Brilliant Light of Morning

A/N: Wow, a pretty long one this time. And there may be more to this episode. I'm not promising, but I feel like I have more material for OTHOAP. If so, I'll be posting the second part soon. If not, it will just be the next episode. Oh, and who saw the premier of season five? I DID!!!!!! And how epic was it? TRULY EPIC!!!! And it has given me new hope for Dean and Castiel. YAY!! Oh, and I loved the little reference to fanfiction and wincest. And that cute fangirl? That would pretty much be me. Except, I'd have been feeling up Dean. Oh, well.

4-16: On The Head Of A Pin

Dean trudged through the door of the cheap motel room, Sam at his heels. He felt every bit his age that evening, every inch his seventy years. Lookin' damn fine for seventy, he thought, but his heart wasn't in the humor. Forty years in Hell, thirty on earth, and he was sure he'd never make it to Heaven. It was a severely depressing thought, and it plagued his mind as he switched on the lights.

Only to see Uriel and Castiel, standing by the beds.

Uriel stepped forward. "You're needed."

"We just got back from ‘needed‘!" Dean snapped, anger making his sore muscles tense up.

“You mind your tone with me, boy,” Uriel said.

“No, you mind your damn tone with us!” Dean took a few menacing steps forward, not sure exactly what he was going to do.

“We dragged you out of Hell for our purposes.” Uriel’s voice turned silky, cold.

“Yeah, and what were those exactly? Stop Lucifer, the Apocalypse, huh, what exactly do you want from me?!”

“Start with gratitude.”

“Oh, well,” Dean began, but was cut off, Castiel speaking for the first time.

“Dean, we know this is difficult to understand -” he began, eyes and voice full of sorrow.

“And we,” Uriel interrupted firmly, half-turning to Castiel, “don’t care.”

Castiel turned away, and Deans stared at him. What the Hell? Never once has Uriel interrupted Castiel, never once has Castiel backed down.

As Dean was pondering this, he heard a name he never wanted to hear again. Alastair.

“His will is strong,” Castiel was saying.

“Well, yeah, he’s like a black-belt in torture,” Dean said. “You guys are out of your league.”

“Which is why we came to his student.” Dean’s blood ran cold at the note of glee in Uriel’s voice. “You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we have.” Dawning horror came with the realization of what they were asking, but before Dean could react, he was swept away in a cold wind, grey feathers in his face, and the scent of sweet angel surrounding him. The last thing he heard before he blacked out was Sam voice.

“Dammit!”

*************




Sam paced in the hotel, checking his watch every few seconds. Where the Hell was Ruby? He slammed his fist on the small dinette table, wishing it was Castiel’s face. Uriel he expected this from, but it infuriated him that Cas had failed to come to Dean’s defense. What were they thinking? Dean couldn’t do this; it was like telling a rape victim to rape their attacker. It was going to break Dean. Sam was sure of that. And he couldn’t allow it. Not after he’d gotten Dean back, not after everything. He couldn’t let Dean fall apart again, because Sam was sure that if he did, Dean wouldn’t survive it. His psyche had so many cracks in it that the strain of torturing Alastair would break it completely.

A knock sounded on the door, and Sam stilled an empty pang in his body. That wasn’t why he’d called her; he told himself that over and over. He’d called Ruby for help finding Dean. He opened the door and she sauntered in. “I can still smell them,” she said. “Seriously Sam, I’m not exactly dying to tangle with angels again.”

“They took Dean,” Sam said.

“I don’t see the problem,” she replied, leaning against the wall. “You know they’ve got Alastair strung up six ways from Sunday? Dean cuts himself a slice, Alastair squeals like a pig, and the angels get their info. Everyone goes home happy.”

“He can’t do it,” Sam muttered, staring at the floor. He was finding it hard to ignore the pulse in Ruby’s pale throat.

“I know you’re worried about him going all torture-master again -”

“No, I mean he can’t do it. He can’t get the job done.” It wasn’t entirely true. He thought Dean could get the job done. The problem was that if he did, he wouldn’t be Dean anymore. “Just... just find him.”

Sam tried to concentrate during Ruby’s spell, tried to ignore the growing chasm in his stomach. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, like he was starving. He knew what it was, knew what he was going to have to do, and it sickened him as much as it excited him.

“There’s your brother,” Ruby said, pointing to a section of the map that Sam knew was an old industrial district. She walked over towards the beds, leaning against the wall.

“Ruby, it’s been weeks,” Sam heard himself saying. “I need it.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“You think I want to do this?” Sam walked over and sat on the bed. “This is the last thing I - but I need to be strong enough.”

It was a lie. Sam knew it; Ruby knew it. The hunger in his gut grew as Ruby walked towards him. “It’s okay, Sam,” she said, straddling him on the bed. “You can have it.” She kissed him, and Sam kissed back, feeling her pulse in her lips.

Ruby drew a knife from her boot, and Sam watched, transfixed, as she slid the blade across her skin. Blood welled up in oozing pearls, and Sam dove, clamping his lips around the wound.

Ruby’s blood burst thick and hot onto his tongue and he drank it down, savoring the taste, the rush of fire that coursed down his throat and into his body, filling him with power. He sucked at the wound, drawing more of the delicious heat into him, his tongue darting across the wound, opening it further. Finally, a hand tangled itself into his hair and pulled. “That’s enough Sam.”

Sam surfaced, gasping at the power raging through him. It burned in his veins, down his spine, and behind his eyes. Pushing Ruby aside, he stood and threw his coat on. “I have to go get Dean,” he said, his voice thick.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough?”

Sam turned. Ruby was standing in front of him, arms crossed, chewing her lower lip. Without a word, he raised his hand, flexed his mind, and threw her back onto the bed, holding her there. “Sam, what the Hell...?” she gasped. He twitched his fingers, and her gasping breaths turned into moans. “Oh, God, Sam,” she breathed, eyes closing against the onslaught of Sam’s power. He flexed it again, and her back arched like a bow, and she cried out. He lowered his hand slightly and twitched his fingers again. This time she screamed as her orgasm caught her completely off-guard.

Sam released her, and she collapsed back onto the bed, panting. “What do you think?” he asked quietly, his pupils bleeding into his irises, staining them. He left without waiting for an answer.

Ruby lay on the bed, a slow smile spreading across her mouth.

*************

There he was. Alastair. And suddenly it was like every bad dream Dean had had since coming back, every horrible nightmare. Alastair was there, chained up in a Devil’s trap. “Old Enochian”, Castiel called it. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t hold Alastair. Nothing could hold Alastair. He was made of terror and torture, made of the wet drip of blood, of tearing sinew, of screams and cries, the smell of rotting death, the sound of flesh against flesh. Once upon a time, Dean had been his own worst nightmare. Now, looking into that room, he realized how tame and safe his nightmares used to be. He was like a child fearing monsters in the closet, then discovering the beasts of war, famine, and hate.

“Fascinating,” Dean said, proud that his voice shook only a little. “Where’s the door?”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked as Dean turned away.

“Hitchin’ back to Cheyenne, thank you very much.” Uriel was in front of him, then, in that way only angels had.

“Angels are dyin’ boy.”

“Everybody’s dyin’ these days. And hey, I get it, you’re all-powerful, you can make me do anything you want. But you can’t make me do this!” Dean’s mind was rebelling against it, against the idea of being in the room with Alastair. He was alone with Alastair once before, and it nearly destroyed him.

"This is too much to ask, I know," Castiel said, moving towards him, "but we have to ask it."

Dean thought for a moment. He wasn't going in there; he was clear on that. But he needed to know why Castiel was suddenly deferring to Uriel; needed to know what had happened to change the angels' pecking order. "I'd like to speak to Cas, alone."

Uriel raised his eyebrow at Dean. "Uh-huh," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look, if you want even a snowball's chance in hell of me going in that room, you'll shag ass and let us talk."

Uriel glanced behind Dean, and he wondered what the angel saw there, what Castiel’s expression told him, if it said anything. “I think I’ll go seek revelation,” Uriel said finally. “See if we have any further orders.”

“Well get some donuts while you’re out,” Dean snarked, but was disappointed to hear the roughness in his own voice.

Uriel chuckled. “Oh, this one just won’t quit, will he? I think I’m starting to like you, boy.”

He was gone, then, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.

Dean turned back to Cas. "If you guys don't walk enough, you're going to get flabby." Castiel just stared at him. "Well, I'm starting to thin junk-less back there has a better sense of humor than you do."

"Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone."

Dean would never admit to the swell of affection he felt at how adorable Cas looked saying those words with a straight face. “What’s going on, Cas?” he asked, moving towards the angel. “Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?”

After a short pause, Castiel replied, his eyes on the ground. “My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.”

“Your sympathies?”

“They say I’ve become to close to the humans in my charge. You.” Cas raised deep blue eyes and met Dean‘s gaze, who flushed with a mixture of shame and fear. ‘Too close’ was right. It had never occurred to him that his and Castiel’s little trysts would be noticed by the higher-ups. “They feel I’ve begun to express emotions,” Castiel continued. “Doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.” He leaned against a metal table, facing the wall.

“Huh.” Dean nodded. Something had grown tight in his chest, like a coiled spring, and a lump was forming in his throat. He knew he was going to ask, knew that he needed to know, but dammit, he also knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “And, uh...” he began, clearing his throat. “And, what, ah, emotions... are you supposedly expressing... exactly?” He stared off to Castiel’s left, dreading the angel’s response.

Castiel was silent for so long that Dean started to think he wouldn’t answer. Finally, when he was about to say, ‘Fuck it, Cas, you don’t have to tell me’, the angel cleared his throat.

“I’ve asked myself... that same question,” he said, his voice halting, “many times since we first met, Dean. And the more I ask, the less I understand. I don’t... I am not accustomed to thinking in human terms. To relating with others on an emotional level. That’s not to say that angels can’t feel; we simply don’t. However, since becoming acquainted with you, I have begun to desire emotion. I... look forward to our meetings. So much so that it is all I think about.” His blue eyes met Dean’s, and Dean’s breath caught in his chest. “You, Dean, are all I think about.” Castiel frowned then in that beautifully pensive way he had. “The only time in my entire existence that I have felt fear was in connection with you. Fear that you would be hurt; fear that I might lose you. Fear that you would lose what little faith you have in me; fear that you would no longer want me.” His frown deepened, and he looked away, shaking his head. “I am as confused as you are, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t breathe. He felt like all his thoughts were spinning inside his head, like a tornado was roaming through his brain, carrying reason, common sense, a few cows, and the Wicked Witch herself cackling between his ears. “Look, uh, Cas,” he began, “I’m not very good at this sorta thing. You can ask Sam; I tend to hide behind snark whenever a chick flick moment rolls around.” Cas gave that half-smile, breathy laugh he had, and it encouraged Dean to continue. “But, um, I just want you to know, that place you’re in right now.. well, uh, I’m right there with ya. And it’s confusing, and scary as Hell - well, maybe not quite - and I’ll be damned if it’s ever happened to me before. But I’m there. I am.”

Dean moved forward, and Castiel looked up at him, and the look on his face was pleading. “Now, I’m going in that room,” Dean said. “Because I can be practical when I have to be. But I need to know that you’ll be here when I get out; no matter who I am when I do.”

Cas swallowed heavily and nodded, his hand sliding up Dean’s chest. Dean caught Cas’s face between his hands and kissed him. He leaned the angel back against the table, savoring the taste on his tongue. Castiel moaned then, and it sent waves of lust through Dean that were so strong, he pulled back. Cas, his eyes closed, tried for a moment to follow Dean’s mouth, and that made the man smile. “Cas, we gotta cut this short,” Dean said, his voice thick with lust and fear, “or I’m not making it through that door.”

Castiel nodded. Dean pulled away and walked towards the room where Alastair lay. “Dean.” He turned around, his hand on the knob. Castiel stood, hands clenched at his sides, his hair mussed, his lips red, painting the most beautiful figure Dean had ever seen. “Be careful.”

Dean nodded. He took a deep breath, turned around, and opened the door.

*************

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