Chapter Text
Cas had been buried alive before. A case had gone south, a haunting over in Tulsa. When they’d been digging up the ghost’s grave, he’d somehow been thrown inside the coffin. He’d had nightmares for months: the tight enclosed space, the cold and dark, the horrifying smell of death. Gabriel had tactfully said nothing, but Cas couldn’t help but notice that it was a while before they tackled another salt and burn and stayed well away from graveyards. That was why, when he first woke up, he thought it was a trick. That he’d displeased Alistair somehow and this was his punishment.
He tried to steady himself, quell the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm him. Breathing in and out in slow, steady breaths. It was hard. The air was too shallow and he was rapidly using up oxygen.
Wait. That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be breathing. However corporeal his body had felt in Hell, it’d never felt that real. The dry ache in his throat was familiar too, though it was decades since he’d last experienced it. Thirst. Cas tried to focus, think back on what he could remember last. There were only fragments: Alistair’s face filled with fear; a bright light that almost blinded him; his right shoulder burning with pain. Too jumbled for Cas to make any sense of them.
He cried out for help, his voice hoarse out of disuse. “Help! Gabriel? Anybody?”
No help seemed to be coming, then. He fumbled for the lighter in his jeans pocket, kicking on the wood above him until the structure collapsed, dunking soil on his head. He clawed it out of the way, surging towards a small speck of sunlight. Then he was free, collapsing onto the soft grass and staring up at the sky, the light so bright after the fiery darkness of Hell that it hurt his eyes.
Whatever had pulled him out had leveled the place. Around the simple cross that had been his headstone, trees were laid in a perfect circle, felled by some kind of powerful blast. This was powerful magic. He should be worried. Whatever had done this, it was going to want something in exchange. He couldn’t focus on that now, though. He was alive. Free of Hell, of Alistair, of the knife.
Cas took a few moments to savor his new freedom. Then he started to walk.
xxx
They’d spent most of the week trawling through lore books after Cas showed up at the bunker fresh out of Hell, only the handprint branded on his shoulder to act as a guide. It was thankless work. The only thing they’d really managed to establish was that no one had seen anything like it before. Which, given the scale of the Men of Letters archives, was worrying in itself.
That evening had been shaping up to be as unproductive as ever when it happened. Just a red light flashing on the computer bank. Frowning, Gabriel went over to check on it: he’d always been better with the tech side of things than Cas, who was about as comfortable with computers as demons were with holy water. As he fiddled with the computer, another few lights lit up, the machine whirring ominously.
“Unidentified power in the area. Not far from the bunker either.” He explained. “It looks like serious mojo too. The monitor’s picking up a lot of spellwork and the readings are only getting stronger.”
Castiel moved over to stand next to him, frowning as he looked down at the monitor.
“You think we should check it out?”
“This level of power? We’d be idiots not to.”
Only pausing long enough to grab their guns, the two of them headed outside and started to trek out towards the coordinates which seemed to be at the centre of the power surge. They’d barely started walking when a burst of white light flashed from the forest up ahead. There was a noise too, so high pitched that it was painful to hear. With Gabriel close on his heels, Castiel sprinted towards the noise. A clearing had appeared in the wood, trunks of trees felled by the blast and sprawled on the ground like corpses. The same kind of blast that had happened when Cas had returned from Hell. In the centre was a motionless figure, stretched out like the Vitruvian Man. Blood caked on his naked torso, with his jeans only just escaping the same fate. A knife lay just a few feet away, its silver glinting in the moonlight. If Cas hadn’t seen the man’s chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, he would have sworn that he was looking at a corpse. The man was alive, if just barely. In pain too, going by the occasional stifled whimper. As he bent down to examine the body, Cas tried not to notice how the man’s freckles covered his skin in uneven constellations or his perfect jawline. Not important for the moment, though: save the handsome stranger’s life first, ogle his good looks later.
As Cas beckoned Gabriel over, the man stirred, revealing eyes as green as the forest around them. He looked startled when he saw Cas, trying to shift away from him but failing, the pain of movement too great for him. It didn’t take long for Cas to find the cause of the damage. Two bloody sores were visible down the man’s back, the cuts obviously going deep with the skin torn away. He’d lost too much blood already and if they didn’t compress the wounds fast, he wasn’t going to make it. Cas moved quickly, making some make-shift bandages from his shirt, he and Gabriel working wordlessly together to try and stem the worst of the blood flow. They could do a better job when they were back at the bunker and could make sure that his wounds weren’t going to become infected, but this would be good enough for the journey back.
That didn’t stop him from wondering, though, about what could have caused this. Not to mention what had happened to this man that they were trying so desperately to save.
“Who are you?” Cas muttered as he worked, more to himself than anything else.
“Dean. My name’s Dean.” Speaking was obviously an effort for him, the man wincing in pain. “I’m the one who-” He tried to say. That was when he fainted..
xxx
They tried all the usual tests. Silver, iron, holy water. Dean passed every single one of them. It didn’t make any difference, though. They knew he wasn’t human. That had become immediately obvious when they’d got him back to the bunker with the intention of treating his wounds, only to find that they’d healed over, the scars looking weeks old instead of hours.
Dean didn’t seem too perturbed when he woke up to find himself handcuffed to a bed in the Men of Letters dungeon, the two siblings pointing guns in his direction.
Instead, he just shot them a cheery grin. “Hey, you guys got any food? I’m starved.”
Cas gave him a flat look. “That depends. We’re not usually in the habit of entertaining monsters.”
“Yeah, either you can start talking why it was Ground Zero out there where we found you, or we’ll find another way to figure out what you are. We know you’re not human,” Gabriel agreed.
Dean’s smile faded. “Look, I’m here to help, I swear. I know who you guys are. Castiel and Gabriel Milton, Men of Letters, right?”
“How do you know that?” Cas glared at him. It was hardly a surprise that Dean had heard of them (the two of them did have quite the reputation in the hunting community, after all), but it still didn’t make him feel any better about the man’s miraculous appearance not far from their home base with enough mojo in tow to flatten a small patch of woodland.
“’Course I’ve heard of you.” Dean met his gaze. “See, I’m the one who pulled your ass out of Hell.”
Time seemed to stop. It felt like an eternity before Cas heard the click of a safety catch and Gabriel speaking, his voice full of quiet anger.
“Thanks for that. Now you can start explaining what you are and what the hell you want with my little brother.”
“I’m an angel of the Lord.” Dean stated, unmistakable power behind his words.
“There’s no such thing.”
“You might want to try having a little faith, pal.” The lights in the dungeon flickered, sparks flying around them. “I’d show you my wings, but that’s not really an option right now.” Dean shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Cas couldn’t help but think of the gashes on his upper shoulders, how they were in just the right place for wings. But it couldn’t be. Why would an angel save him ? He was nothing special. Yes, he’d made a demon deal to bring Gabriel back from the dead, but he can’t have been the first person to do that either.
“Yeah, well, we’re not buying it.” Gabriel didn’t look convinced either. “You want to try telling the truth now?”
“I am. You’re just not accepting it.” Dean was looking at Cas now, eyes wide and earnest. “I know you’re religious. You used to pray every night, before Hell. I heard you.”
Cas had never told anyone that. Not even Gabriel. “Why me?” He said softly, voice cracking with nerves. “There were so many other souls down there that were more deserving.”
“You don’t think you deserved to be saved.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Just tell me why.”
“Because it was the only way to stop the apocalypse.”