Chapter Text
i.
Dean's time in Hell is difficult to shake off.
Most nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, begging to tear open whatever broke within him as though that would mold him back together. He wakes up to see an empty bed next to him, his brother quietly slipping away and vanishing into the night. He wakes up to see the familiar form of a man sitting at his own bedside. The ghostly shadow of wings splays out against the moonlit wall.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asks groggily, though he already knows the answer.
Castiel says something important about the Seals and Dean tries to pay attention, but he can barely keep his eyes open.
"You are tired," observes Castiel. "How many hours have you been sleeping?"
"Enough," Dean assures, rubbing the dampness from his eyes.
"You won't be able to stop the Apocalypse if you can't keep yourself upright."
"I know. Don't worry about it, Cas."
Castiel frowns. "My duty is to ensure that you are safe. This can wait until tomorrow."
"Keep an eye on it, at least."
"Of course."
Dean waits for Castiel to leave, but the two only stare at each other. The rattle of the motel air conditioning cuts through the silence.
"Guess I'll just roll over." Dean sighs, but Castiel stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
"You have nightmares," says Castiel. He tentatively holds up two fingers. "I was wondering if I could help in some way."
Dean surprises himself when he nods in response. A part of him is still in Hell. Not much could damage him any further.
Castiel presses his fingers to his forehead, and in seconds he drifts into darkness.
ii.
Dean's salvation is difficult to recall.
The deepest part of his soul aches as it dreams of a gentle, powerful force that grips him by the shoulder, causing his hand to fall open. The knife clatters to the ground. He claws at the enveloping energy threatening to overwhelm him.
Don’t touch me! shrieks Dean.
He is a monster. A creature of Hell writhing among the countless others, carving at souls with a wide grin plastered on his bloodstained features.
DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED, says the being.
Dean finally gazes upon the one that holds him.
Hundreds of eyes and wheels of gold and flame stare back, glowing in the dim space. There is no discernible beginning or end, only eternal rotation like the orbiting electrons of an atom. There are infinite heads and there is no head. Two sets of wings, dark and luminescent as the night sky become many and then one.
Dean has had no reason to believe in spiritual purity before, but this is the closest he has ever come to knowing what those words mean. Whatever this being is, the emanating light it carries is anathema to the carrion of the pit. He flails against the holy might surrounding him.
THE RIGHTEOUS MAN WILL BECOME WHOLE WHERE ONCE HE WAS BROKEN BY HELL, the vast creature announces.
The rings spin rapidly as it says this. A series of cries rise up from the pit to meet the challenge. Some voices ring like the creature. Some howl.
The creature draws its wings wide, like a cloak of sky against the burnt crimson earth that makes Hell. A silvery beam of radiance manifests in one of the creature’s many hands. Another hand continues to clasp Dean’s shoulder like a tether. The silver beam rises in the air.
BE NOT AFRAID. YOU ARE TO BE HEALED OF THE STAIN OF HELL. YOUR SOUL IS COMPLETE WITHOUT IT AND SHALL BE STILL, says the creature.
The beam descends. A beacon. A sword.
There, in the depths of a lost, damned place, the monstrousness that had possessed Dean Winchester is ripped from his soul by a blinding flame and the essence of something truly ethereal.