Chapter Text
Dean laid the rabbits he'd caught on the kitchen table before pushing back his hood and removing his cloak. He shivered, startled by how cold the tiny cabin was and instantly felt annoyed. His father was almost certainly at the tavern and had let their main fire burn out, but when Dean turned to look at the fireplace, he saw that it still burned but had been enchanted to coolness. Dean scowled. It was a simple enchantment, one taught to every child, but he hated that his father had used magic in their house. All magic came from the angels and Dean hated them above all things.
But the only way to undo magic was with magic, so Dean reached into the Earth and pulled the power up. "Loagaeth ovoars malprg olpirt," he intoned and the fire rippled and flared as though a wind had blown over it. Suddenly, heat was coming off of the fire and it began to crackle as it began consuming the wood again.
Dean pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his belt and then held his hands close to the warmth for a moment, letting the stiffness ease from his joints. He'd been out in the cold for hours checking and resetting his traps and gathering what winter greens he could. He'd spent an especially cold hour breaking through the thin ice that had formed at the edge of the river to gather the abundant grass that grew beneath the surface. The skin of his hands was red and cracked and painful as he flexed his fingers, but he hardly noticed. His hands had been like this for over half his life and were likely to remain that way. There were charms that could smooth them again, heal the cracks and take away the pain, but he used magic only when he absolutely had to.
When he felt sufficiently thawed out, he spent a little time arranging the wood of the fire, pulling it tighter together to make the fire burn hotter and then turned his attention back to the kitchen. He took the bread he'd left to rise from the compartment to the side of the fireplace and slid it onto the hearth where it could bake slowly. Next he turned his attention to the rabbits, skinning and butchering them with the ease of long practice. He prepared the greens he'd gathered and made a trip to the root cellar for potatoes and carrots to add them to the pot. When he was done, he hung the pot on the swing arm of the fireplace and pushed it into place over the coals.
His back was aching and he wanted nothing more than to make the walk to the tavern and stretch out in one of the overstuffed chairs with a beer, but the rabbit skins needed to be attended to. His father needed a new pair of mittens and Dean needed new vambraces, so Dean cleaned the skins and then took them down to the root cellar and salted them. They would sit there until they were dried out and then he would tan them.
It was dark by the time he was done with everything and the stew and bread were done, but his father still wasn't home. He bit down on his irritation and instead pulled his cloak back on. It was nearing the fourth anniversary of them losing Sam. That was the reason Dean had spent all day in the forest, keeping his mind and body occupied. His father dealt with the loss by drinking.
Dean moved the bread and pulled the stew from the direct heat before he left their cabin to drag his father home from the tavern. No doubt he'd be maudlin and belligerent. Dean was used to it, but it still hurt every time his father drunkenly slurred that he wished the angels had taken him rather than Sam. He kept his head down, hood up, as he walked, lost in his dark thoughts, but the excited shriek of children running past him made him look up. It was late for kids so young to be out. Dean grabbed the arm of the next youth that streaked past him.
"What's going on?"
The boy shot him an excited look and shook off Dean's hand. "Angels have come down!"
Dean halted abruptly, his cloak swirling around his legs, and calmed the hatred in his heart. This was an opportunity and he meant to take it. After taking a steadying breath he continued after the excited kids. He found them huddled around Ellen's cabin and bristled. He didn't like the angels so close to anyone he considered family and he moved closer so he could look into the window.
There was a trio, of course. They never came alone or in pairs. Always three. And he recognized this bunch. A dark haired female, a blond male, and a dark haired male. The dark haired male was kneeling by Ellen where she sat swathed in blankets by the fire. Dean knew she had been suffering with some lung ailment for a while, but he'd thought the healer's treatments and simple magic charms had been working. That she felt so bad as to call on the angels disturbed him a great deal. He had half a mind to barge into her cabin and warn the angels away, but he needed to stay unobtrusive, unnoticed by the trio, so he simply watched, rage simmering in his veins.
The dark haired male said something to Ellen that made her smile. She nodded and said something back. The angel tilted his head and reached up to gently brush her hair off her forehead. It took everything in Dean to keep him rooted to the spot and he had to actually close his eyes when the angel moved his hand from her face to her chest. Rationally he knew that the angel wouldn't kill her, not in front of all these witnesses, but these were the same beings that had stolen his little brother, had forced him into slavery to pay for services such as these.
When he opened his eyes again, the blue white glow under the angel's hand was just fading. Ellen's eyes were closed, and when the angel lifted his hand away, he saw her chest lift in a huge, deep breath - the kind she hadn't been able to manage in nearly a year - and she opened her eyes to smile hugely at the angel. She said something and the angel inclined his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He responded and then helped Ellen to her feet. She looked strong again, not wobbling and gasping for breath and Dean turned his gaze to the angels. How could they do such goodness and still steal away their children as payment?
We don't really mean anything to them, his father's voice rang in his head. They help occasionally so we stay like sheep. Too afraid to say anything to them about our kids and pathetically grateful that they don't take more.
Dean stepped away from the cabin and into the shadows as the angels emerged. He watched as the children shared excited whispers over the visitors. The one who had healed Ellen smiled bemusedly down at them and occasionally patted one on the head tentatively. The other male dug into the pocket of his cloak and drew out little candies to give to the children as they passed. The female passed through them coolly, as though she didn't even see them.
Once free of the gaggle they strode across the village and stopped, to Dean's chagrin, at his grandfather's cabin. Henry opened his door and smiled broadly at his visitors before letting them in. Dean skulked in the shadows, waiting for the angels to emerge. He couldn't lose them. He was so close to knowing the whole incantation.
He crouched down and drew his cloak tightly around him against the cold. He didn't understand why his grandfather was friends with the beings that had taken his youngest grandson. He knew that Henry didn't believe what John said, had told Dean that Sam had chosen to go with the angels. But that was impossible. Besides, if he'd gone willingly, why hadn't he come back to visit or at least send word?
Dean's father had taught him everything he knew - how to hunt, how to fight, to work leather and sharpen a blade. His father had also taught him that the angels were not friends to humans. He told Dean, over and over, how the angels had refused to come when Mary was dying because John had dared to speak against them to the people of their village. They had let her die as a lesson to John. Henry was John's father, not Mary's. Maybe that's why he didn't want to believe what the angels were. Maybe Henry had convinced himself that Sam really had wanted to go in order to protect himself, both from the wrath of the angels as well as the pain of losing his grandson.
It disgusted and saddened Dean to think that of his grandfather, that he was just as afraid and cowed by the angels as the rest of the village. He loved his grandfather, but he hated that he refused to see what the angels were, that he smiled at them and invited them into his home. Dean glowered at the door of Henry's cabin, hoping that after he got Sam back, after everyone heard the truth from one who'd been taken, they would see the angels for what they were and rise up against them.
Dean waited for a long time until the angels finally emerged from Henry's cabin. They exchanged a few more words. Dean could hear the familiar timber of Henry's voice and the deeper voice of the dark haired male, but couldn't make out any words. He saw them embrace and repressed a shudder of revulsion. He couldn't wait to break his grandfather - and the entire village - from the grip of these creatures.
The angels made one more stop at one of the merchants. Dean was surprised to see the light shining in Rufus' shop window, since they were past the second watch bell and Rufus was an irascible old fuck. But the angels went in and made their transactions and eventually emerged with several packages. Speaking quietly among themselves, they left the village, and followed the path that would take them to the gate.
Dean followed as closely as he dared, wanting to verify the first part of the incantation and then to get the few last precious words he needed to open the gate himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, both from how close he was daring to follow and with the thought that he would soon be able to open the gate on his own. Soon he'd get his brother back.
The conversation between the angels had ebbed, and Dean was so caught up in his fear and excitement that he didn't immediately notice that the angel bringing up the rear had stopped.
"Saisch," the dark haired male said, calling out to his companions, and Dean dove as silently as he could off the trail. The female responded, sounding irritated, but Dean was trying too hard to control his breathing to pay attention to what she was saying. He closed his eyes and drew his sword from its scabbard. It would likely do nothing to protect him if the angels found him, but its familiar weight in his hands steadied him.
Dean held his breath as the angels spoke quietly, but what made his heart leap in his chest was the sound of footfalls coming back down the path. His eyes snapped open as he readied himself to fight.
"Castiel," the female called. "Niiso."
The steps halted. "Ol bolape..." the angel, Castiel, started and then stopped. There was a long pause before the footsteps started back the other way as he called something else to the other two and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief.
He waited until the voices faded almost completely to begin following again, his anxiety at being discovered nearly paralyzing him. But he forced himself to move forward for Sam. He had to save his brother.
The female angel had already begun the incantation to open the gate and Dean swore under his breath, dropping his sword and going to his knees in the loam, digging through his waist pouch for the slip of paper that had what he already knew of the incantation written on it. He listened carefully to her words, catching where she was and mouthing along with her. He finally fumbled his stylus out of his pouch and flattened the paper on his thigh. The angel was getting close to the end of the incantation and he had to get the last few words. He had to. Sam had been enslaved for too long, Dean had let him rot there for years...
He realized he was letting his guilt distract him from the very thing that would allow him to get his brother back and forced himself to focus on what the angel was saying. His eyes followed the words he'd already written as she spoke and then the words ran out and he started writing, straining to listen and transcribe correctly and then it was over and the gate swirled to life. Dean stared at it, awed despite himself as always, watching as it shimmered and enfolded the first angel as she walked through. The blonde angel went next and finally, after the briefest of hesitations, Castiel.
The gate spun closed after they were all gone and Dean leapt to his feet. He sheathed his sword as he ran back down the path to the village. He had it. He had the full incantation that would allow him to open the gate. He could get his brother back.
He ran through the village to his cabin. Sam would likely need travel clothing. A warm cloak at least, and boots. Food and drink. In his preoccupation with what he needed to gather, he didn't see the man leaving his cabin and ran directly into him.
"Hey now," Benny said, grabbing Dean's shoulders to steady him. "Where's the fire?"
Dean grinned and grabbed Benny's cloak. "I've got it."
"You've got…" Benny started, his brow creased in confusion, but then his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "The incantation?"
"Yes," he hissed and pounded a fist against Benny's chest. "From the trio that was here tonight. Now get out of the way." He shoved his friend aside and started into the cabin. "I've got to get some stuff together."
"You're going tonight?" Benny asked, following Dean back inside.
"You think I'm going to wait another day?" Dean pulled a bag he generally used for market off a hook. "He's been there almost four years, Ben. I've gotta…" As he turned, Dean saw the half eaten bowl of stew on the table and deflated a little. "You brought him home?"
"Yeah, tried to get some food into him, too. He ate a little bit. I dumped him into bed before he passed clean out, though."
Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Thank you. I was on my way to get him when I heard the angels had come down and I… I forgot about everything else."
"You know it's alright." Benny stepped closer and ran his hand down Dean's arm. "You know I've always got your back."
Dean bobbed his head in acknowledgement and reached out to clasp Benny's shoulder. "What would I do without you?"
"You'd hobble along, I figure," Benny joked, but then his face grew serious. "Let me come with you, Dean."
Dean took a step back and shook his head. "You know I can't."
"To hell with that!" Benny spat and Dean squared his shoulders.
"Even if I make it in, Benny, there's no guarantee I'm making it out."
"Even more reason to let me come with…"
"Benny," Dean plead. "I need to know he'll be okay if they… if I don't make it back."
Dean didn't need to explain who he was talking about. Benny's eyes flicked toward the door of John's bedroom before resettling on Dean. "Ellen will take care of him now that she's healed. You need me with you more than you need me here."
"No, Ben. No. If the…" Dean licked his lips and swallowed. His great fear, the one he hadn't let himself feel until now because he hadn't had the incantation, was that he'd be obliterated the moment he tried to step through because he wasn't an angel. "If it doesn't work, our people need you. I can't risk it."
"Dean," Benny started again but Dean interrupted him.
"You've never won this fight before, Benny, and you won't now." He turned and wrapped the leftover bread in a cloth before stuffing it into the sack. He paused as he started for his room and looked at Benny. "Stay. Watch over my father. Pray I return with Sam."
The struggle was clear in Benny's eyes, but finally he nodded. "Fine, you stubborn sonofabitch, I'll stay. But you'd better come back, alright?" His voice cracked slightly and Dean gave him a smile full of confidence he didn't completely feel.
"I will. Now go on. With luck I'll be back within a day."
He didn't wait to watch Benny go, just turned to his room to fold his extra cloak into the sack, followed by a pair of his boots. If Sam had continued to grow like he had been before he was taken, they'd be too small, but it was better than nothing.
Back in the kitchen, Dean took some jerky out of the larder and stuffed it in the sack before leaving the cabin without looking back. He ran the entire way back to the gate, his heart pounding in anticipation, and then stood there trying to catch his breath. As he looked at where the gate would manifest, he realized he was trembling all over. He never actually thought he'd make it here and, now that he was, all the ways he could fail assailed him. He'd never been more terrified in his life.
With shaking hands, he pulled the incantation from his waist pouch and licked his lips. He had been practicing Enochian with Pamela, the village's healer, but he hadn't dared tell her his plan. That his Enochian wouldn't be good enough was just another on his long list of fears. He licked his lips again and took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands. With one more fortifying breath he started the incantation.
Even though he avoided it as much as possible, Dean had used simple magic in the past, he knew how it felt, that pull in the center of his chest, but this was different. As Dean continued to speak the words, the pull in his chest intensified and expanded until Dean's body felt heavy and hot with it. The feeling grew until it felt like he was going to be crushed with the weight of the power, the words becoming nearly impossible to form. He didn't realize that tears were streaming down his face until they hit the paper in his hands, making the ink run.
Dean would have panicked but the words were glowing on the page, still clear even where the ink was smeared. But more than that, Dean could feel the words inside him, all around him. The very air shimmered with them and the paper fluttered from Dean's hands, the power of the words coalescing around him and forcing themselves from Dean's throat. Before him, was a small flash of blue white and the gate began to swirl to life.
The pain was enormous as the incantation went on and the gate grew, but Dean couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. The magic had ahold of him and he knew it wouldn't let go until the incantation was completed. Blood sprayed from Dean's lips as the last of the words forced their way out of him and the gate swirled completely to life, shining and glittering.
Abruptly, the magic left him and he collapsed to the ground, gasping and coughing, his entire body screaming with pain. He could feel the power of the gate, the pulsing otherness of it, and wanted nothing more than to back away, but he forced himself to crawl forward. Nausea joined the pain the closer he drew to the gate and he had to lie still for a moment, his cheek pressed to the cold ground as he tried to will away the need to vomit. As he lay there, the power of the gate started to wane.
"No," he moaned. "No."
Dean forced himself forward on hands and knees. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled back to the ground. Pain was spiking through his head and chest and his stomach was threatening revolt but he didn't let himself stop. His only thought was of Sam as he drug himself toward the gate and then, finally, through.
His arms and legs went out from under him when he reached the other side and he collapsed to the cold ground, curling in on himself in agony. Going through had felt like being ground to paste and now he could only lie there, feeling like he was being shredded from the inside, his voice too hoarse to scream. The gate closed behind him, plunging him into complete darkness. He coughed and felt the blood coming up his throat, heard it splatter wetly to the ground. The trip through had been fatal. More blood sputtered from his mouth as he twisted against the pain deep inside his body. He wouldn't live much longer.
I'm sorry, Sam, he thought and felt fresh tears leak from his eyes.
He didn't hear the footsteps approaching him, only started when he felt fingers brush his temple.
"I wondered if you would come tonight." Dean recognized Castiel's voice. "You're lucky I heard you earlier or you would be dead very shortly. Rest now, brave, foolish human."
And Dean slipped into darkness.