Holding the Fort

Holding the Fort

A Supernatural story by Axy @Aaaahhhxy

The bunker was finally silent again.

Besides the occasional mechanical thumps of the old building, which, at times, made it feel like it was breathing, everything was quiet for the first time in hours.

Castiel sighed. He’d never been such a fan of the crowd and the noise and the waste of energy in small talk.

That uneasy sensation was in spite of his daily -- and, for a while at least, permanent -- usage of angel radio, the closest thing anyone could possibly get to being thrown into an ocean of thoughts.

Human voices were different. They were tough and solid, almost as if he could touch them.

Now, angel radio was nothing but static, and the occasional plea for help. Cas turned it off most of the time, because there was very little he could do to help them, and the knot in his throat caused by the guilt he couldn’t shake off was becoming progressively unbearable.

He leaned toward Sam’s laptop, left open on the table near him, to peek at the hour. Ten past one. Things would likely stay this calm for another five hours, give or take.

Then it would be just another day, similar to the previous and to the next one, sitting on a pile of worries and concerns and fears, and yet another string of disappointing trails back to Dean that would all lead next to nowhere at best.

Castiel did miss people, in the past. He missed his father. He missed some of his closest brothers. But this…This was a whole new feeling. Something anchored deep in his grace, something he couldn’t forget for one second.

Had he been granted the possibility not to be haunted by it for that sole second, it would have been such a relief. There were so many questions, dancing within his wounded thoughts, that were almost too painful to even consider…And yet, they’d stab at his mind at any given chance.

Daily. Hourly. Every minute. He failed him. He didn’t try nearly hard enough. He hadn’t found the right argument. And even though he knew the truth and he knew it would have cost both Sam and Jack’s lives, or permanent damage Sam wouldn’t have been able to come back from, had Jack killed himself, Cas couldn’t fathom the rational side of Dean’s decision. He couldn’t accept it either. And as days went by, heavy with Dean’s absence, he felt the cold bite of pure, absolute loss of hope becoming prominent.

He considered the leather cover of the book he had been trying to read for a couple of hours now. An old treatise in Enochian about archangels, but most of it was either incorrect or only partially right. The more they dug into the work of the Men of Letters, the more Castiel found it partial, incomplete, and sometimes downright offensive in its blatant lack of neutrality. But if there was one chapter or one line only that they could use, then it was worth going through the 2,476 handwritten pages.

As he tried to focus again on one particularly obscure mention of what could have been his late brother Gabriel, he noticed an unusual noise troubling the usual silent night.

At first, he thought it was nothing but one of those peculiar things the bunker did on its own, but it wasn’t regular. And there clearly was something else with it, something human, like…Someone struggling, maybe?

He instantly grabbed his angel blade, and went to follow the trail, half convinced something terribly wrong was happening. Because, honestly, had anything remotely good ever happened to them?

He walked through the long main corridor, and stopped by every room for a second just to check whether the noise was coming from that part of the bunker. Nothing so far.

The thumping sound was closer, though. He tried every room, every door, every corridor, even those he wasn’t that familiar with since they’d been turned into bedrooms to accommodate all their new guests…Until the provenance of the noise became painfully evident. It came from there. The door was opened, the lights were on, and the repetitive cling was the loudest as he approached it.

It was the first time he’d seen it opened in days.

They just told them all that it was condemned.

That there was nothing behind those doors.

Of course, it was quite the opposite.

“Sam?”

He peeked through the entrance of the room, only to see the younger Winchester on his knees behind the bar, visibly wrestling with a piece of it. Dean’s opened toolbox was right beside him, and had vomited half its contents on the floor, while the other half was, for some reason, partially disposed on one of the recliners.

“Cas? Do you mind handing me that wrench…”

The angel tilted his head at the number of various things that were, actually, wrenches, trying to figure out whether he already, and by default, had more information about what tool Sam was needing.

“The red one, Cas?”

Red. Not orange or blue or green. Red. Which meant a shortlist of about four wrenches. Hey, progress.

“Should be the smallest one,” Sam prodded.

With a sigh vaguely tainted with relief, Castiel grabbed the winner and walked to Sam, still trying -- and visibly failing -- to figure out whether the task wasn’t just impossible to complete. Cas handed him the tool, to a sorry frown from his friend.

“I think it’s the second-smallest, after all,” Sam said.

Within seconds, and an annoyed smirk, all the red wrenches were brought back by the angel, eliciting a weak laugh from Sam.

“Here’s the second-, third- and fourth-smallest,” Cas said. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, fair enough, buddy.”

“Sam…What are you doing?”

For one second, Sam halted his enraged battle against whatever was behind the bar, and stood up, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

His red shirt was lying not far from the tool carnage, as he considered earlier on that wearing his gray T-shirt only was a more suitable choice of outfit for something a YouTube tutorial taught him shouldn’t take more than 10 to 20 minutes to install.

He’d been there for a solid hour now, to no avail.

“Dean wanted to add a kegerator to his bar,” Sam said. “So I’m adding a kegerator to his bar. Or…Trying to. Mostly failing.”

As Sam persisted, Cas took a painful, breathless look around the room. Everything was reeking of Dean, to a point it almost made him nauseated. Memories of happier days came right back at him, and it was almost too much to bear. He had to fight off tears that, lately, were easy to come.

He wanted to ask Sam whether this was really urgent. He wanted to ask whether Dean would even be given one day the chance to use it. He wanted to point out the obvious.

He didn’t.

Instead, he joined Sam in trying to do this one thing for the one person they both missed more than words could possibly tell.

As it turned out, two-thirds of Team Free Will proved enough to defeat the kegerator, and it took them a few minutes to figure it out. They celebrated the empty victory, both on the floor, backs against the wall, clinking two bottles of beer together. There was an unspoken golden rule in letting Dean try his new toy first, one they’d both enforce at all costs.

“To Dean.”

“To Dean.”

Even if it tasted like nothing but molecules, the short-lived and weak warmth of the beverage messed with Castiel’s perception of loss, for a brief instant.

After all this time, Sam couldn’t feel any of its power anymore. He didn’t mind. There was something strangely right in doing this with Castiel. For a while, it fooled his brain and gave him back the feeling that his big brother could walk in at anytime. It almost made it all acceptable.

Almost.

Castiel sighed. “We should show this place to Jack.”

“I don’t know, Cas. It’s Dean’s. I want him to show it to Jack.”

“Sam, I…”

Cas paused. Instead of reminding Sam of the uncertainty there, he took another sip of beer.

They were both well aware that they were at ground zero of the hardest task they’d ever faced. Every morning, they expected the news to announce that the Earth was half destroyed, that the other half would soon follow, and that even if they found Dean, the only choice they’d have would be to destroy both him and Michael in order to avoid yet another apocalypse.

Every time Sam’s homemade algorithm detected something remotely catastrophic, it could push them all one step further into a fate worse than hell. Coincidentally, Michael’s status quo so far wasn’t comforting in any way, shape or form.

Maybe it meant that he was gearing up for something far scarier than they could possibly imagine.

That’s what Cas was dreading.

Maybe it meant that Dean was fighting tooth and nail against him, and would contain him for as long as he could.

That’s what Sam was hoping.

Of the few possibilities they explored, none had really proven viable. They’d thought of using the expelling egg that had been a fair success with Lucifer a couple of years back, but this would mean getting hold of one, and getting a location of Michael’s recent whereabouts, and neither was proved doable.

They’d been looking for spells to communicate with the vessel only, but at best, they were dangerous and unproven methods that could lead to catastrophic consequences for Dean.

Sam and Cas exchanged and gathered as many memories as they could of their past experiences with angelic possession, but nothing was really resonating as piercing so much as a breach into this concrete wall Michael left between them and Dean.

And this was only the technical side of their issue. There was no telling in what state they’d find Dean if he ever came back to them. Neither Sam nor Cas ever dared asking the other about it, but their current biggest fear was exactly the same, a relentless doubt about the unwritten rules of angelic possession.

They both had the most unwavering of all forms of faith in Dean fighting Michael off, but how much of Dean would remain, if any, once he’d exhausted all of himself? How long until he faded?

“He’s coming back, Cas.”

Sam could pretend all he wanted, but Cas heard his voice trembling. Time wasn’t on their side.

From where they were sitting, the empty space on the wall where there once was a flat screen looked even emptier to them both. Sam couldn’t hold back a smile, and, as if it were magically contagious for once, Cas smiled too. So much happened since, both good, and tragic, it made it feel like it was much longer ago than it actually was.

Both their eyes landed on a piece of folded red fabric on the upper shelf, and as Cas’ labored breath became painful, Sam’s eyes filled with tears he could not resist anymore.

“I miss him, man. I've lost him before, but this is different.”

Hell happened. Purgatory happened. Metatron happened. None of those things felt half as hard as this did. Hell, Sam had never really gave up on finding something to bring Dean back. Purgatory was so sudden and left Sam so alone, he knew that one day, they’d be together again. And Metatron…Well, that one wasn't exactly suspenseful. He had a plan. A strategy that proved itself right. This time, he was out of his depth.

Castiel took another sip of the remarkably inefficient beverage, as Sam’s mind drifted away to that one thing he tried that still remained big enough to be helpful. He hadn’t told Cas, feeling like his friend’s breaking point was closer every day. Adding the sour taste of his failing siblings and their father wouldn’t do much good. Sam wasn't even sure that what he’d done wasn’t completely useless anyway. If only…

Last evening, as he went to the city to get the kegerator, he drove past a little church. Without really understanding why, he parked Baby in the small area under a couple of trees, and he entered the deserted building.

It looked eerily like the one he'd almost completed the Trials in, but in better shape, and with a few more rows of benches, made of a cheap wood that was manically polished. Whoever took care of that place loved it.

He stayed back, sitting down two rows before the last. He had no agenda, as if something begged for him to come. Lately, praying had ceased to bring him any comfort, as if knowing who the prayer was headed to took away all of its power. But this one time, he threw into it all he could muster in strength and in faith.

Maybe Chuck didn't know.

Maybe he wasn't aware.

Maybe he would care.

“Chuck, I don't know where you are. I don't know if you’ll get this. I don't know if any of what happened…If you know. And I don't care that it’s been a long time.”

There was something almost unbearable in the silence that was surrounding Sam. Not even the echo of his own voice. For a while, he hesitated. Wouldn't that be the most ridiculous of all things, to pray to a god that doesn't listen?

But even there, it was all a question of faith. He’d chosen to believe in His existence for such a long time, and it wasn't for nothing. There was a God. Now, all he needed was to have faith in His will to listen and act upon it.

It was a completely different type of belief. Praying to someone nonexistent is heartbreaking. Praying to someone who just doesn't give a damn is worse. “You must be aware of something, all right? You can't not know. But if you don't, well…Michael is back. Not the one who…”

He had one random, almost surprised thought for Adam. The guilt was too overwhelming to even be considered. He suspected that on top of everything, adding Adam’s fate to their concern was just too much, even for them. Not that either he or…Dean would care. Or even Cas. But there was nothing they could do without risking yet another apocalypse.

Not that they never thought about it. Or that the irony in this escaped them entirely. The unfairness, too? Adam was a good kid, forcibly thrown into something far bigger than any of them could deal with, he didn't deserve any of this, and maybe he should have gotten the same kind of exterior help Sam himself got.

Maybe freeing their Michael and letting them fight each other would be a solution. But then, nothing of either Adam or Dean would likely remain. Providing there would be enough of the planet left alive after the fight.

Sam continued his prayer. “Not our Michael. One from another universe. You must know about those, don't you? So far, all we’ve seen is…Chaos, and war, and, well, dinosaurs I guess.”

He paused, suddenly out of breath. The memory of his brother eating grilled lizards from the Bad Place came back at him, and, for reasons he couldn't explain, instead of being tainted with fear and anxiety and doubts whether they would find their way back to their world as he felt when that happened, all he had access to was the comfort of being with Dean. The persistent feeling that even the darkest of days weren't so dark if the two of them were together.

Suddenly, it felt like the air around Sam was heavier. He fooled his own brain most of the time, by keeping busy, one way or another, because the second he let his thoughts take over, the pit inside of his stomach would feel painful again, a type of pain he had only tasted in the cage.

There was no point in dwelling on it. It wouldn't get them anywhere, so, most of the time, he just pretended. He knew Cas was doing just the same. He surprised the angel a few times, found him sitting alone on Dean’s bed, not even strong enough to turn the lights on and face the deafening lie of feeling like Dean had been there an hour ago and would come back an hour later.

He never let Cas know he saw it. Because that would force them to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and the possibility that Dean was lost to them forever. And neither could stand it.

Sam prayed: “The truth is, even if we found a way, before…Because that’s what we do, all right? We always find a way. Regardless of the cost…Or…The sacrifices…But not this time…Michael took over Dean, and it seems like there is nothing we can do. We lost Gabriel. Heaven is in bad shape. We need you, man.” Sam wiped one tear from his face, all too aware of his loneliness in a place that’s supposed to mean the opposite. He sighed, ready to leave, when a thought he didn't get until now jumped out of nowhere.

And if at first, he nodded negatively, trying to convince himself that this was out of his reach, the more he considered it, the less impossible it felt. He stood up, as if it gave him another stance entirely, and cleared his throat, in order to try and get rid of the tightness caused by a grief he couldn't take anymore.

“Here goes nothing…I don't even know if you can hear this, but I’m not taking any chances.

“Dean, we miss you, man. I miss you. We’re trying to get you out of this, and we are gonna find a way, but we need you to hold on, OK? I know you are fighting this, and I know how hard it must be. Cas is miserable, Jack doesn't talk about it much, but he is hurting -- and Mom…”

He tried to dismiss the pinch in his chest as he tried to gather whatever his mother was even feeling. He didn't know. He truly didn't know. At times, it felt like she would do anything for Dean to come back. And at times, it felt like she was OK with it all.

“She misses you. Bobby does, too. And I…I just need my big brother back, that’s it. We’re OK. Don't worry about us. But we can't do it without you. I don't want to. No one does.”

For a second, Sam considered how he could help him, if Dean was to hear his prayer, just like Jack did. And for a long, long while, he dug out every memory he could find of better days, not even aware that he was following the same trail that brought him back just in time to force Lucifer back into the cage. It felt just like then, right to say. To remind Dean of who he was, now that he was a prisoner in his own body, trapped somewhere Michael knew he couldn't control.

***

Father Daniels, who lived just across the street, heard the gentle purr while he was preparing his next sermon.

For a priest, he was modern enough to know and appreciate classic cars, and above all, that 1967 Chevrolet masterpiece. He was surprised that someone parked the gorgeous car, one that had been recently washed and was shining under the sunset light, by his church, that late.

Upon considering the probable underlying tragedy in anyone needing to visit a place of worship at dusk, decided to cross the road and check whether he could be of any help. But as he walked through the door, and heard a soft, often breaking voice painting a picture of a troubled childhood on the road, he decided not to say a word, and instead, he listened.

For once, Father Daniels felt like the tall man standing in his church didn't needed his help. He knew what to do, and he knew how to do it.

It felt like he was watching over someone’s shoulder navigating through a family photo album. All he got out of it was that the man had lost his brother, and for once, Father Daniels prayed himself for them to be together again.

Usually, he didn't question the wrath justifying losses of all sorts, as he believed God had a reason. But just this once, he felt like it wasn't fair, and he hated having to question it. So Father Daniels prayed. Because it was the only way he knew how to deal with conflicting thoughts.

Sam noticed him, just as he was running out of memories...or of the courage to face them alone. He saw the young priest, eyes closed, hands joined, and for a confusing second, he genuinely pondered what he was praying for. Or if it was worth it.

At the end of the day, if Chuck ignores the Winchesters, it is easy to forget that the rest of the world goes unnoticed too.

Sam quietly walked out of the church, and simply exchanged a kind look with Father Daniels. From the window, the priest watched as the beautiful car left the parking lot in a cloud of classic rock music that made the driver smile weakly.

For the first time in his existence, Jim Daniels confided in God a second time his call to alleviate the pain he had just been witnessing.

And sometimes, all it takes is a stranger’s benevolent prayer to send a selfless message to those who need to hear it.