SPN Fic: And this Great Blue World of Ours, Chapter 12

[vail_kagami]

Title: And this Great Blue World of Ours (Chapter 12)
Fandom: Supernatural
Beta: minviendha
Characters (overall): Dean, Castiel, Sam, plus a number of angels and demons
Rating (overall): NC-17
Warnings (overall): violence, torture, drug use, insanity, mentions of rape
Spoilers: Going AU during episode 5.18: Point of No Return. No spoilers for season six.
Words (this chapter): 9,320
Summary: A man wakes up in a ruined wasteland, without memories, without a name, without knowing the strange guy who claims he used to be an angel, or that he once had a little brother. All he knows is that the world is dying, everyone is lying to him and that somehow, somewhere, something went terribly wrong. Because someone said Yes when they should have said No, and someone else paid the price.

Masterpost

There is a problem Dean hasn’t anticipated: he doesn’t know how to summon a demon.

It’s so ridiculous he actually laughs a little when he becomes aware of it. He’s pretty sure he actually does know how to do it – more, that he did it before, more than once. In fact, he knows with absolute certainty that just a day before, when the plan first formed in his mind, he knew how to do it. He didn’t even think about it – the knowledge was simply part of his being. It would have been just as silly to try to summon it as it would have to actively remind himself how to walk.

And now it’s gone. Dean left Blue Earth going west until he found a road and then he followed the road, hoping he would eventually find a crossroad. It didn’t even take long, in the end. And when he arrived and decided to put his plan into motion, he very nearly actually did it before he realised he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to do.

The knowledge is there – Dean feels so sure about it when he doesn’t try to remember, but the moment he does, it slips away from him.

As if it was deliberately blocked. And he can very well imagine who is responsible for that.

For a while, Dean attempts to not think about it and just do it, but all that get him is a hole he dug in the centre of the crossroads and no idea what to do with it. He’s pretty sure he needs to put something in it, but it’s hard to let his subconscious take care of that when he doesn’t even have the demanded objects.

Collecting things that are hard to get and probably require a certain degree of improvisation these days is damn hard without thinking of it.

What Dean thinks of – after giving up – is Castiel. He finds himself a hidden place between rocks overgrown by sickly-yellow ranks and hopes his dear angels – both of them – won’t find him when they come looking. With Jena that’s unlikely, since she’s all powerful and that, but then Dean remembers that thanks to some hocus-pocus Castiel did to his ribs, even archangels can’t find him and feels a lot more optimistic.

He set his camp a few minutes’ walk away from the crossroads, as far into the rocks as he could charm his horse into going. They shouldn’t be too easy to find here, he decides – even though this is the crossroad closest to Blue Earth in this direction and therefore one of the first places Cas is going to look for him. He isn’t stupid, after all.

Just untrustworthy.

Food is a problem. The horse finds something to munch on between the rocks and happily does so until it had enough and lies down to rest, but Dean isn’t so keen on eating grass, and he hasn’t been this hungry since they traded their food for stupid permits. He’s come across a couple of apple trees on the way and even went off the road for half an hour to collect as many of the tiny fruits as he could, but there wasn’t a great number to be found in the first place, and the few he had are long gone.

He gave one to the horse, actually. It looked like it would like that.

Now he waits for nightfall with a rumbling stomach and all his senses tuned in to his surroundings. It’s been a while since he became aware that he has no weapon that can kill demons, but there’s nothing he can do about that and if the angels don’t find him, neither will the demons.

Unfortunately, that includes the ones he wants to find him, of course.

Eventually, night falls, but Dean is too wired to sleep. He sits propped against a rock in a damn uncomfortable position almost until sunrise, every now and then shifting around until he ends up in another position that’s just as uncomfortable.

When he finally slips into sleep, he only notices when he turns another time and finds Michael sitting on the rock beside him, an unreadable expression on his disturbingly youthful face.

Hell, that boy couldn’t have been more than twenty when Michael stole his body!

“It’s been a while since you showed your face,” Dean growls, acting like he actually wanted the angelic dick to keep stalking his dreams.

“Contrary to what you might believe, I do have responsibilities to take care of besides you,” Michael says with insufferable dignity. “I have a war to fight, as you know.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I owe you that much. After all, you want me to be here.”

“Not really. But I expected you to come. And since you’re here, you can give me back my knowledge of demon summoning rituals. And don’t deny it – I know it’s you who blocks it!”

Michael doesn’t try to deny it. “I am responsible for you, Dean,” he says, sounding like a mild, patient parent – the kind of parent Dean is pretty sure he never had. “I can’t let you make a mistake like this. It is my duty to protect you.”

“To control me, you mean?” Dean snorts. “Do I have to remind you that you no longer run around in this body? And you’re not getting it back, you lying scumbag. So just give me back my bloody memory and let me make my own mistakes!”

Michael frowns at him. Slightly irritated. Insufferable bastard.

“I never lied to you,” he says, latching onto the entirely wrong thing and ignoring the obvious issue.

“Of course you didn’t. Except for the point where you tried to influence my actions by making me believe I raped my fucking brother. When in fact it was you…” Dean’s voice almost breaks and he has to stop talking. It hits him like a sledgehammer the moment he says the words. This guy, this asshole right before him, raped his brother.

“I have been nothing but honest to you,” Michael protests, and Dean wants to punch him. “I know the truth is brutal, but you deserve to know, so you can create your own picture instead of depending on the one others feed you. I know Castiel told you something else, and I am certain you believed him willingly.”

“Because I know in this regard, at least, he was telling the truth.”

“Do you? Tell me, Dean, do you actually remember? Or do you just judge Castiel’s words the truth because it is easier that way.” There is nothing on Michael’s expression but mild curiosity, but perhaps he simply hasn’t learned how to use this face yet and his collection og expressions is limited. “Think about it, Dean: didn’t Castiel always tell you just what you wanted to hear?”

Dean’s first instinct is to laugh at him and maybe spit in his face. After all, Cas has told him a damn lot of things he certainly didn’t want to hear. That he destroyed the world is only one of them. But when Dean thinks about it, he can’t deny that he had similar thoughts before. There were uncomfortable truths, but they were so fundamental that Castiel could hardly have gotten away with keeping them from Dean. And then there’s his brother – no doubt Cas’ bitterness about the kid’s fate is real, and no doubt he wants Dean to suffer for it, at least a little. So Dean has to wonder if the unpretty things he learned about himself are really the truth or just Cas wanting him to feel bad.

Because whenever Dean started to go in a direction Cas wasn’t happy with, whenever Cas was threatened with losing him, he started presenting things from a different perspective to make Dean feel better. To keep him close and under control. Like he did when Dean had his breakdown weeks ago, in the empty house with the burned out room.

It’s what caused Dean to leave in the first place, after all.

But of course, now here’s Michael, doing exactly the same.

The archangel seems to notice his doubts. “I can help you,” he says. “If you’ll let me. I cannot restore all your memories – it would break your mind. But I can give you back some of them. Enough for you to see I am the only one who’s completely honest with you, regardless of how it makes you feel.”

So far, the only one who was completely honest to Dean was Lucifer, but he doesn’t think mentioning that would improve the situation. “How would I know you’re not making things up? Or showing them out of context? It wouldn’t prove anything.”

“Wouldn’t it? Or are you simply afraid of learning something about yourself you don’t want to know?” Michael’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, Dean. It will all make sense to you. You did nothing wrong, nothing unforgivable, and you will see that, if you dare to look.”

Dean hesitates. He feels challenged in his pride, and at the same times as if he’s walking into a trap. Most of all, he wants answers and fears Michael might be right.

“Then do it,” he says, and grinds his teeth before the angel even starts.

-

It’s not at all as he expected. Dean remembers, but not at once. It’s like he’s living everything again, yet his head is also full of the future. He knows where he is and what is happening in the present, with Michael’s hand soft and cool on his forehead, yet the knowledge quickly fades to the background and the memory doesn’t feel like a memory but an event. In an instant Dean knows this isn’t pulled up from his own mind but from Michael’s who was there, in the back of Dean’s consciousness and lived through everything as a spectator, gaining full insight into Dean’s thoughts and feelings because their minds were merged the way they are now. Just as quickly, Dean lets the knowledge slip away as unimportant as the events of the past wash him away.

It’s like a dream where he knows he’s dreaming but doesn’t care, and even though the dream just started he’s at home in the dream world, knowing everything there is to know about it and his role in at as if it had been going on for years. Michael touches his mind and Dean is standing at the edge of a cliff, feeling the wind and smelling the salt of the sea as if for the first time in years. And it is the first time in years – the first time since he said Yes that he’s in control, that he’s himself and not just a spectator of his own life, getting glimpses and impressions every now and then but mostly unimportant as if he didn’t even exist. He didn’t anticipate, when he gave his consent, that it would be like this, couldn’t foretell the helplessness and insignificance he would be feeling after he gave up every chance of making his own decisions, of making a difference.

Michael means well, he knows. Michael was the lesser of two evils when Dean chose him, but he knows now that the angel only intends to do the right thing, and that he wants to protect Dean as much as he can. But it still means a total loss of control, and that is hard to deal with.

It seems even worse now he’s got it back, because he knows that it’s only for a moment. It’s not like Michael wouldn’t give him a break every now and then, but a war is a serious business and the leader of the armies of heaven simply cannot afford to take a break from his vessel. Even now he’s still there, ready to take over and smite anyone who might pose a thread, and this little episode in itself is a gift they can hardly afford. Dean is aware of that, and it’s not that he isn’t grateful.

It’s just that he hates what his life has become.

It’s all Sam’s fault, of course. It was Sam who drove him to say yes in the first place, because Dean knew sooner or later his brother would betray them and he couldn’t let that happen. He remembers looking at the world and feeling the weight of the decision; a little girl running by, and he would wonder if she’d be one of the people who’d die if Michael got his vessel, while knowing she would die in any case if he didn’t.

And all that mess wouldn’t have happened in the first place if Sam had listened to Dean and not to Ruby. If he hadn’t been so arrogant, so convinced that he knew better, was better than anyone else and let the devil out into the world. Everyone who’d already died was Sam’s fault, but they were also Dean’s fault because he hadn’t stopped it, because he had hesitated too long to let Michael in, and because he was Sam’s big brother and therefore responsible for his actions. He had known Sam couldn’t be trusted, after all. He had known it like Dad had known it but in his naïve love for his brother he hadn’t been able to accept the cold truth until it was too late.

And even after Lilith, when Sam was so full of regret and shame, Dean knew those feelings weren’t real. Sam might have believed they were, but in the end they were just the shame of being proven wrong. Deep down inside, Dean knew, Sam was still convinced that he was better than Dean, that he should be the one in charge, and that he couldn’t possibly go wrong. Dean knew Sam was making up excuses for his actions, and for drinking demon blood again – getting back his powers, repeating the same mistakes over and over because he was a junkie and junkies couldn’t be trusted. It would lead him straight to Lucifer, and he’d probably feel like a fucking hero when he finally said yes and doomed the world. Just because someone told him he had to and Sam so desperately wanted to be right.

And Dean couldn’t stop it because Sam didn’t listen to him. Just like he couldn’t stop it before because Sam didn’t listen to him and Dean wasn’t hard enough, was too blinded by a lifetime wasted on taking care of this boy.

It was his fault, and it was Sam’s fault that it was his fault and Dean hates him for it. It’s a hate that was born of love and disappointment; the strongest ingredients for wounds that will never heal.

Now Dean looks down at his brother and feels nothing but empty rage that needs an outlet. (Another Dean is looking down with him and feels something else.) It was Michael who found Sam, even though it wasn’t easy. Demons working against Lucifer have closed him in a block of concrete and thrown him in the sea, and the block is decorated with every angel-repelling symbol ever created. It took torturing a couple of Crowley’s minions to find out what they did, but once Michael knew, finding the block and taking it back to the cliff was easy.

Michael was the one who broke Sam out of there, but Dean has been somewhat aware of the events and the angel felt his anger. He retreated, leaving Dean in charge from the moment Sam came awake with a gasp and limbs flailing in remembered panic.

Then there was a moment of stillness, followed by Sam sitting up and becoming aware of his surroundings. He saw Dean and his eyes widened in an almost comical mixture of confusion, fear and hope.

“Dean?” he asked, his voice thin and rough and full of doubt.

“How do you know that?” Dean wants to know. The last several times they met, it was Michael in here, and for all he knows, to Sam there never has been a doubt about it.

“It’s you.” Sam shakes his head in amazement. “I can tell. You’re not Michael. Oh God, Dean…” Tears fill his brother’s eyes, and at the same time Dean’s rage flares up anew. There Sam sits, acting as if all will be fine now Dean is himself again. Showing no sign of awareness that Dean might hate him. The thought doesn’t even seem to occur to him, as if he didn’t see Dean actually has a reason to.

Ignoring his own faults, as always.

“I’m not here to stay,” Dean says, and Sam freezes at the coldness of his voice. “Michael just kindly stepped back for a moment because I have something to say to you.”

“…Dean?” The doubt is back in Sam’s voice, and stronger now. His brother displays signs of not adoring him and immediately Sam jumps to the conclusion that it can’t be him after all. Dean would laugh if the disgust hadn’t paralyzed his face.

“It’s been brought to my attention that you keep trying to find a way to get me back,” he says, his voice icy. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to get back to you, Sam? Newsflash: I didn’t let Michael in just because I had no other choice – I actually mostly did it to get away from you!” Now the laugh does come, short and bitter. “I tried to cut off contact, but you found your way back. I couldn’t even escape you in death because someone would bring me back anyway. Don’t you see? Michael is my only chance of ever being free of your oppressing existence. Because you just can’t see that I don’t want you anymore! I haven’t for a long time – maybe even before Ruby. Maybe before I went to hell. Because deep down inside I always felt you weren’t worth it.”

Sam stares at him dumbly. He doesn’t say anything, which is just fine with Dean.

“Stop running after me,” he says. “You and Cas, stop acting like I got kidnapped or anything like that. I don’t want you to “save” me. Leave me the fuck alone!” Taking a deep breath, Dean finds he enjoys the expression on Sam’s face more than he thought he could enjoy anything anymore. “I’m perfectly happy with things being the way they are,” he continues.” If you ever find a way to pull Michael out of me, all you’ll get out of it is me hating you even more than I already do. I swear to God, I’ll feed you to Lucifer myself!”

“You don’t mean that,” Sam says, looking at him with those damn puppy dog eyes Dean has fallen for far too often. But not this time.

“Oh, I say something you don’t like, so of course I can’t possible mean it! Guess what? I don’t exist just to please you and make up for your shortcomings, little brother!”

Sam is still on the floor and it occurs to Dean that he probably couldn’t get up if he wanted to. Good. Because Dean can tell that Sam still doesn’t believe him and he has to convince him that Dean really doesn’t want to get back to him. That he has no problem with hurting him, humiliating him and leaving him in the dust.

He starts with kicks that leave Sam breathless and unable to speak. Only when Sam has been beaten into submission and is convinced that it is over does Dean sit down on top of him, tears off his brother’s torn and bloody clothes and proceeds to prove him wrong. (Because he is a memory he doesn’t hear the other Dean who is screaming at him to stop.)

He only stops when Sam isn’t moving anymore and stands, filled with a grim satisfaction and the irony that, after all, he has still been able to teach his brother a lesson he won’t easily forget.

Michael stirs inside him and calls for attention. He senses another angel nearing; fallen, its grace almost gone. Dean straightens and looks down the slope leading up to the cliff to see Castiel run up it. He is still far away and wouldn’t have been able to see Dean even if he had looked in the right direction. He moves with haste but without caution and it is obvious that he doesn’t know Michael is anywhere near him. His grace is so far gone that he can’t even sense an archangel anymore (and the other Dean wonders about that because Cas has sensed Lucifer all the way to Atlanta but he didn’t sense Jena and not even Michael back when he was still that much stronger and maybe he hasn’t been lying about that after all).

Something changes. There is a sense of confusion, vague and distant, followed by something like triumph. It feels wrong and alien even in the memory and then Michael lowers his hand and Dean is standing between the rocks again, gasping for air as if he’d just been pulled from a river he was drowning in.

“No,” he says. He’s crying, he realises, and that’s odd because he feels overwhelmed and disoriented, but not sad. Not desperate. Because as promised this vision really did open his eyes.

“What a load of bullshit,” he spits as his anger wells up and finally takes over.

Michael looks a little taken aback. It’s obviously not the reaction he expected. In fact, he looks honestly and genuinely upset, and Dean just righteously wants to punch him in the face.

So he does.

It has no effect, of course. It doesn’t even hurt his hand because this is just a dream and Michael isn’t really here to be punched, but it probably gets the point across.

“I understand the experience was intense, especially considering your general amnesia, but that was uncalled for,” Michael scolds. “It may be uncomfortable but that is what you asked for, is it not? What I showed you is the truth. How can you doubt your own memory?”

“I know myself, that’s how!” Dean informs him furiously. “And this? It all felt wrong. I don’t even remember my brother and know I’d never think of him like that. And I’d never… If I wanted to punish him, there’d have been other ways. You think I would sacrifice my self-respect for some stupid bitch who makes me feel like that?” He’s beginning to ramble, so he pulls himself to a stop. Fact is, Dean can hardly tell lie from truth right now. All those wrong memories are scattered in his head, confusing him. He needs a moment to think.

Still, he knows what he knows. And nothing of that was true. “I felt you inside my mind the whole time,” he says. “That was just you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Michael does sound regretfully, but also a little distracted, like he has trouble staying focussed on the conversation. “I see Castiel had more success twisting your mind than I feared.” With that he’s gone. Dean, who expected an extended argument and still has so much rage he needs to expel, is left standing there alone, blinking at the empty spot.

Then he wakes up.

-

Everything is wrong. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go. Dean still has no chance of doing what he came for, because one of the countless the memories Michael did not return is that of summoning rituals. He doesn’t even know if he wants to anymore. He is, frankly, confused, and his mind is filled with things that are bad and wrong and evil.

At least he has clarity now. He didn’t hurt his brother, not like that. And perhaps Castiel has been the most honest with him after all. Michael he can’t trust, that much is clear.

Maybe Castiel’s plan can even work. Dean just has to trust him and Hell, that’s hard. Almost impossible, since Cas wants to elevate himself to godlike levels and Dean doesn’t even know if he’s thinking of anyone’s benefit but his own.

But then, he did drag Dean along all the time for nothing but the increased danger of being found by Michael. Or sold out.

Perhaps when he told Dean he did it for the sake of their old friendship, he was actually speaking the truth. It seems, at least, that he’s not secretly conspiring with Jena after all but really unable to sense other angels, except for Lucifer. For whatever reason.

Perhaps not. But Dean is aware that right now he’s not exactly setting an example in trustworthiness.

Also, with his other plan facing unsolvable difficulties, it’s not like he has another choice but return to Cas and Jena and stick with their plan. But it isn’t going to be a glorious return, and Dean isn’t looking forward to it.

If he’s really, really lucky, Cas will be so absorbed in his research that he won’t even have noticed Dean was gone.

-

He’s not lucky. Of course he isn’t – for all he knows, Dean has never been lucky in his life.

He’s a little lucky, perhaps, because Jena is nowhere to be seen. It’s just Cas, on his horse, riding down the road towards Dean’s crossroad. Of course, by that time, Dean has long since left the crossroad and is on his way back to Blue Earth. He sees Cas long before he meets him, and when Cas sees him he slows down so it still takes them some time to meet in the middle. Much time for Dean to think about what to say.

They meet. They dismount. And then Castiel punches him in the face.

After that, Dean doesn’t feel obliged to apologize anymore.

-

“Where is your half-psychopathic angel bride?”

The question is asked after hours of strained silence and earns Dean only a blank look. “Jena,” he clarifies. “Or whatever her name is.”

“She left,” Castiel explains. “Didn’t want to get involved too much. She said she did her part and the rest is up to us.”

“Sounds like her,” Dean mutters. Castiel doesn’t reply and they get back to the silence that makes Dean feel like a scolded little boy who has to go to his room right after dinner and not come out until he thought about what he did wrong.

There are a few things he’d still like to say. ‘Let’s go somewhere else’ is one of them. They returned to Blue Earth because Castiel isn’t done with his reading yet and the church offers shelter, but after seeing the place for what it really is Dean only finds it creepy. However, his complaint doesn’t seem relevant enough to bother and Cas probably would have ignored it anyway.

They left the horses right outside the church this time. Castiel sits on one of the benches that bear the names of those who had no choice but die for the cause and Dean sits a good bit away, on an unmarked one. He should probably get one of the journals, do some reading of his own, but he can’t summon the energy for it. Everything feels distant and unimportant, and yet he’s strangely restless and nervous.

He wonders if he should tell Cas of Michael and what he showed him. It doesn’t seem like a bad idea, except he doesn’t see what difference it would make and would rather not revisit the event in his story. So he keeps silent and ignores the nagging little voice that keeps telling him something is off. That Michael left far too quickly, gave up too easily. It seemed strange then, and makes Dean feel like he missed something.

It’s probably nothing, but Dean’s life – the one he leads now, though it probably also applies to the one he doesn’t remember – taught him how very dangerous it is to brush anything aside like that. Yet, there’s not exactly anything he can do about it. It’s not like he can ask Michael what that was about.

Or that he ever wants to see the asshole again.

Something might have come up. Something important, somewhere else. A battle to fight, a demon to torture. Maybe Michael’s loyal angels found something iinteresting and let him know just that moment; a village that is still standing, for example.

Or a soul that has been missing for too long.

“If anything happened to my brother’s soul,” he eventually asks because the thought won’t leave him alone. “Would you actually notice? Even if you’re far away from the hiding place?”

“Yes.” The answer is pretty monosyllabic, but it puts Dean at rest some. If someone had found the soul, Michael wouldn’t have hesitated this long, and Castiel certainly wouldn’t have kept silent if it had been taken.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks anyway – today, his mind just wants to torture him, it seems. “Is it protected somehow? Is there a magical connection or something? Or is this more a case of ‘I would notice because the world would end’?”

“I would know the moment it was discovered,” Castiel specifies, somewhat reluctantly. When Dean demands to know how, he merely presses his lips together and says nothing.

It’s somewhat typical. First he complains about Dean not caring about his brother enough, but when Dean wants to make sure the kid’s soul is safe, he refuses to hand out any information, as if Dean would run and rattle him out to the highest bidder the moment he can.

Okay, so his recent attempt to escape and make a deal with the enemies of mankind doesn’t look good, but Dean would have made sure he didn’t sacrifice any soul but his own there. Besides, that Crowley guy can’t be interested in Lucifer finding the soul any more than Dean and Cas are.

Not that he tried to use that argument in their discussion of the whole event – mainly because that discussion never happened. After Castiel’s well aimed punch that missed breaking Dean’s nose by half an inch, their entire dealing with the resulting issues was stuffed into hours upon hours of uncomfortable silence.

“So, this is helping you save the world?” Dean eventually asks, pointing to the journals. He’s meaning it as a ‘Hey, I still think your plan sucks but I fail to come up with something better so let’s hear about it’ peace offering, but Castiel only glares at him.

“No?” Dean challenges. “I thought this was supposed to show you how to crack purgatory and become powerful enough to kick Lucifer’s ass.”

“It’s complicated,” Castiel admits.

“Well, that’s vague.”

“It will work,” Castiel insists. “Once I get what I need for the ritual.”

“Oh, I knew it!” Dean tries to resist the urge to throw his hand in the air in gesture of frustration. He succeeds, but the frustration is still very audible in his voice. “I was thinking, why, if this makes you so damn powerful, didn’t anyone do it before? Lucifer, for example, who is after power and has a damn army at his command to get him whatever he needs. And the answer I came up with: Cracking purgatory makes you God, but it’s pretty damn impossible to do.”

Which is another way of saying ‘Your plan is useless’ and doesn’t help to improve the general mood.

But Castiel remains calm on the outside, even though he appears to be quietly pissed. “It’s difficult to do, but not impossible. Enina herself offered a detailed description of what to do and even left hints where we might find what we need. I believe she approved of my plan.”

“Oh, she knew you’d come, right.”

“Just like she knew her hometown was doomed.”

“And did nothing to stop it.”

“Judging by her notes, she didn’t know details of what would happen. Enough to know an end was coming, but not enough to warn anyone.”

“And you still assume it’s you she wants to support you here? Maybe she just realised how to crack purgatory and decided to write it down before she forgot about it. Like a recipe for pie.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It does. Apparently you are the only one stupid enough to try.”

“It’s not common knowledge. And it… changes you. It will cut you off from all you once were, and many fear that.”

Jena mentioned something like that. But still…

“Oh please! As if anyone ever shied away from the price they had to pay for power!”

“Michael wants to play things by the book. And Lucifer has no love for purgatory. He still calls himself an angel full of pride and does not wish to change. Further, he is convinced he will be powerful enough on his own once he gains his vessel, and he might just be right.”

“Arrogance, then?”

“Partially. It was always his biggest fault. But also redundancy.” Acknowledging Dean’s questioning look, Cas says, “Look around you: There is only Michael standing between Lucifer and his goals of taking over everything. The remains of mankind are around because the devil allows them to be, for the moment. You think Michael will stop him he decides to destroy everything? So what would Lucifer do with even more power?”

“I don’t know. Smite Michael seems like an idea.” After all, it’s Michael who wants to play it by the book. Lucifer seems the more… pragmatic type.

But Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think he wants to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s his brother.”

Dean leans back on the bench that creaks under his weight. “Michael doesn’t seem to have such a big problem with that.”

Castiel only nods. “That has been their tragedy from the beginning.”

-

They stay the night in the church. Dean doesn’t sleep and neither does Cas. The fallen angel keeps staring into nothing long after he finished with the journals. So long Dean eventually asks him what’s wrong.

“The hardest part will be getting the blood of an inhabitant of purgatory,” Cas explains, though he doesn’t look at Dean and it seems more like he’s talking to himself. Also, Dean can’t imagine that’s what’s keeping him from sleeping.

“So we need to get the blood of a monster who died and went to purgatory, then came back?” Well, it does seem like a bit of a plan-killer right now.

But Cas shakes his head, still not looking at him. “Not all things in purgatory are deceased monsters. Some are native there.”

“And they come out?”

“Rarely.”

“Great. How does that help?”

“I need to figure out what to do with the soul.”

Huh. An unexpected change of topic. “What do you mean?”

“If I… change, it might not be safe anymore.”

“Because you might turn evil and destroy it?” That doesn’t sound good at all. Dean finds himself confirmed in his opinion that the plan sucks.

“No. It’s… complicated.” Castiel sighs and closes his eyes for a second. “I cannot explain it to you. Please don’t ask anymore. The problem with the blood might not be a problem at all. At least not a great one.”

“No? You happen to know a monster who might donate?”

“I might know one who already did. Even if not, there is a way of summoning them that… “Jena” explained to me.” Dean can almost hear the finger quotes.

“Oh, great. She can go summon one then. Bet they’re gonna love that.” If things go really well, the plan falls moot because the monster eats Jena and then fucks off without leaving any blood. Well, a man can always dream.

“It might not be necessary. We’ll see in the morning.”

That seems like a waste of time considering neither of them is sleeping. “Why not now?”

“Because the light is very bad.”

As usual, it’s impossible to tell when Cas is joking.

It is, however, very dark. Dean has to admit that. He can conclude from that fact that the possible blood must be hidden somewhere nearby because the darkness is no argument against starting a journey of a thousand miles.

Inside the church it gets even darker once Castiel blew out the single candle they had burning. It’s the kind of darkness that invites the mind to make up things. Steps here. Breathing there, slowly coming closer. The rusting of clothes brushing over the wooden benches.

Castiel remains perfectly calm. Maybe his mind isn’t out to play tricks on him. He is, after all, not human and maybe his senses only pick up things that are actually there.

Well. Dean’s subconscious may be as active as anyone else’s, but his instincts are better honed. He knows what’s real and what isn’t.

The little shuffling sound just on the edge of his hearing range is most likely a rat.

The stone walls of the old church project a sense of security few buildings can. Dean could probably sleep well here, if he could bring himself to try.

For a while he almost thinks it’s the prospect of meeting Michael in his dreams that keeps him awake, but something tells him the archangel won’t show up anytime soon. So maybe he’s just not tired.

Or he doesn’t want to revisit what Michael showed him in his dreams. His mind keeps circling around those images, and even though he knows with certainty they didn’t show the truth, it’s hard to let it go.

Strangely enough he wishes he could talk to Cas about it. The fact that Cas is the only one around might be a factor in that.

The fact that they are hardly on speaking terms right now keeps him silent.

Cas eventually does fall asleep. Dean hears his breathing even out and in the first weak rays of light falling in through the high, coloured windows, his companion is a motionless dark lump on a bench full with the names of dead people.

Until Cas snaps upright, just when Dean is on the brink of drifting off himself, and gasps, “Lucifer!”

At first Dean is convinced the angel had a nightmare. When Castiel grabs his bag and runs toward the door telling Dean to get moving, he realises that the danger is very real.

So Dean runs after him. The thought is back how Cas can even sense the devil nearby when he didn’t even sense Jena on the other side of a door, but it drastically loses importance as they push open the door and take in the world outside, dimly lit by the light of yet another dirty orange morning.

There’s no one waiting behind it. The town lies still, quiet and dead as it did before and for a moment Dean hopes Cas confused dream and reality after all. But the angel immediately takes off in a run down the street and Dean follows.

He doesn’t even know where they are going. There seems to be no plan to this; Cas is running in blind panic and Dean can only hope to keep up.

His thoughts are racing right along with him. Why would Lucifer show up now? What does he want? And how the fuck do they get away from him?

They run between the houses, keeping out of sight where they can, but after the houses there’s only open land waiting for them. So there’s only little comfort in the knowledge that with the sigils on Dean’s rips Lucifer can’t really find them the way he could find everyone else. All those sigils do right now is open the question of how he found them in the first place.

Jena must have told him, the little bitch! She’s the only one who knows where they are. Even Michael hadn’t known. Dean didn’t tell him and he never asked.

Or maybe they knew from the beginning because the angels did observe them all the time after all.

It doesn’t matter now. What matters is getting away, because Dean can’t imagine a meeting with the devil would go as smoothly as it did last time – at least not for Castiel, who last time rather left Dean behind to be captured than risk meeting the same fate.

They dive into the ruins of a burned out house and out on the other side. Castiel takes a moment to orient himself, then runs on towards the next hiding place. At least he seems to be sure of the direction and Dean wonders if he can sense where exactly in the town Lucifer is.

Another stop for orientation offers a welcome chance for Dean to catch his breath. “How…” he begins, and is cut off by a hand, hard as steel, wrapping around his throat.

He hardly has time to be surprised before the world whirls around him and he crashes into a hard surface. Hard but not unbreakable. It submits to the impact of his body and only after he crashed to the floor amongst pieces of broken planks does Dean realise that he was just thrown through the wooden wall of the building they used to hide from sight only seconds before.

The expected finishing blow doesn’t come. Dean tries to get up the moment he remembers how to open his eyes but he can’t move. Then the pain sets in.

Piercing, stabbing pain going all through him. Broken ribs, he identifies – but it’s more than that. His one mobile hand feels for his chest and finds splintered wood, sticky with blood.

He’s been impaled and he’s dying.

But even that doesn’t seem important now. His eyes seek Castiel and find him with his back against a wall, the hand of a tall, strong man in jeans and a leather jacket wrapped around his throat and holding him up off the ground with ease. Dean wouldn’t have to see the tell-tale signs of rotting flesh to recognize Satan.

“I got you!” the devil sing-songs and it’s odd that Dean can hear him so clearly even as it gets harder and harder to breathe.

And then Lucifer plunges his hand into Castiel’s chest.

Cas jerks and screams, but there’s no blood. It looks like Lucifer’s hand just goes in there without breaking anything. Then Cas says something that Dean can’t make out and Lucifer laughs an ugly laugh.

“Dean told Michael, and Michael told me. He has been getting really, really impatient lately - you can‘t imagine how happy he is we finally found it! Even if we had to have a little help.” He throws a glance in the direction of Dean and winks before turning back to Cas. “To be honest, I didn’t think the plan to let Dean go would take us anywhere. Guess I’ll have to hand one to my older brother.”

Dean wants to defend himself, wants to tell Cas that no, he didn’t tell anyone anything. But he can’t even gasp, let alone speak, and Cas is looking at him with agony and betrayal written all over his face.

Then Lucifer pulls out his hand along with a shining ball of bright light that may be the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. At the same time Castiel’s eyes begin to glow and a scream that doesn’t sound human in the least is torn from his chest.

The next thing Dean sees is an explosion of light that in its wake leaves a dark impression on the wall Cas is trapped against – an impression he’s seen before that makes him want to scream with breath he doesn’t have.

By the time the darkness swallows the rest of Dean’s world Lucifer has disappeared and the image Dean takes with him as he goes is Cas lying motionless on the ground beneath the shadow of his wings.

-*Interlude IV*-

They were lucky, perhaps for the first time in years. Not only did Castiel see a grounded ship the moment they got in sight of the ocean, the large tanker was even more suitable than anything he had dared to hope for.

Sam missed the glory of that sight, because he was barely clinging to consciousness and because Castiel had not told him what they were here for or what they needed. It was part of the ritual: for it to work, Sam couldn’t know anything about it. Not what Castiel would do nor what result, exactly, he was hoping for.

Knowing that, Sam had never asked, in all the weeks they needed to find their way from Williamsburg to the East coast. He trusted Castiel, and that trust gave the angel hope when little else did.

Their journey had not been easy. Castiel felt his own weakness, stemming from a long time of neglecting his own needs. He had hardly eaten since Teag first took Sam. And since getting him back he barely dared to sleep, holding constant vigil. He had only left Sam alone when he found a safe place for him to hide while Castiel left to find a demon and take his blood. Sam couldn’t keep down anything else and the withdrawal would kill him. Castiel couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let anything kill his friend. Not now.

Withdrawal and attacking demons weren’t the only dangers. Sam was ill, the effort of the journey almost more than he could bear. He had no reserves left.

While Castiel stopped to take in the sight of the tanker, Sam trembled with exhaustion against his side. He soon was shaken by another coughing fit that left him wheezing with blood on his lips. Only when his failing lungs had calmed down did he look up. He blinked between the stands of hair falling into his face, clearly struggling to make sense of what he saw.

“We made it, Sam,” Castiel said and held Sam a little closer to protect him from the strong wind. He’d lose it soon, this warm presence at his site.

“It’s a ship.” Sam’s voice was hoarse from coughing. He blinked again, letting his eyes wander. “How do we get over?”

Castiel didn’t know if his friend was aware enough to realise they were supposed to be on the ship, not just near it, or if his mind was so muddled by fever and exhaustion that nothing else made sense. It didn’t matter – either way, he was right.

“The water is very shallow,” he said. “We can walk.”

“We’ll get wet.”

It was the fever talking. When he was clear-minded, Sam didn’t pay attention to such details.

“It’s not far,” Castiel assured him. It wasn’t a lie if seen relative to the entire size of the ocean, but the ship was still a few hundred yards away from the shore and he had to hope there were no deep spots hidden beneath the surface. Sam was in no condition to swim.

The way would be difficult enough even through shallow water. And then they had to get inside the ship. There was a large hole on ground level where much of the underside had been torn away, but even so, there might be climbing waiting for them before Castiel found the kind of place he needed.

They rested for a while once they reached the water’s edge, but Castiel was too restless to let them linger long. He was worried, likely irrationally so, that something would attack them now, this close to their destination.

The water was neither cold nor warm and shallow all the way, never reaching higher than their thighs. Yet, as expected, it was still difficult to walk through the water and the slick and Sam was breathing hard, making it only with Castiel’s support and on reserves he could only waste because there was no point in saving them for anything else.

The ship was looming over them, getting larger the closer they came. A silent giant, relic of a lost time.

They entered through the hole in the belly where Castiel left Sam waiting just inside, on the first dry ground they found, while he climbed up into the darkness that filled the ship beyond the thin light falling in through the hole. It took half an hour for him to find a way up and return to get Sam, but despite the rest he’d gotten in the meantime, Sam didn’t make it halfway up over the ladders and narrow stairs he had to feel for in the dark. There was no room for Castiel to carry him here and he needed both his hands to climb. So they had to take an extended break, and several more after that before they reached the upper levels where weak daylight could be seen at the end of a very long corridor.

Fortunately the ship had never fallen to its side but only leaned to the left ever so slightly. Otherwise everything would have been that much harder.

Castiel lifted Sam in his arms once their surroundings allowed it. His friend was too exhausted to protest. He was breathing far too fast, too shallow.

He was dying, but that was okay. It was, for the first time ever, okay.

Castiel would win this race.

He found a room that was suitable after searching only for minutes. It must have been a canteen once: there was a large table surrounded by a dozen chairs, and everything else didn’t matter. Castiel gently laid Sam down on the empty table and began to move the chairs out of the way.

Afterwards he took everything he needed out of his bag. Fortunately, the ritual didn’t require much – the only difficulty had been finding a knife with an ebony handle and a glass blade. Castiel had improvised in the end, as soon as he found ebony to work with.

Broken glass was not exactly a rare thing to find.

Beside the knife, he only needed chalk, a leather rope, four bouquets made of dry wood, and a dry place inside a large body of saltwater.

Sam watched silently as he made his preparations. The chalk was used to draw symbols on the floor and the table. The wood bouquets were placed in every corner of the room, inside glasses Castiel found in the cabinets. The long rope he cut into four pieces with the knife.

After he finished drawing, Castiel took the pieces of rope and used them to tie Sam’s wrists and ankles to the table. Sam’s eyes never left him while he did it, but his face remained unreadable. He never tried to stop his friend but willingly let it happen.

In the end, Castiel set fire to the wood in the glasses and let it smother. It would take around ten to fifteen minutes for them to burn down completely, and only then would the ritual be completed. If it took less than nine minutes and nine seconds, it would fail, which in this case would mean all was lost.

What followed was the hardest part. Castiel leaned over Sam, his hands wrapped around the handle of the makeshift knife so hard he could feel the symbols he craved into it dig into his palm. But his voice was calm when he looked into Sam’s eyes and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tied to a table and faced with a knife, Sam’s answer came without doubt, without hesitation. Castiel nodded wordlessly. A lump in his chest made it hard to breathe when he set the first cut.

He had to draw it out until the wood was burned down. Speaking was not allowed to him after the initial question. If Sam asked him to stop or he no longer trusted Castiel in the moment of his death, the ritual would fail.

Castiel’s sense of time was as accurate as ever. The length of minutes was never subjective to him. Yet he kept one eye on the wooden bouquets and wished they would burn down faster. In a sense, the twelve minutes and thirteen seconds during which he carved up Sam the way the ritual demanded were indeed the longest he had ever experienced.

Sam never once even screamed, though he couldn’t keep completely quiet as ancient symbols and random lines were cut into his skin deep enough to do permanent damage had he been meant to survive this. When the last remnants of the bouquets were but a glimmer at the button of their glasses, his eyes opened and he and looked up, panting and covered in sweat, at Castiel who tried to smile as he set the blade right over Sam’s heart.

Sam’s body arched and shuddered when Castiel killed him, but he died without a sound. The ritual had worked. Castiel would have known it had even without the blinding light that filled the room for one second, was gone the next.

Afterwards, the body on the table wasn’t Sam Winchester anymore. Castiel closed his eyes and waited until his hands were no longer trembling and breathing no longer hurt. He wasn’t sad. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off him and replaced with another that was much easier to bear.

From now on, he had to hurry. Sam was gone but his soul had not gone to hell. Castiel had only little time before Lucifer or Michael would find this place.

The final object in his bag was a bottle of holy oil. He emptied it over the body on the table and the rest of the room before setting it on fire with a match thrown from the outside. The fire would burn for a long time. It would destroy all evidence of the ritual and maybe even harm the body so much that Lucifer would be distracted for a long time by his attempt to set it back together.

Soon, Lucifer would come here, and Michael would follow. Castiel hesitated for a long minute before he pulled an old ball pen out of his bag, and a journal that had been damaged by water and had little unfilled space left. He tore out one of the remaining empty pages and quickly wrote a brief message before folding the paper once and leaving it on the floor of the corridor where it would be found.

Dean, the message read. If you can see this, know that you do not need to worry. Your brother is safe. I live now only to protect him.

There was not much point in it. Michael never let Dean’s consciousness surface, so Dean would never get the message. He never even knew what had been done to his brother for decades. Yet Castiel felt the need to do this, as if by telling Dean he turned it into a sacred promise that could never be broken.

And perhaps he had to tell Dean because this should have been his job. Dean should have been the one to put his brother above everything else, and Castiel would never, not even if Michael ever let him go, stop resenting him for the fact that he didn’t.

Half an hour later saw Castiel walk through the shallow water back to the shore. He barely felt the wet clothes that clung to his skin or the wind that had grown colder. Instead, he was for the first time in years aware of the essence of Jimmy Novak that bound Castiel to this body he wore, now curled protectively around the fluttering, exhausted soul inside him. There was little of Jimmy’s consciousness left; Castiel didn’t know what kind of instinct made him want to keep Sam safe and protected but he was grateful, on Sam’s behalf.

Sam could rest now. Castiel and Jimmy would keep him far under. If all went well, Sam would never be aware of anything again.

Castiel reached the shore and turned North, a single line of footprints trailing after him as he walked on.

-end act one-


ACT TWO

Author's note (outdated): This story, as a whole, is divided into two parts, and this was the finale of the first one. I am already working on the second part, but I won't start posting it before I have written at least three complete chapters. So there won't be a new chapter in two weeks. Right now I estimate a break of two or three months.

I'm sorry I have to put in a long break like that, but keeping up the posting scedule is impossible at the moment. I've decided to do this so when the story comes back you will know that a new chapter will be ready every two weeks, just as before.

Some (semi-)final words: When I started posting this story, I didn't think anyone would read it. As it turned out, not many people do, but the readers I've got are exceptionally patient, loyal and enthusiastic. Thank you so much, guys! You keep me writing!

Comments

[fleeting-wings.livejournal.com]

OMG THERE WILL BE MORE!

I came to the end of this chapter and literally sat there dumbfounded because I thought that was the end. But it's not AND I AM SO HAPPY.

But also sad. Because omg, poor Sam! The interludes are my favorite parts because we would get another piece of the story, but my heart literally breaks each time. Sam. This makes me want Cas to keep making Dean feel bad because he really deserves it, but then I think about how he's lost all his memory and about the old Dean who really loved Sam, and this new conflicted Dean still cares for his Sam even when he can't even remember who he is. I'm so conflicted towards Dean right now, and it's all your fault! haha

Also, your Cas is such a wonderful character, and I feel for him. He was so devoted to Dean before (in Canon) and your story shifts that loyalty and protectiveness to Sam, which makes me love you beyond comprehension. I'm tired of all the Dean/Cas stuff in canon and in fandom, and it's so refreshing to see Cas and Sam like this, even though the circumstances are so dire. Reading about how Cas keeps having to watch Sam die and come back a little more broken each time is so painful, and how he had to kill Sam in order to protect him. It hurts, but it hurts so good. ;_;

And Sam. Oh God, if Dean had said yes in the show, I can see Sam doing everything Your Sam does. The devotion and faith he has in Dean, in my opinion, sometimes exceeds Dean's faith in Sam. Dean loves Sam, yes, fiercely no doubt, but I think Dean doesn't give Sam's love enough credit. But that's just how Dean's twisted mind works, I suppose.

This last chapter, it was the hardest one to read. Dean really did rape Sam and Sam just took it. It made him stop seeking out Michael, but he never stopped trying to get Dean back. I cried a little reading this part because of all the nasty things Dean said, picturing Sam's face and imagining what he felt. That must have broken him more than anything Lucifer, Michael, or any other demons and angels could ever do to him.

Also, the part about Sam and Cas living in that camp and what happened there--Sam's withdrawal and using his powers to protect them while destroying his humanity, the guy shooting Sam because he kept screaming, and Cas waiting for Sam to come back. When Sam apologizes in your story, it makes me want to kill everyone and everything that's hurt him. Just glad that Cas was there for him when the person Sam needed most wasn't. Ahem /glares at Dean.

God I wrote like a freaking essay, but I'll just consider it an ode to you and your amazing story. I never really read gen, but I love your writing so I had to read this, and of course, am not disappointed at all. I really hope you update soon, and continue writing for the sake of writing because you are wonderful at it. Talent like yours should be shared with the rest of us ♥ Thank you for this, and can't wait for more!

[vail_kagami]

Nothing wrong with writing an essay! Thank you so much for your commen!

This is Sam how I love him best: broken, but stronger than anyone else. And I always loved fics in which Cas and Sam were closer, so really, this is a pretty self-indulgent fic. (If we ignore the fact that my favourite character hardly ever appears.)

Dean didn't rape Sam, by the way, but I understand that the way I handled that scene made it easy to misinterpret. But when Dean was certain afterwards that the memory was fake, he was actually right.

I'll post a timestamp from Michael's pov sometime during the break that will clear things up a little more.

[fleeting-wings.livejournal.com]

Ah, you tricked me! hahaha I didn't doubt the rape because of how connected I thought Dean and Michael had been, and though PURE Dean wouldn't have done it, broken!Michael/Dean would have. It's quite a twisted thought, but at least now I know I was wrong, which is so much better than the other scenario.

And I love how you described this Sam. You're totally right and that's why Sam's my favorite character. Also, please keep indulging in your ideas because they seem to indulge mine as well ;D

You said part two will have more Sam? I so cannot wait! And also for the timestamp. Thanks for this!

[vail_kagami]

I love it when tastes match so well!

Started writing the timestamp today. It's odd, getting into Michael's head for a change. Anyway, it won't be very long, just a little something to break up the hiatus.
...except I had it planned since long before deciding that there would even be a hiatus.

[percysowner]

I'm one of the readers who has been following this. This chapter was just devastating. Dean's memories just killed me. Although I know he would never have gone so far as to rape Sam, I do think that the thoughts he remembered were true to Dean's character. I do think that when Dean was considering saying yes to Michael that he did think Sam would fold and say yes to Lucifer. I know Michael pushed Dean's buttons and brought out all the betrayal and anger that Dean did feel and then he pushed the level up. I ache for Sam for having to deal with Dean in that state. He knew that at least part of it was Dean and I'm sure that only helped to break him more.

I didn't guess that Sam's soul was within Castiel until Cas sensed Lucifer, then I knew. I hope that the years of being sheltered in Cas's body and comforted by what is left of Jimmy's soul has helped to heal Sam's soul. Of course, I hope Sam proves Dean's doubts wrong and continues to refuse Lucifer.

I will miss your biweekly updates, but I want you to take care of your life and to write the best fic you can. I will look forward to seeing updates in a few months. I really hope you finish, as I have been disappointed by other writers. Whatever happens, I do love this story and I thank you for posting it.

[vail_kagami]

Thank you for being a loyal reader! Your comments always make me happy!

In order for the fake memories having even a slight chance of fooling Dean, the thoughts presented to him had to be pretty close to his original personality. So that was bascally Season 5!Dean, just twisted a little and more extreme. It didn't fool him, but it fooled some of my readers. I guess that's something, at least. :P

The second part of the story will have a lot mroe Sam in it, that much I can promise!

Thank you for sticking with this story!

[kiwivolution]

Excuse me for a second...
afjklas;frglkmvk;lreokldfld

Okay, I'm back. And let me say that was just wonderful! I read it from start to finish! I was so engrossed in this world you created, and I can't wait for more. I'm glad I started this a bit late, because I'm holding on to the hope that that means a new update will come sooner rather than later.

So, everything I loved:
Your characterization is just marvelous! I've fallen so hard for the Cas/Sam friendship you got going on here. It's perfect. The interludes were great. I was so happy you gave a little past perspective. The way all of that affected Cas and changed him has made him such a powerful character.
You did Sam so well. How he refused to give in, how no matter what he wanted to help... His story is so heart wrenching, and, God, all the emotions you made me feel... His stuggle tore me to pieces.
Plus, Amnesia!Dean is such an interesting addition. I bet you had fun playing with his character. So many possibilities. I love how you portray his new relationship with Cas; the thin line between trust and mistrust and those little feelings he has for his friend in the back of his mind.
Also, Jesus Christ you nearly broke my heart in two with that last bit about Jimmy and Sam. Wonderful!
And Michael... I just love the route you took with him. He's a manipulative bastard and I love it.

I wait with burning anticipation for the next part.

[vail_kagami]

Thank you so much for your commen! It's great that you liked it and thought the characterization worked for all of them. You're right: wroting Dean this way was fun, but it also wasn't always easy.

And you're lucky: I'm about 40,000 words into act two and am going to post the next chapter soon. It's at the beta factory right now.

By the way, there's also a short timestamp from Michael's point of view, if you're interested. You can find it here.

our blue world

[auroramama]

I didn't get where Sam's soul was until Castiel said he would know if it was found. Then I just nodded, like after a piece of music ends; it felt right.

It's a cruel canon, where the angels were told to bow down to humans, not just because we had been given the brand new gift of Free Will, but because even without it we may have been an improvement on angels. Sure, humans have done terrible things. (In our universe, we've at least imagined all the terrible things.) But most of us don't do them. In the SPN universe, there seem to be fewer angels who would balk at torture in the entire Host than there were good people in Sodom.

Or perhaps I should just say that your Michael chose an entirely worthy representative in Zachariah. He doesn't even seem to understand that there's no imperative forcing him to give Dean memories of raping Sam, that it's about hurting Dean in any way he can think of. At least Zachariah knew he was being petty; that he was a petty being. Michael can't see himself at all.

Fascinating, rich, and satisfying.

Re: our blue world

[vail_kagami]

Thank you so much for all your comments! I really appreciate them!

Just wanted to point out, because I know it's easy to miss if you read by following the links at the bottom of the chapters, that there's a (rather short) timestamp from Michael's point of view that explains some of his motivations concerning the rape. (There's a link in the masterpost.)

[cordes]

This was amazing. I won't continue reading from here on because I want to be on edge as much for the second part as I was for the first, so I'm waiting until some more chapters are out.

Thank you so much for writing this. I haven't been into Supernatural for about a year and a half, but this just sucked me right back into it. I loved the apocalyptic atmosphere and the characters and the actually believable conflict which side to believe. So amazing. I didn't feel the need to eat in front of my computer for a long time, just because I could not stop.

Well done. Thank you for this enjoyable evening :-)

[vail_kagami]

Thank a lot for this awesome comment!

I'll keep updating this regularly, and hope it won't be too much longer. (The whole thing has about 200,000 words by now.) Hopefully, you'll enjoy the second part as much as the first one!

[capp712]

Words are hard to put down for the shear awesome story you have posted and provided. Many times you had me in tears and I am so glad that I had the opportunity to read this beautifully written story.

I am a bit confused to how Lucifer figured out where Sam's soul was hiding. I figured it out to a point but then Lucifer commented that Dean told Michael and Michael told him but what I read Dean didn't tell unless it was from his memories that Michael was able to realize.

Thank you so much for sharing.

[vail_kagami]

Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it.
And you're right, Michael realized from Dean's memories. It's actually explained at the beginning of act two.