Epiphany of Love 2

8

I'm back on my bed in new clothes. Someone changed me.  Probably Dean or Castiel. For my sake, I hope it was the latter.

I still can't leave, but someone comes in. Sam. "I brought you some food." I roll my eyes, "what, the meatman can't face me himself? I don't eat. I want out." "I'll tell him you said that." Sam sets the plate of food down and leaves.

I wait about 5 minutes before Dean comes in. "Meatman?" He asks. "I knew it would get you here," I respond, "let me out." "And kill yourself? No. We- I just got you back. I will not let you die again." I narrow my eyes, "I already told you what will happen if I don't translate that tablet. I take the mark from you, whether you are dead or alive, and I will get thrown into the cage with Lucy and Michael."

"I don't have a choice do I?" Dean asks. "Not really," I answer. He puts a slash through every single ward in the room, "there." I walk out of the room and to Dean's, "how long was I out?" "A few days, almost a week. How are you feeling?" Dean answers. "Slightly better. I am not throwing up anymore, that is a good sign. Who changed me?"

He stops for a moment, "Castiel." "Good... wait, what? You told Castiel? What do you think the point of these wards are?" "I had no other choice. I had to get professional help," Dean defends. I look around the room, "fantastic. Did he read my translations?" Dean shakes his head, "No, I didn't let him." "Good," I sit at the desk.

I see my translations left as they were. "You didn't try to translate them to english?" "We translated them to Latin, it's what came out of your mouth before you passed out. We translated it to English, but there was no point in writing it down. We couldn't do anything with it." Dean answers.

"If I am alive long enough, I will help you complete the spell. If not, you will have to do it yourself. No Sam. It won't work. Only the affected one and the translator can complete the spell. Given that the translator should be God, I understand." "I thought Metatron wrote these Tablets?" "Not this one. This isn't his hand writing. This is God's handwriting." He looks at me as if I am going to say, 'just kidding!' His face smooths over, "you are serious?" "Deadly. There's a reason this tablet affects me and the demon tablet didn't. No one is meant to read God's handwriting other than God. It is pure energy, too much even for the archangels. Course, it wouldn't affect them as much as it does me. But, they would still  be rendered useless for a while."

He sighs, "how hard do you think these ingredients are going to be to find?" "I may have to travel back in time." Sam now joins us, "you don't have that much energy." "So, I get stuck there. I will get it back to you one way or another." The conversation is dropped.

"You ready?" Sam asks Dean. I furrow my eyebrows, "what's happening?" "Castiel called us. We are going to help him with his daughter of sorts." "Claire?" "yeah, her. She ran away." Dean answers. He looks at me, "don't kill yourself while we are gone. This shouldn't take more than a few days."

He hugs me. Dean Winchester hugged me. I hug him back before pulling away, "don't get all sappy on me." He rolls his eyes, "call us if you need anything." I nod, "got it." Him and Sam leave and I continue to translate.

I start to feel dizzy again, but remember Dean's words. Don't kill yourself. I step away from the tablet and take a bit of a break before returning.

I translate 5 ingredients before my body forces me to be in a deep sleep. I wake up, this time in Dean's bed. He is hunched over. I won't read his mind, though I want to. One, he asked me not to. Two, I don't know if I have the energy. So, I use my words, "Dean? What's wrong?" He shakes his head, mumbling something. So, I invade his mind.

I see the horror. Him killing men who didn't need to be killed. It wasn't self-defense. It wasn't Dean. It was the stone-cold killer on his arm, the Mark. I'm sure he senses me in his mind, it can cause discomfort. He turns to me, "see enough?" I just stare at him. "Nothing to say? No, 'you're a monster,' or 'I'm disappointed,' or any of your witty comments?" He asks. I shake my head, "I can't judge. I didn't have the Mark and I killed more than you have." I cock my head, "I can cook you some pie."