Chapter Text
With Castiel barely conscious in the passenger seat, and Crowley’s meat suit stashed in the back, Dean made it his mission to put the warehouse of nightmares in his rear-view mirror as fast as possible.
Still on an adrenaline high, he tried his best to calm down, focus on the fact that he was behind the wheel, which was typically a sure way to uplift his spirit, and reminded himself that the two people he cared about the most, Sam and Castiel, had made it out of there alive.
Even though they were both in terrible shape.
And even though one of them was still in the wind.
Refusing to give in to the frenzy building within him about Sam’s whereabouts, he gently shook his friend by the shoulder, desperately needing confirmation that his condition wasn’t as worrisome as it looked.
But Castiel wasn’t in top form. His temples and knuckles were bloody. Keeping his eyes open seemed to be a difficult task. And he was seated in a weird position, as though he was trying to minimize his pain.
“Cas, hey. Still with me?”
“Yes,” he heard him grumble. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” Dean nearly laughed. “You’re seriously asking me if I’m okay? You’re the one who totally took the heat from these assholes back there. Cas, I—you saved us. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t want to know what would have happened to us.”
There was a lot more that Dean would have liked to add, but in his current state, particularly while driving, he opted to keep his emotions in check before it got truly embarrassing.
“I’m all right, Dean. Any word from Crowley?”
Dean shook his head.
Because he couldn’t even say it out loud. The word “No” was lodged in his throat. As though uttering it would be the last straw.
And their day had already seen all the bad luck it could withstand.
“We’ll find him. Sam will be okay.”
Dean had known that their attempt to free his brother from Gadreel’s possession hadn’t been the most solid of approaches.
Torturing the angel had already been questionable, but allowing Crowley to possess Sam?
A terrible idea of a desperate man.
Sam would have never agreed to it. Dean knew it. And while Castiel had obliged Dean’s plan, even he had strongly advised against it.
But the last couple of days had been brutal and it had seemed like the time for sensible options had long expired.
Kevin’s death. Gadreel’s betrayal. Sam’s disappearance.
Too much had happened, and if it hadn’t been for Castiel, standing loyally by his side, eager to aid him as he always did, Dean would have most likely completely lost his mind.
A fact which did nothing to help tame the pit in his stomach when he considered how badly he had treated his friend these past few months.
Or how closely he had come to nearly losing him that night.
Just as the demonic red smoke had wormed itself into Sam’s mouth, just as Dean was deeply hoping that this would be the last crazy step needed to get Sam back, Malachi, the lunatic angel who had captured and tortured Castiel, just days before, had barged in on them with the rest of his angel squad, demanding blood.
When it rained, it poured.
Chaos ensued. Angels with their shiny blades quickly surrounded Castiel and Dean, and for a second, seeing Castiel held down by two angels, with Malachi facing him, blade at the ready, Dean almost let himself believe that they were done for.
But then, with perfect timing, Gadreel was finally cast out of Sam, and the unexpected scene brought some confusion amongst the angels.
Castiel, wasting no time, took the opportunity to overpower multiple angels, by expertly stabbing them in the chest, one after the other.
Malachi included.
While this should have felt like a victory, it didn’t at that moment. The angels grew angrier. As Dean watched them gang up on Castiel.
As he felt himself being manhandled.
As he saw them reach for Sam, who was in no condition to fight.
And Dean couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to him after everything he had gone through.
Knowing that Crowley wouldn’t be able to teleport the four of them away from this war zone, only himself, Dean did the only thing he could think of to ensure his brother’s safety: he urged Crowley, who was still possessing Sam, to teleport immediately out of there.
Sam’s face had stared back at him with bright red eyes. Almost as though Crowley wanted to be sure he had heard him properly.
“Go!” Dean had repeated, dodging an attack. “Get Sam out of here!”
Crowley’s red eyes had fallen on his vessel lying on the dusty, dirty floor, after being perturbed by Castiel and the other angels in the middle of their scuffle.
“For fuck’s sake, we’ll bring your stupid meat suit with us when we meet later! JUST LEAVE!”
It had taken everything for Dean to not add, “I’m begging you.”
And very dramatically, Crowley had shoved aside the angel who was trying to apprehend him, and snapped his fingers before vanishing.
Dean had barely had the time to acknowledge the strange mixture of emotions that washed over him, one of relief and horror at what had just happened, at what he had let happen again, before returning his attention to the fight, where he was needed.
Castiel had decimated most of the group of angels at an impressive rate, but not without a serious beating, so much so that Dean, after they had somehow managed to win the fight, had to drag Castiel out of there himself because he couldn’t stand on his own two feet.
Something that Dean had found incredibly worrisome, to say the least, particularly when he preferred thinking of Castiel as this semi-indestructible being.
Seeing him struggling this much next to him, after he had just supposedly regained his mojo, wasn’t a comforting sight.
He shot him a few glances and caught him wince when he shifted position in his seat.
“Cas, you sure you’re alright?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“But you don’t look fine.”
Silence.
“Something wrong?” he asked, trying to not sound as anxious as he was. “Did I miss something? I didn’t see any major wounds but—.”
“The healing process is slower than usual,” he finally said.
“Okay.”
And before Dean could ask why that was, Castiel added, “And I feel a bit embarrassed.”
Not the answer Dean had been expecting.
“Why? God, Cas, I meant what I said earlier. You saved us. And you were killing it. So it’s gonna take you a few more seconds to patch yourself up. Big whoop. There’s nothing embarrassing about that. Why do you say that?”
“That’s not it. Not exactly.”
“Then, what?”
But before Castiel could answer, Dean’s phone began to ring. Without even looking at the ID, he answered immediately. “Sam?”
“Squirrel. So you’re still alive.”
“Thanks, I can feel the enthusiasm,” said Dean. While he recognized Sam’s voice, he knew right away that his brother wasn’t the one speaking. “I want to speak to Sam, Crowley.”
“No can do.”
“Why?”
“I’m in a bar in east L.A. Very public. Don’t want him to cause a scene. And I’m borrowing some chap’s phone. He seemed very eager to help me. Ruggedly handsome, too, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“What? What the—whatever. I don’t want to know. Just meet us. We’re about to hit Bentleyville,” he said, remembering the road sign he had passed earlier. “Meet us there. We’ll stop at—”
“Got my suit?”
“Yes,” groaned Dean.
“Marvelous. Now, here’s the thing: I’m afraid I’ll have to hold on to Sam a little longer.”
Dean’s heart stopped beating.
“Excuse me?”
“Dean, what’s wrong?” he heard Castiel ask.
“Something came up that requires my attention. It will take me some time before dealing with it.”
Unable to decide if he should laugh or scream, Dean took a moment to compose himself, trying desperately to not simply explode at him.
That lasted for about two seconds, however, before rage overtook him.
“Dammit, Crowley! You fucking—you said you’d possess Sam only to help him with Gadreel and then you’d cut him loose! That was the deal!”
“And the circumstances have changed. Improvisation was required, that’s all.”
“That’s all? FINE. Since the circumstances have changed, how about I dump your stupid meat suit by the side of the road, then? Huh? Or better yet, I’ll hide it where you can never find it! I’ll destroy it! HOW ABOUT THAT?”
“Dean,” warned Castiel.
“And take away my only incentive to return little Sammy in the process? Interesting tactic.”
Dean swore under his breath. “Then, I guess that means it’s time for a summoning.”
“Ah, yes. In Sam’s best interest, I would advise you to not resolve to that option right now.”
Dean paused. “What does that mean? Why?”
“I told you. Something requires my attention at the moment. If you complicate things for me, I’ll have to complicate things for you. Be assured, I still intend to follow through with my end of the deal. I’m simply taking the scenic route. I give you my word.”
“Your word? Are you fucking kidding me, right now?”
“I am a man of my word!” he said, sounding offended. “Need I remind you that the reason why we’re in this predicament in the first place was on your request?”
Dean shut his eyes.
“You’re the bloody one who told me to jump in and save your gigantic brother,” continued saying Crowley. “And you’re the one who told me to flee the scene like a rotten politician. Not me. You.”
“I know that,” barked Dean, hating himself. “But you said—”
“Mother of sins, it’s only for a couple of hours. It’s going to take you longer than that to reach that death trap you call a home. What bloody difference does it make? Now, I have to go. I’ll check up on your location in a few hours.”
“Crowley, no! I’m not done—”
“And for your brother’s sake, don’t summon me.”
And he hung up the phone.
“DAMMIT!”
Needless to say, Dean hit redial an embarrassing number of times in the half hour that followed. Unfortunately, he never got any answer.
“I should have listened to you,” he said to Castiel, feeling defeated. “I knew it was a bad idea to let Crowley in, especially since…I should have listened to you.”
“Don’t do this, Dean. Don’t beat yourself up for this. It wasn’t your fault.”
Dean nearly laughed. “Not my fault? Every single thing that went sideways lately has been because of me. Because I made it happen. Every time I try to fix things, I make it worse. God, I should just—” and he stopped mid-sentence.
“You should what?”
Silence.
The weight. The heaviness of the last few days. Of the last few months. Of every bad decision leading to this moment crashing in on him all over again.
Tears almost forming in the corner of his eyes. His throat tightening.
“Dean?”
“I should stay away,” he heard himself say.
“What?”
“Once we get Sammy back, I—I should just take off and stay gone. It will be better that way for everyone.”
There was a long pause, during which Dean felt Castiel’s heavy stare, studying him.
“Please, tell me you aren’t letting him get to you like that,” said Castiel.
“What? Who?”
“Crowley.”
“What? I—I’m not—this has nothing to do with Crowley.”
“Really? So what you just said has nothing to do with his completely false, not to mention unfair and cruel, comment he made to you earlier today? When he learned about Kevin’s death. What was it? ‘People in your general vicinity don’t have much in the way of a lifespan.’”
Dean swallowed.
“That’s what he told you, wasn’t it? Dean, even you know he only said that to manipulate you.”
“Well, if you look at my track record, he’s right.”
“I disagree.”
“Really? It’s the second time this week that I’ve lost Sam because of something I let happen. Clearly, I can’t learn anything.”
“I thought we had discussed this already. Gadreel is responsible for his own actions. What he did wasn’t on you. And Crowley will—”
“It’s still my fault,” argued Dean, cutting him off. “Look what happened tonight? Look what happened to you!”
“Dean,” said Castiel, almost angry. “We both know that Malachi barging in on us wasn’t your fault. That was mine.”
“Actually, it isn’t, Cas. It’s still mine. You know why? Because if I hadn’t been a jerk and told you to go away, following Gadreel’s stupid demands, you wouldn’t have been on your own, and you wouldn’t have been caught. You wouldn’t have been tortured. Or had this psycho on your trail. None of it. So, again, that’s my fault.”
“Malachi was already trying to track me down before I even crossed paths with him. And you can’t seriously be taking the blame for tonight.”
“I am.”
“I forbid you.”
“What?”
“I forbid you,” he repeated. “You are not allowed to blame yourself for this. For any of it. Kevin included.”
Puzzled, Dean waited a moment to see if Castiel was kidding or not, and when he didn’t add anything else, Dean said, “Cas, that’s not how it works.”
“It is now. That means you can’t punish yourself, either. No isolating yourself or even talking yourself down. I forbid you.”
Holding his stare, Castiel seemed determined in his statement.
But Dean couldn’t side with him on this. As far as he was concerned, even if Sam returned in pristine condition—and somehow didn’t hate him until the end of time—and Kevin was magically alive again, and every mistake and bad decision he had done leading them to this mess was suddenly wiped clean and corrected, his guilt would remain.
Mistaking his silence for agreement, Castiel then said, “Good. Now, I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t worry too much about Crowley stalling.”
“It doesn’t worry you?”
“I dislike the situation as much as you do,” he admitted. “But while Crowley is many things, foolish isn’t one of them. He knows that the longer it takes him to return Sam, the more impatient you’ll become with him. Since he’s experienced the consequences of what happens when you’re pushed to your limit, I have no doubt he won’t let it get there. I’m sure he’ll keep his word. We’ll get Sam back very soon and the whole ordeal will be behind us, all right?”
And once again, as much as Dean wanted nothing more than to agree with him, he couldn’t.
The ordeal, as Castiel called it, wouldn’t be over that easily.
Not just because of his growing guilt about Sam.
But also because there had been a little detail about the fight earlier that night that he hadn’t divulged to Castiel yet.
That one angel from Malachi’s group had made it out of there alive.
After pleasantly having been shoved through a brick wall, Dean came to just in time to see Castiel slay, what he had believed to be, the last of Malachi’s angels. This triumph was short-lived, however, when Castiel collapsed in his turn, due to exhaustion, before taking two steps in front of him.
With great difficulty, Dean got himself back on his feet, hurrying to his side, but stopped dead when he caught something moving to his left.
“Hey!” he yelled, as menacingly as he could, pointing his blade at the tall woman with short hair.
She froze. “I—I don’t mean any harm.”
“Could have fooled me.”
They stared at each other for a long minute, until she lowered her blade.
“I wanted no part of this. I was dragged into it.”
“Sure. And it’s not at all super convenient that your boss and everyone else here is now dead to say otherwise.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she said, looking quite vexed. “Malachi was crazy and forced so many of us into his insanity. But he’s dead now. So I can finally walk away.”
She began heading towards the exit, but Dean stepped forward, blocking her way, his blade still pointed at her.
“So you can warn the rest of your army about what just happened? I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t want to come here tonight,” she insisted. “Castiel is an old friend of mine. I had no desire to fight against him.”
Dean frowned at her. “That’s a lie. And I’ve heard it before.”
“I’m not lying.”
And just as Dean was weighing her words, as he took in the fact that she didn’t seem to have a scratch on her, as though she had purposely stayed out of the fight, he heard Castiel groaning.
His moment of hesitation was enough for the angel to run by him quickly. Frustrated, Dean nonetheless went to help Castiel, kicking himself once more, and fearing the next bad repercussion of yet another one of his mishaps.
Making good time on the road, as the hours passed, Dean was relieved when Castiel began showing strong signs of improvement. He was seated normally instead of the odd position he had adopted earlier, and although he still wasn’t overly loquacious, he was wide awake now.
And yet, Dean couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong and that Castiel was far from being ready to be thrown back into the ring.
Not long after they passed Indianapolis, Dean’s torment about Sam’s whereabouts finally ended when Crowley called again.
After a quick assessment of their location, Dean settled into an empty construction site and told him the address.
Crowley appeared a few feet from the Impala, seemingly a little too cheerful for Dean’s taste.
At first glance, Sam appeared to be in one piece.
Judging by his head wounds, which were still very visible, he hadn’t been healed.
But the pins sticking out of his head had been removed.
And the blood had been washed off his face.
And he was holding a drink in his hand.
Because, of course, Crowley was.
“Together at last,” he said, as his eyes turned red, after Dean stepped out of the car. “My, my. Not looking too hot there, feathers.”
Looking to his left, Dean realized that Castiel had stepped out of the car as well. And while he had his game face on, Dean had definitely known him to have steadier feet.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
And then he proceeded to lean on the Impala for support.
“Hmmm. Maybe I should hold off and keep Sam warm until Cas gets his spark back.”
“No,” yelled Dean. “Get out of Sam now. That was the deal.”
“I’m just saying, if I leave Sam on his own now and dear Cas can’t patch him up right away, you’re gonna end up with two broken knuckleheads and then—”
“You’re gonna be the third one if you don’t shut up!” barked Dean, ready to lose it. “Now, get out of my brother or I swear, Crowley…”
“All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he said, sneering at him. “It was simply a suggestion. A helpful one.”
After putting his drink on the roof of the car, earning a very displeased expression from Dean, Crowley winked at him, took a seat next to his meat suit and shut the door.
Red smoke suddenly spread in the Impala, making it impossible for Dean and Castiel to discern what was happening through the windows, until the smoke finally dissipated, and Crowley, back in his usual vessel, climbed out of the car from the other side.
“All better,” he said, returning to his drink.
No longer paying attention to him, Dean ran to the car, eager to assess his brother’s well-being, fearing the worst.
And unfortunately, one quick look confirmed his fears.
Eyes closed, Sam was unresponsive, even after Dean tried to wake him up.
“Sammy? Sam! What did you do?” he yelled at Crowley.
“Nothing. Do not put this on me, Winchester. I told you he wasn’t in the freshest of conditions.”
Panicking, Dean turned to Castiel.
“I—I hate to ask, especially because you’re—”
“Allow me,” he assured him.
A lump in his throat, Dean stepped out of the way for Castiel to have better access to Sam.
After a nerve-wrecking fifteen seconds, he heard Castiel say with confidence, “That should suffice for now.”
The good news was that he appeared to be right. Sam immediately opened his eyes, took a deep breath in, and began looking around him frantically, no doubt wondering where he was.
The bad news was that the moment he finished his sentence, Castiel collapsed on the ground, due to overexertion.
“Cas! No! Hey, talk to me.”
Grunts of acknowledgement were uttered, as Dean carefully helped him to sit against the car.
“You okay?”
Keeping his eyes shut, Castiel didn’t answer, but he nodded at him.
“Cas?”
He muttered something that resembled, “Need rest.”
And then, of course, as if witnessing Castiel return to the poor condition he had been hours earlier wasn’t discouraging enough, Dean then met Sam’s furious stare, when he painfully crawled out of the car. His sole consolation was that his anger was put on pause the moment Sam noticed Castiel by the car.
“What’s wrong with Cas? Did—did I do this?”
Dean flinched. “No. Of course, you—what do you mean?”
“Did I hurt Cas?” he asked, horrified. “Like how I killed Kevin?”
Finally understanding what he meant, shocked, Dean said, “God, no, Sam. No, you didn’t hurt Cas. And Kevin, that’s not your—”
“The angel, then? Same thing from where I’m standing.”
“No, dammit,” said Dean firmly. “Hey, stop!” he said, as Sam had started walking off. “That—that had nothing to do with this. I swear.” And then, understanding that this wouldn’t cut it as far as explanations went, he added, “We got cornered by a bunch of angels while we were trying to help you. They were after Cas. We made it out of there okay, but it took its toll on him. That’s it.”
And Dean tried really hard to believe what he had just said.
Once Sam’s panic over Castiel’s well-being seemed to have somewhat diminished, Dean took a tentative step towards him. “How are you feeling?”
“What do you think?”
He had said it in such a desolate voice, with his eyes glued to the ground, that Dean felt a pang on his chest.
“Sam, I’m so sorry. I know I fucked up and that—”
“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”
“But you need to know—”
“No! I don’t. Dean, I—I don’t wanna hear a thing from you. What you did was—was—”
Awful.
Unforgivable.
Proof that Dean was the terrible person he always believed he was.
“Well,” said Crowley, after clearing his throat, “I can see this is my cue to make myself scarce. Before I leave, however, I have one last thing to mention. Were you aware that Abaddon, the Knight of Hell you let loose, was right outside that ruddy warehouse where you decided to stage your weird intervention?”
“What?” asked Dean, half-listening, back at fretting over Castiel.
“I practically landed in her midst after teleporting right outside.”
Confused, Dean turned to him. “I thought you went to a bar? Which, by the way, must have been super interesting considering how Sam looked like.”
“That was one of my many pit stops after giving her the slip, in a very skillful manner, I might add. After the day I’ve had, I thought I deserved it.”
“The day you’ve had? Wait, is this—is this why you couldn’t meet with us all night long?”
“Not exclusively,” he said, reflecting on it. “Though it was somewhat related.”
“What the fuck does that mean? And why didn’t you just say so before?”
“All in good time.”
“Crowley,” said Dean, utterly fed up by everything. “Why are you telling us this?”
“To remind you that she still needs to be dealt with,” he said in a grave tone.
“Big baddie Abaddon is still lurking around. Got it.”
And he refocused his attention on Castiel.
“Terrific. I’ll be in touch, boys. Samantha, I’ve enjoyed our little talk. Think about my proposal. Ciao.”
And Crowley vanished.
“What was he talking about?”
But Sam ignored him. Didn’t even look at him.
He kneeled next to him to check on Castiel, as well.
And Dean’s strong urge to take off and leave Sam and Castiel and everyone alone, far away from him for their own safety, was resurfacing.
No matter what Castiel said, it was, in Dean’s opinion, the best thing to do.
Every atom in his being screamed for him to do so.
But one look at Castiel, who was back to his semi-comatose state, and Sam, who still staggered profusely when they both helped their friend climb back in the car, made Dean hesitate.
And once he remembered the runaway angel from the warehouse, not to mention all the other fallen angels gunning for Castiel, and Gadreel still out there, Dean concluded, to his surprise, that he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t leave them like that.
Not yet, at least.
After all, he was, according to Castiel, forbidden to do so.