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alchemyaliceTitle: On the Wings of War
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, possibly Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but probably long.
Disclaimer: Entirely not mine. Just playin'.
Summary: The Horsemen are not just people with fancy rings. They aren’t even demons with fancy rings. They are another species entirely, a force unto themselves, and Lucifer is kidding himself if he thinks that they are at his beck and call. They are separate. They are discreet. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
A/N: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neotoma, for giving invaluable advice on what the hell I'm doing with this thing. This chapter would be a mess otherwise. As it is, it is now...a lot of set up. But hopefully still entertaining. Any flaws at this point, obviously, are completely my own.
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four
There were a number of things that had to happen before they dropped everything for Austin.
“Dude, I need you to teach me how to do the thing.”
Castiel blinked. Dean made vague noises and gestures. “You know. What you were saying before. The metaphysical thing with the wings.”
“Flight?” Castiel asked finally.
Dean looked vaguely constipated, but he nodded.
“Very well.” And Dean was sort of glad that Castiel was so confident, if no one else was going to be. Jesus, it was one thing to flap some wings to get your feet off the ground, and quite another to flap them and end up on a different corner of the world. And dammit, Dean hated flying. He felt himself tense as Castiel stood and came over to him.
“The first thing you need is to feel the geography of the earth,” Castiel said.
Dean sighed. “Dude, I haven’t left the country. All I know are highways and small towns.”
Castiel looked vaguely disappointed, but then just nodded. “Imagine one of those, then. Or perhaps we should start small. The end of Bobby’s driveway. Focus on it.”
“Is flying some sort of zen thing? Because I’m really not—“
“Dean.” And there he was again, all up in Dean’s personal space, but this time his hand was flat on Dean’s chest, and Dean stuttered to a halt. Castiel just watched, vaguely impatient.
“Imagine it, and pull it to you.”
“Pull it—”
“With your wings. Reach back and bend it to you.”
“I don’t—”
“Dean.” Castiel found his gaze and locked into it, and Dean found himself swallowing his words. Jesus, why did they have to do this?
Castiel waited a moment, and his hand was warm on Dean’s chest. Then he said, “Concentrate.”
***
Outside, Sam emptied a beer while propping a lore book against his chest, and only jumped slightly when Gabriel appeared on the roof of the Impala, draped over it like a tomcat surveying his territory.
“So,” Gabriel said, “We gonna talk about the elephant in the room?”
“There are a lot of those,” Sam muttered, reaching for another beer.
“Famine’s ring,” the archangel said without preamble. “You’ve got it.”
“I do. And I’m not fucking touching it.”
“Why not? You’ve got enough demon blood in you to probably withstand the transformation that comes with it.”
“Yeah, and I can just see all of the ways that could go south fast,” Sam snapped, finally looking up at Gabriel’s expectant face.
“It could be—“
“Fuck. No.”
Gabriel smiled crookedly. “Just checking.”
Sam breathed slowly for a moment, and then said, “Maybe I should put it in Bobby’s safe. Just keep it far away from us.”
“Very responsible of you.”
“Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?”
“You’re just so irresistibly mockable. Though as it happens, I’m not this time around.” Gabriel slanted his eyes over to Sam. “You should put it away. Preferably someplace where no one, neutral or otherwise, might get their hands on it.”
Sam nodded. “I will then.”
Gabriel smiled thinly, and then fell silent. Then he cocked his head. “Huh. That was fast.”
“What?”
Gabriel lifted a limp hand to gesture at the long stretch of driveway leading to Bobby’s mailbox. Dean and Castiel were there, Dean’s wings extended like a swan’s landing on water. “Did he just--?” Sam started.
“Didn’t have time to walk over there, did he?” Gabriel said.
“Huh.”
Sam watched the angel and his brother speak, Dean’s eyes caught on the middle distance in concentration, Castiel speaking carefully, words unintelligible from the distance, but clearly instructive, and formed close to Dean’s ear. They did have a habit, Sam thought, of ignoring personal space.
“Sickening, am I right?” Gabriel smirked.
“Stop that,” Sam said automatically. It was amazing what a week of dealing with an archangel could do for his reflexive responses.
“Just saying.”
Suddenly, Dean disappeared from sight, Castiel following within seconds. Then Sam felt a whoosh of displaced air and Dean was next to him, settling against the Impala. His wings bumped slightly against Sam’s shoulder and brushed the metallic surface of the car door.
“Slick,” Sam said.
Dean cracked a roguish smile as Castiel materialized next to him, fitting himself in the curve of Dean’s other wing.
“What can I say?” Dean said. “I’m awesome even when I’m a freak of nature.”
“You have yet to leave the state, let alone the country,” Castiel said sternly.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it in a second. You want a beer, Cas?”
“I don’t—“
“Take the beer, Castiel,” Gabriel cut in lazily. “Dean is trying to be hospitable.”
In awkward acquiescence, Castiel took the beer from Dean’s outstretched hand, and Dean said, “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.” Gabriel closed his eyes, melting catlike into the car roof. Sam watched him for an incredulous second, and then said, “So you’ll be able to take us where we need to go?”
“With our angelic and unholy powers combined,” Dean said dryly, “I think we can work it out. Even if I can’t take anyone sidecar, at least I’m not gonna have digestion issues this time around.”
“Okay. Well, I think I know a bit more of what we can expect over there.” Sam put down his empty and flipped a couple pages back. “So, when we went up against War, he told me the last place he’d been to before hitting Colorado was Darfur. Well, he wasn’t being totally accurate. All of the Horsemen have to be summoned in the same place, except for Death, who had to be raised.”
“The point, Sammy?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Well, the weird thing is that War and Famine showed up when Lucifer rose. But that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Technically, Christ is supposed to summon them. It’s the first of the seven seals of the Apocalypse.”
“This is elementary grade Christian mythology,” Gabriel said, “And not accurate, to boot. There’s one seal for each Horseman. So far, only two have been opened. Death is raised, but that wasn’t done by a seal, which is why he’s in Lucifer’s pocket, not ours. I gotta say, I’m sorta glad to be siding with you people, if only because Heaven must be completely fucktarded at the moment. This is a seriously dysfunctional Apocalypse.”
Sam made a bitchface, and said, “Well, my point stands. The thing of it is that both Famine and War touched down in Austin first. We didn’t notice it because they left so soon after, but according to these portents they must have passed through.”
“So you think someone’s calling us to the site of the seals?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Awesome.” Dean drew his wings tight around him. They looked like giant ashen scythes against his white t-shirt. He looked at Castiel. “Who do you think this is? Any ideas?”
“It could be any number of things. There are many higher echelon demons with the capacity to do this, and who would have an interest in bringing you to heel for Lucifer. Lucifer himself may want to put a claim on you. With the knowledge that Sam would come with you, it would be the equivalent of, I think you’d say, killing two birds with one stone.”
“Cheery,” Sam said.
“So what you’re saying is, we’re not just walking into a trap, we’re walking into a mega-trap?” Dean clarified.
“Forget what I said about being happy I sided with you people,” Gabriel said, and rolled over to sun himself.
***
It took another few days for Dean to master flight, and in that time, the skin along his ribcage and the undersides of his arms turned black. Sam could see it creeping up the tendons in his neck, like a spill of ink bleeding into parchment.
“Dean,” he said at one point. “When do you think you’ll be ready to go to Texas?”
Dean looked uncomfortable. “A few days?”
Sam raised his eyebrows abruptly. “Seriously? We’re waiting that long?”
“Sam, I know I can go about five miles on these things.” Dean gestured with one wing in a sort of shrugging, twitching motion that snapped a wickedly curved spine forward. “Other than that, I don’t know how to use them. I still bump into things and knock over chairs. You don’t want me in a fight.”
“6,000 people are dead, Dean. And what if you change more, and need more time to adjust to that? It’s going to keep adding up—“
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Sam. But no matter what, the bottom line is that I don’t feel like getting us both killed,” Dean snapped. “Those people are dead. And you aren’t yet. We aren’t yet.”
“You can bamf out of the line of fire. And I can take care of myself.”
Dean looked away, lips thinning into a white line. Finally, he said, “Someone who knew Alistair well enough to know his sigil is going to be there.”
And abruptly Sam felt like an idiot. Also, a bastard. He sighed. “Right. Sorry. You think he’ll…”
“Use my newly acquired special-kid status against me? Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dean snorted, still refusing to look at him. “Just…gimme a few days, okay? I meant what I said. I don’t want to get anyone killed because I don’t know how to deal with what I am.”
“Sure. Of course.” Sam backed away, and felt thoroughly shitty. Then he paused. “And any changes—”
“I’ll deal with them, Sam. It’s fine.”
“I don’t want you to have to deal with them,” Sam said quietly.
“Not so fun being the normal one, huh?”
Dean regretted it as soon as he said it; Sam’s shoulders came up like he’d been hit.
“Yeah. I guess,” he muttered, and left quickly.
After that, Dean became suspiciously quiet. And Sam…Sam still was not feeling well.
“This is better understood as ‘usurp’, rather than ‘conquer’.”
“They’re basically the same, and that doesn’t change the meaning of the full—“
“There is a distinct difference, Sam, there is an implication of replacement,” Castiel said impatiently. “Translation of Enochian is difficult enough without resorting to lazy definitions.”
“Then why don’t you do it?” Sam replied through gritted teeth.
Castiel stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Then he slid a second scroll exactingly into place in front of Sam on the table. “Your Latin is stronger, is it not? It should be; it is a human tongue.”
Sam picked it up with stilted, sharp movements, and pointedly ignored when Castiel pulled the Enochian volume towards himself, away from him. He also ignored how a rush of adrenaline shot sickeningly into his stomach, like someone had hooked him up to an IV drip in the night. He had to concentrate on not crushing the corners of the scroll.
Gabriel appeared in a nearly silent displacement of atoms. He cocked his head, but after a second, merely said, “Any news?”
“Perhaps there would be if you stayed to be of assistance,” Castiel growled.
Sam shot him a look, but didn’t disagree.
Gabriel looked between them. “Right. I’m getting a bad vibe from you two. Where’s Dean?”
“In the yard,” Sam said shortly. He didn’t elaborate.
“’Kay,” Gabriel smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Toodles.”
He snapped out of existence.
Dean was out in the yard, but not at the clearing where he usually worked. Instead, he was in amongst the forest of particularly abandoned scraps, balanced on a crooked axle next to a pile of ripped tires. The wings are fanned out around him, matte black feathers shifting in minute adjustments of balance, spines spreading and threading forward and back, weaving in and out of view.
Gabriel didn’t materialize for a moment, preferring to watch. There was a gun in Dean’s hand. A six-shooter. And on second glance, there were a veritable menagerie of beer cans, glass bottles, and engine parts distributed on various larger shelves of scrap.
Dean was focused in a way that he never was except when hunting. He flicked his gaze at his surroundings, assessing. And then in a blur of movement, he started.
Two bullets, two bottles.
Roll onto tire pile, wings tucked.
Flick of right wing, whiskey bottle shattered under impact with primary claw. One bullet, a miss.
Haphazard leap onto a truck chassis, sweep of left wing, four beer cans slashed open.
Three shots, all hits.
Dean launched himself off the pickup to land lightly back on the axle. It groaned slightly under his weight, but didn’t break as he lightened his impact with two circular wing beats. He reloaded, lips pursed.
Gabriel started a slow clap into the silence. Dean looked up sharply as he snapped the chamber back into the revolver. He didn’t relax when he spotted Gabriel materializing out of nowhere, perched on a half-destroyed and rusted out van.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Do the others know what you’re doing with your spare time?” Gabriel asked, curious.
Dean shrugged. “They know I’m dealing with my new situation.”
“They don’t know that you’re turning yourself into a killing machine.”
Dean barely reacted. “Don’t see that they could expect anything else. There’s still an Apocalypse going on, in case you hadn’t noticed. Gotta make myself useful, any way that I can.”
“Including accepting what you’ve become?”
Dean paused. Then said, “Got a problem with that?”
Gabriel just opened his hands in a neutral gesture. “You just surprise me, Dean-o. I was sort of expecting you to put up more of a fight.”
Dean shoved the revolver into the back of his pants as he started forward, wings flaring into high arcs that made him seem larger. He towered over Gabriel, but Gabriel didn’t react.
“Listen, buddy,” He hissed, “If there’s something you’re not telling us about putting me back to normal, then you’d better start sharing and caring now.”
“There’s nothing. And get out of my face,” Gabriel snarled. “Monster or not, I can still take you, and don’t you ever think otherwise.” He paused, and then said, “Even if I did know something, would you go back?”
“Obviously,” Dean replied, but there was a hesitation that Gabriel pounced on.
“But maybe not yet? Maybe you’d wait, make yourself powerful enough to save the world? Even if it meant becoming something you’d be hunting otherwise?”
“Why are you asking me this?” Dean demanded.
The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched upward grimly. “I want to know how far you’re going to go to end this.”
“As far as I have to.”
Gabriel’s eyes flashed. Then he blinked slowly. “Remember that,” he said eventually. “Remember that you said that, Dean.”
Then he slid off the top of the van to land silently on the ground. He began to walk away through the piles of wreckage, and then threw back over his shoulder, “And by the way, you need to ground some of your more violent urges. They’re starting to spread.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean shouted after him.
Gabriel turned around fully to walk backward, as his eyebrows raised along with a Cheshire grin. “I mean, put your goddamn hand on the ground for a while. The one with the ring on it. Because otherwise, you’re gonna drive Sam and Castiel to blows in the next couple of minutes, and though my little bro may be getting weaker by the day, he can still pack a punch.”
And then, just before he winked out of sight, he yelled, “Oh, and Dean, you better get over this fear of heights you have, buddy! Metaphysical flight may be useful, but nothing compares to the real thing!”
Dean glared at the empty space between the scrap heaps for a long moment, and then slowly crouched down to place his hand on the earth. He felt the ring immediately grow cool around his finger. It was oddly unsettling.
After a few moments, feeling thoroughly confused and irritated, he stood and concentrated.
***
Sam jumped when Dean appeared in the living room. “Dude, I am never getting used to that,” he said.
Castiel looked up, and then back down at his book.
Dean looked at the two of them on the couch. He frowned. “Were you guys…fighting?” he asked.
Sam looked confused, and then started to shake his head, when he stopped. He shot a look at Castiel. “We might’ve…had some differences of opinion,” he said slowly.
“You were being petulant,” Castiel said calmly.
Sam recoiled. “What the fuck, man?”
“Woah, woah, stop right there,” Dean held out a hand. “Both of you. Just…hold on.” He set it on the floor, and felt the ring cool again.
The tension seemed slowly to drain from Sam’s shoulders, and Castiel’s frown went from disapproval into confusion. He looked at Dean. “Dean?” he questioned.
“Feeling better?” Dean asked warily.
Sam shifted, like he was working out a crick in his neck. “Yeah, I guess. What was that?”
“Apparently I make everyone want to pick fights,” Dean said. “Special, huh?”
“And touching the floor…?”
“He is grounding the aura of the ring,” Castiel said. “It’s power gets absorbed, rather than disseminated. Did Gabriel tell you to do that, Dean?”
“Yeah. He stopped by just now.”
“It was good advice. I would not have thought to apply Mayan principles of influence to your case.” He looked crestfallen for not having thought of it first. Dean, feeling awkward in his off-kilter crouch, lowered himself to the floor, tucking his wings up and around him like a tent. Sam snorted.
“You look like some new nightmarish version of a crèche. Just cradle an anti-Christ child in your arms, and you’ll be set.”
“Shut up, bitch. Besides, Jesse’s too old for that shit.”
“Did Gabriel give you any other helpful information?” Castiel asked.
Dean snorted. “’Course not. Can’t be too helpful, can he? Just asked me a bunch of leading questions about whether or not I was committed to my new monster-iness. I told him to go fuck himself.”
Castiel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything else.
That night, at dinner, Dean had to lean down and put his hand on the ground every fifteen minutes or so just to keep everyone civil. But they managed not to kill each other, so he counted it as a win.
“There aren’t any more portents in Austin,” Bobby reported, “But the media isn’t exactly doing a great job keeping the panic down. So you may have to keep an even lower profile than usual.”
“So long as whoever we’re meeting does the same,” Dean muttered.
***
From then on, things just got more aggressive.
If you didn’t claim coffee first thing, you were no longer entitled. Bobby locked up all the guns in the house so that he wasn’t tempted to forcibly evict everyone. Dean tried to stay out in the yard, working on junkers when he wasn’t getting a handle on his wings, but increasing proximity became less and less effective as time went on.
“Why aren’t we in Texas already?” Sam demanded, stomping down the stairs into the panic room as the dawn was just breaking on the fourth day.
Dean was already sitting up, but he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and frowned. “Because I didn’t know how to fight properly with these big-ass wings? Because we still don’t know who we’re gonna meet there? Because, in the words of Admiral Ackbar, it’s a goddamn trap? There are a lot of reasons, Sammy.”
“People are dead, Dean. More could die if we don’t hurry the fuck up.”
“Both Cas and Gabe think that’s really unlikely. And also, what the fuck? You were not this bent out of shape about it when we last had this discussion.”
“That was yesterday. We’re wasting time!”
“Sam. Sam, stop.”
Sam hadn’t even realized he was advancing on Dean, hands closed into fists. He froze.
“Are you…?”
“I think. Hang on.” Dean leaned down to lay his hand flat on the ground again, and then Sam suddenly felt a lot more peaceable. He flexed his hands opened. He raised an eyebrow.
“Uh—“
“I don’t mean to, honestly,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck and craning to look back up at Sam. “I think I’m doing it in my sleep.”
“You can make me angry in your sleep,” Sam echoed blankly.
“Not so much make as…you know what, forget it.” Dean looked away. Sam tightened his lips.
“I’m already angry, so there’s not much work to do. I get it. Just…try and restrain yourself, Dean.”
“Hey, I could ask you to do the same,” Dean snapped, and then Sam had to leave before he punched something.
Dean was glad of Sam’s quick exit, even if it was hardly a friendly one. Almost because it wasn’t, but he was not thinking about how the potential for violence felt like the pleasant burn of scotch in the back of his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, the ring catching on short strands.
Eventually, even the angels got in on the action, though luckily only with each other. Gabriel showed up, and Castiel had glared at him from the kitchen table before growling, “Gabriel. I’d like to have a word.”
Gabriel looked at him, nodded curtly, and they both disappeared. Dean looked at Sam.
“What the hell?”
Sam shook his head. “Dunno. Though to be honest, Cas has been growling about something for the past few days. Something about what Gabriel said to you last time he visited.”
“But he didn’t say anything,” Dean protested.
Sam held up his hands placatingly. “I never said you did. But you remember how Cas looked when you told us that.”
“Yeah, but—oh Christ.”
Sam followed his brother’s gaze out the window. “How long since you last neutralized the ring?” he asked.
“Too long,” Dean grumbled. “Be right back.”
The two angels were in the yard, blades drawn, when Dean got outside.
“What the fuck, you guys,” he said loudly, as platinum shined brightly in the dawn sun. “Are you seriously twelve?”
“Set down your intent, and we’ll talk,” Gabriel said, breathing heavily, as Castiel sank his blade into the earth.
Dean could do little but kneel and set his hand down on the ground, ring going dull as it hit the earth. He pointedly ignored the hollowness that pricked at him as the tension of aggression subsided. “Be at fuckin’ peace. Jesus Christ,” he said. “What were you guys even arguing about?”
Castiel gave Gabriel a significant look, but Gabriel just said dismissively, “A personal matter. In other circumstances it would not have been an issue, but in these conditions--”
“I’m just making it worse, yeah I know,” Dean finished. “Awesome. Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry for something you cannot help,” Castiel said.
“There has to be a way to neutralize my…whatever the hell this is, without putting my hand in the ground permanently.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Gabriel said, still sounding edgy. “I’m going to Switzerland for chocolate. Call me if you die in Texas.”
He blinked out of sight. Castiel took a long breath. Tentatively, Dean stood back up.
“Perhaps I should go as well,” Castiel said, before he could ask what the hell the argument was actually about. “The fewer of us there are in contact, the less chance of conflict.”
“Yeah, but also fewer people to mediate conflict,” Sam said. Dean and Castiel both turned to look at him. He leaned against the porch railing, looking tired. “Dean, can we just go? I know you’re not ready, but—“
“—Better that I urge you guys to kill some bad guys rather than each other,” Dean finished. He pursed his lips. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Is Gabriel coming?”
“He’s apparently leaving us to our own devices until we’re in mortal danger.”
“In other words, he’ll meet us there.”
“…Yeah.”
Chapter Five.
Author: Alchemy Alice
Genre and/or Pairing: Action/Adventure/Horror, possibly Dean/Castiel
Rating: R for violence
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to 5.14-ish? It goes AWOL from there.
Word Count: No idea yet, but probably long.
Disclaimer: Entirely not mine. Just playin'.
Summary: The Horsemen are not just people with fancy rings. They aren’t even demons with fancy rings. They are another species entirely, a force unto themselves, and Lucifer is kidding himself if he thinks that they are at his beck and call. They are separate. They are discreet. They are neutral. Dean Winchester is not built like them.
A/N: Many thanks to
neotoma, for giving invaluable advice on what the hell I'm doing with this thing. This chapter would be a mess otherwise. As it is, it is now...a lot of set up. But hopefully still entertaining. Any flaws at this point, obviously, are completely my own. Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four
There were a number of things that had to happen before they dropped everything for Austin.
“Dude, I need you to teach me how to do the thing.”
Castiel blinked. Dean made vague noises and gestures. “You know. What you were saying before. The metaphysical thing with the wings.”
“Flight?” Castiel asked finally.
Dean looked vaguely constipated, but he nodded.
“Very well.” And Dean was sort of glad that Castiel was so confident, if no one else was going to be. Jesus, it was one thing to flap some wings to get your feet off the ground, and quite another to flap them and end up on a different corner of the world. And dammit, Dean hated flying. He felt himself tense as Castiel stood and came over to him.
“The first thing you need is to feel the geography of the earth,” Castiel said.
Dean sighed. “Dude, I haven’t left the country. All I know are highways and small towns.”
Castiel looked vaguely disappointed, but then just nodded. “Imagine one of those, then. Or perhaps we should start small. The end of Bobby’s driveway. Focus on it.”
“Is flying some sort of zen thing? Because I’m really not—“
“Dean.” And there he was again, all up in Dean’s personal space, but this time his hand was flat on Dean’s chest, and Dean stuttered to a halt. Castiel just watched, vaguely impatient.
“Imagine it, and pull it to you.”
“Pull it—”
“With your wings. Reach back and bend it to you.”
“I don’t—”
“Dean.” Castiel found his gaze and locked into it, and Dean found himself swallowing his words. Jesus, why did they have to do this?
Castiel waited a moment, and his hand was warm on Dean’s chest. Then he said, “Concentrate.”
***
Outside, Sam emptied a beer while propping a lore book against his chest, and only jumped slightly when Gabriel appeared on the roof of the Impala, draped over it like a tomcat surveying his territory.
“So,” Gabriel said, “We gonna talk about the elephant in the room?”
“There are a lot of those,” Sam muttered, reaching for another beer.
“Famine’s ring,” the archangel said without preamble. “You’ve got it.”
“I do. And I’m not fucking touching it.”
“Why not? You’ve got enough demon blood in you to probably withstand the transformation that comes with it.”
“Yeah, and I can just see all of the ways that could go south fast,” Sam snapped, finally looking up at Gabriel’s expectant face.
“It could be—“
“Fuck. No.”
Gabriel smiled crookedly. “Just checking.”
Sam breathed slowly for a moment, and then said, “Maybe I should put it in Bobby’s safe. Just keep it far away from us.”
“Very responsible of you.”
“Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?”
“You’re just so irresistibly mockable. Though as it happens, I’m not this time around.” Gabriel slanted his eyes over to Sam. “You should put it away. Preferably someplace where no one, neutral or otherwise, might get their hands on it.”
Sam nodded. “I will then.”
Gabriel smiled thinly, and then fell silent. Then he cocked his head. “Huh. That was fast.”
“What?”
Gabriel lifted a limp hand to gesture at the long stretch of driveway leading to Bobby’s mailbox. Dean and Castiel were there, Dean’s wings extended like a swan’s landing on water. “Did he just--?” Sam started.
“Didn’t have time to walk over there, did he?” Gabriel said.
“Huh.”
Sam watched the angel and his brother speak, Dean’s eyes caught on the middle distance in concentration, Castiel speaking carefully, words unintelligible from the distance, but clearly instructive, and formed close to Dean’s ear. They did have a habit, Sam thought, of ignoring personal space.
“Sickening, am I right?” Gabriel smirked.
“Stop that,” Sam said automatically. It was amazing what a week of dealing with an archangel could do for his reflexive responses.
“Just saying.”
Suddenly, Dean disappeared from sight, Castiel following within seconds. Then Sam felt a whoosh of displaced air and Dean was next to him, settling against the Impala. His wings bumped slightly against Sam’s shoulder and brushed the metallic surface of the car door.
“Slick,” Sam said.
Dean cracked a roguish smile as Castiel materialized next to him, fitting himself in the curve of Dean’s other wing.
“What can I say?” Dean said. “I’m awesome even when I’m a freak of nature.”
“You have yet to leave the state, let alone the country,” Castiel said sternly.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it in a second. You want a beer, Cas?”
“I don’t—“
“Take the beer, Castiel,” Gabriel cut in lazily. “Dean is trying to be hospitable.”
In awkward acquiescence, Castiel took the beer from Dean’s outstretched hand, and Dean said, “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.” Gabriel closed his eyes, melting catlike into the car roof. Sam watched him for an incredulous second, and then said, “So you’ll be able to take us where we need to go?”
“With our angelic and unholy powers combined,” Dean said dryly, “I think we can work it out. Even if I can’t take anyone sidecar, at least I’m not gonna have digestion issues this time around.”
“Okay. Well, I think I know a bit more of what we can expect over there.” Sam put down his empty and flipped a couple pages back. “So, when we went up against War, he told me the last place he’d been to before hitting Colorado was Darfur. Well, he wasn’t being totally accurate. All of the Horsemen have to be summoned in the same place, except for Death, who had to be raised.”
“The point, Sammy?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Well, the weird thing is that War and Famine showed up when Lucifer rose. But that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Technically, Christ is supposed to summon them. It’s the first of the seven seals of the Apocalypse.”
“This is elementary grade Christian mythology,” Gabriel said, “And not accurate, to boot. There’s one seal for each Horseman. So far, only two have been opened. Death is raised, but that wasn’t done by a seal, which is why he’s in Lucifer’s pocket, not ours. I gotta say, I’m sorta glad to be siding with you people, if only because Heaven must be completely fucktarded at the moment. This is a seriously dysfunctional Apocalypse.”
Sam made a bitchface, and said, “Well, my point stands. The thing of it is that both Famine and War touched down in Austin first. We didn’t notice it because they left so soon after, but according to these portents they must have passed through.”
“So you think someone’s calling us to the site of the seals?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Awesome.” Dean drew his wings tight around him. They looked like giant ashen scythes against his white t-shirt. He looked at Castiel. “Who do you think this is? Any ideas?”
“It could be any number of things. There are many higher echelon demons with the capacity to do this, and who would have an interest in bringing you to heel for Lucifer. Lucifer himself may want to put a claim on you. With the knowledge that Sam would come with you, it would be the equivalent of, I think you’d say, killing two birds with one stone.”
“Cheery,” Sam said.
“So what you’re saying is, we’re not just walking into a trap, we’re walking into a mega-trap?” Dean clarified.
“Forget what I said about being happy I sided with you people,” Gabriel said, and rolled over to sun himself.
***
It took another few days for Dean to master flight, and in that time, the skin along his ribcage and the undersides of his arms turned black. Sam could see it creeping up the tendons in his neck, like a spill of ink bleeding into parchment.
“Dean,” he said at one point. “When do you think you’ll be ready to go to Texas?”
Dean looked uncomfortable. “A few days?”
Sam raised his eyebrows abruptly. “Seriously? We’re waiting that long?”
“Sam, I know I can go about five miles on these things.” Dean gestured with one wing in a sort of shrugging, twitching motion that snapped a wickedly curved spine forward. “Other than that, I don’t know how to use them. I still bump into things and knock over chairs. You don’t want me in a fight.”
“6,000 people are dead, Dean. And what if you change more, and need more time to adjust to that? It’s going to keep adding up—“
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Sam. But no matter what, the bottom line is that I don’t feel like getting us both killed,” Dean snapped. “Those people are dead. And you aren’t yet. We aren’t yet.”
“You can bamf out of the line of fire. And I can take care of myself.”
Dean looked away, lips thinning into a white line. Finally, he said, “Someone who knew Alistair well enough to know his sigil is going to be there.”
And abruptly Sam felt like an idiot. Also, a bastard. He sighed. “Right. Sorry. You think he’ll…”
“Use my newly acquired special-kid status against me? Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dean snorted, still refusing to look at him. “Just…gimme a few days, okay? I meant what I said. I don’t want to get anyone killed because I don’t know how to deal with what I am.”
“Sure. Of course.” Sam backed away, and felt thoroughly shitty. Then he paused. “And any changes—”
“I’ll deal with them, Sam. It’s fine.”
“I don’t want you to have to deal with them,” Sam said quietly.
“Not so fun being the normal one, huh?”
Dean regretted it as soon as he said it; Sam’s shoulders came up like he’d been hit.
“Yeah. I guess,” he muttered, and left quickly.
After that, Dean became suspiciously quiet. And Sam…Sam still was not feeling well.
“This is better understood as ‘usurp’, rather than ‘conquer’.”
“They’re basically the same, and that doesn’t change the meaning of the full—“
“There is a distinct difference, Sam, there is an implication of replacement,” Castiel said impatiently. “Translation of Enochian is difficult enough without resorting to lazy definitions.”
“Then why don’t you do it?” Sam replied through gritted teeth.
Castiel stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Then he slid a second scroll exactingly into place in front of Sam on the table. “Your Latin is stronger, is it not? It should be; it is a human tongue.”
Sam picked it up with stilted, sharp movements, and pointedly ignored when Castiel pulled the Enochian volume towards himself, away from him. He also ignored how a rush of adrenaline shot sickeningly into his stomach, like someone had hooked him up to an IV drip in the night. He had to concentrate on not crushing the corners of the scroll.
Gabriel appeared in a nearly silent displacement of atoms. He cocked his head, but after a second, merely said, “Any news?”
“Perhaps there would be if you stayed to be of assistance,” Castiel growled.
Sam shot him a look, but didn’t disagree.
Gabriel looked between them. “Right. I’m getting a bad vibe from you two. Where’s Dean?”
“In the yard,” Sam said shortly. He didn’t elaborate.
“’Kay,” Gabriel smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Toodles.”
He snapped out of existence.
Dean was out in the yard, but not at the clearing where he usually worked. Instead, he was in amongst the forest of particularly abandoned scraps, balanced on a crooked axle next to a pile of ripped tires. The wings are fanned out around him, matte black feathers shifting in minute adjustments of balance, spines spreading and threading forward and back, weaving in and out of view.
Gabriel didn’t materialize for a moment, preferring to watch. There was a gun in Dean’s hand. A six-shooter. And on second glance, there were a veritable menagerie of beer cans, glass bottles, and engine parts distributed on various larger shelves of scrap.
Dean was focused in a way that he never was except when hunting. He flicked his gaze at his surroundings, assessing. And then in a blur of movement, he started.
Two bullets, two bottles.
Roll onto tire pile, wings tucked.
Flick of right wing, whiskey bottle shattered under impact with primary claw. One bullet, a miss.
Haphazard leap onto a truck chassis, sweep of left wing, four beer cans slashed open.
Three shots, all hits.
Dean launched himself off the pickup to land lightly back on the axle. It groaned slightly under his weight, but didn’t break as he lightened his impact with two circular wing beats. He reloaded, lips pursed.
Gabriel started a slow clap into the silence. Dean looked up sharply as he snapped the chamber back into the revolver. He didn’t relax when he spotted Gabriel materializing out of nowhere, perched on a half-destroyed and rusted out van.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Do the others know what you’re doing with your spare time?” Gabriel asked, curious.
Dean shrugged. “They know I’m dealing with my new situation.”
“They don’t know that you’re turning yourself into a killing machine.”
Dean barely reacted. “Don’t see that they could expect anything else. There’s still an Apocalypse going on, in case you hadn’t noticed. Gotta make myself useful, any way that I can.”
“Including accepting what you’ve become?”
Dean paused. Then said, “Got a problem with that?”
Gabriel just opened his hands in a neutral gesture. “You just surprise me, Dean-o. I was sort of expecting you to put up more of a fight.”
Dean shoved the revolver into the back of his pants as he started forward, wings flaring into high arcs that made him seem larger. He towered over Gabriel, but Gabriel didn’t react.
“Listen, buddy,” He hissed, “If there’s something you’re not telling us about putting me back to normal, then you’d better start sharing and caring now.”
“There’s nothing. And get out of my face,” Gabriel snarled. “Monster or not, I can still take you, and don’t you ever think otherwise.” He paused, and then said, “Even if I did know something, would you go back?”
“Obviously,” Dean replied, but there was a hesitation that Gabriel pounced on.
“But maybe not yet? Maybe you’d wait, make yourself powerful enough to save the world? Even if it meant becoming something you’d be hunting otherwise?”
“Why are you asking me this?” Dean demanded.
The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched upward grimly. “I want to know how far you’re going to go to end this.”
“As far as I have to.”
Gabriel’s eyes flashed. Then he blinked slowly. “Remember that,” he said eventually. “Remember that you said that, Dean.”
Then he slid off the top of the van to land silently on the ground. He began to walk away through the piles of wreckage, and then threw back over his shoulder, “And by the way, you need to ground some of your more violent urges. They’re starting to spread.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean shouted after him.
Gabriel turned around fully to walk backward, as his eyebrows raised along with a Cheshire grin. “I mean, put your goddamn hand on the ground for a while. The one with the ring on it. Because otherwise, you’re gonna drive Sam and Castiel to blows in the next couple of minutes, and though my little bro may be getting weaker by the day, he can still pack a punch.”
And then, just before he winked out of sight, he yelled, “Oh, and Dean, you better get over this fear of heights you have, buddy! Metaphysical flight may be useful, but nothing compares to the real thing!”
Dean glared at the empty space between the scrap heaps for a long moment, and then slowly crouched down to place his hand on the earth. He felt the ring immediately grow cool around his finger. It was oddly unsettling.
After a few moments, feeling thoroughly confused and irritated, he stood and concentrated.
***
Sam jumped when Dean appeared in the living room. “Dude, I am never getting used to that,” he said.
Castiel looked up, and then back down at his book.
Dean looked at the two of them on the couch. He frowned. “Were you guys…fighting?” he asked.
Sam looked confused, and then started to shake his head, when he stopped. He shot a look at Castiel. “We might’ve…had some differences of opinion,” he said slowly.
“You were being petulant,” Castiel said calmly.
Sam recoiled. “What the fuck, man?”
“Woah, woah, stop right there,” Dean held out a hand. “Both of you. Just…hold on.” He set it on the floor, and felt the ring cool again.
The tension seemed slowly to drain from Sam’s shoulders, and Castiel’s frown went from disapproval into confusion. He looked at Dean. “Dean?” he questioned.
“Feeling better?” Dean asked warily.
Sam shifted, like he was working out a crick in his neck. “Yeah, I guess. What was that?”
“Apparently I make everyone want to pick fights,” Dean said. “Special, huh?”
“And touching the floor…?”
“He is grounding the aura of the ring,” Castiel said. “It’s power gets absorbed, rather than disseminated. Did Gabriel tell you to do that, Dean?”
“Yeah. He stopped by just now.”
“It was good advice. I would not have thought to apply Mayan principles of influence to your case.” He looked crestfallen for not having thought of it first. Dean, feeling awkward in his off-kilter crouch, lowered himself to the floor, tucking his wings up and around him like a tent. Sam snorted.
“You look like some new nightmarish version of a crèche. Just cradle an anti-Christ child in your arms, and you’ll be set.”
“Shut up, bitch. Besides, Jesse’s too old for that shit.”
“Did Gabriel give you any other helpful information?” Castiel asked.
Dean snorted. “’Course not. Can’t be too helpful, can he? Just asked me a bunch of leading questions about whether or not I was committed to my new monster-iness. I told him to go fuck himself.”
Castiel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything else.
That night, at dinner, Dean had to lean down and put his hand on the ground every fifteen minutes or so just to keep everyone civil. But they managed not to kill each other, so he counted it as a win.
“There aren’t any more portents in Austin,” Bobby reported, “But the media isn’t exactly doing a great job keeping the panic down. So you may have to keep an even lower profile than usual.”
“So long as whoever we’re meeting does the same,” Dean muttered.
***
From then on, things just got more aggressive.
If you didn’t claim coffee first thing, you were no longer entitled. Bobby locked up all the guns in the house so that he wasn’t tempted to forcibly evict everyone. Dean tried to stay out in the yard, working on junkers when he wasn’t getting a handle on his wings, but increasing proximity became less and less effective as time went on.
“Why aren’t we in Texas already?” Sam demanded, stomping down the stairs into the panic room as the dawn was just breaking on the fourth day.
Dean was already sitting up, but he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and frowned. “Because I didn’t know how to fight properly with these big-ass wings? Because we still don’t know who we’re gonna meet there? Because, in the words of Admiral Ackbar, it’s a goddamn trap? There are a lot of reasons, Sammy.”
“People are dead, Dean. More could die if we don’t hurry the fuck up.”
“Both Cas and Gabe think that’s really unlikely. And also, what the fuck? You were not this bent out of shape about it when we last had this discussion.”
“That was yesterday. We’re wasting time!”
“Sam. Sam, stop.”
Sam hadn’t even realized he was advancing on Dean, hands closed into fists. He froze.
“Are you…?”
“I think. Hang on.” Dean leaned down to lay his hand flat on the ground again, and then Sam suddenly felt a lot more peaceable. He flexed his hands opened. He raised an eyebrow.
“Uh—“
“I don’t mean to, honestly,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck and craning to look back up at Sam. “I think I’m doing it in my sleep.”
“You can make me angry in your sleep,” Sam echoed blankly.
“Not so much make as…you know what, forget it.” Dean looked away. Sam tightened his lips.
“I’m already angry, so there’s not much work to do. I get it. Just…try and restrain yourself, Dean.”
“Hey, I could ask you to do the same,” Dean snapped, and then Sam had to leave before he punched something.
Dean was glad of Sam’s quick exit, even if it was hardly a friendly one. Almost because it wasn’t, but he was not thinking about how the potential for violence felt like the pleasant burn of scotch in the back of his throat. He ran a hand through his hair, the ring catching on short strands.
Eventually, even the angels got in on the action, though luckily only with each other. Gabriel showed up, and Castiel had glared at him from the kitchen table before growling, “Gabriel. I’d like to have a word.”
Gabriel looked at him, nodded curtly, and they both disappeared. Dean looked at Sam.
“What the hell?”
Sam shook his head. “Dunno. Though to be honest, Cas has been growling about something for the past few days. Something about what Gabriel said to you last time he visited.”
“But he didn’t say anything,” Dean protested.
Sam held up his hands placatingly. “I never said you did. But you remember how Cas looked when you told us that.”
“Yeah, but—oh Christ.”
Sam followed his brother’s gaze out the window. “How long since you last neutralized the ring?” he asked.
“Too long,” Dean grumbled. “Be right back.”
The two angels were in the yard, blades drawn, when Dean got outside.
“What the fuck, you guys,” he said loudly, as platinum shined brightly in the dawn sun. “Are you seriously twelve?”
“Set down your intent, and we’ll talk,” Gabriel said, breathing heavily, as Castiel sank his blade into the earth.
Dean could do little but kneel and set his hand down on the ground, ring going dull as it hit the earth. He pointedly ignored the hollowness that pricked at him as the tension of aggression subsided. “Be at fuckin’ peace. Jesus Christ,” he said. “What were you guys even arguing about?”
Castiel gave Gabriel a significant look, but Gabriel just said dismissively, “A personal matter. In other circumstances it would not have been an issue, but in these conditions--”
“I’m just making it worse, yeah I know,” Dean finished. “Awesome. Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry for something you cannot help,” Castiel said.
“There has to be a way to neutralize my…whatever the hell this is, without putting my hand in the ground permanently.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Gabriel said, still sounding edgy. “I’m going to Switzerland for chocolate. Call me if you die in Texas.”
He blinked out of sight. Castiel took a long breath. Tentatively, Dean stood back up.
“Perhaps I should go as well,” Castiel said, before he could ask what the hell the argument was actually about. “The fewer of us there are in contact, the less chance of conflict.”
“Yeah, but also fewer people to mediate conflict,” Sam said. Dean and Castiel both turned to look at him. He leaned against the porch railing, looking tired. “Dean, can we just go? I know you’re not ready, but—“
“—Better that I urge you guys to kill some bad guys rather than each other,” Dean finished. He pursed his lips. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Is Gabriel coming?”
“He’s apparently leaving us to our own devices until we’re in mortal danger.”
“In other words, he’ll meet us there.”
“…Yeah.”
Chapter Five.