Chapter Text
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“I've got him,” Castiel tells Sam as he looks out the window of his tan and brown F-250 to the entrance of a brown wooden building at the end of a dirt lane. There’s a neon ‘Miller Beer’ sign in the window and the parking lot is full of a couple of pickup trucks, a few cars, and a semi cab minus the load. At the far end of the lot sits a pristine 67 Chevy Impala, black. Cas doesn’t have to see the license plate to know it’s Dean’s. He’s been on his trail for a few days now.
“Where are you?”
Cas’ attention flicks to the light spilling through the door of the backwater gin mill, as another lost soul stumbles out into the night. Not the particular soul he’s looking for.
“I don’t know the name of the town, but it’s a little past Cold Springs Tennessee. A place called The Snakepit.”
“Okay, that’s-” Sam pauses. Cas can hear his fingers clicking on the keyboard of his laptop. “Shit. Alright. If I leave now I can be there by tomorrow night.”
“I think we both know that’s not a good idea. You know how you get. You know how he gets.”
“I’m just worried about him.”
Cas closes his eyes, shakes his head. He doesn’t want to have this argument with Sam right now. “And your worry, though well-intentioned, usually manifests itself in anger.”
“I think I have a right to be angry, don’t you? Jesus, Cas. I hate it when he just takes off like this. And it’s not like it’s the first time. It’s like he doesn’t give a shit about how the rest of us will have to lose sleep wondering if he’s injured or dead or worse.”
Cas sighs. “Call Donna, Jody, and the girls and get some sleep. I’ve got this Sam. I’ll bring him home, or else I won’t let him out of my sight ‘til he comes on his own.”
“Fine…you’re right Cas. Just…just bring him home.”
Castiel pockets his cell phone, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on his steering wheel and wonders what the best approach would be. Wait here until Dean leaves? Or go in and get him.
The decision is made for him by the sound of something breaking inside the bar. He jumps from the truck, angel blade at the ready, and runs to the door just as a large man in a leather biker vest emerges from the bar, another man locked against his chest in a full Nelson.
“Get the fuck outta here, Blake,” the man in the vest grunts releasing the other man and shoving him forward toward the parking lot. “Go home and sober up.”
“He fucking hustled me! You gonna just let that cocksucker swindle your regulars?” the man shouted back.
“Bullshit he hustled you. You’re wasted. You should know enough not to bet what you can’t afford to lose.”
“Ginny’s gonna have my ass.”
“Not my problem.”
Castiel slips the blade back into his sleeve and hurries past the pair, into the bar. A broken chair lay on the floor next to an overturned table where a waitress of sorts in jeans and a halter top is sweeping up broken glass. Her skin is leathered from the sun, her false lashes are caked with too much mascara. Her aura radiates desperation and regret, like almost everything else in this place, so thick Castiel could almost choke on it. She looks up, eyebrows raised as she gives him the once over. “Hey there, sugar. Where’d you come from? Get lost on the interstate?”
He glances down at his clothing and realizes he looks like a fish out of water with his suit, tie and trenchcoat in a bar where demin, t-shirts, and leather seem to be the standard uniform. He surveys the room and finds the man he’s looking for sitting at the bar with his back to the door. It’s sloppy. Another sign Dean’s tempting fate, possibly harboring a death wish.
“Excuse me,” he says making his way past her.
A man is chatting Dean up, seated on his right. He’s got dark hair, rough-looking, with neck tattoos. He’s older than Dean, Castiel guesses, maybe late forties, early fifties, and he’s looking at Dean in a way that's-...well it’s dishonorable. Leering really. Castiel dislikes him instantly.
Cas pulls out the chair on Dean’s left and sits drawing his attention. Dean’s glossy eyes drift over him. Recognition manifests in his eyes and his lips curve into a lazy smile.
“Hey, Sunshine. Missed you,” Dean slurs, head lolling just a little as his eyes glide over Cas' face. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and slides it down his arm.
Cas knows he’s heavily intoxicated, but it pulls at his heart how soft and easy that smile is. Free and easy, as if the horrors of hell and every monster, every loss Dean has ever had to face, has been momentarily forgotten. Castiel aches to touch his cheek, to feel the curve of that smile against the palm of his hand. But…he can’t. Besides, even as drunk as Dean is, Castiel sees the flicker of pain behind Dean’s eyes. His smile is just a well-crafted facade.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Who’s your friend?” the man to his right drawls, turning steel blue eyes on Castiel, clearly annoyed at the new competition for Dean’s attention.
“Oh, that’s Cas. Hey, Cas,” he nods in the direction of the man next to him “This is Steve…hey” Dean’s head bobs back to him, “you were Steve once too. What was that like?” Dean chuckles. He slips his arm past the edge of Castiel’s coat, settles his hand on the small of Cas’ back. “Bet you had a line of women buying lottery tickets most days, hoping to get lucky.” He laughs at his own joke.
“Dean,” Cas places a hand on Dean’s forearm. “Your family, Sam, Jody, everyone’s been worried sick. I’ve been worried sick.”
New Steve leans in aiming a glare at Castiel. “Hey, man. What are you, his mother? Why don’t you back off? Dean here’s just having a little fun.”
Dean’s attention lolls back and Steve smirks, he’s shoulder to shoulder with Dean, his body shielding them from the rest of the bar as he slips his hand up the inside of Dean’s thigh resting it a little too close to Dean’s….too close for Castiel’s liking….A lot too close. It’s all Cas can do not to slice off the man’s fingers with his angel blade, but Dean just looks down at the guy’s hand and starts chuckling. “Ahhh, fuck,” Dean grins.
“Let go of him,” he tells ‘Steve,’ his voice low with warning. “Dean, you’re inebriated,” Castiel grits out urgently. It’s taking every ounce of control not to smite this fucker. Not to grab Steve’s arm and break it off.
“Inebriated? No shit he’s fucking In-eee briated,” Steve mocks lowering his voice in mimicry of Castiel’s. “Your buddy here’s a fucking drag,” Steve says to Dean.
“Hey,” Dean pushes against Steve’s chest, “Don’t be a dick. Cas just got here.” Dean smooths his hand along Steve’s shoulder. “He’s cool. Cas is cool. Hey Phil!” Dean yells to the bartender.
“I think you’ve had enough, man,” Phil says as dries a glass.
Phil would be right. Dean is drunk. Drunk, drunk, and for Dean Winchester that’s no easy task. Cas wonders how much Dean has had. Based on the dilation of his pupils, the red in his eyes, the slide from one word to the next when Dean speaks, the languid movements of his head and arms, Dean Winchester has outdone himself this time.
“Nah, for my friend here,” Dean motions to Cas and lays money on the bar. “Whiskey. And leave the bottle.” Dean turns to Cas with a grin. “He drank a whole fucking liquor store once, didn’t you, big guy.” He slaps Castiel on the back and erupts into laughter.
Steve leans in close to Dean’s ear and whispers low so Cas can’t hear, but Cas hears everything. “Hey, forget Columbo. Why don’t we take the party somewhere else? I got some real good stuff back at my rig.” Steve flicks his head toward the door. “Come on out with me. Sample some. We can just relax if you want. We can make a trade.” Steve’s hand drifts up and down the inside of Dean’s thigh again.
“Dean!” Cas grips his elbow. “Please.”
“Why don’t you fucking mind your own business, pal,” Steve glares.
Castiel stands, towering over Steve and addressing him for the first time. “I AM NOT YOUR PAL. AND YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH HIM.”
Dean touches his arm. “Easy, Cas. Relax, Sweetheart.”
Steve stands, steps around Dean and shoves Cas into the bar.
As if waking suddenly from a dream, Dean grabs Steve’s arm and twists him into a headlock. “Don’t fucking touch him!” He slams Steves's face against the bar holding him there, eyes suddenly lucent, deadly. If Cas didn’t know better he’d think Dean had been playing drunk all this time like he does for a hustle, but he can detect the slight slur in Dean’s words. Enough to know it’s just a hard-won moment of clarity before the whiskey-induced haze takes him over again. “Fucking touch him again and I’ll kill you,” Dean warns.
“Hey! That’s it!” The bouncer from earlier grabs at Dean’s shoulder but Cas puts him out with two fingers to his forehead, doing the same to Steve a moment later for good measure. Both men drop to the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” Phil yells as the barmaid screams and the rest of the bar goes silent.
“Dean! Come with me! Now!” Cas insists grabbing Dean’s arm, and pulling him through The Snakepit amidst the general commotion that follows and out the front door. He hurries him to the Impala. “Keys!” Cas demands, taking them from Dean’s hands and shoving him not so gently into the passenger seat. He’s furious and in moments like this it’s hard to resist the urge to smite something.
A few angry locals flood into the parking lot as Cas peels out and onto the highway. Dean is laughing, laughing himself into a coughing fit as he chokes on his own spit. “Ahhh- shit, Cas. That- oh god,” Dean coughs. Tears are running down his cheeks as his body shakes with it. “Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking beautiful when you’re angry?”
“Shut up!” Cas roars. He needs to calm himself. Cas is quiet a moment letting Dean’s laughter die down. “Where are we going?”
“What?”
“Where are you staying, Dean?”
“Oh shit…fuck, Cas. I don'remember the name. Red and white place, near the diner.”
“What diner?”
“It’s…it’s here somewhere,” Dean gestures vaguely to the road ahead.
Dean’s phone rings. He fumbles with it, almost dropping it but manages to answer.
“Hey, Sammy. What’s up, buttercup?”
“I don’t believe this! Now you pick up? You can’t just take off like that and go radio silent. You scared the hell out of me, Dean! Cas has been looking for you for over a week.”
“Must be nice.”
“What?”
“Having the hell scared out of you. I don’t think it’s ever been out of me. More like it gets into me…in my head. But then you probably know what thats-.”
“Dean, give me the phone, please!” Cas puts his hand out.
“Oh Hey!” Dean says as if he’s just remembered something. “Cas is here. He wants to talk to you.”
Cas takes the phone, “I’m here Sam. We’re going to a motel where he can sleep it off.”
“Don’t leave him Cas. He doesn’t sound….Dean’s not in a good place.”
Cas sighs, “No, I won’t,” Cas glances over. “And no, he’s not.”
“I’m not what?” Dean asks.
“And don’t let him take off on you again.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Bye, Sammy!” Dean yells just as Cas ends the call. His eyes are closed. He’s slumped in the corner of the door and the seat. “You know, I can’t even remember anymore if it was that bad.”
“If what was that bad?”
“Hell,” Dean exhales with his eyes still closed like he’s settling in for a nap. “It hurt that’s for fucking sure. But this…” Dean’s eyes open. He waves a hand at the world around him dismissively. “Sometimes I think this is worse.”
Cas feels a chill at Dean’s words. “Dean, what are you talking about? What’s worse?” he asks, unsure if he wants the answer.
“This…” Dean gestures vaguely. “The world...topside, whatever. What’s the point of relationships? Getting attached to something when it can just be ripped away again? It’s been like that my whole fucking life. If I didn’t know any better I’d think Chuck was just getting his rocks off on watching me squirm. At least hell was predictable. It was certain. Final.”
It’s worse than Cas thought. “Dean, don’t-”
“And the funny thing is, it’s not like I don’t know how this ends. It all ends with hell anyway so what’s the freaking point?”
“Dean, No!” Cas feels like he’s choking. He wants to pull the fucking car over but there’s no shoulder here. There’s a red and white sign in the distance and he needs to get Dean inside somewhere safe so he keeps driving toward it. “You’re not going back to hell. Ever. I won’t let that happen.”
Dean laughs, but it's joyless. “How you gonna stop it without your wings?”
Cas doesn’t have an answer. At least not one he’s certain will convince Dean.
He sees the sign for Gus’s Diner. Across from it is the ‘Tudor Rose Motel.’ An unlikely name for a cheap strip of rooms in a backwater like this, but Dean points to the red and white rose lit up in neon and confirms it.
“There.”
Cas puts his turn signal on. “You’ve done too much good. You’ll be in heaven Dean.”
“In case you haven’t heard, souls who’ve been to hell can’t go to heaven, Cas.”
“Maybe for most, but you’ve already proven that doesn’t apply to you. Chuck will -”
“Chuck?” Dean sits up sounding angry for the first time, then sighs as if getting worked up about it is pointless. “Chuck’s MIA as usual. He got what he needed from us and now he’s done. Maybe before the apocalypse when the angels needed my meat suit they let me in to teach me an Sam a lesson, but now?” Dean huffs, fixes his stare out the window at the blinking neon lights. “Cas, you don’t know half the shit I did when I was a demon.”
Cas pulls into the lot and parks the car in silence. Cas wonders how much he should say, but Dean deserves the truth. Dean slips out of the passenger seat. Cas follows, locking the car door. “I do, Dean. I… I know everything.”
“Well….… fuck,” Dean looks at the ground at their feet, sighs, and runs a hand tiredly over his eyes. “ …fuck. ”
“Dean. All you’re life you’ve sacrificed for others. Even taking on the Mark of Cain to save others. What you did...what you became doesn’t negate any of that. When the time comes, you belong in heaven. And besides, even if..." Cas shakes his head, "We'll find a way. I'll make sure of it.”
Dean laughs but it's bitter. "Yeah, we sure do find a way, don't we. When it's me or you or Sam or Jack, we always seem to find a way."
Castiel glances quickly from the road to see Dean's face illuminated by a passing streetlight. He's angry, his eyes flame with it, his jaw tight with it. Castiel doesn't understand why this of all things would garner such a reaction from Dean.
"If something happens to me, no deals, Cas. No finding a way to bring me back or keep me from wherever it is I'm going. It always bites us in the ass. 'Sides, what's the point of heaven? The thing is Cas, I don’t want any of it. The idea of being trapped in my own little cell up there in the sky just replaying my greatest hits like a Memorex?”
“It’s not-” Castiel hedges, “Heaven’s not actually in the sky. It’s a different dimensional pl-”
“Whatever! My point is how is what happens up there any different than being a ghost that doesn’t know it’s dead? How is that any different from a death echo? It’s not real Cas. None of it’s real! Some fucking reward, just playing your best memory on repeat. I don’t want it. 'Sides even in my best memory I’d still be wanting what I ain’t got.”
Cas wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “So, go out and get what you want! That’s what life is for! Dean, if there’s anybody who can find a way to get what they need, what they want, it’s you! If there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s you! But you need to stop being reckless with your life.”
Dean huffs. “Stop being a hunter then?”
“You know what I mean! But yes, maybe? Your whole life has been in service to others. Go ahead and go after something you want for a change. You deserve to be happy.”
“You don’t fucking know, okay? You’re so-” Dean stops himself laughs, shakes his head. “God, Cas! Even on my best day I don’t have the balls to make it happen. I just don’t - this right here, like this when I’m fucking wasted is the closest I’m ever gonna get so I’m fucked either way. And even if I could manage it, even if I could fucking get over myself it still would just be a bullshit echo, it wouldn’t be you. I mean how fucked up is that? That’s not what heaven’s supposed to be. I’d rather be in hell or be nothing…cease to exist or some shit. I’d rather be in the Empty.”
Cas bristles. “DON’T say that! Don’t even think it!” His voice is like cold iron, surprising even himself, and for some reason, it’s this that snaps Dean out of his rambling. He stares wide-eyed at Cas’ reaction.
“Yeah…” Dean nods after a moment. “Yeah okay, Cas.” He looks genuinely sorry. He pulls a diamond-shaped plastic keychain with the number 8 etched in white out of his jacket pocket. “It’s over here,” Dean nods in the direction of the end of the strip of rooms and starts walking.
Cas follows in step behind, but he’s replaying Dean’s words in his head. He’s stuck on something. “What do you mean it wouldn’t be me?”
“What?”
“What wouldn’t be me? What’s… Dean, I would find a way to visit you.”
“And if you get ganked again? If Jack gets ganked?” Dean’s eyes are red. He huffs, shakes his head. “Forget it, man. It’s nothing. I’m gonna sleep it off. Thanks for the ride. You should uh…go ahead. Get outta here.”
Dean fumbles to get the key into the lock of the hotel room door. Cas takes it and opens the door for him. “I’m not leaving. Not yet anyway. I promised Sam.”
“Christ!” Dean turns to glare at him, then winces with pain. He grabs his head. “Ow…You know what...Just…fine. You promised Sam. Wouldn’t want to disappoint Sammy now, would we.”
Cas’ brow furrows, his head cants, “Dean, I-”
“It's fine, Cas,” Dean slurs. “Fuck, I’m so fucking dizzy. It’s fine.”
Cas guides him to the bed where Dean flops on his back, his hands clutching at his head as if trying to keep his world from spinning. Castiel pulls at the laces of Dean’s boots, pulling them off and setting them next to his bed before arranging a blanket over him.
He moves to sit at the table by the window.
“I know you don’t sleep, but just…I have enough money if you want your own room.”
“I can just sit in the chair, Dean. Unless that makes you uncomfortable. I can wait in Baby if you want.”
Dean runs a hand over his eyes. “No. It’s fine.” He lies back and closes his eyes. Cas pulls the cord on the bedside lamp and draws the heavy shade across the window. The room is dark except for the ambient light of the smoke detector and a strip of light seeping in from the sign in the hotel lot. The only sound comes from the occasional distant conversations of motel guests and the cars passing by.
A few minutes go by.
“Cas? If that chair isn’t..…if you need to…” Dean stops.
Castiel wonders for a moment if Dean is talking in his sleep, but with a quick check he can sense the Alpha waves coming off of him. Drowsy then, but not asleep. “Dean? What is it?....If I need to what?”
“Nothing,” Dean sighs after a moment but it sounds broken. “Nevermind. I’m fucking drunk, Cas.”
No, Castiel thinks. It’s not 'nothing.' Even from where he sits Castiel can hear Dean’s pulse is heightened. Like he wants to say something important. Something difficult.
“Dean-”
“‘Night, Cas,” Dean rasps rolling over.
Castiel sits in silence and after a time feels the shift as Alpha waves become Theta then slip into Delta. Dean’s breath takes on the heavy cadence of sleep.
He sits in the quiet and tries not to think about how 'Steve' looked at Dean. How his filthy hand moved up Dean's thigh. How Dean didn't bother to remove it. It's not the first time Dean's gone off on his own to hide his grief and indulge in interests he prefers to keep from Sam, but he deserves more than to be pawed at by a lecherous ruffian with cold eyes. Castiel's jaw is so tight as the memory of it plays in his mind that it aches.
Castiel closes his eyes as if that will black out his thoughts and tries to focus on the rise and fall of Dean's breath as he watches over him and waits for the morning to come.
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