Use Your Illusions, Chapter Eight

[wanderamaranth]

Title: Use Your Illusions
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC17 (Rating has changed!)
Warning(s): blasphemy, violence, language, character death
Spoilers: Up to and including the promos for 6x19, "Mommy Dearest"
Pairing(s): eventual Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa
Authors: wanderamaranth  and quantum_witch

Summary: In trying to defeat Raphael’s armies, Castiel has employed a desperate and dangerous gambit which backfired in the worst way, and now must turn to the Winchesters for help. Meanwhile, Dean slowly comes to understand he doesn’t have all the time in the world to accept his 'stupid girly feelings'. And Sam finds himself, quite literally. Every possible wall comes tumbling down, for everyone.

<<Chapter Seven

Weapons distribution and creation was slower and more tedious than Dean thought it was going to be. He kept shooting Castiel longing glances; it seemed the one time he did want the angel's gaze firmly attached to him was the one time he'd be busy elsewhere. Dean internally pouted as he watched the angel walk to the far end of what they'd determined was going to be the battlefield, gesturing towards an old cabin that was being converted into an emergency hidey-hole/medic center.

Dean thought that was rather optimistic of them; he knew the chances of the humans in this upcoming shindig surviving were slim to none. But he wasn't going to argue against it; often times the only thing that stood between a man winning or losing was a show of confidence from his leader, Dad had once said. And despite his protests, the humans thought of him as their leader, so he was going to lie and act like everything was going to be fine.

Everything was going a bit too smoothly, actually. In Dean's experience, things like this weren't supposed to be planned ahead of time, or well thought out, at least on his side of things. People were milling about, but it was with purpose, and he kept waiting for something unexpected to happen, just because it was so unusual that nothing unexpected wasn't happening.

The unexpected finally happened right after Sam called for Eve. No, Dean didn't know how it was done; he assumed it was some sort of freaky mind thing or bond or whatever. But Sam had closed his eyes, gone stone still with a fierce expression, and then opened fully-golden eyes to announce it was done. Dean wasn't going to argue; if Sam said he called her, he did, no matter how much it just looked like he was constipated.

And so they were carefully preparing their chosen battlefield, when Ziz appeared.

"Ziz," Sam said, not keeping the surprise from his voice. "You're...not who I was expecting."

"She heard your call, Samael." Ziz said, coolly. "She will come in her own time."

"That's reassuring," Sam said, even though it wasn't, "but there's an epic fight that's gonna start any time now, and—"

Ziz blinked her large dark eyes at him. "Your battle will happen with the rise of the sun, not its setting."

"Uh...great." The nun (who of all those prophesying the who-where-and-when of this heavenly showdown had the most complete visions) must have been confused as to the exact timing. This was technically good news, Sam guessed; it would give them more time to prepare, but it would also give the troops more time to be nervous. Grinning weakly, Sam handed the book he'd been skimming off to an angel with a small nod. Dean watched as they both just stared at each other after that for a long, uncomfortable minute, before Sam broke and said, "Um. Why are you here?"

Good question. Like that question, Dean thought, but was not about to say. To say that Ziz hadn't been happy with him at the parting of their last meeting would be like saying 'rain makes you wet' or 'war kinda sucks'.

"Your human brother. Where is he?"

"Here," Dean said, stepping forward. He gave a bare approximation of his normal charming smile, wondering even as he forced it across his features if it looked more like a grimace than a grin. Ziz certainly didn't look impressed with it.

"Dean Winchester," she said, words carefully paced and concise. What was with all the really scary monsters and saying his full name? "I have come to tell you I will not interfere in your coming battle."

"Um. Thanks," Dean said, wondering if he should point out that it wasn't his battle, exactly, it was more Cas' and they were just helping out, but then he realized how lame that would sound, and it had the flavor of a lie anyways.

"But I do demand retribution. You stole a child from me and I will not be satisfied until I receive a sincere apology and a proper tribute."

With seeming disinterest Ziz looked across the barren ground to where various hunters are placing simple trip-wire landmines in shallowly carved out hollows. Her gaze skipped beyond them to where yet another group of hunters were being instructed in the use of their holy weapons and straight towards Holly, who was demonstrating her backpack holy oil flamethrower to a small cluster of angels, who watched the spray of fire with wide eyes.

"I...sincerely apologize," Dean said, with a great lack of creativity. Sam pursed his lips in a significant manner, and Dean continued, slowly, "Is there any way we can make amends?"

"These are your troops," Ziz stated, betraying nothing more than a vague interest.

Dean flicked a brow at his brother, but Sam shrugged, not knowing where she was going with it either. "Yeah," Dean nods. "But they don't have anything to do with-"

Ziz turned back towards Holly and paused. Her eyes narrowed in on the woman and she walked towards her. Without asking permission, giving warning, or any concerning for the burst of flammables coming from the tip of the thrower's nozzle, Ziz insinuated herself close to Holly and kissed her upon the cheek. As calmly as she'd approached the woman Ziz retreated, returning to Dean with a barely-there smile. "Our debt is settled."

"What did you do?" Dean demanded. He looked beyond the mother phoenix to Holly, who swayed slightly on her feet and then straightened, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened. She returned to her demonstration, picking up right where she left off.

"As I said, our debt is settled. She was yours; now she's mine."

"You...you turned her into a monster?"

Instead of answering a question Dean already knew the answer to anyways, Ziz said, "Cross me again and you shall perish."

Dean nodded. "Understood."

"Goodbye, Dean Winchester," Ziz said, and was gone.

*~*~*~*

"What the fuck?" Dean growled as he stomped into the motel room and flung the flaming sword with total lack of concern for either the value of the weapon or the bed for it's flammability. "I cannot believe that someone could have a vision about the apocalypse, right down to the place and time, but not know if it's AM or PM!"

"Dean, it was her first vision," Castiel sighed as he followed the frustrated hunter inside and closed the door. "She's quite young, and unaccustomed to visitations from the Virgin Mother of God. All she saw was a clock on the wall, which doesn't indicate day or night, merely the hour."

"Fuck," Dean reiterated, running his hand through his short hair. "We've got two more days to void our contracts with Crowley, so please just tell me we're fighting the forces of Heaven tomorrow? I can't believe I just asked that."

"Yes, Dean, it will be in the morning. So you have time to rest and refresh your strength before battle. I suggest you go to bed."

"Or," the hunter said, his voice lower and far less agitated, "we could both get into bed." He stalked slowly over to the angel, grinning suggestively. "We could get a little grace-on-soul action."

Castiel's eyebrows went up very slightly. "I don't think—"

Dean had reached him and was sliding fingertips up his arms, up to his jaw, around the back of his head, and tugging him forward until their lips met. It was gentle at first, but Cas knew it would soon turn passionate and desperate, and considering the way he felt now – head pounding, gut aching – it would be folly to encourage the hunter, and he hadn't the strength to argue. Regretfully, he stroked two fingers across Dean's temple and caught the man's body just before he hit the floor, but didn't have the power to lift him onto the bed.

He loved Dean, and would probably die for him again. But he also couldn't let the human see his wasted condition. Balthazar had been right – he was having withdrawal. He should call his brother and…

No, he wouldn't take another soul. He'd promised himself, and therefore promised Dean.

He sat on the floor for long minutes until Balthazar came of his own accord. The other angel begrudgingly put Dean on one of the beds then gave his attention to his brother. He peeled the trench coat, jacket and tie from Cas' shaking body, and held him for the next hour while the other angel sweated and moaned weakly, and at one point vomited in the toilet.

Balthazar begged that Cas allow him to bring a soul, to have a quick fix, but was rebuffed over and over. Stubborn damned thing. He sat in frustration as Cas shivered like he was frozen through. Like he was back inside Raphael's cage in Heaven. Then, it was he who'd pled for Castiel's freedom, the only one who dared speak up or face the wrath of the archangel. He was very nearly punished for doing so.

Why his brother loved the very human who caused such tortures, Balthazar would never fathom. Even now, weak and hurt and needing comfort he refused to take, Cas lay on the bed near Dean, eyes trained on the human's face as though it alone would save him. The depths of Balthazar's hatred grew until he was willing to risk his brother's wrath to tear off the hunter's pretty head, and probably would have if Sam hadn't come in and taken over.

Muttering soft curses, he pushed past the enormous hunter and snarled, "Your brother is lucky you chose to fall to be in Dean Winchester's life. My brother isn't lucky he chose to copy you."

Sam did his best to care for Castiel for a couple hours, putting cool clothes on his face, helping him back to the toilet for dry heaves, and forcing him to drink water. He was extremely glad that Dean was unconscious.

Through it all, Cas never did what he'd done – beg for the substance that had brought him down to this, not even when Sam offered his own soul's energy. While he was proud of Cas' willpower, he was also greatly worried. And wondered how the angel expected to fight tomorrow's apocalyptic battle.

After five hours of hell, Castiel rested. He awoke three hours later, feeling drained beyond belief. It was only gazing on Dean's peaceful face – and feeling the amulet around his neck – that gave him any desire to get up.

Sam had been researching but was now asleep, head on his crossed arms at the motel table, laptop still open to whatever web page he'd been reading last. Cas vaguely remembered the hunter saying he wanted to look for any other method of calling Eve forward, since she'd declared even Samael wasn't a good enough reason – she was apparently annoyed at him for both ancient and recent slights. Though he doubted anything would come of it, Sam still searched.

Sitting up slowly, his head still slightly ached, but it was clearer. He washed his face in the bathroom, and gazed dispassionately at the dark circles under his eyes. His strength was returning slowly, and he knew the day would be epically challenging just for him alone. But he would face it.

He went to wake Sam when, without warning, the amulet pulsed hot against his chest. He gasped softly, and put his hand over the small lump beneath his shirt. Oh, Father. God wasn't there. But it must be of great importance as it had never worked, even while standing right next to his Father. The amulet pulsed again, warm, not hot. The warmth seeped into him, into his grace, giving him a bit of energy. His Father hadn't forsaken him after all. He would be successful in battle today, and his plans for the final stroke would—

With a small smile, he bent over Sam, meaning to shake him, and glanced at the laptop screen. There were several windows open, some to banishing spells against the Leviathan specifically. And there was another thing, brightly colored, in the corner. Castiel, having learned how to click a mouse at least, opened this image. And he froze. It was a page of a medieval illuminated manuscript, from a book called The Winchester Psalter. The back of his neck tingled as he looked closer at the picture. An angel, with a key, locking the gate of Purgatory. No. An archangel, the caption said. The mouth of the Leviathan barely contained behind that gate, still filled with monsters struggling to escape, so close to the surface…

His flesh crawled and he wondered if he would be sick again. He'd been planning to try this. But now he knew there was obviously something greater to be done.

He closed the laptop, woke Sam, woke Dean (who didn't remember anything but the beginning of a "really nice dream, pity it was only a dream" while smiling warmly at Cas) and they left the motel to meet the rest of their team and prepare for the true battle.

*~*~*~*

It started out so civilized, as though there would be rules to the battle. The two armies stood ready, facing each other across the hard-packed desert ground.

On one side were Raphael's angels, multitudes standing row after row after row, still and waiting in their black suits. They were professional, honed like razors. Scary as shit. To Dean and Sam, it looked like a convention of reapers. And neither of them doubted those guys were present in droves as well. Dean would be sure to say hi to Tessa.

On the other side were Castiel's band of rebels. Dean had already compared them in his mind to the Rebel Alliance, because, hey, lots of them had super powers that were roughly Jedi-like and were mostly dressed alike and had cool weapons. And the rebels always won. Plus of course Cas had that Rod thing, which he would eventually whip out and it would grow about ten times and he was going right back to Hell.

Okay, think of something else Star Wars related. Who would be which character?

He was obviously Han Solo, because no one else was allowed to have that badass role. That meant Sam the Sasquatch was Chewie, which made Dean actually snort aloud. (Sam glared as if he knew what Dean had thought.) So did that make Cas Luke? After the night before last, it might be Leia. Dean grinned a little stiffly. Those two were twins anyway, close enough. Bobby was obviously Obi Wan. Except Obi Wan died, and that wasn't a thought he wanted to pursue further, so he snapped out of it and focused on the situation in front of him.

His Luke/Leia was striding across the desert to meet Ms. Darth Fucking Vader in business casual and high heels. That was fucked up.

It was the very definition of exercise in futility, trying to meet halfway and follow protocol of honorable battle. Cas was trying so hard not to risk lives. It made Dean's throat ache. Damned angel, war was supposed to be dirty and brutal from the get-go.

Raphael knew that. Without warning, she released her blade and swung at Castiel's throat. He ducked just in time, and from a crouch he lashed out his leg and took her down. He stood up with his own blade drawn but could not attack, because Raphael's entire army was suddenly moving as one across the field. Castiel could only retreat to join his forces.

How the hell were they supposed to do this? They had ten times fewer fighters. Everyone was skilled in combat, but the numbers were what mattered in the end. Oh well, he'd died so many times already he probably had a punch-card in his soul, and hopefully when it was full he'd get something really awesome like peace on earth. That wouldn't suck.

He took a deep breath and threw himself into the fray. He couldn't afford to pay much attention to where anyone else was, not even Sammy. This time he knew his brother had an advantage like never before. Sammy would be fine, Cas would be fine, Bobby and the hunters would be fine. He chanted that to himself while he hacked and slashed with his great big flaming sword. Lucky for him it was a heavenly weapon, and it worked just as well as an angel blade in taking the bastards down. Even more impressive than the blade really; that just made grace shoot out and explode. This thing made them burn like a Roman candle while the grace shot out and then exploded. Even luckier for him, the fire didn't burn the wielder. This thing fuckin' rocked.

*~*~*~*~*

Sam plunged the St. George lance into angel after angel, managing to spear two together once. His strength had grown again, he could feel the archangel inside him flexing and pounding away, but never trying to overpower the human. At last, he had synergy.

He grinned tightly, and knew if Dean saw his face right now the ferocity would freak him out. So he did his best to stay away from Dean. He knew his brother could hold his own. He was focusing more on keeping angels away from humans.

The hunters battled like the seasoned pros they were, going after everything in a business suit. Well, the ones who didn't have blue bandanas tied on their upper arms. Yes, Dean's idea. They couldn't play as shirts and skins, he'd said, so arm bands would have to do. No good if players who couldn't tell one angel from another killed their own team. And thank God for Dean's childish ways, sometimes.

Some of the hunters' weapons were modified guns or swords, which weren't killing but were maiming the vessels badly enough the angels had to pause to heal themselves. At least a dozen angels had been chopped up badly enough that they'd abandoned the vessels entirely. Not dead, but no longer in the fight.

The oldest three hunters, Bobby included, were waving mystical warding devices and chanting various spells in Enochian that protected or expelled. Any human within ten yards was safer. And any angel within that same space was cast from their vessel, so they had to be very careful around their own troops. But it was working.

Other hunters had various heavenly weapons, most of them in sword, spear or axe form. They were doing a fair amount of damage with those.

And then some weapons were just… inspired.

Holly had her flame thrower (ex-military, she'd said, and she knew where to 'shop'). The tank was filled with a mix of liquid propane and holy oil. Not enough to trap an angel, but it sure as hell hurt them when it hit.

The pair of guys he'd met at her place were kicking ass and taking names, lobbing what looked like homemade pipe bombs (God, was everyone a secret anarchist?) filled with who-knew-what. Obviously mystical in nature, it left the angels who were hit dazed and confused, but had no effect on humans. He'd have to find out what that stuff was. It had come from the shamans, some herb or weed that was mixed into the explosives.

For a band as small as they were, it was amazing they'd lasted the twenty minutes they'd been fighting so far. But no one was stupid enough that they didn't know how this would end.

Dean's motto: 'Kill some evil sons-of-bitches and raise a little hell' was definitely embraced by every person on the field. He really hoped any of them survived to enjoy the hell-raising, and that it wouldn't be literal.

They were losing people, of course. Many angels had fallen on both sides. And two hunters. He was bloody himself, and it wasn't all from the enemy. It wouldn't last much longer.

Then… what the hell?

Another army, almost as big as Raphael's, came swarming across the field. They laid into the archangel's troops with inhuman power. Sam could smell the sulfur from fifty yards away. Demons?

Again, what the hell?

He found himself pushed near Balthazar for a moment, and the angel shouted, "Crowley sent them!"

"But he wants us to fail, he wants our souls!" Sam shouted back.

"He wants something else even more! They're on our side, for now!"

And they were swept away from one another again. Sam fought his way toward Dean to share the news.

He was almost where Dean fought, just in time to see one of Raphael's angels stab him through from behind. He was inhaling for a scream, but Dean didn't even notice the blade. In fact, there was no blood. The angel he fought went up in flames, and the one behind him looked completely stunned. Sam took advantage of that moment to rush forward and impale him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. Dean turned, smiling and sweating.

"Hey, Sammy! Not doing too bad, eh?"

"Yeah, and we have reinforcements! Crowley sent demons and they are on our side, so don't kill 'em!"

"You're fucking kidding me!"

"Nope!"

Dean was silent half a second. Then nodded. "Okay, man, let's kick some angel butt."

And back to kicking they went, pulled away from each other again.

*~*~*~*

Dean really wished he hadn't allowed himself to get separated from Sam.

When the demons came swarming through the red-rock landscape, sick grins and even more demented gleams in their eyes, Dean had thought things might actually turn out well for them. He didn't understand completely why Crowley had sent the reinforcements, but he didn't particularly care. They started to win, and it was awesome.

Then Raphael called in her big gun.

If he hadn't been facing towards Cas in that moment, Dean doubted he would have seen exactly what happened. Cas'd just swept his sword forward, slicing cleanly through yet another of Raphael's asshole angels, when the she-bitch herself actually reached down her blouse and pulled something out. Raphael stumbled on her sling-backs as she popped the cap and to throw its contents on Castiel. Some sort of sparkling powder spilled on her, and she cursed even as she tossed the rest over Castiel. Raphael made a complicated hand gesture, and Castiel fell to his knees, gasping.

"Cas!" Dean screamed, even knowing it was futile; there was no way Castiel could hear him over the din. He lost several seconds as two more angels converged on him, but Dean had a purpose and a mission: Cas was in trouble. He was going to save him. With a wide sweep he dispatched both of them, and a quick knee to the gut distracted the third who followed close behind long enough that he could whack the angel across the back of the head with the flat of the blade.

When Dean looked up again, Raphael's fist was connecting with Castiel's sternum, and then he was flying across the field. Dean watched in horror as he tumbled precariously close to one of their outlying IED patches. Castiel was able to stop himself just short, somehow, of the trip wire, and Dean barely had time to thank God when he was knocked down from behind.

Dean and the angel atop him tussled briefly as a rocking boom sounded out somewhere across the field. Swearing as he jammed the blade through his combatant's fleshy abdomen, Dean shoved the flaming now-corpse aside and reflexively looked towards the source of the noise. It seemed several of Raphael's troops had sought to take advantage of Cas while he was down. Dean grinned in fierce delight at the chunks of their vessel's charred remains still burning merrily, as they were blown to bits by the holy oil landmine.

Castiel brandished his own blade and began making his way steadily back towards Raphael, and that was when she apparently decided that enough was enough.

Dean didn't know how Raphael managed it. One moment Cas was heading towards her with his 'someone is getting their ass smote in about two seconds' expression and then-

The ground began to rumble, then outright shake. Combatants crashed into one another, trying more to stay upright than to strike deadly blows. Then with a sound of thunder and a groaning creak, a sinkhole formed on the west side of the battleground, taking a good quarter of their demonic reinforcements and a fair number of their angels, too. Behemoth crawled out of it, his stupid ginger mullet ruffling in the dusty aftershocks.

And then they were really in trouble.

Behemoth, instead of charging directly into the fray as both sides clearly expected, knelt down, pressing his palm flat on the hard-packed earth. He began chanting softly.

"No!" Castiel shouted as he struggled through the tide of bodies, his voice carrying clearly across the near-hush that had befallen the battlefield. "He must not be allowed to finish that spell!"

It was too late. With a wicked curling grin, Behemoth clapped his hands, just once, and the ground twitched. There was no other word for it. It twitched, then rippled, and then-

"Holy shit," Dean said.

Dirt, dust, rocks, and the ashes of smote or slain fighters joined large bubbles of earth that began to swell out of the ground. First ten, then twenty, and then many, many more than Dean wanted to ever consider. The bubbles lurched upward as and began to solidify, forming legs, then torsos, followed by arms and hands and shoulders and fuck-it-all.

"Golems!" a far-distant voice shouted. As if it was a cue, each earth-made creature suddenly became animated and lurched forward.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean said as he watched the golems destructively shamble through what remained of their demonic reinforcements. "Hope your old lady gets here soon."

As if his words conjured him, Dean saw Sam through the ruckus. He was drenched in blood, but from the way he was moving it was clear that little of it was his own. His brother used the lance as if it was an extension of his body, keeping just the right amount of distance between himself and his opponents as he thrust and slashed through them. Definitely able to take care of himself if he'd been fighting under normal circumstances; unfortunately these circumstances were anything but normal. Sam's fluid step-step-thrust fighting had brought him close to the center of the conflict; right where Behemoth was now standing.

The beast had an even longer reach than Sam, and when confronted with the Spear laughed and knocked it away. Dean watched as his brother was picked up with one hand, as he held by the neck and shaken, and he roared at his own inability to help him. He was simply too far away; he'd never get there in time to save him.

And then with timing straight out of a movie, Eve appeared. With the same straight-from-a-movie flare for dialogue, she sneered, "Behemoth."

Behemoth answered her sneer with a snarl as he tossed Sam aside like so much garbage as he fell to a half-crouch and charged.

*~*~*~*

He was fading, fast.

The powder that Raphael had thrown at him (shifter bones mixed with a rare fae root, Castiel thought from the smell) had bound him to his vessel and limited his abilities as it ate away his grace, which had already been strained to its limit by his own refusal to absorb another soul.

He had no such qualms now. Victory was so close, just within his grasp. Victory, and freedom for Dean. Possibly peace.

Castiel wasn't going to risk that for the sake of a promise or his own sensibilities.

When Eve stepped onto the battlefield Castiel knew immediately, even though he didn't see it happen. He also knew as soon as she opened the door to Purgatory. Hundreds of amorphous humanoid shapes twisted into existence, screaming at a decibel beyond human comprehension. Without hesitation he reached for the closest monster soul and absorbed it into himself, then another. A dozen souls were pulled to power him before he slowed, chest heaving, face flushed.

"You are an abomination, Castiel."

Raphael stared at him with a curled lip.

"I am the abomination?" Castiel asked, watching her slowly leaking grace with horror. "You are the one using our brothers and sisters to power yourself! Look at what's happening, Raphael!"

Sweeping his arm outward, he motioned to where several angels had fallen to their knees, looks of profound agony twisting their features. They slumped and their graces began to burst, one after the other.

"They knew the potential cost of victory, Castiel. Can you say the same for the souls you've taken? About the soul of your vessel, your first tainted meal?"

Castiel snarled and attacked. It was inelegant, unplanned, and more than a little animalistic.

"Look at you," Raphael taunted as she easily deflected him. "You've taken in so many of those dirty souls that you're becoming one of them. You're positively smutty. Just one step from becoming a monster yourself. I'll be doing the universe a favor when I smite you. You're unworthy of any measure of His grace."

"Really?" Castiel breathed. He reached inside his jacket and withdrew the Rod. With a twist of his wrist it doubled, then tripled in size. Blossoms, buds, and ripe almonds sprouted along its length as it glowed a faintly phosphorescent blue. "Aaron's Rod finds me worthy," he said.

"Where did you get that?" Raphael demanded, her face showing the tiniest hint of worry.

Smirking, Castiel replied, "Does it really matter?" Tilting his chin up, he said, "Come and fight me, you spineless bitch."

More angels collapsed around them as Raphael hesitated. It was barely a flicker, not even a full second, but Castiel saw it. She was afraid, and a sibilantly whispering part of him reveled in it.

Raphael was dying. Her grace was leaving her faster now, and Castiel was holding himself together with the increasing influx of Purgatory's souls; it was becoming a losing battle for his rival archangel, and Castiel could see the moment Raphael realized it.

Electricity arched between her hands and her eyes glowed as her own grace shown through behind the depleting borrowed pieces.

Without a returned taunt, she focused a blast at Castiel. He ducked, rolled closer, and brought the Rod down upon her outstretched forearm. It snapped under the force of the blow, and Raphael let loose a small noise of pain.

"Do you remember the many uses of the Rod, sister?" Castiel asked, as he spun around and cracked it across the backs of her knees. Raphael fell into a kneeling position, and Castiel spun around again, swinging it up in an arc. Head snapping back, Raphael sprawled to the ground. Castiel stood over her, knowing that his eyes shown with righteous victory and something else, something much less honorable. "Or have you forgotten it is also the Devourer of Serpents?"

He didn't wait for a response. Grasping the Rod with both hands, he thrust it downward. It pierced Raphael's abdomen, and her grace bubbled forth and was absorbed completely by the Rod in one eye-searing bright flash. Her vessel twitched once and was still. With a grunt he extracted the Rod and faced the battle before him. Those angels left alive that were Raphael's forces were collapsing as they writhed in pain, the pieces of their grace that had been attached to Raphael being absorbed by the Rod as well. And as long as he held the Rod, their graces were his to command.

"Leave this place," he commanded, his true voice rolling like thunder amongst them. As one, they all left the earthly realm. Castiel wasn't sure where they had gone, but at the moment he didn't care. Raphael and his angelic forces were defeated, but that was not the only battle being waged, not now.

*~*~*~*

Shit just got real, Bobby thought was the phrase most appropriate to the situation.

The maddened souls of Eve's children were heading straight for them, now that the golems and Behemoth were gone. They needed blood and the hunters that survived had plenty.

They'd lost four hunters, including Holly. He'd seen her fall, guts ripped open by an angel blade before she could turn her flame-thrower spray in the right direction. She went down in a spill of blood and oil. She'd lain there for about ten minutes, then sat up screaming like an animal for about ten seconds. Then burst into flames.

Bobby had seen it all, he thought. That was something he should have known better than to think. In his line of business, there was always more to see. Unfortunately.

The flames died down five seconds later. And Holly stood up, looking perfectly fine, though naturally shaken. She looked around, baffled, and seemed to understand what had happened if the grin that split her face was an indication. That might not be a good thing.

But a sudden drill sergeant attitude took over and she started yelling commands to everyone around her, hunters and angels alike, and damned if they didn't obey. She was, smartly, pulling everyone back to the cabin. Even Dean followed her lead, and that was saying something considering the lunkhead was so fond of making himself the de facto leader. Bobby turned and trotted as fast as he could with the group.

She argued with Dean for a minute – good luck with that- and when Castiel swooped in soon after, she starting arguing with him too. They were arguing with a woman who'd just come back from the dead in a ball of fire. Bobby wasn't a fool, he knew what was going on. But he didn't know if they were gonna treat her like a monster or the hunter she'd always been (and apparently was trying to still be).

Hard to tell what the decision was, even when she walked outside into the approaching swarm of souls. A few seconds later there was a boom loud enough to rock the cabin and send everyone scrambling away from the windows. Well, that answered that question.

Until she walked back in a few minutes later, grinning ear to ear. Clearly being immortal was working for her.

Bobby had seen a lot, and he'd come to accept that even non-human creatures weren't always monsters. Cas was the best example. Maybe Holly could be another one.

*~*~*~*

"Sam is out there, Cas, we can't just leave him!"

"Eve will not physically harm Sam, Dean." Castiel snapped at him. "He knows what he's doing." In a softer voice, he added, "This is part of the plan. He's talking to her."

The cabin wouldn't hold long against the monsters battering at it. The golems were long gone with the Behemoth. But the souls of the Mother's children howled and tore at the building. No hunter could slay them in their incorporeal forms, these were not simple human ghosts. Even the worst poltergeist paled in comparison to their fury. And with their targeted enemy, the Behemoth, destroyed, they turned their rage on everyone left.

"But the souls-"

"Are hers to command. Sam knows the risk, but he asked to try, and I could not deny him that."

They could not win against this many. The remaining angels of Castiel's troops were all injured and unable to zap away, or to take any human with them. They were well and truly trapped.

Castiel pressed his head against the wall of the cabin and closed his eyes. Dean was still muttering in worry, but for once Cas ignored him. He couldn't do this anymore. He was so tired, he was gravely injured, he was covered in unmentionable gore. And he was losing hope. He couldn't save the love of his life after all.

Then the amulet pulsed, just once, warm and comforting. Castiel shivered. He knew it was time. The archangel must lock the gate and seal Purgatory. He was the angel… and the lock.

His fear gripped his heart tight, and for a moment he felt as Christ in Gethsemene. Father, take this cup away from me. Again, his hubris, comparing himself to God's human son. Humans came first, angels were made to serve…

Even with free will, he didn't have any choices left.

Dean was shaking him now, finally turning him around to continue shouting about Sam, When Dean saw the resignation mixed with determination on Castiel's face, he froze. "What's going on with you, Cas?"

Softly, just loud enough for Dean to hear, Cas said, "'The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can end it.' I said that to you once, Dean. Now it's my turn. Am I righteous, Dean?"

"Cas, you're scaring me, man," Dean spoke low and worried.

Castiel barely blinked as he pushed Dean's hands away and stepped past him. He reached Balthazar, who'd been glaring at them the entire time. He slipped off his ruined trench, rolled it into a soft ball and handed it to Balthazar, who took it with a concerned expression. As Cas began to unbutton his shirt, Dean moved forward and grabbed his sleeve.

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" he said frantically. "What are you doing?"

Castiel shrugged Dean's hand off and finished with the buttons, took off the shirt, then his tie, and gave these also to Balthazar, who stared at him with a white face. Dean's shouts for answers went through his head like the wind, he couldn't listen. Didn't dare. He turned though, to look at the hunter. And saw Dean's eyes pop.

"My amulet?" he gasped. "How the hell did you get that?"

"God," Castiel said tonelessly. "He sent me a message and I know what I must do."

Dean was completely terrified now. This was suicide talk. "No, I won't let you go out there." He paused, amazed at himself. "Not even to get Sammy. You… you're my—"

Castiel softened and looked in his eyes now. "I know. You're mine as well. Only. Ever." He stroked fingers down Dean's cheek. "It doesn't change a thing."

Then Castiel kissed him, achingly, but so fleeting. He pulled away and stared deeply into Dean's eyes. So blue, impossibly blue, they burrowed into Dean's soul so deeply he felt the new sigil throbbing. He could only stare back and beg silently for Cas not to do whatever the hell it was he was planning. He could tell Cas was committing every detail of him to memory. The angel swept his calloused thumb across Dean's lips after kiss.

"I am not God," Castiel said, voice smoke gray in the twilight, "but I will salt her flesh and serve her as a feast for you, Dean. My righteous man. You will rest under the canopy made of her skin, and know peace when this is done."

"Cas," Dean croaked. This was a goodbye. He didn't want a goodbye.

He said nothing, was just gone, wings brushing Dean's shoulder and a displacement of air his parting touches.

Released from whatever had held him, Dean shouted at the top of his lungs. "CAS! No, God damn it, no no no," it was a demand and prayer rolled together. And it went unheeded.

Balthazar dropped Cas' clothes and strode toward Dean, and shoved the human hard against the wall.

"This is his choice. You are his choice," the angel sneered, getting right in Dean's face. "You are what he chose, to defy Heaven, to battle and kill his own kind, to suffer and bleed and die for. A pathetic, feeble minded chimpanzee."

Dean shoved back, though it was mostly ineffectual. If Balthazar hadn't been bleeding grace slowly from his abdomen, it wouldn't have worked at all. "Shut your damned mouth! You act like you care so much about Cas, and you're the one – YOU – who turned him into a soul junkie!"

Balthazar laughed bitterly. "Yes, he's not alone there," the angel admitted. "I'm the one who led him into temptation, who brought him to a demon. He believed, so badly, that he could win. I couldn't watch him fail without trying everything that could possibly help."

"That's your excuse? You poisoned him!"

The angel took half a step back. "You poisoned him first, in a way that could never be flushed out of him. You've rotted him to the core, I see that now. He gave it all and went to find more so he could give you that too. He's insane, but he's my brother."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You're in love with him."

"If I were it would make no difference. He's blind over you. He spent his grace inside you, fucked you with part of himself no human deserves to touch. And he just had to go and put a ring on your finger to top it off." He waved toward Dean's chest. "Signed his name on your soul, signed himself away to you! It 'protects his heart', which is you, you twice-damned putrid maggot! Why do you think you came away today without a scratch. Because of that."

Dean couldn't even speak. If that's what Cas really did… "God damn it, I'm gonna kick his ass…"

"He won't live long enough for that, you asshole!" Balthazar shrieked and drew his angel blade, swinging at his neck, but missed because he was weakened. "I may not be able to kill you, but who knows, I might get lucky."

Dean flung himself away and reached for the nearest weapon. Sam's damned lance, great, he didn't know how to wield it. But at least it was long enough to keep Balthazar far out of arm's reach as they darted around one another, screaming vile remarks.

The other angels had backed away, refusing to involve themselves. They knew the Righteous Man was not to be harmed. The humans simply cowered.

Balthazar stumbled, his grace leaking badly now, and it seemed he purposely leapt forward onto the lance. Dean, shocked, surged forward and pinned him to the wall.

The angel hung there, grace sputtering like a bug zapper. He coughed normal red blood though, and he grinned through red teeth. "It's all right Dean, I was dying anyway." He held out his blade in a shuddering hand. "Please, do me the great honor. Rest assured, if you don't I will struggle my way off this pole and smite you."

Dean's jaw clenched. He took the blade, and just like with Zachariah, shoved it upward through Balthazar's brain. And, also like last time, he didn't close his eyes. He didn't really care anymore.

For a few moments, Dean was blind. But instead of darkness, he saw white. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes and they began to clear. He saw Balthazar, nothing but a hanging corpse surrounded by blackened silhouettes of wings.

Then he was out the door of the cabin and back into the fray.

The souls whipped around him, trying to bite or slash, but none were able to touch him. It was just as Balthazar said, he was protected. He felt his gut tighten, knowing what this may have cost Cas. He took an experimental swing at the souls with his flaming sword, and while it didn't affect them the same at it had the angels, it seemed to drive them away. Okay, so it was a flaming fly-swatter, but it was better than nothing.

He could barely see through the murky stew of souls. It was like everything out of Purgatory was made of slime or water or fog. Or blood. Dean held his breath when he realized those could be vampire souls. He could have wound up in Purgatory himself if Samuel hadn't saved him. If he ever had the chance, he would thank the old man. Just for that one thing.

Dean saw a larger, darker shape through the swirling mess. It was freaking huge, and he was willing to bet the Mother was there. Which meant Sam was there. So where was Cas?

The souls were thinning out the closer he got to the dark shape, and he could see Cas now. Relief washed through him. Thank God, Cas was still alive. But clearly he was not well. The angel was making his way toward the dark shape, but ponderously, and staggering.

Dean moved a little faster, hoping to catch up. He wanted to shout, but knew that he could be overheard by someone whose attention he didn't need. So he thought, very hard, Cas I'm here, I'm behind you.

And it could have been Cas heard him, or it could have just been timing. Because Castiel turned back and faced Dean. And what Dean saw turned his blood into ice. Castiel was gripping souls, those nebulous globs of energy, and they struggled in his hands. As Dean watched in horror, the souls twisted and shriveled, and he could see the energy they were made of… flow into Castiel. He was absorbing them. Eating them.

Castiel's grace expanded in multiple directions and snapped out in tendrils to spear several more souls, and draw them close so he could repeat the process. Dean almost fell to his knees as he watched the macabre vision of his lover destroying and devouring the life force of monsters. And when Castiel turned his head to look directly at Dean, he saw no bright blue eyes. There were black discs where those eyes had been, and black fluid dripped from the corners of the angel's mouth, as though he'd been literally feasting on the souls, had bitten into them and drunk their essence.

Dean did fall then, covering his mouth and shaking his head. No, Cas, he begged inside, it was only supposed to be for energy to win the war. This is not you, it's not…

There was a flash of light from god-knew-where, the sort that had preceded the two times Dean saw Cas' wings. But this time… it was so much more.

Flickering in and out of Dean's vision was everything Castiel was, like a hologram. Turn one way and you see Jimmy Novak's vessel, turn the other and you see the enormity of Castiel's true angel form. It lasted only a second, but it would be burned into Dean's brain forever.

It was terrible and beautiful. Burning white flames hundreds of feet high, streaked with blue and green lights. Multiple wings wide as the sky, black, indigo, blood red. Smoky images of animal heads, a lamb, a cat, others unclear. And eyes, a dozen on each head, glowing blue and hot as stars. They were steady and unblinking and that one thing was so very Cas that Dean nearly wept.

But the white flames were stuttering, as though a wind was trying to extinguish them. Inside the flames were the souls of monsters, tinting the whiteness to a dirty gray. He was filling up, it was taking him over. Castiel was gorging himself on venomous evil creatures and enjoying it.

Dean shook himself, breaking free of the frozen horror and stepped slowly toward Castiel. The angel stood still, souls dangling from both hands, and watched the human impassively and seeming without recognition. His flat black eyes may have been looking at Dean or a million miles beyond him. The black liquid dripping from his mouth was slicking his chest, sticking to the amulet. Which glowed like a coal, burning his skin.

God was here, in this scene of horror? Dean felt his heart drop to his stomach. If God wanted this, he wanted God dead.

"Cas," he entreated, "please, stop. Just… please." He didn't even specify, there was too much he was begging for.

Castiel twitched, and shook his head as though trying to clear it. The souls in his hands were almost drained now, and Dean could see the darkness pooling under Cas' skin. He was full to the brim, and the blackness was even leaking from his fingertips, draining downward as though from a soaked sponge. He licked his lips, smearing the black liquid across his teeth. But when he looked back up at Dean, his eyes were clear and blue again. "Dean?" he rasped.

"Yeah, yeah it's me, Cas," Dean came closer, not caring what happened now. "Please, man, stop this…"

"I can't stop, Dean. I have to stop her." He turned his head toward the enormous dark shape a hundred yards from them. "She won't go quietly. She's not listening to Sam, and her children are… everywhere."

"That doesn't mean you need to eat them!"

Cas looked at him with confusion. "But I do. My grace is dying. Raphael infected me with a mystical toxin, and it's killing me. I'd already be dead if not for the souls."

"Oh fuck," Dean groaned. "We'll find a way to help you, Cas, just please, let's go."

"Dean, stop." Castiel said softly, tilting his head. Even with the gore splattering his chin and chest, that expression was heart-breakingly beautiful. "I'm doing what I must. And you need to leave while you can. Sam's diversion has worked and I'm strong enough now to finish." He raised a hand and pushed Dean away with a burst of power. "Go."

There was no choice, Dean was flung back and away, landing on his ass, and rolling across the desert floor.

*~*~*~*

Castiel pulled Aaron's rod from his pants pocket, and twisted til it sprang to glowing life. He was exhausted, even filled with souls. This wouldn't take long, thankfully.

He approached the Mother from behind. She was in her primordial creature form, best described as a deep blue-black Lochness monster, and poised on the edge of the great abyss that was Purgatory, her children's souls whipping in and out like tornados. She chuckled, and it reverberated across the desert.

"Castiel," she said calmly to the angel so far below her giant head. "You think you can throw me back into the pit? Really, Castiel, your arrogance knows no bounds. You come to me gorged on the souls of my children and swinging a shiny stick and think it will be as easy as all that?" Eve laughed as she snapped her serpentine neck down and snatched the staff in her boulder sized teeth. "Pretty toy," she huffed as it landed in front of her. She glanced at it in a cursory manner and then pushed it aside as if it were a worthless bauble and she a spoiled debutante.

"Leave us, Sam," Castiel ordered, but Sam balked.

"Cas, I'm not going to-"

"You know what has to happen here, Sam." Meeting Sam's eyes, Castiel said, "I was the one to start it. I must finish it." At Sam's continued hesitance, Cas threw a glance over his shoulder and said one word. "Dean."

It was enough; Sam understood immediately. No nods or last glances were shared. He simply left, choosing Dean over both Castiel and Eve. Thank you, Sam, Castiel said, and got a brush of his brother's warmth in return. Then the Leviathan was speaking.

"I'm interested to know what you think is going to happen now, Castiel. You can't control me. Even with all of my children's souls tainting your grace, you just don't have the juice." Eve smirked. "Poor boy. You never had a Mother, only a Father. I would not have abandoned you as he did. I would not have tested you. But while you're beyond my sphere, the boys," she stressed mockingly, "are not. I hold all the power here. I'm going to kill every single one of your precious little humans. Well," she paused, "maybe not the Winchesters. Dean was such a beautiful vampire while it lasted." Her eyes took on an unholy gleam, "And Sam would be pleased if I let his brother live, wouldn't he?"

"Of course, soon that might not be an issue. As soon as I get his pesky soul removed again, it will be just like old times. Except we'll be the ones making the decisions, not his misguided brothers, and certainly not your absent God." She paused in her speech; Dean was right about yet another thing, and Castiel didn't know why he was surprised. Dean was right about many things. But what he was right about now was this: Villains love monologuing. It was, one could say, their fatal flaw.

"What...what are you doing?"

Blood oozed down Castiel's fingers in thick rivulets. An angry gash on his wrist showed where he'd bitten down to open his own skin. When Eve recovered from her confusion enough to take another step forward he lunged, spitting a mouthful of blood on her leathery hide. Eve sputtered, aghast, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"No, you don't have the power. You wouldn't. It will kill you."

But he was, and it was too late to stop now; he'd marked her. While Eve was frantically wiping at her skin, Castiel took a deep breath and, with the same hand he'd bitten, reached inside himself and grasped for his grace. A scream spilled up his throat, his true voice vibrating with agony. Eve charged him, but she was much too late to stop him now. Castiel bared his teeth in a rictus grin as monster-soul tainted black blood gushed out of his abdomen, sluicing down his pants and painting his skin. It hurt, more than he'd ever imagined it could, more than anything he'd ever experienced in the totality of his existence, and for the briefest moment he wavered as the blackness oozed out of him and began mixing with his vessel's red blood.

Through the pain came a memory of Dean; it wasn't the sort of memory he'd ever expected to have of his human, in those moments during the war that he'd allowed himself the macabre luxury of imagining his own death. It wasn't of their coupling, or of the hunter's mouth on his own, or even when he'd first encountered his soul in Hell. Instead it was a quiet moment where Dean had not even known Castiel was present. The man had been sleeping in the driver's seat of the Impala, his jacket's collar pulled up to ward off the chill, a much-battered road map slipping from his lax fingers. Sam lay slumped in the seat next to him, head resting on the passenger side window. Castiel had gone to Dean with orders on finding and preventing the destruction of a seal, but looking at the human he'd raised from perdition, he found he couldn't bring himself to disturb him. It was the first time Castiel could recall Dean looking peaceful. That was what he was doing this for: to give Dean the peace he deserved.

His hand sank deeper into his abdomen and with a snarl and a swirl of his fingers, he grasped his grace and pulled.

It slid out of him in one long wet plop with a gush of bright red, human looking blood and trembled in his fist. If a holding a human soul was similar to a nuclear reactor, then the grace of an archangel who had eaten untold-numbers of monster souls was like trying to palm a burgeoning super-nova. Castiel screamed a ragged laugh, blood bubbling out of his vessel's shredded throat. Eve was almost upon him.

Using the last of his strength, Castiel drew back his arm and threw his grace into the mouth of the beast.

*~*~*~*

Dean lay stunned on his back, staring up at a sky the colour of peaches. It was like a low burning fire. He could hear roaring and squealing from somewhere distant, but couldn't understand what it meant.

Then Sam was barreling toward him, shouting his name, telling him to run. Dean tried to stand, reached out a hand as Sam got closer.

The whole world was a flash of endless glorious impossible white.

Epilogue>>

*~*~*~*

Author's Notes:

The line ""I am not God," Castiel said, voice smoke gray in the twilight, "but I will salt her flesh and serve her as a feast for you, Dean. My righteous man. You will rest under the canopy made of her skin, and know peace when this is done." is a mix of two different sources.

Firstly, it is a description in Talmud Baba Bathra 74b of what God will do to the Leviathan at the end of time--basically, carve up the Leviathan and serve her as dinner, and make her skin a tent--at the end of time. Secondly, it's a nod to the fandom favorite song "Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas, specifically the lines "Carry on my wayward son/there'll be peace when you are done".

The Rod of Aaron is a biblical weapon. While it was similar to Moses' Staff in many ways, it also had some traits of it's own. Some of it's properties include blossoming with flowers and almonds and eating snakes, (although Scripture never says it eats Archangel sized snakes.) And some literature suggests it was crafted from sapphires, hence the light-saber blue glow described in this chapter.

Golems are animate creature made out of inanimate materials (usually mud or clay) and were first introduced in Jewish folklore.





Lake Powell, Utah, where the action in this chapter takes place, is a beautiful man-made lake that straddles the border of Utah and Arizona. Here's a picture: