could do much more, one of the other angels interrupted.
“Commander. I have something. This phone's memory chip has a video time-stamped just before the explosion.”
Through shaky camera work, the video showed an angel ripping open his coat to reveal a sigil carved into his chest. His final, blood-curdling words were a shouted “I do this for Castiel!” before he plunged his angel blade into his chest. Everything went white.
The command center was deathly still for a moment. Dean broke the silence, growling, “What the hell was that?”
Cas shook his head, eyes wide. “I don't know. I didn't -- I would never ask an angel to sacrifice himself to kill innocents. I'm gonna be sick.”
“Cas, why would an angel blow up an ice cream shop in your name?” Sam asked quietly.
“That's not what he was doing. Roll it back. There,” Hannah pointed to a girl sitting in a booth. “That was an angel--Esther. She's one of Metatron's."
“So, this was some kind of hit?”
“I don't know,” Cas repeated. He looked a little pale, and Sam distantly wondered if angels could go into shock.
“Stop saying you don't know,” Dean spat.
The color quickly returned to Cas’ face. “You can't think I would allow something like this.”
“Cas, I know you try to be a good guy, okay? I do. You try. But what you got here, this is a a freakin' cult.”
“Dean--”
“And the last time you had this kind of juice, you did kill humans and angels, and you did nothing but lie to me and Sam about it the whole damn time!” Dean raged.
Sam swallowed, overly conscious of the attention they were attracting. “Can we, uh--can we take this somewhere else, guys?”
Sam managed to herd Dean and Cas into Cas’ office. “Will you stow the baggage, Dean? Look, we've got a case. Let's work it. Cas, did you know the angel in that video?”
Cas did, which wasn’t a surprise. The angel was in “community outreach,” which meant he worked minor miracles at a local hospital. The runes in his chest were meant to focus energy, which was unleashed when the angel was stabbed.
“So, what do we do now?” Cas asked.
“Well, you don't do jack.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “Me and Sam will head to the hospital, see if we can find somebody who knew this...walking nuke,” Dean continued.
“Hold on. These are my people. I can help,” Cas protested.
“Well, that's sort of the problem. I mean, the Manson girls aren't gonna give us a straight answer with Charlie in the room, so just hang back.”
Cas raised his eyebrows cynically. “So, I should just sit here?”
“Pretty much.”
“No,” Cas stated firmly. “If you don't want my help, then I will follow Josiah's trail to Colorado. I have to do something, Dean.”
“Alright, fine. But Sam's coming with you.”
Sam started. “What?” he managed, at almost the same time Cas demanded, “Because you don't trust me?
“To help,” Dean placated. The words and the expression on his face belonged to Sam’s brother. The eyes didn’t.
He and Cas exchanged looks before reluctantly leaving Dean. It wasn’t like they had a whole lot of other options.
Sam sped along the two-lane asphalt, thinking over Dean and Cas’ exchange earlier. Dean had remained oddly calm after their initial fight, to the point where the angel had seemed like the emotional one. He had a nagging feeling that Dean had just wanted them both out of the picture.
He distracted himself by filling Cas in, telling him about Crowley, his son, and most importantly, Abaddon.
“Abaddon is dead,” Cas confirmed.
“And then some.” Sam had to restrain a shudder at the memory of Dean kneeling over the demon’s ravaged body.
“Oh, no.”
“Okay. Um...Ominous,” Sam remarked nervously.
Cas tilted his head to look at Sam. “Does Dean seem... different to you?”
“Yeah. Lately, he seems to be...amped up, you know, on edge.” Actually, if he thought about it, Dean's behavior recently reminded him of himself--soulless, or even better, hooked on demon blood.
Sam didn't think about it.
“Effects of the Mark?”
“What else?” Because now Sam knew for sure that the ancient symbol had to be the cause. He and Dean had their differences, especially recently, but Sam had never seen his brother like this before.
Maybe, a small voice whispered in the back of his head, that’s because you weren’t really looking.
“He does seem angry. I mean, he's always a little angry, but now it seems like...more,” Cas remarked, voice heavy.
Sam couldn’t help but agree.
Later, standing outside a worn industrial building with Cas, Sam got a call. He almost dropped his phone in his haste to pick it up. “Hey.”
“How is he?” Dean greeted, and Sam ventured to think that he even sounded kind of like himself.
“He's, uh...He's Cas. What about you? How's it going?”
“Great! Went out, got some air, met an old friend. Say hi to Sam, Tessa.”
Sam felt his brow furrow at the name, even as the creak of the impala’s door opening made its way through the line.
“Your brother's a psycho, Sam!” Tessa yelled, and Sam gripped the phone tighter. He heard Dean give a forced little chuckle before slamming the impala door.
Sam knew his eyes were wide with worry, but it wasn’t like Dean was around to see it. That didn’t really make him feel any better, though. “What’s going on?” Sam demanded softly. The words barely made it out past his clenched teeth.
He couldn’t say he was surprised when he never got a straight answer.