Angels Watching

by orphan_account

Summary:

Dean Winchester is four years older than his brother Sam. Their father, John Winchester, cares more about drinking than his sons, while their mother, Mary, died in a house fire years ago.

Life hasn't been exactly easy, but it's a life; Sam is off at college to become a lawyer while Dean works as a mechanic and does clandestine writing on the side. Life is simple; life is easy. All that changes when Sam visits for a weekend and the boys decide to go camping.

Their lives are turned upside down with the arrival of an angel that saves their lives.

Chapter 1

Notes:

I don't know how long (or short) this is going to be. I'm going to update whenever it suits me, so sorry it's not a planned thing.

I really want this to focus more on hunting and less on romance, so like the tags read endgame is Destiel (shocking coming from me, I know), but it's seriously going to be more of a footnote.

I have some fun ideas about how Sam and Dean come into being hunters, and I'm hoping it will be an exciting and humorous ride.

“You seriously forgot the marshmallows?”

“Dean—”

“The one friggin’ thing I actually asked you to pack—”

Sam rolled his eyes heavily. “Dean—”

“Literally the one thing—”

Sam gave a slack faced, narrowed-eyed, nostril-flared glare. “Is this gonna be a thing now?”

Dean held up his finger. “One thing!”

“I swear to God if you don't let this go and it ruins our weekend I will leave you here in the woods by yourself right now.”

“C'mon, Sammy! What's camping without s'mores?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Gee I d'no—camping?”

Dean tried to keep the pretense of being pissed. It was a brief flicker, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, that betrayed his poker face. Knowing he was had, Dean lunged forward and roughly shoved his brother's shoulder.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

A twig snapped outside. Dean froze, hand still out stretched.

“What was that?”

Sam smirked. “What was what?”

“Sh!”

Sam shushed. Outside the cacophony of the forest night sang to them. Some sort of loud, high-pitched, warbling insect sang out incessantly. Then there was the drone of the familiar crickets. From time to time there was a buzz, some mosquito or other flying nocturnal insect.

Or at least there had been. Now there was dead silence.

Sam's brow furrowed. “I don't hear anythi—”

“Sh!” Dean hissed again, green eyes turning into globes as he now held up his index finger.

Sam breathed. “Dean, I don't hear anything.”

“That's the point.”

Dean scrambled to his feet. He had the tent flap unzipped in seconds flat and lurched out, nearly tripping in his hurry. He stopped short, halting abruptly and listened. Behind him, Sam poked his head out. After a second Sam scurried out and quickly closed the flap behind him.

“Dude,” Sam said, amusement lacing his voice and tying it up in a pretty bow, “Would you come inside already? You're gonna get eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

Dean shifted his wide eyes all around. “There aren't any.”

“What?” Sam laughed in disbelief. “‘Course there are.”

But Dean was shaking his head. “No. Listen.”

Sam did. The reality of the situation was finally sinking in. As the younger brother opened his mouth to speak, Dean caught something move out of the corner of his eye and jumped. He whipped his head to the right.

“What was that?”

Sam looked in the direction of Dean's frightened staring, but didn't see anything. He laughed.

“Seriously? Out of anyone you're the last person I'd ever imagine to get freaked out by camping in the woods—”

“Holy shit!” Dean said, head whipping left then when he saw it again.

Sam rolled his eyes heavily. “Now what?”

Dean, looking all around, turned his body and put his hands on Sam.

“Sammy, get in the tent.”

“Dean—”

“Get in the tent, Sam!”

“What is going on?” Sam said, but his voice was finally starting to become tinged in fear. “Look, if you're trying to scare me it's not going to work—”

“Get in the damn tent!”

Sam understood Dean was serious, dead serious. Heart pounding, Sam looked around in paranoia dripping with fear. He fumbled for the zipper, shaking.

“Get me the gun.”

Sam paused. “Dean!”

Dean gave him a sharp glare. “Get me the frigging rifle, Sammy! I'm not kidding! Something is out there, and it's fast, and you're my little brother—”

“You're not going to go looking for it?”

No answer.

“Dean!”

“Get me the fucking gun, Sam, I'm not asking again!”

Swallowing hard, Sam did as he was told. As he emerged with the hunting rifle their father had taught them to shoot with when they were little, Sam said stubbornly, “Fine, but I'm coming with.”

Dean glared. “No you're not.”

Resting bitch face. “If it's a bear I'm probably dead anyway, so we might as well die together, right?”

Dean quickly checked the rifle, making sure it was loaded. He eyed his brother, frowning. “Morbid, but sure. Also whatever that is isn't a bear. It's too damn fast. C'mon.”

Dean and Sam were acutely aware of the eerie silence that blanketed their surroundings like a physical suppression. Their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud, no matter how quietly they tried to creep along. Dean's pulse hammered against his ear drums, and as he tried to keep his weapon steady he wondered how Sam was fairing.

There was a woosh and a growl. The pair stopped, terrified. Another woosh as something sprinted past, another growl, this time accompanied by snapping branches. Dean swore, sweeping his weapon around. Another disturbance and Dean spun; reflexively he fired off a shot, the sound piercing the silence with a deafening roar.

Behind him was a thump on the ground and Sam yelped. Dean turned but was too late; Sam was being dragged away at an speed that shouldn't have been possible. Dean's brain momentarily locked up and he almost dropped the gun; logic tried to get through his thoughts with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer.

Whatever had Sam was huge. Something that big should have been lumbering. Nothing Dean had ever seen moved that fast. In the brief second he got a good look at it, he realized it looked almost human, but it's proportions were all wrong. Worst yet, Sam was screaming Dean's name in a terrified pitch he had never heard before.

Dean blinked and snapped out of it.

“Sammy?!”

“DEAN!”

Dean took off sprinting. He had alway been fast, and this was no exception. Branches cut at his face, and a root nearly took him out, but he kept going.

“Sammy!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, legs already burning with the strain of how fast he was running on the uneven ground. “Sammy! Hold on! I'm coming for ya!”

“DEAN!” Sam's voice rang out, and Dean panicked at how far away it sounded already. When it came again, a desperate “DEAN!”, it was even farther away.

Then nothing.

Dean skidded to a halt, panting.

“Sam?!”

Nothing.

“Sammy?!”

No reply.

“Sam?!” Dean hollered so loudly his voice cracked and broke.

Only the eerie silence greeted him.

Tears stung his eyes. Dean spun in place where he stood, looking all around. There was nothing. No bugs, no breeze, no brother.

“SAMMY?!”

Movement again. Dean gasped and lifted his rifle. Shaking, he saw more movement and he shot off another round. Another ghastly humanoid shape caught his peripheral, and when he twisted, trying to shoot, his gun jammed.

“Shit!” he said, frantically lowering the gun. “Shit! Shi—”

Something slammed into Dean with a snarling growl and he yelped. Falling to the ground hard, the rifle flung away. When it hit the ground it discharged; luckily it was facing the opposite direction. A misfired gun was the least of Dean's problems though.

Whatever this...thing was, was definitely humanoid. But it was wrong, all wrong. Dean screamed in pain as it scratched his scalp, attempting to grab him by the head. He jerked away so the thing grabbed him by the arm, starting to drag him away. He screamed and flailed, trying to get purchase on something, anything; the only thing he got was severely cut up hands.

Dean was screaming unintelligibly. He didn't know what he was more afraid of, his impending death or what this thing was going to do to him. Whatever was in store for him he only hoped it would be quick.

It never came to that though.

Something new blurred in Dean's peripheral again, only this time it was benevolent. Whatever this new thing was tackled the monster. The creature and the newcomer tumbled away, while Dean was thrown by suddenly being released. When he staggered onto his hands and knees, face torn up from the ground and blood dripping down from his scalp, he couldn't believe what he saw.

It was a man. But it couldn't have been—that didn't make sense, either. People didn't move that fast. But as Dean watched this person beat the shit out of the monster with his bare hands, Dean drank in the very human attributes—the light colored trench coat, the flash of a white button down shirt, a dark neck tie.

The man was on top of the beast, punching it again and again. Dean gawked when, finally, the man grabbed the monster by the head with one palm; his eyes glowed, a brilliant blue-white, as did his hand, and the monster shrieked once and then stopped moving. Dean watched in petrified wonder as he drank in the fact that light poured out from beneath the man's sleeves, beneath his collar; it wasn't just his eyes and hand, his entire body was glowing.

When the monster stopped moving, presumably dead, the glowing man lifted his head. Piercing blue eyes unmistakably locked onto Dean.

Slowly the man stood up and began to walk towards Dean.

Dean wasn't even ashamed when he burst into tears. He tried to stand, tried to run, but only managed to trip and fall on his ass. The man still stalked forward.

“Shit,” Dean outright squeaked as he tried to scramble away on his hands and feet, back peddling. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit—”

“I'm not going to harm you,” the man said in a voice that sounded like thunder.

Dean was so freaked out that this glowing…person, could talk, he stopped moving away. He watched helplessly as the man strode forward and came to stop directly over Dean. Cocking his head to the side then, he swiftly got on his hunches.

“Where are you hurt, Dean?”

Dean couldn't believe his ears. How did this man know his name? Dean thought maybe had died and this was some sort of death hallucination. As such, he could only gape, shaking so hard it was a visible tremor.

The man moved his head to the normal position, and Dean felt like a bug under a microscope.

“Sorry,” the man said, and when he blinked he suddenly wasn't glowing at all.

Dean drank in the man. It was difficult to tell in the night's darkness, but he had unruly dark hair and piercing eyes that looked blue. His lips looked like he was dying of thirst, chapped. Late thirties, Dean guessed. The reality of everything slammed through Dean's stupor and he once more scurried away; he only got a couple inches before he was wedged against a tree.

“Please don't kill me,” Dean said, tears running freely down his face.

The man looked pained. He held up both hands.

“I wouldn't dream of it. Please, you have to believe me.”

Strangely, a part of Dean did. He swallowed.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel.”

Dean blinked. “What are you?”

Castiel didn't answer his question directly. “I was sent by your mother—”

“My mother?”

“Yes. Mary Winchester.”

“My mother's dead. She—she died when I was younger.”

Castiel frowned. “I know.”

Now feel sick to his stomach, Dean managed to whisper once more, “What are you?”

Castiel gave a curt nod. “I'm an angel.”

Chapter 2

“Those don't exist,” Dean blurted out immediately.

Castiel cocked his head to the side again. Scrutinizing. Peering. Dean squirmed under the look.

The man claiming to be an angel looked hauntingly amused. “You're so sure?”

Dean swallowed loudly.

Castiel moved his head upright once more and looked serious. “Where's Sam?”

“How do you know my name?” Dean said as a new onslaught of tears threatened their way into the world. “Our. How do you know our names?”

“Look,” Castiel said gruffly, “I know this is overwhelming but, where's Sam?”

“D'no,” Dean replied, still trying to wrap his head around everything. A single tear escaped. “That thing dragged him off.”

Castiel looked alarmed. “Which direction?”

Dean pointed to his left. Giving a curt nod, Castiel stood. Then without asking he helped Dean to his feet.

“Can you walk?”

Dean ripped his arm out of Castiel's grip. “I'm not going with you!”

Castiel puckered his lips and looked impatient. “Do you want to save Sam or not? He's in real trouble. He might even be dead.”

“Dead?!"

Dean moaned loudly and felt like he might puke.

“Yes,” Castiel snapped, “so you'd better keep up.”

With nothing else to do, Dean scurried after Castiel.

The fact that the forest was alive again managed to pierce through Dean's terrorized mind. It was like everything sensed the evil had passed, and were now free to go back to normalcy. As such, Dean slapped the back of his neck a few times against the onslaught of mosquitos. At one point he walked into a spider web and bit back a whimper. Not only did he not want to seem weak in front of Castiel, but the man was moving with a purpose and frankly Dean was struggling to keep up.

“How do you know my mother?” Dean ventured tentatively.

“I knew her before she died. She summoned me—”

“Summoned you?”

Castiel glanced over his shoulder. “Prayed to me.”

“Why?”

“To watch over you,” Castiel said like it was the most obvious thing.

Dean couldn't speak a moment, mind whirling, chest clenching. “Why?”

“Because she—” Castiel cut himself off. When he spoke the words were strained and multi-layered. Annoyance. Trepidation. Clearly an internal check on himself and the need for a guarded reply. “It's—complicated.”

Dean didn't know what to say or do with that information. His hands and face stung from their cuts. His head throbbed. Succinctly, Dean was terrified and miserable. He sniffed and wiped his nose off on his sleeve.

The pair fell quiet for a time. Dean wanted to enjoy the forest, with its soft grass, interesting undergrowth, and the sounds of nocturnal creatures. He had always been fond of nature and held a secret affinity to it. He was outdoorsy, rugged, his personality balanced upon the high stilts of machoism and all that should entail. It didn't fit that sometimes he found himself verklempt with the sheer beauteous nature of the world, so he buried that down in one of the many compartments he hid away from people.

There was nothing beautiful about the forest now though. Anxiety anchored his stomach, tied to the knot from the darkness that had become threatening instead of comforting, dangerous instead of relaxing. Dean jumped at every twig snapping, shuddered at every breeze.

He only prayed Sammy was alive.

“Here!” Castiel said, breaking into a jog, moving aside branches.

Dean jogged after him, wincing when a small branch snapped him in the face. It stung and his eyes watered. Castiel came to the stop at the mouth of what appeared to be a small cave. A disgusting wet rot leached from its maw and, pulling a face, Dean yanked down his sleeve and covered his mouth and nose.

“What is that?” he said, nearly gagging at the damp putrid smell of decay.

Castiel nodded once, staring into the absolute darkness. “The Wendigo’s layer.”

“The window-what?”

Castiel turned to him. “Wendigo.”

“Windy-huh?”

“No—wendigo.” Castiel sounded slightly exasperated. “It's a creature born from the negativity produced by a person starving and resorting to cannibalism—”

Dean put his arm down. “Cannibalism?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Nevermind, we don't have time for this.”

Castiel grabbed Dean's arm and forced him onto the cave.

Dean tried to be brave, he really did, but everything was starting to be too much. He was beyond rattled, the smell of death and blood from the cave making him gag. Dean couldn't see, not really, anyway, and he was led by the arm. Castiel walked like he knew what he was doing, like he wasn't perturbed or otherwise bothered by the dark.

When Dean tripped over something, and he looked down only to find the obvious skeletal bones of a human arm (complete with a decomposing long shirt sleeve), he retched loudly and was nearly sick.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked evenly.

“No I'm not alright—” Dean had started to say, but then cut himself off, truly wishing his eyes had never adjusted to the dark.

It was like a horror movie. It was worse than a horror movie because it was real. Dean had frozen in place, both hands flying to his mouth as he took in the grizzly scene.

Three people were tied up, hanging from stalactites. They were clearly dead. Dean was trying really hard to not throw up because one of the three appeared to be half eaten. He also wished he hadn't noticed there were some mostly empty ropes, too, and those held the remnants of arms and legs, the people themselves presumably devoured long ago.

“I'm gonna—”

Dean was trying to give Castiel fair warning he was about to puke everywhere, but the words and bile stuck in his throat. Laying on the ground in front of the hanging dead people was Sam, face down.

“Sammy?!” Dean barked, and he ripped himself out of Castiel's grip, running forward. Castiel was on his tail, and moments after Dean had dropped to his knees and flipped Sam over, Castiel was already at his side.

Dean started crying again. “Oh Sam. No, no—"

Castiel crouched down again. He put two fingers to Sam's forehead, looking like he was concentrating. Dean looked at him like he was crazy; he was angry this man was touching his brother.

“He's alive,” Castiel said gruffly, and as though on cue, Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped.

“Sammy?!” Dean said, clutching onto his brother.

Sam sat up, looking bewildered. Dean ran his hands up and down Sam, checking for serious injuries. He then threw himself into his brother's arms and tried desperately to not lose his ever-loving shit.

“Dean,” Sam sighed out, word awash in relief, and he hugged Dean back just as fiercely.

Castiel stood. He allowed them a few moments to collect themselves, not a second longer. Then he spoke.

“Come on. We should leave.”

For the first time, Sam noticed Castiel. He looked up at him, looking worried. “Who's this?”

“Castiel,” Dean said.

Sam looked further confused. “Castiel?”

Castiel nodded. He then looked around the small cave. “We need to go. We're safe, for now, but I'd rather not risk running into something else.”

Sam looked at Dean, wordlessly questioning if he should trust the man. Dean set his face in determination; if he seemed assured then Sam would, too. So, Dean got to his feet slowly, sore from being dragged like a rag doll, and helped his larger brother to his feet.

“Alright, you heard the man. C’mon, up.”

Castiel waited, body half-turned towards the opening of the cave already. When both brothers were steady on their feet, Castiel turned and started to walk away. The pair followed but hung a little back. When Sam started to turn around, Dean grabbed him and shook his head at him, hard.

“Nuh-uh, you don't need to see that. Eyes on the prize, Sammy. One foot in front of the other.”

“Dean,” Sam whispered desperately, “What's going on?”

Dean gave a slightly unhinged laugh. “Honestly I don't know.”

Sam paused and when he spoke, his voice was thick with worry and disbelief.

“That…that thing.”

Dean didn't reply as Sam's brow furrowed, and he tried to make sense of it all.

“It was huge. And it smelled. And—and it dragged me along like I weighed nothing—”

“A wendigo,” Castiel said as they emerged from the death cave.

Sam blinked. “A what?”

“A wendigo,” Castiel repeated himself, not turning around.

Sam paused. “A wendigo? You mean like—like the Algonquian folklore legend?”

Castiel stopped walking and turned around. The pair stopped as well. Castiel squinted up at Sam.

“Oh. You've heard of them.”

“Yeah but—but they're not real.”

Castiel looked grim. “Yes, they are.”

Sam's eyebrows raised. “No, they're not.”

Castiel glared and tilted his head to the side. “Then why don't you tell me, Sam, what that thing was?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times.

Castiel smirked. “Exactly. Because you can't. Because it was, in fact, a wendigo.” Castiel turned away. “We should keep moving.”

“Right,” Dean grumbled as they started to walk after Castiel. “We were attacked by Windex, says the man proclaiming to be an angel.”

Castiel stopped walking again, now looking confused. The other two stopped as well.

“Windex? What's a Windex? No, wendigo—”

Sam gasped then. “Dean! Your—your face!”

Dean blinked at him, startled.

“You're covered in blood!”

“I am?” Dean wiped at his forehead, slightly bewildered when it came away slicked with blood. He blinked. “Oh. I am.”

“Holy shit, are you alright?!”

Dean snorted and tossed his hands nonchalantly. “I'm fine—”

But Castiel cut him off and looked concerned. “That's just the adrenaline.”

Castiel took one step forward and pressed two fingers unceremoniously against Dean's forehead roughly. Dean blinked; a warmth radiated from the tips of Castiel's fingers and entered his body. It was intrusive, but not exactly in a bad way—for just the briefest moment it felt like his entire body was cocooned in a thick blanket, the type of feeling that's sought on a cold winter day. All at once Dean was fine; his head no longer throbbed, his palms no longer stung. He blinked, startled.

When Castiel moved to do the same to Sam, Sam jerked his head away, freaked out. Castiel gave him a look of warning. Sam held up both hands in surrender and didn't move. Castiel pressed his fingers to Sam's forehead and Dean saw that Sam's face was no longer cut and bloodied. It was like nothing happened at all.

Beyond freaked out, Dean looked down at his hands. They were fine, smooth, not a scratch on them. Even the gash he had gotten the day before at work, elbow deep in a car's engine, was gone. He flipped his hands back and forth, back and forth, not believing his eyes. Lifting his head he stared, slack-jawed at Castiel, as he ran a hand through his own hair. The injury to his head was healed, too.

Sam looked just as freaked out as Dean was. Dean took a fearful step backward.

“W-what are you?”

Castiel smiled. “I told you Dean. I am an angel of the Lord.”

Chapter 3

Dean sat in front of his laptop, the cursor flashing angrily at him against the blank page. Brow furrowed, he was lost in thought, thinking about everything that had happened since he had been attacked by a wendigo and saved by an angel.

Castiel had hesitated at the door when Dean and Sam walked in. They were tired and dirty, but they managed to get home in one piece.

“Home” was Dean's small bachelor pad. After they had escaped the cave, they decided it would be best to pack up and go home. Castiel insisted he go with them. With an anxious look that spoke volumes to their fear of refusing an honest to God angel, the pair reluctantly agreed and they all piled into the back of Dean's Chevy Impala.

Before that though there had been an issue.

“We can't just—we can't just leave them there!” Sam had protested frantically as he and Dean dismantled their tent.

“What're we supposed to do?” Dean barked back angrily, glaring across the expanse of green and beige fabric at his brother. “Hi, 9-1-1? I'd like to report at least three dead bodies in the Tuttle Creek National Park, and a bunch of human bones. No, I didn't kill them. Who did? A wendigo. Wendigo. That's w-e-n-d-i-”

“Fine, smart-ass,” Sam had snapped.

But Dean didn't stop, throwing a look at Castiel who was standing off to the side, watching the brothers clean up camp. “How did we escape? Oh, a friggin’ angel of the Lord flew his feathery ass down to earth and saved us!”

Castiel tilted his head and squinted. “That didn't happen. I don't own a donkey, nor would it be feathery.”

Dean pointed at him. “Can it!”

Castiel looked bemused and slightly deadly. “I think I liked it more when you feared me.”

Dean swallowed thickly and quickly looked away, frightened.

Sam glanced between the two nervously and shifted on his feet. Then he stared pointedly at the rods he was holding. When he spoke it was soft, wrought with guilt.

“I just…wish we could do something, yaknow? Those people have families. They have people who miss them, who are looking for them.”

Dean had frowned. He spoke just as softly. “Yeah, I know.”

Dean had looked over at Castiel who didn't say anything.

Castiel had left them once they were safe and snug in Dean's apartment. He had briefly surveyed the area, blue eyes scanning all around, and then turned to them.

“Our paths were never supposed to cross. As such, I hope we never meet again.”

Sam had frowned. Dean looked offended. Castiel looked at them, squinty-eyed, and then nodded.

“Should you ever need me, pray to me and I will come.”

To their astonishment, Castiel disappeared. Just, straight up disappeared with the loud sound of wings flapping. Sam and Dean had looked around in disbelief. They were, in fact, alone.

So, Dean offered Sam a beer and they sat side by side, drinking in silence. One beer turned into two, and two turned into three before either of them spoke. Sam tisked and shook his head, leaning all the way back against the couch. Dean looked over his shoulder at him. Sam didn't meet his gaze, staring at the ceiling.

“Did we like—accidentally eat mushrooms in the forest or something?”

Dean snorted and shook his head, picking at the beer bottle label. “I wish.”

“I can't go back to school,” Sam declared.

Dean looked back over his shoulder. “Huh?”

Sam was smiling, but it was a look of disbelief. “I can't go back to school.”

Dean looked off to the side with his eyes, confused. Sam caught the look and leaned forward, putting his beer on the small coffee table. He threw his older brother an incredulously look, craning his head forward as he spoke.

“Can you really just go back to the shop, fixing cars, and act like today didn't happen?”

Dean frowned.

Sam gave a derisive snort. “Fuck, can you go back to living any sort of normal life knowing what we know now?”

Dean roughly put down his drink, twisting to look at Sam who sat next to him. “What else am I gonna do? Cas was right.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Cas?”

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Castiel, whatever. It's not like we can report the bodies. Even if we did it anonymously I'd be afraid it'd get back to us somehow, and then what the hell would we say, huh? A freaking Native American boogie man killed a bunch of campers, and we were almost some of them?”

Sam's eyebrows shot higher.

Dean picked up his drink again, speaking as he held the bottle to his lips. “Or that a friggin’ angel saved us?”

Dean shook his head, snorted in stubborn disbelief, and downed the rest of his drink.

Sam, after just watching his brother's profile for a minute, flung himself back again and covered his face. “Fuck, I was supposed to have a interview in two days. This wasn't how this weekend was supposed to go!”

That was three days ago. Sam, in fact, hadn't been able to drag himself back to Stanford, instead sleeping on Dean's couch. Dean didn't have to work until Tuesday. He also didn't know what to do with himself. Which was why he sat now, staring at the cursor as it blinked at him. Write something, it seemed to taunt him. Write something. Write something. Write something.

So his fingers started to fly over the keys.

Hey peeps

The cursor mocked him. He quickly deleted it.

Hey everyone.

So, sorry to disappoint, but today is gonna go down a little bit differently. I haven't heard any fresh music, nor have I caught wind of the latest trend.

Dean paused, briefly smirking to himself. He had never meant for his silly little blog to take off. Hell, if anything else, who in the hell still blogged in the days of TikTok and IG? Dean had started it years ago because he didn't have an outlet for his music passion (or obsession as Sam so rudely called it). His father only cared about beer, and Sam couldn't take another earful of why classic rock was better than what supposedly passed as music these days. So, he had turned to the internet as an outlet.

It was just one of those things. People liked his snark and sarcasm. He never pulled back from his opinions, musical or otherwise. While it was at its roots an amature music critique blog, it had branched out over the years, dancing around social commentary and world politics. Dean always tried to keep it light hearted and fun (he thought there was enough doom and gloom in the world without him adding to it), but he also wasn't afraid to rip people a new one if they got nasty in his comments. He was raised to have thick skin; internet trolls had nothing on him.

So the years ticked by and the blog exploded. He was extremely careful with his privacy. No one knew who actually wrote it. After a hot take regarding Taylor Swift got cross-posted to Reddit, his need for privacy became tenfold because he was, suddenly, on everyone's radar. Which was awesome.

Mostly.

It wasn't often that people would read something they didn't like and start threatening him, but it did happen from time to time. He wasn't actually afraid, but some of his no-punches-pulled entries landed him in hot water. Dean knew it probably also didn't help that he actively participated in the immature comment wars that got out of hand, sometimes started by his own hand. Which fine, whatever; but Dean had decided he didn't want to ever open his door one day and actually be gutted. Or have his family be scalped. Or have his hypothetical dog skinned.

Yeah. The internet could be a cesspool of ghouls.

But the few times Dean posted his voice, he scrambled it with a program that made it unrecognizable (done only when comments had been taken too far, and he felt the need to talk everyone down with his voice because typed words weren't getting through). There was a vlog from time to time from live concerts, which he never mentioned about attending beforehand and always made sure to post it days later, and he always kept his face out of the shot (even obsessively checking for reflections that might have caught his face).

The point was, as he sat there, staring at the blinking cursor, he had an outlet for a really, really, messed up situation. He couldn't tell anyone in person or otherwise “irl” what had happened in the woods. If he started spouting how he and his brother almost died over the weekend but was saved by an angel, he'd be locked up in the looney bin so fast his head would spin.

But Sam was right. His world had been turned upside down. If wendigos and flipping angels existed, what else was out there? Did he even want to know? So it wasn't just anxiety from what happened that prompted Dean to make an entry about it; he also felt a strange civic duty. He needed to warn people that the supernatural was real, and it had fangs, and claws, and killed people.

Dean shuddered, bringing his beer to his lips for a quick pull. He then put it down and wiped off his mouth.

It wasn't all bad though, he supposed. Castiel was an angel. An angel. Dean smirked thinking about that. He honestly felt relieved, knowing that at least since monsters existed there were “good guys” too.

Look, Dean typed, fingers flying over the keys, you're not going to believe this. I barely believe it. And no, this isn't some hangover from Halloween, and no, I'm not high. For transparency I'm sipping on a beer as I type this, that's it. Swear on my mom's grave.

So, I have a sibling. We went camping this weekend. Awesome, right?

No, not awesome. We, uh, we were attacked. Honestly we nearly died. I'm fine. I mean, I'm a little shaken up, but really I'm…fine. And before you ask what happened, I can't really talk about it. I want to, but it soooooo incredibly unbelievable…

Look. I'm not being dramatic here. And I'm sorry to be cryptic, but I'm dancing the fine line between truth and being the laughing stock of the internet. But I have this compulsion to warn you about it, because…

Dean paused. Because why? Why did he want to warn people, complete strangers? There was plenty of crap like this all over the internet already. Hell, he regularly wrote about and made fun of Ghostfacers on his blog! The world was not in short supply of people claiming to know for certain that cryptids and ghosts existed.

So then what was he doing? Frowning, he continued to type.

Things that go bump in the night? It's real. It's all real. Take that as you will because that's all I'm going to say. But I'm telling you, I'm not high, and I am—was—a stone-cold skeptic. But I almost died this weekend guys. Legitimately.

Dean smirked, not even fully understanding if what he was about to type would make sense because he didn't understand the younger generations' lingo.

Fr Fr, no cap.

Look, just…Be careful out there. There's some scary shit and just… Be careful. Please.

Before Dean could hit post, the front door opened. He jumped and slammed the laptop shut. Crossing his legs, he smiled at Sam and picked up his beer. Sam took one look at him and made a face.

“Dude, really? Go do that in your bedroom!”

Dean hadn't even told Sam about the blog. So, he took the out and ran with it. Lifting his eyebrows he smirked, bringing his drink to his lips.

“It's my apartment man.”

“Ugh, gross.”

As Sammy moved into the kitchen, Dean nonchalantly opened up the laptop again and clicked post. He then leaned back, enjoying getting under Sam's skin.

“How long are you staying here for? Do we need to set up alone time schedules like he did when dad lost his job and we were living out of motels for a while?”

Sam put down the groceries and continued to look disgusted. “Ugh. No.”

Dean grinned. “Should we come up with a knock system or something?”

Sam ignored him, pulling out fresh produce.

“Maybe a sock on the doorknob?”

Sam threw him a withering look. “Or maybe you could just not masturbate in the middle of the day like a normal person.”

Dean leaned back. With a shit-eating grin, he clasped his hands behind his head. “My apartment. My rules.”

Sam rolled his eyes, moving around the kitchen. Dean drained the last of his drink and moved to put it in the sink. As he did he peered at the bags of produce. He curled his upper lip.

“You're not storing that bunny crap in my fridge, are you?”

“Uh. Yeah I am. Where else would I keep it?”

“You ass?”

Sam winged the large bundle of parsley at Dean. Dean flinched, laughed, and caught it. He then jutted his chin forward to get Sam's attention, and underhanded the produce back. Sam easily caught it and put it in the fridge.

“Yaknow Dean, it wouldn't kill you to eat something green from time to time.”

“Grab me another beer, yeah?”

Sam did, grabbing one for himself too. As Sam put away the final food (a bundle of carrots), Dean twisted off the bottle cap and took a swig. Once he had Sam's attention again, he wiped his mouth off on his wrist.

“You know what's green Sammy?”

“What?”

“Mold. Mold is green.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. He then followed Dean back to the living room. When he went to sit on the couch he thought better of it at the last second, instead veering to sit in the second-hand busted recliner.

The pair didn't speak right away. Tension in the room slowly built until finally it was rolling over both of them, sucking away whatever calm there had been. Dean bounced his knee up and down. Sam rolled the brown bottle in between his hands.

“So, uh—you heard from Castiel?”

Dean swung his head around to look at Sam and stopped bouncing his knee. “What? No I haven't heard from Castiel. Why would I?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, the chair creaking. “Uh, I don't—I d'no. I thought maybe—”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You thought maybe what?”

“Maybe you tried to…talk…to him?”

Dean didn't say anything. When Sam didn't continue, Dean spoke in flat disbelief.

“You mean pray?”

Sam nodded.

Dean screwed up his face. “No. Why would I go and do something like that?”

Sam sighed in frustration. “I d'no! Because what happened was really messed up?”

“Yeah, it was.” Dean chugged down some beer and then threw Sam a look like he sprouted a third arm. “So why would I like a reminder?”

His face softened, hazel eyes falling to the bottle in his hands. “To prove it really happened?”

“It happened,” Dean replied flatly.

“I d'no,” Sam mumbled, unable to meet his brother's gaze. “I just feel…”

Dean cocked an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

“Crazy, yaknow?”

The older Winchester frowned deeply. Sam sounded miserable. In fact, Dean hadn't heard the guy sound so miserable since the day he realized he actually sucked at magic tricks and wasn't about to become the next Houdini. With a sigh Dean leaned forward and set down his beer. He then leaned back, got comfortable, and rubbed his palms against his thighs a few times. Sam watched him, curiosity written all over his face. Clearing his throat, Dean closed his eyes. When he spoke his eyebrows were raised.

“Castiel,” Dean said in an airy, lofty voice, his tone not serious and like he wasn't expecting anything to actually happen. “It's Dean Winchester. I'm praying to you because I request your presence. So please—”

Feathers. The distinct sound of feathers, and then,

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes and was stunned to find Castiel standing in his living room.

Chapter 4

“Er, hi.”

Castiel nodded, looking serious. “You needed me?”

Dean blinked in disbelief.

Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly. “You prayed to me—”

“Well, yeah—”

“So I came. What's wrong?”

“Nothing—nothing's wrong—”

“I don't understand. Why did you pray to me then?”

“Are you for real?” Sam interrupted.

Dean and Castiel looked at him. He looked miffed, shifting his eyes between the two in disbelief.

“I've been praying to you for days,” Sam demanded, “and you get one prayer from Dean and bam, suddenly you're here?”

For a split second the angel looked uncomfortable, glancing quickly at Dean. He shuffled his weight back and forth a moment before honing his eyes back on Sam. “I've been—busy.”

Sam tisked and rolled his eyes.

“Dude,” Dean said, looking at Sam, “stop being a little bitch about this.”

“I'm not being a bitch about anything,” Sam snapped. “It's bullshit that I've prayed multiple times a day to Castiel—”

“Weirdo,” Dean muttered.

Sam ignored the comment. “—and then you pray once, one time, and—”

Understanding lit Dean's face up and he sat up straighter, a smug look taking over his face. “You're jealous.”

“I am not!”

“Really? ‘Cause the blush on your face says otherwise.”

“I do not blush—”

Castiel sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Then he spoke in a loud growl that made them both shut up. “As I said I am quite busy. Do you need something?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Um. No. I just was curious if you'd actually come if I called.”

Castiel looked annoyed. Deeply annoyed. Dean was suddenly very afraid he had crossed a line, and, didn't angels do something like smiting? Very suddenly Dean wanted to slink into a hole somewhere, curl up, and die.

“I am not a toy,” Castiel said, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. “Didn't you listen? I said we're not to interact. So, if there is nothing dire I'll—”

“Wait!” Sam interrupted him, jumping to his feet. “Uh, there is something, actually.”

Castiel tilted his head.

Sam seemed to physically deflate, and his shoulders slumped. He ran a nervous hand through his long-ish hair. When he spoke it was sad, and he looked at his shoes.

“I'm…I'm kinda struggling. I haven't been able to really sleep since the forest.”

Castiel frowned. Sam lifted his head, eyes curious and desperate.

“How do I—we—how do we come back from this?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel said.

Sam snorted. “I nearly died at the hands of a wendigo! Monsters are real. Everything seems so—so—”

“Pointless,” Dean finished for him quietly. When Castiel turned his amazing blue eyes to him Dean looked away.

“Yeah,” Sam said, and the angel looked back at him. “It all just seems so mundane and pointless. Like, I'm supposed to be in school right now, for my future. What's the point of getting a job when there is an entire world out there that I didn't even know existed!”

“Oh,” Castiel said, “I understand.”

“You do?” Sam sounded hopeful.

“Yes but I am unsure if I could help you.”

His shoulders slumped again. “Oh.”

“I'm…sorry.”

Sam looked at his feet again and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It's okay.”

“But it's not. You're clearly upset.”

“Yeah but, you said you can't help us, so,” Dean cut in, also shrugging in defeat.

Dean and Sam expected Castiel to disappear. But he didn't. Instead after a few awkward seconds, the angel's fingers twitched at his sides and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“Well, there is something.”

Both Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows.

“There are hunters.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other before looking back at the angel. Sam craned his neck forward. “Hunters?”

“Yes. Of the supernatural.”

A pause, then Dean said, “I don't get it.”

“There is a group of people who have dedicated their lives to eradicating malevolent beings and keeping the general population safe.” Castiel paused. “Well, safer than they would be if such things went completely unchecked.”

“What sort of malevolent beings?” Sam dared to ask.

Castiel looked at him and squinted slightly. “What sort of knowledge do you have about such things? You knew what a wendigo was, which the average American does not, so I'm curious as to what other creatures you have heard of.”

Sam glanced at Dean, but his brother was focused on the angel. Sam let out a huff of air, running his hand through his hair.

“Eurah, let's see. I mean, there's the stuff everyone knows, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies—”

“Ghouls,” Castiel interjected with a nod.

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Er, r-right. Ghouls. Uh. Skeletons?”

Castiel looked confused. Dean walked over and smacked Sam's head.

“OW! Hey! What the hell?!”

“Skeletons?! Really? This isn't a video game dude.”

“Well I d'no! We're in the presence of an angel, Dean, so I kinda feel like nothing would be off the table!”

Castiel still looked confused, trying to wrap his mind around it. “I mean, I suppose a witch could dabble in necromancy and raise some skeletons to do their bidding, but they're so fragile that would be exceedingly inefficient—”

“I'm sorry,” Dean cut him off, “did you say witch?”

Castiel squinted at him. “Yes.”

Dean waved his hands around. “Witch witch. Like…Halloween witch, not Glinda?”

Castiel hesitated. “I…don't quite understand what you're saying. Yes, witches perform rituals on Halloween, but it's not a prerequisite to perform magic on that specific day, and, who is Glinda? Should I know of this Glinda?”

“Glinda,” Dean said in disbelief. “You know. Good witch from Wizard of Oz? Floofy pink dress? Huge ass crown? Wand?”

Now Castiel looked really confused. “A good witch? Well, I suppose it's a possibility, but benevolent witches are far and few in between, and benevolent is a rather lose term because even the kindest of witches still have their own vendettas which they go through violent means to enact—”

Dean and Sam looked at each other in disbelief that this conversation was actually happening. Castiel didn't notice, too caught up in what he was saying. The trench-coat wearing angel shook his head.

“And what is Wizard of Oz?”

They looked back at him and Sam spoke. “You know. The movie?”

Castiel merely blinked.

Dean laughed in disbelief. “C'mon, dude—certainly you know what a movie is, right?”

Castiel spoke slowly, carefully. “Of course I know what a movie is, but I… Don't partake in watching them…”

Dean laughed again. Castiel looked at him and shook his head as though to clear it. “So who is this Glinda? Do I have to be worried? And how do you know of a witch—”

“I think we got sidetracked,” Sam said quickly, looking amused, wanting to stop Castiel before he hurt himself. “You were asking me about what sort of creatures I knew about.”

“Ah, yes,” Castiel said then. “Everything you said exists. There are also more dangerous creatures—djinn, wraiths, Leviathan, demons—”

Both Sam and Dean looked terrified. A shudder than through them both, but Dean managed to keep his outwardly hidden.

“Demons?” Dean breathed airly.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Demons,” Sam clarified, sounding in just as worse shape as Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel said and looked confused. “I'm an angel; why does the existence of demons seem so shocking to you both—”

“Holy shit I need to sit,” Dean said, and with a dazed look on his face did just that.

Castiel continued to look confused.

“Demons are bad news,” Sam explained to Castiel. “You're talking about like, fire and brimstone, stealing your soul, torturing people, demons, right?” He almost made an Exorcist reference but then remembered Castiel said he didn't watch movies. “That's…Terrifying.”

“I actually consider Leviathan to be a worse threat than demons, but I could see your fear, yes.”

“Why’re you telling us this?” Dean asked. He had been holding his head in his hands, but now he picked it up and looked up at the angel.

“Because not all hope is lost,” Castiel said. “There are hunters, and—”

Castiel looked deeply shameful and looked away. He glanced at the pair, guilt ridden and remorseful.

“I'm sorry. That would be the antithesis of what Mary wanted for you both. I've said too much. I should leave—”

Dean jumped to his feet and held out his hand, walking around the coffee table. “Now hang on, don't spook. I still don't understand what you're saying. What's the antithesis of what my mom wanted? What're you talking about, man?”

Castiel looked at him evenly. “I'm suggesting you and Sam become hunters.”

Chapter 5

Sam flat out laughed. When Castiel looked at him, eyes squinted, and his head slowly tilted, Sam's amusement drowned on his lips. His eyebrows shot up impossibly high.

“Wait—you're serious?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered Sam.

Sam looked mystified. “What makes you think we'd be interested in that? Hell, what makes you think we'd be cut out for that?”

“I have my—reasons.”

Sam waited. When nothing else came, he crossed his arms and said, “Care to elaborate?”

“No I don't.”

Sam looked at Castiel like he was crazy. Tossing his hands into the air, he looked at Dean. Dean, however, had a very peculiar look on his face. Sam was gobsmacked.

“Dean,” Sam started to say in caution.

Dean held up his finger. “Hold on.” He looked at Castiel and lowered his hand. “What does hunting entail?”

“Killing things, mostly.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up, but he still looked curious.

“You would have to train not only your body but your mind. There's a fair amount of research that has to be done as well. Lore to be learned, histories to be recounted.”

Dean shuffled towards Cas, still looking at the angel in quiet intrigue. “So things like—like that wendigo.”

“Yes?”

“We’d learn how to kill those?”

“If you wanted.”

“How did you kill it?”

“Well I smote it.”

Dean smirked. “Okay, but we're not angels. How the hell does someone kill a wendigo?”

Sam took a step forward. “More importantly, how does someone kill a wendigo without dying themselves? Dean,” Sam said then, facing his brother. “You're not seriously considering this, are you?”

Dean looked Sam up and down. “And you're not?”

Sam barked out a burst of laughter. “No! That thing took me down like I weighed nothing! It knocked me unconscious!”

“Yeah, but you're fine.”

Sam pointed at Castiel. “Yeah, ‘cause of him!”

“Exactly,” Dean said. “Look, Cas said that he wasn't supposed to interfere, and the only reason he did was because mom asked him to watch over us, right?”

“Cas?” Castiel cut in.

Dean glanced at him. Then he gave a quick, dismissive shrug. “Easier than Castiel.”

The angel rolled his eyes. Dean ignored the look and continued. “Most people don't have an angel on their side watching over them. Most people don't even know the supernatural exists!”

“Your point?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Humans are like just a bunch of babies toddling off into oncoming traffic!”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “So you want us to be…What? The crossing guards of humanity?”

“No, I wanna be the car pound that junks cars so they can't mow over babies to begin with!”

Sam and Castiel looked at Dean like he was stupid.

“Okay, stupid analogy that failed. My point is that we're given an opportunity here to make a difference!”

“Or the opportunity to just die,” Sam argued.

“Or,” Dean argued, “We could train hard enough to get good enough to not get ourselves dead.”

“Dean,” Sam looked somewhat desperately back at Castiel. “I mean, maybe we should leave this to the professionals. There are angels and stuff taking care of these types of things—”

“Not angels,” Castiel interrupted.

Sam looked at him, confused. “What?”

“We don't interfere with such things.”

“But you did.”

“I did.”

“But most angels don't?” Dean asked, sounding like he couldn't believe his ears.

“We do not.”

Dean jerked his head back. “Well that's a dick move! Isn't it like your job or something to protect humanity?”

“It's—” Castiel didn't finish.

“What?” Dean prompted.

“It's complicated,” Castiel mumbled, and Sam and Dean noticed he sounded slightly embarrassed.

“Aren't you guys supposed to be all powerful?”

Castiel looked at Dean evenly. “We are more powerful than many beings, but we are not all powerful. It's not even that however, it's—”

Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows at the unfinished sentence.

“Complicated,” Castiel mumbled again, looking off to the side, which earned a severe eye roll from Dean.

Sam went to Dean's side and spoke in a low voice. “We’d be snapped like twigs! Vampires, ghosts, demons—we'd die or be possessed in seconds flat.”

“Psh, says you.”

Bitch face. “I'm being serious.”

Dean squared off to Sam, glaring up into his face. “And I'm not? Sammy, we were given an opportunity—”

“We nearly died—”

“A opportunity few people are given—”

Sam scrunches up his forehead. “You seriously want to just throw your life away?”

“Yes, Sam, I do!” Dean snapped loudly, glancing at Cas before glaring back at Sam. No longer trying to keep the side conversation quiet, he nearly shouted. “You said it yourself! Do you honestly think after what went down in the forest I can just live my life like nothing happened? If anything else I'm gonna be jumping at every shadow when I'm bent over working in a car, I'm gonna get soap in my eyes every time I shower because I'll be too afraid to close them—”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean shoved his shoulder and glared harder. “I'm serious! I'm sure it'll go to the back of my head, but this is always gonna be there, Sammy. I might stop thinking about it every day, but it's gonna be there.”

Sam crossed his arms and with a huff looked away. Dean looked at the angel and stood a little straighter.

“If anything else, if Cas here thinks we could do it I know we could.”

“Why are you calling me Cas?” he asked.

Dean looked momentarily worried. “Because—I d'no. It fits? I didn't meant to, uh, offend you. I can call you Castiel if you'd like.”

“Your species inclination towards nicknames is amusing. I'm not angry.”

Dean blinked. Then he rolled his eyes and looked back at Sam. “Great. We're amusing.”

Castiel ignored the comment and moved on. “Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything at all. Putting your lives at risk is not something Mary would have wanted.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam said, the leverage of their dead mother making his words take a sharp edge.

Dean looked between Sam, Castiel, and his own heart, and frowned.

~

OMG are you okay?! Be careful!

Did you go to the hospital? Is your sibling okay? What happened?

You can't say something like “things that go bump in the night are real” and then leave us hanging.

Sounds like someone had a bad trip.

Dean smirked and put down his beer bottle next to his laptop. Sam was fast asleep on the couch. He had waited until his younger brother was deeply asleep before he cracked open his laptop and began his own brand of researcher.

He tried to find any actual, substantial accounts or evidence that the supernatural actually existed. Besides things that were clearly fiction (like the old show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer), or things that could technically be real, maybe (Ghostfacers), he couldn't find anything that landed in the realm of what he had lived. So, that meant either their run-in with a wendigo and an angel was so unlikely it was an anomaly, or it was so well hidden it didn't seem actually real to the world.

It had frustrated Dean. How could there be an entire reality living parallel to everyone's actual life? Were people really that oblivious? Was he that oblivious? Worse, it dawned on him the lengths people would have to go to to keep something like werewolves a secret; it would be an Area 51 level cover-up. (Dean had started to get a headache then, because if wendigo were real did Area 51 actually have aliens?!)

Dean tried to think about it logically, or at least as logically as he could. If people knew about the supernatural, how far did it go? How did vampires not just have picnics on people every night? So, Dean thought, it had to be a convergence of ignorance and cover-up. He smirked, admittedly a little giddy at the prospect of an agency like The X-Files actually existing somewhere within the government. He also wondered how much of it was a cover-up; how many missing people's cases were victims of wendigo? How many cold cases had gone cold because the victim had died at the hands of a demon, and demons don't really fit into a category your average profiler could make?

When it all started to feel a little bit too much, Dean decided to open up his blog. He figured his latest post would get a reaction, and it had. Everything from people flat out ignoring the content and asking him about music to people voicing their concern and disbelief. The main comment, however, seemed to be people seeking more information. What happened? What had he meant by his cryptic comments regarding what happened? What was so unbelievable it had made him hesitate to even talk about it?

Dean swished a little bit of beer in his mouth before swallowing, the cursor on his blank blog page blinking at him.

He wanted to tell them. He wanted to tell everyone. He still felt obligated, use his attack as a warning to others to be mindful of what's out there. Yet at the same time, he still feared people's reactions. It also was too raw, too real, too soon. On some level Dean knew he was slightly traumatized from his experience (he also knew he was way more shaken up than he was allowing himself to acknowledge) and found himself having difficulty bringing himself to share exactly what happened.

Especially when he thought of the people hanging from the ceiling, dead.

With a shudder, Dean took what he chided himself as the easy way out. He hopped on the internet, brought up a page about wendigo, copied the link, pasted it into his blog and hit post without any sort of explanation, just the link.

Smiling to himself he closed his laptop, finished off his beer, and retired to bed, hoping to get a good night's rest.

Chapter 6

Are you trying to imply that you were attacked by a wendigo?

↪️Hahahah, if he is I gotta hear this.
↪️Creepypasta?
↪️ugh I hope not

 

Bruh, I know this blog is called Music and Mayhem, but tone down the mayhem maybe?
↪️nooooo, wanna see where it goes! Don't listen to them, Rod!

It's disgusting you're claiming you were attacked and issuing a statement that would imply it was something not real. If this is going to turn into a fiction blog, fine, but warn your readers. Offending survivors of actual murder attempts is low for even you, Rod.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great, another arm-chair warrior…”

♒For your information, Dean typed, replying directly to the comment. The custom Aquarius reply icon was the only thing real about his identity on his blog. He figured it was safe; how many people in the world were Aquarius’? It wasn't an identification marker by any means. I am NOT invalidating actual victims of violence. Seeing as I really did almost die. I'm not going to apologize when I have nothing to apologize for. Also, not fiction.

Before Dean could change his mind he hit the reply button. He then scrolled to the top of the page and clicked on the entry box.

Look, I'm going to just shut you all down right here and now. I'm not making this shit up. Believe me or not, I really don't care. What happened was so messed up I have to warn people. I know people claiming stuff like this are a dime a dozen. I also know people who talk about this get lumped into a very specific group of people, and very specific assumptions are made about people.

But, I'm here to confirm:

Yes, I was attacked by a wendigo.

Dean paused, fingers hovering over the keys. Did he really want to do this? His fingers seemed to answer that question for him as he began typing again.

It started like any other camping trip. My brother and I had just set up camp. We had gotten a later start than we wanted. Dean left out the reason was an accident on the highway that led to an hour delay. As such, by the time we had set up the tent it was already night. We made a campfire and had a quick dinner. I was pissed because my dumbass brother forgot the marshmallows for s'mores.

As I gave him shit about it, something moved outside. It caught my attention. We stopped arguing, and it wasn't until I went out of the tent did I realize how wrong everything was. There wasn't a damn sound. There wasn't anything; no mosquitos buzzing around, the crickets and crap all stopped. I'm talking like, dead silence. It was like the entire damn forest just shut up.

My dumbass brother didn't notice it at first and kept being loud. We, stupidly, decided to go investigate. We didn't get very far when the thing started to dart all around us. Unfortunately it snatched by brother and started dragging him away. Now look—my brother is kinda a behemoth. The guy is 6'4”, around 190lbs. (Sorry, dumb American here, I don't know what that translates to in other metric systems.) The wendigo dragged him off like he weighed nothing.

I chased after it, but the MF was fast. Like, freakishly fast. I couldn't keep up.

Dean paused and leaned back. Did he want to mention Cas? He decided he did not want to mention Cas. In fact, he felt downright guilty at the prospect of including him. At the very least he'd have to ask the guys permission, and, knowing Cas, he'd probably have to explain to him what a blog even was, so yeah, ix nay on the angel aye.

I kept running in the direction the bastard was dragging my brother off. Eventually I came across a cave

Dean stopped typing again. If he claimed there were dead bodies, he was sure some branch of law enforcement would show up on his doorstep within days. A pang of guilt washed over him; Sam was right. Those were real people in that cave. They were missed.

Wiping off his mouth he shoved that remorse away. If he was serious about becoming a hunter—which he was—he was sure he was gonna come across a lot more caves with a lot more dead bodies. Besides, they were already dead. Reporting them wouldn't bring them back. And with the wendigo dead now who knew; maybe someone would find the cave anyway.

and miraculously my brother was there. He was pretty banged up and unconscious. I thought he was dead at first. The wendigo almost got me too, but I narrowly escaped. It got distracted and wandered off. I managed to get my brother and myself out of there.

Dean thought. Okay yeah, so he changed things a little. But he was leaving Cas out of it. What else could he do?

I know this sounds insane. It is insane. But I lived it, and I made it out alive, so you gotta believe me. I just want you guys to be safe, okay? Seriously. If you go camping, make sure you're armed. Maybe don't go poking around where you shouldn't; like don't use ouija boards. I don't know, I'm not an expert, but the point is that if flipping wendigo exists, who knows what else does, and I'd rather you all err on the side of caution.

So yeah. That's honest to God what happened. Believe me or not, I don't care, because I know what happened.

Before he could second guess himself or his intentions, Dean hit post. Just then the front door opened. Panicking, he slammed the lid shut.

“Dude, really, again?” Sam asked, pulling a face.

“I was not masturbating!” Dean snapped.

“Right.”

“I wasn't!”

“Then why the hell you slam it shut?”

Dean stuck his nose in the air. “You startled me is all.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Right. So that's why you have a plethora of porn in your history.”

“I wouldn't call it a plethora—hey!” Dean barked. “What the fuck?! You went through my history?!”

“Like, ages ago, yeah, not recently.”

Dean internally relaxed; Sam still didn't know about his blog then. Dean postured and gave him a cocky look.

“Anyway,” Sam said. “You work this week, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Damn.”

“Why?”

“I need to get to Stanford to get all my stuff.”

Dean shrugged and leaned back on the couch. “I could take you.”

Sam's eyebrows raised. “But you work.”

“I never take time off.” He gave a lazy grin. “Just like my plethora of porn I have a plethora of time off stacked up.”

“Won't they get mad at you for just abruptly taking time off?”

“Family emergency. That way they can't bitch about it. ‘Sides, the amount of times I pulled extra shifts to cover people calling in sick, mostly with hangovers, mind you, and the one time a guy got arrested, and, why are you looking at me like that?”

“You'd do that for me?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean shifted his eyes to the side before flicking them back to look at Sam like he was crazy. “Uh. Yeah. It's not a big deal.”

Sam looked shocked, then uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet and looked at the ground. “You sure? I don't want to impose—”

“Sam, it's not like I'm gifting you my arm or something. Cut it out.”

Sam looked up. “Well, yeah, but I mean, we didn't—we didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms—”

Dean got to his feet. “I invited you camping this weekend, right? Let's just let bygones be bygones.”

Sam was giving him an apprehensive look. When Dean continued to do nothing more than smile evenly at him, Sam gave his own smile, nodded once, and that was that.

~

“Dude, what the hell? Do you have a vibrator in your pocket or something?”

Dean looked across the seat at Sam and glared. “No, dumbass, it's my phone.”

Truthfully Dean hadn't thought of turning off his notifications from his blog. Now, an hour into the car ride, he was deeply regretting that decision. He was trying to figure out how to do just that without having Sam see what he was doing. Not to mention he was driving; he wasn't the best driver that ever lived, but he wasn't stupid enough to screw around with settings on the highway.

“Your phone? Jeez, what the hell is blowing up your phone like that?”

Dean started to sweat a little. “Nothing.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam throwing him his best resting bitch face. Dean glanced at him.

“Uh, I might’ve canceled a date and she's pissed.”

Sam cracked up. “A date? Seriously? Dude, it's probably a good thing you canceled; she's psycho if she's blowing you up that much.”

“Right,” Dean said, staring pointedly at the road.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Sam cracked up.

“Dude! Just give me the phone and I'll shut it off.”

Dean glanced at him. “No.”

Sam tilted his head. “What? Why not?”

“Because I don't want you to, that's why!”

Sam paused. Then he grinned wickedly. “Sharing nudes?”

Dean looked at him fully then. “What?! No.”

Sam shrugged. “Hey, no judgement here. Lord knows I've shared some questionable things with Jess.”

Dean looked at him again. “Okay, one, did not need to know that.” He quickly slapped Sam's head.

“Hey! Ow!”

Dean smirked. “And two, who the hell is Jess?”

“My girlfriend.”

Dean looked at him once more. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes, Dean, girlfriend.”

“What the fuck? I didn't know you had a girlfriend.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Right, because you and I have been so close since mom died.”

“Hey, I'm not the one who told you to run away from her death and your life—”

Sam punched Dean. Hard.

“OW! You stupid fuck, I'm driving here!”

Sam hit Dean again. Dean looked at him and glared.

“I will pull this car over!”

“I didn't run away from anything!” Sam shouted.

Dean snorted sardonically. “Coulda fooled me. Our house burns down and a few years later you run off to Stanford and we don't hear from you for two years?”

“Right,” Sam scoffed, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he glared out the window, “because sitting around while dad drank and we jumped around from motel to motel and sometimes Bobby's place was the type of life I wanted.”

“Dad needed you—”

“Oh don't give me that crap.”

“Maybe I needed you!”

Shocked, Sam whipped his head to face Dean. Dean, who was strangling the steering wheel as he glared daggers out the windshield. Dean glanced at him and went right back to spitting fire from his green eyes at the road.

“Don't look at me like that. I lost mom too, yaknow. We all did. You think it's been easy for me trying to convince dad to get his ass in gear and get a steady job? You think it's been easy for me watching him destroy his liver?”

“I mean, you're not much better—”

Dean jerked the wheel hard to the right. Sam yelped, grabbing onto the ceiling. Dean roughly got the Impala to the shoulder, threw it in park, and climbed out. Panicking, Sam scrambled out.

“Woah, Dean—”

“Don't fucking make light of this!” Dean screamed at him across the roof of the car. “Mom died, and I was trying to pick up the pieces, and then you fucking bolted. You weren't even man enough to tell dad and I to our faces, you just fucking took off in the middle of the night—”

Sam's face crumpled. “Dean, I'm so s—”

Dean pointed at him. “Don't. Don't you dare say you're sorry. You took off and left us a fucking note, and when he tried to call you you had your phone shut off! You waited a week—a week—before you turned it back on to let us even know you were alive.”

Sam was holding up his hands. “I'm sorry. Let's just—let's just get back in the car and—”

Instead Dean slammed his car door shut and continued ranting. “It took Dad and I a few days to even find the letter! We thought you had like, I d'no, died or something! We were gonna file a missing person's report.”

Sam blinked. “You never told me that.”

“Like you'd care,” Dean snarled.

Sam closed his door and walked around the front of the car to stand in front of Dean. “Yes, I would've! I was pissed—”

“Oh what did you have to be pissed at?”

“Mom had died. I was pissed at the world that first year.”

Dean glared. When he didn't speak, Sam continued.

“I was pissed but I wasn't heartless. I didn't mean to scare you like that.”

“Not like it matters. Even had you known would it have changed anything? Would it have made you come home?”

Sam laughed. “Come home? Home? Dean, I didn't have a home to come home to!”

“Yeah but you had me!” Dean screamed again.

Sam snapped his head back.

“You had me, and I had you, and you were my home, and you left.”

Sam's face crumpled. “Oh, fuck. Dean, I didn't—I didn't think about it like that—”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean said, yanking open his car door. “You don't think about anyone except yourself.”

Before Sam could say anything Dean sat in the car and slammed the door. When Sam didn't move after half a minute, Dean rolled down his window in annoyance.

“Get in the fucking car, Sam.”

As Sam slowly came back around the car, Dean fished out his phone, turned it off, and angrily threw it into the glove box. As soon as Sam's door was shut Dean peeled away, refusing to look at his brother.

~

“Fuck, is that a fire?”

“JESS!”

“Fuck, Sam, no!”

But Sam was already sprinting towards the apartments. Dean took off as fast as he could. He was fast, but Sam had gotten a head start and his legs were longer. The entire time he ran after Sam he was screaming his name. The guy wouldn't listen, not until he had reached the apartment he had shared with his girlfriend and shoulder-rammed the door three times to bust it open. The familiar flicker that could only be produced by flames greeted them. Black smoke began to billow out. Simultaneously, the fire alarms started to go off.

“JESS!”

Dean tried to grab Sam from entering the burning building, but he slipped out of his arm. Swearing, Dean covered his mouth and nose with his arm and went into the burning apartment.

It wasn't a very big place. It didn't take long until Dean found Sam in the bedroom doorway. He had stopped in his tracks, mouth open and gaping, head tilted back. Dean, not understanding, looked up to follow his brother's gaze.

What greeted his eyes didn't make sense. It was like the wendigo all over again. On the ceiling was a girl, suspended, like something invisible held her there. From what little Dean could make out of her she was young, pretty; she had so much life left to live, and yet there she was, burning on a ceiling. On a ceiling.

“NO! JESS!”

Sam's voice cut through Dean's trauma. Thinking at lightning speed, he clamped his hand on Sam's shoulder and screamed for the one thing who could help them.

“CASTIEL!”

Castiel appeared immediately. Sam tried to lunge forward so Dean grabbed him, not letting him go. Cas touched Dean's shoulder, and in the blink of an eye they were safely outside. They were the first ones outside, so no one saw three men abruptly appear under a tree on the lawn out of thin air.

“Sam, get in the car,” Dean urged.

“But Jess–”

“If the fire department shows up they're gonna have questions we don't have answers to, so get in the car!”

The three found themselves in a 24-7 diner minutes later.

“Are you alright?” Castiel eventually asked Sam once they were settled into a booth with coffee.

“Look, I'm your alibi, okay?” Dean told Sam who was staring off into space. “We weren't there yet, we were here. We were coming to get your things because you're dropping out. But that means when you find out your place was torched and Jess—”

“Don't,” Sam said through clenched teeth with a glare. Tears stood in his eyes.

“I don't understand,” Castiel said in the same low voice the Winchesters were speaking in. “What is happening?”

“I went to get my stuff and—and—”

Same couldn't finish so Dean finished gently for him. “We showed up and his girlfriend was pinned to the ceiling, on fire.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Yeah,” Dean said grimly.

“How was she pinned?”

“We don't know.”

Castiel looked between them in disbelief. “What do you mean you don't know?”

“It means,” Sam said, glaring, talking through pursed lips, “she was up against the ceiling with her back to it and was being held there by some invisible source.”

Castiel's eyes widened and he looked at Dean. Dean gave a curt nod of confirmation before dumping an obscene amount of sugar and cream into his coffee. For a moment there was just tension and the sound of Dean's spoon hitting the side of the ceramic mug.

“That…” Castiel said carefully. “Doesn't sound…Right.”

Dean rolled his eyes quickly. “No shit Sherlock?”

When Castiel looked confused, Dean tossed his hands into the air. “Seriously? You don't even know who Sherlock is?!”

“I'm in, you know.”

Castiel and Dean had barely heard Sam talk, he spoke so softly. When they looked at him a look of hard, homicidal conviction had twisted his face into a look Dean had never seen before. Sam looked at them both seriously.

“I'm in. I want to be a hunter.” He leaned forward, pressing his index finger to the sticky laminate tabletop. “I'm going to find what did this to Jess, and I'm going to make it pay. I'm going to make it pay, and make it suffer, and then I'm going to go after every other thing out there so no one has to go through this.”

Chapter 7

Peter123: You are so full of shit.

ClassyCat: Are you trying for a horror novel gig Rod?

GeraldinesGame: Thank you for coming forward with this! I'm happy you're safe. I swear to you my grandmother's house is haunted. I was shoved down the basement stairs once and it's a good thing I didn't snap my neck! No one believes me and they try to blame it on her cat, that the cat tripped me. I'm telling you I didn't trip over a damn cat! Cats don't have hands that shove your back!

Anonymous wrote:I don't know what it was, but my uncles house has this huge cornfield. My siblings and I spend our summer vacations there. The one time we were playing in the corn, hide and seek like we always do. Yeah sometimes we get lost in the field, but it's not a huge field so we always find our way out.

But the one time I heard my little sister screaming and crying for me. When I finally found her I thought she was hurt. I was pretty upset. She swore up and down that she hadn't been calling me, and she obviously hadn't been crying. When our brother caught up with us HE was crying, because he said he couldn't find us and he heard ME screaming and crying. I wasn't.

To this day we don't know what that was about, but we don't go anywhere near the corn field anymore.

Dean took a sip of his beer and kept reading.

BigHotDog: I live in Montana. I know it's stupid but I go hiking by myself sometimes. I mean like, hiking hiking, not just taking a stroll in a forest. The one time I found these trees with all these weird markings on them. I thought it was just stupid kids being stupid kids. But then I heard chanting, and I could swear it sounded like Latin maybe? I don't know. I'm sure it was just some idiots thinking they were in a cult, but it freaked me out enough that I don't go to that area anymore.

Anonymous wrote:I was attacked by a werewolf once. I told everyone that it was a rabid dog. The authorities looked for the dog for a while and never found anything. The damn thing tried to rip my heart out. I was saved by this person with a machete—they beheaded the damn thing. After they made sure I wasn't bit they sent me on my way to the hospital.

I never got the dude's name. I never even got to say thank you. He swore me to secrecy which is why I'm posting as anonymous.

StevieBoBidlie:I agree with Rod—please be careful, everyone.

Dean leaned back. There were more comments like that, hundreds, most from anonymous accounts. He was stunned at the outpouring of people sharing their own harrowing stories. Some of them seemed fake and off the cuff, but a majority of them were written with just the right amount of anxiety that Dean didn't think the person was making it up.

Dean looked over at Sam who was asleep on the motel bed across from his own. They evidently were going to have their work cut out for them. Taking another pull from his bottle, he looked back at the glowing screen that was the only source of light in the room.

There was one comment he kept coming back to. It was strange, not in it of itself, but how it was worded. Dean scrolled back to more or less the middle of the comments to re-read it for the millionth time.

Anonymous wrote:How did you escape? There's zero way you could have overpowered it. Wendigo don't just leave their prey, and it wouldn't have run off without fire.

You're not telling us something.

Dean rubbed at his mouth. Not only did this commenter take what Dean had written at face value, but they sounded like they knew about the subject, and knew enough to spot the Castiel-sized plot hole in his retelling. It was troubling; was this a hunter? Was it a person like the hunter who killed the werewolf in the one story, and they were pissed at Dean for talking about wendigo? Did he unintentionally put himself in danger? Worse, had he endangered Sam?

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

Dean practically jumped out of his skin. As such, he spilled beer all over himself. Swearing quietly, he put the laptop down on the bed beside him and then the beer on the nightstand.

“What the hell, man?” he demanded quietly, shaking off his hand. “You're still here?”

Castiel was situated in the corner in a chair. His position left him shrouded in shadows. Sam snorted in his sleep and then turned over with a sigh. Dean looked back at Castiel and glared.

“Where else would I be?” Castiel whispered.

“I d'no. Wherever you go when you're not here.”

“Why?”

Dean hesitated. “Wait. Were you just going to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“All night?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “Do you sleep?”

“No.”

Dean was slightly horrified. “Hold up; so you were just gonna sit in that corner and, what? Watch us sleep all night?”

“Yes. The sudden turn of events is very unsettling, and I don't feel comfortable straying very far from you and Sam.”

Sam gave a loud snore. The pair paused their discussion until he settled. Dean looked back at the shadow-lump that was Cas.

“Don't do that.”

“Don't do what?”

“Don't sit there and watch us sleep!”

“Why?”

“Because it's weird!”

Even in the dark, Dean could see the angel cock his head to the side in question.

“It's weird, and creepy, and just—just don't do it, man. Yeesh.”

“Oh.” There was a pause of contemplation. “I saw no harm in it. You would be asleep and unaware of your surroundings.”

Dean leaned forward. “Exactly. Like I said—creepy.”

“I…don't understand.”

Sam finally groaned and sat up, not bothering to whisper. “Would you two just shut up already?! My subtle hints of me trying to let you know I wanna sleep were evidently too subtle, so I'm telling you to shut up so I can sleep!”

“Aw, sleeping beauty needs her rest?” Dean teased, which got him a pillow to the head from an angry Sam. Dean laughed.

“It's good that you are a light sleeper,” Castiel commented seriously. “You will be less likely to die in your sleep when you start hunting.”

“Great!” Sam said in an over-the-top forced chipperness. “Now I'm going to have nightmares to boot!” He flung himself down angrily and pulled his remaining pillow over his head. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Castiel got to his feet. “Goodnight. I'll just—”

Dean watched Castiel sort of pace back and forth a moment, clearly unsure what to do with himself. Finally he went to the door and opened it. “If you need me I will be out here.”

Castiel closed the door. Dean rolled his eyes and peeled off his beer-soaked flannel; the black shirt beneath had only a drop on it and would be fine. He then laid down and got comfortable.

He couldn't stay comfortable though. After tossing and turning for five minutes, he angrily kicked the covers off him and went to the door. He threw it open and found what he expected; Castiel just standing there, off to the side.

“Oh. Hello Dean. I thought you were sleeping.”

“I can't sleep if you're just standing out here like a weirdo. Come in.”

“But you said—”

Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed Castiel by the front of the shirt, and yanked him in. “Forget what I said Cas, just get in here already!”

“Oh. Er, alright.”

Dean shut the door behind them and locked it.

~

You're not telling us something.

The words rattled around Dean's head, banged around it like a bumper car that was out of control.

You're not telling us something.

You're not telling us something.

You're not telling us something.

“Dean.”

Dean blinked profusely. Cas and Sam sat across from him, Castiel by the window. Sam's eyebrows were raised, and it was clear he had been talking to Dean for a while. Dean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“You okay?” Sam said.

Dean cut off some waffle with the side of his fork and shoved it into his mouth. “Yeah. Sorry, what?”

Sam moaned and rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” Dean snapped immediately. “The coffee hasn't kicked in yet, okay?”

“We were talking about training—”

“So how's that work?” Dean asked, cutting Sam off and not even caring what was being said. “Hunters, I mean. Are there different factions? One faction that goes after werewolves, another for vampires, another for wendigo?”

“From my understanding it's not nearly as organized as that,” Castiel replied.

Dean continued to eat his breakfast, respectfully letting Castiel speak. You're not telling us something.

“Hunters are usually solo, occasionally breaking off into pairs; sometimes there are loose groups that overlap. There is very little communication between any of them, if there's any at all.”

“Sounds lonely,” Sam commented.

You're not telling us something.

Castiel looked at Dean. “Are you alright?”

Dean paused mid-chew. Then he wiped off his hands and picked up his coffee. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem distracted.”

Even though his heart started to race, outwardly he remained cool. “Nope. Just knocking the cobwebs out.”

“From where?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other briefly.

“No, not—not literally. It's an expression.”

Castiel was nodding his head.

“There are no cobwebs, it's to say that inside your head needs to be cleared because—because—” Dean faltered and looked exasperated. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Castiel asked.

Trying not to laugh, Sam got to his feet. “That's my cue to use the little boy's room. Excuse me.”

Dean shot him a glare. When he looked back at Castiel, the angel was sitting there serenely. Dean drank more coffee and shook his head. “Do you always take everything so literally?”

Castiel frowned. “Oh. Yes. I'm aware humans tend to use things like hyperbole and sarcasm to convey what they mean, but I must admit it's been so long since I've interacted with humans I'm a bit rusty.”

Dean almost busted out laughing when Castiel used air-quotes when he said ‘rusty’. To cover, he drank more coffee.

“How long has it been? Since you've been around humans last, that is.”

“Roughly two-thousand years.”

Dean promptly spit his coffee in a large arc. Castiel watched as the man coughed and sputtered, pounding on his chest.

“Actually closer to three.”

Dean grabbed his water and chugged it.

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Are you alright?”

When the water was drained, he slammed down the empty plastic cup. Eyes wide, Dean leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “Three thousand years?!”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?!”

Castiel gave Dean a smirk that could only be called impish. “Do you really want to know that?”

Dean viewed Castiel seriously for a moment, looking him up and down. He leaned back against the booth then and cleared his throat. “I suppose not.”

“It's very old.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

When Dean went back to eating, Castiel swiveled his head to look out the window. Dean was quiet for a while, simply watching the guys profile. The angel seemed utterly unperturbed by this, so Dean drank him in. Dark messy hair, chapped lips, rough skin, a strong, sharp jawline. Dark eyelashes, insanely blue eyes. He wondered, did all angels look like this? Were they just a copy-paste, all a bunch of trench-coat wearing, blue-eyed, socially inept guys running around? In fact, the more Dean thought about it, and how angels were supposed to look, he wondered—where were the wings? Where was the halo? Weren't they supposed to have eyes all over their bodies or something?

Dean cleared his throat. “So what do you do when you're not running around down here, looking after me and Sam?”

Castiel looked at him. “I watch after my garrison.”

“Excuse me—garrison?”

“Yes.”

“Like—like garrison garrison?”

Castiel frowned. “Is that not the correct word? A unit of soldiers wh—”

“No, that's the right word.” Dean put his fork down. “I’m just…surprised you watch over a garrison. Er, no offense.”

“None taken.” Castiel tipped his head and narrowed his eyes. “Why would I take offense to that? Should I be offended?”

Dean's eyes widened. “No! I just—it's just—you don't really seem like…army material.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean could feel himself getting redder and redder. He tried for more water but the cup was empty; he settled for crunching on ice loudly. Swallowing, he gave what he hoped was a disarming, charming smile. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. Please.”

Castiel looked towards the interior of the restaurant then and folded his hands in his lap. “Alright.”

Dean gave a quiet little sigh and went back to devouring his food.

“Is Sam alright?”

Dean lifted his head, talking around some bacon. “Whadoyamean?”

“Ever since yesterday I keep catching him with an intense look on his face.”

Dean chewed a little slower. “Well, yeah. His girlfriend just died. I'd look a little intense too.”

Castiel shook his head and looked at Dean. “You misunderstand me. I mean he looks murderous. I worry his thirst for revenge is going to utterly take him over.”

“Hey, lower your voice…” Dean leaned forward and glanced around nervously before continuing. “And I'm sure he's fine. He'll get over it.”

Castiel didn't look convinced. Even so, he didn't say anything. Dean finished the rest of his food. As he wiped his hands in his napkin, Castiel looked around the diner. His brow furrowed.

“Where's Sam?”

Dean leaned back and glanced around the area. “Bathroom.”

“He's been gone awhile.”

Dean shrugged. “Probably poopin’.”

Castiel hummed but didn't speak. He still looked worried. Dean rolled his eyes. “If you're that worried I'll go check.”

Castiel nodded. Grumbling quietly to himself, Dean walked to the back of the restaurant. He pushed open the door; you never knew what type of bathroom you'd get in a random stop off the highway. It wasn't a single room but slightly larger; three urinals off to the side with two stalls.

It was empty.

Dean raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“Sam?”

The bathroom was definitely empty. Even so, Dean strode over and opened the first stall. When Sam wasn't there, he banged open the second, panicking.

“Sammy?!”

He spun around and left. Without even fully thinking of what he was doing he burst into the woman's room. A woman at the mirror stood, applying lipstick, while Dean saw a pair of legs under one of the three stalls. The woman at the mirror whipped around, looking scandalized.

“Excuse you!”

“Sorry,” Dean said quickly before practically running into the restaurant.

Castiel took one look at Dean and got to his feet. “Dean, what's—”

“He's gone,” Dean said, pulling out his wallet and throwing down two twenty-dollar bills.

“Who?”

Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed Castiel's arm, and yanked him out of the booth. “Who else? Sam!”

“Sam's gone? What do you mean?”

As Dean dragged Castiel through the restaurant, he spoke angrily. “There ain't no other words in the English language to say what I mean! Sam's gone.”

Chapter 8

“Dean, you really should slow down.”

To make a point, Dean drove Baby faster.

Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Getting us into a car wreck would only slow us down.”

Dean didn't reply. Castiel gave him a few moments before speaking again.

“Do you even know where you're going?”

Dean held up his cellphone, wiggling it back and forth before dropping it back on the seat. “Yup.”

“What is that?”

“A phone.” Dean glanced at him. “It's a cellphone—oh c'mon! You seriously don't know what a cellphone is?!”

“Should I?”

Under normal circumstances, Dean would've thought it was endearing the angel was so clueless. Now it was just a nuisance. Knowing his nerves were shot he took a slow, deep breath before answering.

“It's a mini-telephone. Do you know what a telephone is?”

“Of course I know what a telephone is.”

“How do you know what a telephone is but—you know what? Never mind. Point is, it's a mini phone you can carry around without any sort of cord—”

“I can see there's no cord.”

Dean took in another slow breath and adjusted his grip on the wheel to stop white-knuckling it. “It's more than just a phone. There's a camera for pictures, but, more importantly, you can trace them.”

Cas picked it up and twisted it every which way. “Fascinating.”

Dean yanked it out of his hands. “Give me that. You might break it.”

“Oh. Are they really so delicate?”

“Yes!”

A wave of guilt hit Dean for snapping at Castiel. The angel hadn't even been perturbed by the mini outburst nor when he snatched the cell away like a child. Dean shifted in his seat, outright squirming with guilt. He cleared his throat.

“I'll uh—I'll show you how to use it. Just not right now.”

“Oh. I wouldn't expect you to, especially not right now while you're driving. You don't have to.”

“I want to,” Dean urged.

A very small smile spread across Castiel's face. “If you insist. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nodded, focusing on the road. “You're welcome.”

A shorter while later, Dean pulled off to the side of the road. Castiel looked out the window, squinting against the harsh morning sun. Beyond his window was a nondescript mundane verdant field.

“Why are we stopping?” Castiel asked while Dean popped open Baby's door and got out.

As Castiel climbed out of the car, Dean glanced down at his phone and then answered. “Because according to the GPS, Sam's phone is here.”

“What's GPS?”

“Stands for Global Positioning System. It's the thing that's telling me where Sammy's phone is.”

Castiel turned his head left, and then right, blue eyes tracing along the field. Dean came around the car and stood next to the angel.

“That doesn't make sense,” Castiel said, “There's nothing here.”

Dean frowned deeply. “I know.”

Castiel peered over Dean's shoulder, trying to make sense of the cell screen he was looking at. “Does it give an exact location?”

Dean picked up his own head and looked left and right, frowning. “No, it doesn't. C'mon, let's look around. See if there's tire tracks or something.”

Nodding, Castiel and Dean set off in the field. As much as Dean enjoyed having Castiel's body heat on the unseasonably cool November day, he suggested they fan out to cover more ground. It wasn't until they were roughly halfway through the field did Castiel call out.

“Dean! I think I found something.”

Dean quickly jogged over to where Castiel was bending over and picking something up.

“I'm sorry,” Castiel said as Dean approached him. He was holding out something. “I didn't mean to step on it—it's one of your cell phones, right?”

Even though he didn't want to, Dean took the item Castiel was proferring to him. Dean flipped it over in his hands.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean said gruffly.

“Is it Sam's?” Castiel asked with a modicum of hesitation.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Yeah, it is.”

“Now what do we do?” Castiel said after giving Dean several moments to collect himself.

Dean, trying to not feel defeated, looked around himself at the empty field. “I d'no, Cas. I d'no.”

~

“So who is this Bobby?”

“My dad's best friend.”

“And why are we going there?”

“Because he was the last person Sam talked to.”

“Should we call him to let him know of our imminent arrival?”

“I tried. He didn't pick up.”

“Dean, I really think perhaps you should alert the authorities.”

Dean threw Castiel a look like he was crazy. “Okay, one, I find it weird you'd even suggest that.”

“Why?” Castiel looked confused. “Isn't that the normal course of action humans take when something nefarious or bad happens?”

“Well, yeah, but I just… I d'no. It just didn't seem like an option you'd be open to.”

“Why? I'm trying to be hands off,” the angel said with air quotes around the last two words.

“That's fair I guess. Well secondly, don't you find it weird that Sam went into a bathroom with no windows to sneak out from, and the one entrance into the restaurant was in our line of sight?”

“I suppose, but it wasn't in our direct line of sight, we had to look to the side—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know, I was there, remember? The point is that in order to leave the restaurant, Sam would have had to walk past our booth. It's not like we could have missed a guy as large as Sam walking past.”

Castiel frowned.

“And,” Dean continued, “if I called the cops what would I say? Yeah, officer, my little brother disappeared into thin air and I found his cell seven miles away from where he disappeared from. Who's this? Oh, our friend Castiel. What sort of name is Castiel? Oh, he's an angel.”

Dean rolled his head to give Castiel a withering look.

Castiel sank a little in his seat. “Oh. I see.”

Dean looked back at the road.

“So why are we going to this Bobby person?”

“Because I don't know what else to do, alright?!”

Castiel looked at Dean evenly, looking slightly surprised at the sudden outburst. As such, Dean became self-conscious, shifting a little bit uncomfortably in his seat. He stared at the road as he spoke.

“We always made a pact that if anything ever happened, and we ever got in any sort of trouble, we'd meet back up at Bobby's place. So, couple that with the fact Sam called Bobby last, it's the only thing I can think to do.”

Castiel didn't reply.

“I only hope he's okay and I'm not going the complete opposite direction of where he is,” Dean muttered. Then, angrily, he punched the steering wheel once.

Castiel peered at him out of the corner of his eye but didn't say anything.

Truthfully, as the miles peeled away under the Impala’s wheels, Dean realized he just wanted Bobby. He had always been an anchor, a force to be reckoned with. He was more of a father these past few years to Dean and Sam then their own father had been, buckling under the loss of his wife. It wasn't until right now, with Sammy lost to the wind somewhere and Dean not knowing what to do, did he understand just how much of a fixture Bobby had become in his life. Even if Bobby wouldn't know what to do, Dean knew his mere presence would be comforting.

Dean, of course, left all that unsaid, instead letting his music fill in the void where discussions should have been.

When they finally pulled up to Bobby's place, Castiel took everything in, eyes squinting and darting all around. When they exited the car, and Dean closed the driver's door, he looked at Castiel in quiet curiosity.

“It's like a car graveyard,” Castiel finally commented.

Dean thought. Then he shrugged with one shoulder. “Yeah, I guess it kinda is, isn't it?”

Castiel didn't say anything nor moved, simply scrutinized the surroundings.

“Well c'mon, let's go.”

Castiel nodded and shut his door, still looking a little uneasy and on alert.

“Look,” Dean said as they walked to the door, “I'm going to introduce you as Cas. Cas could be a nickname for any number of things, but a name like Castiel is going to raise all sorts of questions I think. You don't have to say much—in fact, I'd kinda prefer if you didn't.”

Castiel momentarily looked offended but the look melted away quickly, replaced by his stoic indifference.

“Bobby's a good guy,” Dean said as they climbed up the stairs. “So, you don't have to worry about anything.”

Dean knocked and then waited for the door to open. When it did finally open, the barrel of a shotgun was pointed at them. Before Dean could even have a reaction, Castiel grabbed the barrel and bent it upward as though it was made from playdoh. Bobby's mouth opened, his eyes wide, and he just gawked.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean snapped, and then unceremoniously shoved Castiel inside. Dean quickly jumped in after, slamming the door behind them.

Dean looked out the window quickly and then spun back around, glaring. Bobby looked at his destroyed gun and then back at Cas. He did this several times.

“I told you to be cool!” Dean snapped, pacing back and forth.

Castiel looked confused. “There was a weapon pointed at us. Was that not the correct course of action?”

Dean raked his hands down his face and moaned in frustration. Castiel tilted his head.

“I know you care about Bobby, and I could only assume this was Bobby, so I wasn't going to harm him. Was that incorrect?”

“Who are you?” Bobby asked. He glanced at his gun again before screwing up his face and looking a little fearful. “What are you?”

Castiel said, “I'm an angel”, while Dean said simultaneously, “A wrestler.”

Both Bobby and Castiel looked at Dean like he was stupid. Dean's eyes widened. When they both continued to just look at him in disbelief, he looked pissed.

“What?”

Bobby slapped him in the back of the head. “If you're gonna lie to me, boy, at least spit out something believable.”

Dean rubbed the back of his stinging head, wincing. After a moment he replied somewhat sheepishly, “It was the first thing that came to my mind.”

Bobby hit him again. Dean took a step back. “Alright, enough, slappy!”

Bobby looked at Castiel warily. “You said an angel?”

Castiel nodded. “I did.”

“Well what in the hell are you doing with my boy?”

Castiel looked slightly confused. “Protecting him.”

Bobby gave a final look to his gun before setting it down on the ground, leaning it against the wall. “Well, duh, I figured as much. But why?”

Dean shifted his eyes between the pair. Before Castiel could answer Bobby's question, he jumped in and spoke in a low, suspicious voice.

“Wait. You're handling this really well.”

Bobby looked at him. “Huh?”

“You're handling this really well,” Dean repeated, squaring off to Bobby. “You're told a friggin’ angel of the Lord is standing here, and your response is basically, ‘Oh’?”

Bobby snorted. “Well yeah. What’m I supposed to do? Run around screaming like a girl with my hands over my head?”

“No,” Dean said slowly, “but I thought you'd be more freaked out. Sammy and I were freaked out more than this.”

“So?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“Speaking of,” Bobby said, “where is Sam, anyway? I thought he was with you.”

Dean glanced at Cas and frowned. “He's missing.”

Bobby looked alarmed. “Missing?”

Dean took out Sam's cell and handed it over to Bobby.

“Tracked his phone down. It was seven miles away from where we saw him last.”

“That's why we're here,” Castiel said, and Bobby looked at him.

For once it seemed Bobby didn't know what to say, simply staring at the unexpected guests.

Chapter 9

“Let me get this straight. Sam went to take a whiz and then disappeared into thin air, and you traced his cell back to an empty field with no tire tracks or anything?”

“Yup,” Dean replied, popping the ‘p’.

Bobby leaned back in his chair and poured out a drink. “Balls.”

“Pour me some, yeah?”

“Gladly. Just get me a glass.”

Dean got to his feet from his own chair and moved to the kitchen. As he opened up the cabinet where the glasses were, he cautiously glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't hear what was being said, but Bobby was leaning forward, whispering something to Cas. He shut the cabinet loudly and cleared his throat before turning around and entering the room. He gave a sweet smile, handing over the glass. As Bobby poured, the phone at his side rang. As soon as he was done with the drink he picked up the phone and cradled it against his ear, holding the glass out to Dean.

“You want anything?” Bobby asked Cas quickly before saying directly into the phone, “Bobby here.”

Castiel shook his head. Bobby gave a nod in acknowledgement and went back to the phone call.

“Yah-huh? Really. Oh, I see. Yeah, well—” he glanced at Dean, “I'm a little tied up now in some family business. It don't matter. Look, I'll send someone out to you. Yes they'll be good—really, you damn idgit? You're gonna ask me if they're good? Why in the hell are you even calling me for if you don't trust my judgment?”

Dean snorted into his glass but didn't say anything.

“Yeah that's what I thought. Yeah. Gimme the address?” Bobby grabbed a random napkin and a pen, taking notes. “Okay. Nebraska. Yup. Got it. Bye.”

Bobby hung up. Muttering profanities to himself he downed the rest of his glass and immediately poured himself another. Dean smirked while Cas just sat there calmly, hands resting on his knees.

“You okay there?” Dean asked, voice laced in amusement.

Bobby glared. Dean held up both hands and forced himself to stop smirking. Even so, his curiosity had been piqued. “What's in Nebraska?”

“Car someone wants towed here.”

Dean grinned. “Don't lie to me.”

Bobby threw him a sharp look. “I'm not.”

“Right,” Dean said smoothly, leaning his elbows on his knees, “because it's not like you didn't teach me how to lie with the best of them. I know it's not a car. So—what's in Nebraska?”

Bobby glanced at Castiel, who nodded. Intrigued by that silent exchange, Dean lofted a confused glare at both of them.

“Dean,” Bobby began to say delicately, “Look. I haven't been exactly up front with you, about some things—”

Just then the front door banged open, and seconds later one John Winchester walked into the room. He looked a little pale, his eyes wide. Dean got to his feet.

“I got your message Dean, and I came as soon as I could.”

Bobby looked at John and slowly got to his feet.

“What should we do? Should we call someone?”

“I don't think calling anyone would help,” Castiel said, getting to his feet last.

John looked him up and down and screwed up his face. “Who are you?”

“I'm—Cas,” Castiel replied after a quick fumble. “I'm a friend of Dean and Sam's. And you are?”

John cast the angel a look of impatient disgust. “John Winchester—their dad.”

Castiel didn't reply. Still looking more annoyed with Castiel than anything, John turned and addressed Bobby and Dean.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

Looking slightly guilty, Dean crammed his hands into his pockets. “We were at a restaurant having breakfast and Sam went to the bathroom. When he didn't come back out, I went looking for him but he wasn't there.”

“What do you mean he wasn't there?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Christ on a cracker, people, why do I keep having to repeat this part? Keep up!”

John snapped his head back and glared.

“I mean he was gone,” Dean said. He then blurted out the next part without really thinking. “It's like he disappeared into thin air.”

John frowned heavily and glared at Bobby. “That why he's here?”

Bobby glared right back. “No. He came of his own volition, thank you very much. You act like I brainwashed the kid or something.”

“I d'no. You always like to play pretend that you're their dad when you're not—”

Dean rolled his eyes and snapped several times. Bobby and John looked at him, shocked he literally snapped at them. Angrily Dean put his arm down.

“You both are not arguing about that now! Focus! Sammy is missing.”

“When was this, that he disappeared?” John asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Has it been twenty-four hours? Could you report him missing yet?”

“There's not actually a stature of time from when you can file a missing person's report,” Bobby grumbled quietly.

John glared at him.

“I, uh, I didn't think that'd be a great idea,” Dean said to his father. “To report Sam, I mean.”

John started to get loud. “Why in the hell not?”

“Because I found his cell phone, okay?!” Dean barked, starting to get loud too. “It was seven miles away from the restaurant.”

“So? Someone kidnapped him and threw his cell out the window. Jesus, Dean, use your brain! You should have turned it into the authorities, maybe they could have gotten prints off it! But now you probably smeared them all off and mucked up the prints with your own—”

Dean turned red in the face. “You don't understand. When I pinged his phone, there was no way he would've physically been there yet where we found his phone.”

John paused. “What?”

Dean glanced at Bobby who was giving him a very peculiar look. Swallowing, Dean looked back at his dad. “It was seven miles away, but to get out of town would've taken a while. We were in one of those towns off the highway, where everything is super spread out; a gas station here, then a few miles up the road a grocery store, then a few miles past that a restaurant. To get back to the highway itself would've taken ten minutes itself. Then an additional fourteen to get to where the cell was. I'm telling you, it should've taken him about twenty-five minutes to get to the field where his phone was, but when I pinged it only fifteen minutes had passed, tops.”

John shifted on his feet. “That's not possible.”

“I know,” Dean replied impatiently.

John licked his lips. “So then you read the clock wrong.”

Dean moaned. “Dad—”

“More time passed than you thought—”

“Dad—”

“So you think it's not physically possible for him to have covered that much distance—”

“Dad—”

“But really—”

“DAD! I know how to read a damn clock, alright?” Dean finally screamed. “Tell him, Cas.”

“Factoring in the half minute it would have taken Sam to reach the bathroom, and assuming he was missing before we realized it, it still would have only been twenty minutes. Physically there is no way to account for the extra four minutes.”

John opened his mouth to say something angrily, red-faced, but Castiel wasn't done.

“Not to mention we still can't account for the fact that there were no other doors leading in and out of the bathroom, nor were there any windows he could have exited from. In order for Sam to have left he would have had to walk directly past our table—which he didn't.”

“Balls,” Bobby muttered, looking deeply worried.

John, however, began to laugh bitterly. Shaking his head, he looked between Bobby and Dean. He held out a trembling index finger.

“I see what this is. No. No. Uh-uh.”

As John started to backpedal, Dean looked at him like he was crazy.

“This is Mary all over again.” He pointed at Bobby. “No. Fuck you. I'm gonna go report my son missing like any sane, rational human being would do, one that's not delusional and living in some twisted, alcohol-fueled fantasy nightmare land!”

John left and slammed the door so hard behind himself the entire place shook. Dean immediately turned to Bobby, both eyebrows raised.

“What was that about?”

Bobby put his hands on his hips. When he spoke, it was quietly.

“Sit down, Dean.”

“But—”

“I said sit down!”

Dean was never one to be bossed around; he had never seen Bobby so serious and distraught before. So he sank into his chair wordlessly.

Bobby ran a rough hand over his mouth. “Look, Dean, there's no easy way to say this. There's…things…out there. Strange things. Scary things. Things that wanna hurt you, hurt people. Dangerous things.”

Dean glanced over at Cas. “You mean like wendigo?”

“Yeah, like wendi—how in the fuck do you know what a wendigo is?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Cas again. “Uh. ‘Cause Sammy and I were attacked by one.”

Bobby's eyes grew large.

Dean pointed at Cas. “And, uh, the only reason we're alive is because Castiel saved us.”

Bobby looked at Cas, clearly surprised. Castiel met the look evenly, unflinching. Bobby looked back at Dean.

“You alright?”

“I mean, yeah, we were pretty banged up, but Cas healed us—”

Bobby looked at Cas. “You can do that?”

Castiel nodded. “There are many things I can do.”

“Wait,” Dean said. “What does any of this have to do with my dad? What did he mean by what he said, that it's Mary all over again?”

Bobby took a deep breath and looked pained. “Your mother was a hunter. That's—”

“People who hunt evil supernatural things, yeah, I got that.” Dean looked wide-eyed between Bobby and Castiel. “My mom. Was a hunter?”

Bobby nodded.

Dean laughed. “No she wasn't!” He looked in between the two who were looking at him seriously. “She wasn't! The woman wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, sure, she was a little rough around the edges, but you kinda have to be married to a guy like John Winchester…”

Dean kind of trailed off, things falling into place in his head. He was starting to get nervous.

“I mean, we rarely went over to mom's side of the family. They disowned her over…Over settling down with my dad. I just thought…I just thought they didn't like dad, which I mean, isn't hard to do…” Dean was starting to get upset, feeling like he might burst into tears, his entire life teetering on being obliterated. He now looked desperately between Bobby and Castiel. “I was always told it had to do with their family business, that she didn't want anything to do with it, that she didn't want to inherit it—” Dean moaned and rolled his eyes. “That's it, isn't it? The family business? They're hunters?!”

“Dean—” Bobby tried to say, but Dean was on his feet, pacing back and forth.

“Oh man. I always thought the family business was mob related, with how they never talked about it, and it was hush hush, and a couple of times said things in a way that could be eluded to murder—”

“Mob?” Bobby barked out, and gave an incredulous laugh. “With a name like Campbell?”

“There's Irish mob, Bobby, thanks!”

Bobby rolled his eyes.

Dean sat down and held his head in his hands, eyes bulging. “It wasn't people they were talking about killing, it was monsters!”

“Move,” Bobby said, coming around his desk and nudging Castiel with his leg. The angel got up and stood off to the side. Bobby sat down and got settled. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

“Dean,” he said gently. “Your mother didn't want to be a hunter. She wanted a peaceful life, a safe life. She wanted to raise a family outside of hunting. So, she met your father and kept that part of the life from him.”

Dean lifted his head and looked at Bobby, eyes darting all over Bobby's face to see if he was serious. He hoped he wasn't, hoped there was going to be a “Ah-ha, gotcha!” moment, but Dean could already tell there wouldn't be.

“She tried bringing you kids around her family but it never went well.” Bobby chuckled. “Your dad probably thought it mob related too, now that I think about it. Mary swore her family to secrecy, forbade them from talking about it around you kids and her husband.”

“But that never worked,” Dean breathed out. “I can remember maybe twice where we actually stayed the entire time. Every other time we left abruptly and all piled into the car with my mom in a huff.”

Bobby nodded.

“Holy shit,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Bobby said gently. Dean looked at him and didn't like the look of sympathy written all over Bobby's face. “There's something you gotta understand about your mother.”

“What?” Dean asked even though he didn't really want to know, even though his voice trembled.

“Your mom wasn't just killed in a house fire,” Bobby said delicately.

The pit of Dean's stomach lurched and then fell. He glanced desperately in Cas, hoping the angel could save him. When he only got a serious look in return, he looked back at Bobby.

“Did your dad ever give you details about that day?”

Dean swallowed thickly. “I mean, he didn't have to. I was there. Sammy and I barely made it out alive.”

“And in the five years since it happened, did he describe anything?”

“Look,” Dean snapped angrily. “Stop beating around the bush. Just tell me whatever it is you want to, Bobby.”

Bobby took a deep breath. “Your mom was killed by a demon.”

Dean paused, a sharp throbbing picking up behind his right eye. “What?”

Bobby looked much more emotional than Dean thought he had ever seen the guy. “Dean, I'm so sorry. After the funeral your dad described what happened. He was asleep on the couch and he heard your mom screaming. When he ran up to their room, it was on fire.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah, I know.”

“He was really shaken up because what he saw didn't make sense, and he was trying to wrap his head around it.”

“Bobby,” Dean demanded in a low voice, the painful pressure behind his eye growing stronger. “What did he see?”

“You sure you wanna know?”

“Yes!”

“She was pinned. On the ceiling. On fire.”

Dean leapt to his feet. “On the ceiling?!” He grabbed Castiel.

Castiel's expression grew grim. “Jess.”

Dean kneaded Castiel's arm. “We have to find Sam. Now!”

Chapter 10

“Jess?” Bobby said. “Who's Jess?”

“Sam's girlfriend,” Dean snapped.

Bobby looked surprised. “Sammy has a girlfriend?”

“Had.”

Bobby raised both eyebrows.

“After we were attacked by the wendigo, Sam decided he didn't want to attend school any more. When we went to go pick up his stuff, we found his apartment on fire, with Jess on the ceiling, burning.”

Bobby looked panicked. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I believe the wendigo attack and demon attack were separate instances, and were just coincidence and bad luck,” Castiel said. He then looked at Bobby. “You're sure what killed Mary was a demon?”

“I don't know what else could pin a person to the ceiling and shish kebab them.”

“Dude,” Dean snapped. “That's my mom.”

Bobby looked guilty. “Sorry.”

“If it is a demon, then we have a much larger problem on our hands.”

“Ya think?!” Dean snapped at Cas. He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut tight. “If it was the same demon that killed Jess, it's probably looking to finish the job with Sam. In fact, it probably was going after Sam but it killed Jess just because she was there.” Dean opened his eyes, grabbed a random paper weight and hurled it at the wall. “Fuck!”

“Calm down, son,” Bobby said gently.

“Calm down?” Dean demanded. “Calm down?! I just found out that my mom was a hunter and that my baby brother might be kidnapped by a demon, and you want me to calm down?! Are you insane?!”

“Dean,” Cas tried then, taking a step forward. “I know this is upsetting, but panicking isn't going to be helpful.”

“Do you even know what upsetting means? You seem to be lacking on the emotional range page.”

Castiel opened his mouth, looking offended, but Bobby didn't allow it. “Both of you—enough.”

Bobby removed a pistol from the desk drawer. Dean looked at it, surprised. Bobby grabbed a box of ammo from the same drawer, shut it, and then leaned on the desk with both palms.

“I don't have much to go on, but if there's any chance we find Sam alive we have to be quick. I need you to bring me to the restaurant that Sam was taken from.”

“That's like, six and a half, seven hours away!”

“No it's not,” Castiel said. Bobby and Dean looked at him, confused. “Bobby—do you have everything you need?”

Bobby blinked. “Er, no.”

Castiel nodded. “Gather everything you need and then come back. I will bring you both to the restaurant.”

Bobby looked apprehensively at Dean. Dean shrugged.

“Go,” Castiel urged.

With a final glance, Bobby hurried off. Dean sat back in his chair. He knew the signs of the mounting migraine, but he was at a loss to stop it. There were different types of migraines he got, brought on by lack of food, dehydration; sometimes certain smells set it off, and he absolutely abhorred fluorescent lights. What he felt now was stress-induced, and, besides popping some Excedrin ASAP, he was helpless to stop it. Sighing heavily he went back to holding his head in his hands.

“Are you alright?”

Dean lifted his head long enough to shoot Castiel a dirty look. He then went back to cradling his throbbing head.

“Of course you're not,” Castiel said gently. “You're under extreme duress. That was silly of me to ask.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dean snapped, squeezing his eyes tight and rubbing the right side of his forehead.

A pause, and then, tentatively, “Can I do anything for you?”

Dean picked up his head and smiled. “Yeah. Get my baby brother back to me safe and sound.”

Castiel nodded. “That is the plan. I mean, is there anything I can do in the interim?”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No, Cas. It's fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

For some reason that made Dean smirk. Before he could think about it too much, Bobby was back in the room with a filled black duffle bag. He nodded.

“Ready.”

Castiel stepped forward, outstretched both arms, and touched Dean and Bobby's foreheads at the same time. Dean blinked, stunned when they stood outside the restaurant. He spun around, drinking in his surroundings.

“Holy—” Bobby said and stumbled a little bit. Castiel steadied him. Bobby quickly gained his footing and narrowed his eyes. “Next time warn me, alright?”

“Did anyone see that?” Dean worried, still looking all around.

“Doubtful. Let's go.”

Before either could reply, Castiel already started to make his way across the parking lot. They shrugged at one another and rushed after the angel.

“How're we doing this?” Dean asked. “I feel like if we all rush in and go straight to the bathroom it'll be suspicious.”

“He's right,” Bobby said. “How about this. We go in, get a table. I'll go into the bathroom first—”

“I wanna be with you,” Dean cut in quickly.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Fine. Dean n’ I will go in and see if there's anything useful in the bathroom. In the meantime, you order food.”

“What should I order?” Castiel asked.

Bobby threw him a narrowed eyed look. “Hell if I know. Whatever you want.”

“I don't eat. What do you suggest?”

Bobby opened and closed his mouth a few times in disbelief. “Ya don't eat?”

“There's no need for me to.”

Bobby reached the establishment first and held open the door. When Dean walked past, Bobby muttered, “Where'd you find this guy?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Long story. I'll explain that once we're done here.”

The three stood at the front, waiting to be seated. Luckily there was only a smattering of people, so a waitress hurried over almost immediately. Dean gave his most charming smile and spoke for the group.

“Three please. And, where's the restroom? We've been on the road awhile.”

The woman grabbed menus and beamed at them. “Sure thing, sugar. Right this way, and the bathroom is in back on your right.”

“Thanks.”

As the waitress got Castiel situated (“Um. Just water for now, please.” “Sure. You look over the menu and these two will be waiting for them when they get done going potty.” “Potty?” Laugh. “Yeah, you know—potty. The can. Bathroom?” “Right.”), Bobby and Dean made their way to the bathroom. Upon entering, both were relieved to find it empty. Wordlessly Bobby locked the door and then began looking around the room.

It was a standard bathroom, the type that could be found at any gas station or restaurant off the highway. Ugly, chipping, pale yellow paint washed the walls, and an annoying fluorescent light fixture buzzed above the sink. (Great Dean thought upon laying eyes on the light that might as well have been his arch nemesis. Awesome.) The bathroom itself wasn't exactly clean, but it also wasn't exactly dirty. It came complete with the smells one would expect from such a place, grossness undercut by astringent.

The walls were decorated with various graffiti in addition to the sign that read, EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS. Dean looked around, not knowing what he was looking for. Bobby on the other hand looked around like a man on a mission. It didn't take but him opening the first stall before he swore loudly. Dean strode over, brow furrowed.

“What?”

Bobby had partially situated his duffle on top of the toilet paper dispenser. He unzipped it quickly and shoved his arm in. After a moment of blind digging around, he produced a journal. Taking out a pen, he shoved the bag at Dean.

“Here. Hold this.”

“What is it?” Dean squinted. “Oh my God, is that—is that blood?”

“Keep your voice down!” Bobby snapped. “And yeah, looks like it.”

He was drawing a bit of graffiti that was on the stall. Unlike the rest, random declarations of love mixed in with gang tags, this one was a symbol of some sort.

“What is it?” Dean asked, staring at the symbol.

“Honestly not sure, which worries me,” Bobby replied distractedly as he traced the symbol in his book. “Can't be good though. I recognize it as demonic, that's for sure.”

“Demonic?” Dean asked.

Bobby glared. “I mean, we're dealing with a demon here. Makes sense, no?”

Dean shifted on his feet. “I mean, yeah, I just…”

“What?” Bobby prodded, snapping the journal shut.

“I was just kinda hoping it wasn't actually a demon.”

Bobby put his hand on Dean's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “I know. Me too. C'mon.”

Dean followed Bobby out of the bathroom. He flung the duffle onto the booth seat across from Cas and then plopped down beside the angel. Bobby took a seat across from them next to his duffle. He opened his journal up on the table, quickly flipping to the symbol he drew. He then shoved the book at Cas and tapped the page several times with his index finger.

“You know what that is?”

Castiel took one look at the page and nodded. “A transportation sigil.”

“Well,” Bobby said, scooping up the book and putting it back into his duffle, “now we know how they got Sam out without anyone seeing them.”

Just then the waitress came back over. All smiles, she looked at each of them.

“So!” When she blinked, her eyes became dark pools of black. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, pressing himself into the booth as far as he could. “What can I get your boys?”

Castiel had gone rigid. When Bobby made a move for his bag, the woman turned her black eyes to him. “Ah ah ah—you really don't want to do that, unless you want me to kill every innocent bystander in the joint.”

Bobby froze.

She continued to smile. “Good boy, that's what I thought.”

“What do you want?” Castiel asked in a low, threatening voice.

“To deliver a message from my boss.” Her smile immediately vanished. “Stop poking around where you're not wanted. You do that and we'll return Sam to you without a hair harmed on his precious little head.”

“And if we don't?”

“We'll return him to you in pieces.”

“I swear to God I'll—” Dean started to say.

She looked at him with threatening narrowed eyes. “You'll what? I don't know you from a hair on my ass. Bobby's a respected hunter; you somehow managed to snag an angel. But you?”
She snorted and then stuck her face directly into Dean's, a mere inch away. “What're you gonna do about it?”

Dean swallowed thickly. “I d'no, but I'm positive it involves me killing you.”

“Dean!” Bobby snapped.

The demon laughed. “Oh, look at the balls on this one.” She snapped her teeth and grinned. “Try me.”

Dean lurched to his feet. Castiel grabbed his arm immediately and yanked him back down. She laughed.

“That's right. Keep a leash on your human pet, yeah? He's a feisty one.”

“I will give you to the count of five before I stab you,” Dean said, eyes narrowed.

“And I give you to the count of three to get the hell out of my restaurant. One—”

Bobby and Castiel leapt to their feet.

“Two—”

Bobby grabbed his bag and Castiel grabbed Dean while simultaneously shoving him out of the booth. Tripping over one another, the trio hastily beelined to the door. They didn't bother to wait around to see if she ever reached three, or what she was going to do at three; they all tried to cram through the door at once, pushing and shoving at one another.

Once they were a safe distance away, Bobby looked behind them; when he saw they weren't being followed, he hit Dean in the back of the head—hard.

“OW! What the fuck, Bobby?!”

“That was a demon!” Bobby hollered. “I don't know which is worse, the fact that you threatened it or the fact you were seriously going to stab it with a butter knife!”

“I would've aimed for the neck,” Dean justified.

“That wouldn't have done much,” Castiel interjected calmly. “The flatware was composed of impure properties; it was mainly stainless steel. Iron and silver works best against hellspawn.”

Bobby and Dean slowly looked at Castiel. When he met their gaze unflinching, Bobby shook his head.

“We need a new plan.”

“I'll say,” Dean agreed.

~

It was around one in the morning. Castiel had flown them all back to Bobby's place. Bobby had finally retired for the evening about an hour previously after spending the day trying to research which demon they might be dealing with. Dean, on the other hand, sat on the well-worn couch, holding his head in his hands. His migraine was so bad it hurt too much to sleep, and he was feeling nauseated. The lights were all off and he was plunged in darkness.

“Are you alright?”

Dean lifted his head and he forced away the urge to gag with the movement. Standing in the doorway was the dark silhouette of Castiel. Dean suppressed a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That's right. You don't sleep.”

“Correct.” Cas tilted his head. “Why are you not asleep?”

“Huh? Oh. Migraine. Had it all day. Really killing me now.”

Castiel's lips parted. “Why didn't you say something?” he admonished.

As Castiel strode across the room, Dean looked at him. “‘Cause I've gotten them my entire life? It's not a big deal—”

Castiel pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead, and the pain immediately left him. Dean blinked, shocked.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Castiel sat next to Dean. When he didn't move after a moment, Dean scooted over slowly and gave a look of chagrin.

“Personal space, dude.”

Castiel squinted and tilted his head. Dean chuckled.

“You practically sat in my lap. You gotta give people room.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Even though it was unnecessary, Castiel scooted even further away. Dean snorted and shook his head in amused disbelief. He caught Castiel staring at him. When the gaze wasn't broken after a few moments, Dean looked at him straight on. He was confused by the expression on Castiel's face, couldn't quite make out what it was.

“What?”

“You're…different.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I am?”

“You are incredibly brave.”

Dean felt himself go red, and he was thankful for the darkness.

“A little on the dumb side, threatening a demon like that—”

Dean puckered his lips and rolled his eyes.

“—but your loyalty and selflessness towards your brother is admirable.”

Dean could feel the heat of his blush more intensely.

“You are going to make a fine hunter, Dean Winchester.”

Dean swallowed loudly. He couldn't speak. He didn't know how to respond. Noticing Dean clamming up, Castiel tilted his head.

“What?”

“What what?” Dean squeaked.

“Your disposition has changed. Have I said something to insult you?”

Dean let out a bark of nervous laughter. “No, no, not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Castiel moved his head to its regular position, but he still looked confused.

Dean chuckled. “I just…Well I just can't believe I'm sitting here with an angel telling me I'm brave.”

“Well you are.” Understanding suddenly overcame Castiel's face and he inclined his head once more. “Do you not think yourself worthy of such praise?”

Dean could only stare at the angel. Castiel sat in quiet observation, waiting. Finally Dean cleared his throat and got to his feet. “Uh, I know you don't sleep but I do.”

Castiel got to his feet, intense eyes looking at Dean.

“I'm gonna just crash on the couch.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Yeah. Uh, thanks for the head thing. I feel fine now.”

Castiel nodded. “You're welcome.”

He didn't move. Dean swallowed.

“G'nite.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean let out a relieved sigh when Castiel got the hint and left the room. He sank onto the couch and took a moment to scrub both hands over his face. Moaning slightly he then laid down, threw an arm over his eyes, and went to sleep.

Chapter 11

“That's your plan? Really? Research?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Yeah I do, actually.”

The next morning, Dean and Bobby were talking over coffee in the kitchen. Castiel was leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Tell me what this brilliant plan of yours is.”

“We go back to the restaurant and make the son of a bitch tell us who they're working for.”

Bobby gave him a condescending look. “And how do you plan on making the demon talk?”

Dean grinned. “I'll just pretend I'm in the mob, if you get my drift.”

“Okay first off, numb nuts, this is a demon. You can't exactly just capture one easily, much less successfully torture one. Secondly you're not going anywhere near that thing.”

Dean was immediately pissed. “Says who?!”

“Says me!” He looked Dean up and down in disgust. “You go in there, half-cocked like you did yesterday, and you'll get us all killed!”

“Bobby—this is Sammy. I can't just sit this one out.”

“You can, and you will.”

“Dean's right,” Castiel said, sounding distracted and not looking at them.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at Bobby. “Ha!”

Bobby frowned.

Castiel looked at them. “I mean, Bobby is right.”

“Ha!” Bobby said.

“You're both right,” Castiel clarified, causing both men to look like wounded kittens licking their wounds. “I think Dean coming along would be advantageous, but you cannot go in half-cocked (air quotes) like Bobby said.”

When Castiel turned around, Dean stuck his tongue out at Bobby.

“Oh grow up, idgit.”

“Although if this is how it's going to be, I'll just take care of this myself,” Castiel grumbled, giving them both a sharp glare.

Bobby looked slightly guilty and Dean sank down in his chair. After a moment he cleared this throat and sat back up, picking up his coffee and giving a charming smile.

“So—what's the plan, Cas?”

“Hey—”

Dean glared at Bobby. “He's the resident angel. Before we go back to fighting, I wanna hear his input.”

Castiel looked pleased, and gave a rare smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nodded and sipped his coffee.

“I also agree with Dean that the best course of action would be to return to the restaurant and interrogate the demon.”

Dean looked smug. Bobby ignored him and spoke to Castiel.

“‘Kay, except what happens if there's more than one of ‘em?”

“There was only the one,” Castiel said. “Once the demon revealed itself, I swept the restaurant; all other inhabitants were human within the vicinity of the establishment and within it itself.”

Bobby and Dean looked at each other surprised. Then Dean looked at Castiel.

“You can do that? Sense when there's demons?”

“Yes, and the only reason I didn't pick it up immediately was because I wasn't expecting it.”

Dean broke into a grin. “Awesome.”

“I'm not buying it,” Bobby said. “If we go back there, certainly security will have been beefed up.”

“Not necessarily,” Castiel replied. “The demon got its point across. We left in such a hurry I doubt it would expect us to come back.”

“What if it jumped vessels though?”

“Vessel?” Dean asked, looking between the two.

“Oh, right,” Bobby said.

Cas jumped in. “Demons and angels don't have physical forms; or rather, we do, but they're mercurial and somewhat hard to contain. Demons are a smoky, usually black substance, while angels tend to be a physical and undulating light.”

Dean's eyes bulged out of his head.

“Demons prefer to inhabit bodies so they can physically affect the world around them and wreak havoc that way. Us angels, well, our true forms are extremely detrimental to mortals who look upon us.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow.

“Not only are we approximately the size of one of your human-built sky-scrapers, but our essence is so intense your eyes melt.”

Dean pulled a face. “Oh. Uh. Well, thanks for not…melting…our eyes…”

“You're welcome.”

Bobby snorted.

“Wait,” Dean said with a start then. “So you're…wearing…someone right now?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I'm not wearing (air quotes) anyone, although I do suppose that's an apt way to look at it. But it's not a possession in the way that it was deceitful; Jimmy took me on willingly.”

“Jimmy?”

“Novak. Yes. When I sensed you were in danger I went to him and asked his permission to use him as a vessel. Being a devoted Christian, he took me in enthusiastically.”

Dean paused. “Huh. So is being a devout Christian like a prerequisite or something, or can anyone?”

“Not a prerequisite, but it does make the transition easier. Although really any person who believes in angels strong enough can be a viable candidate. It also depends on the person themselves; it is extremely difficult and physically taxing to house an angel given our size and the sheer celestial magnitude of our being, so after a long while the vessel will start to break down.”

Dean's eyes bulged again. “Break down?”

“Yes. Sort of burn up from the inside.”

Dean pulled another disturbed, icky face.

“As fascinating as this is,” Bobby interrupted, “We can play school later. Right now we need to nail down a plan for the restaurant.”

Dean pointed at Cas. “I wanna hear more. Later.”

“Of course,” Castiel replied genially. “I would love to explain it further and answer any more questions you have.”

Bobby cleared his throat loudly, glaring back and forth between the two. “Assuming we're all in one piece later. So. The plan?”

~

The bell hanging above the metal framed door gave it's pathetic clanking, it's once-beautiful sound marred by dents and imperfections. It was old, rusted, and should have been replaced, but it was the farthest thing from the radar of the owner's mind. It was one of those fleeting and flittering thoughts, a, “Oh yeah, that needs to be replaced”, only to be forgotten with the first customer of the day.

Dean wasn't there first customer of the day, but he currently was the only one. When the door shut behind him, he covertly locked it behind him.

“Hi, how can—you have got to be shitting me.”

Dean grinned, sliding both hands in the pockets of his black canvas jacket. “Hi!”

The waitress eyed him suspiciously. When she blinked, her eyes became their pure black once more. Looking amused, she shifted her weight on one leg and put a hand on her hip.

“You got a death wish, boy?”

Dean held up his index finger. “One, I'm twenty-six years old, thankyouverymuch, two, no, not really, and three, the name's Dean.” He was still smiling as he put his hand back in his pocket.

“Well then you're stupid,” she said, and slowly began to saunter forward like something stalking it's prey.

Dean scratched the back of his head and frowned. “Mmm, I like to think not. I mean, I got my GED but I never took a IQ test.”

“Stupid and a smatass. Tends to be a bad combo.”

Dean was still smiling. He shrugged. “Depends on who you ask I guess. It's been working out well for me.”

“What're you doing here?” the demon asked, now standing directly in front of Dean. She trailed a perfectly manicured pink fingernail down his chest. “And without your protectors, no less.”

“Yeah, we uh, didn't really see eye to eye.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh really?”

“They wanted me to leave well enough alone, but see, here's the thing.” Without warning, Dean grabbed the waitress by the frilly, gaudy pink collar of her uniform and yanked her forward so suddenly their noses almost touched. He was still smiling. “You have my baby brother. I am very, very protective of him. Nobody messes with my family.” He shook her and narrowed his eyes, no longer smiling. “No one.”

Surprising Dean, the demon closed her eyes and took a big, elongated sniff, moving her head back and forth. Once done, she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly. “You're scared. I can smell it on you.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, I am, actually. Petrified even.”

Utterly unperturbed, she threw her head back and chortled. She then looked at him. “Okay, Dean, then why are you here? What're you gonna do to me, huh?”

“Oh, I'm not going to do anything.”

She tilted her head, confused.

The grin was back. “Gotcha.”

“Wha—”

Castiel grabbed her from behind and yanked her back. Before she could even react, he pressed his entire palm to her forehead. She froze, eyes wide.

“Move and I will smite you,” Castiel growled.

Dean was laughing. As he did, he took out two things from his pockets; a wicked looking knife with carvings all over it and a silver flask. Looking cocky now, Dean slowly walked back and forth in front of them.

“So,” he said, “we can do this two ways. The first way is you tell me where Sammy is, and then I kill you.”

He uncapped the flask and poured it's contents slowly over the blade, coating both sides.

“The second way,” he continued, “is you don't tell me, I torture you with this nifty little knife Bobby gave me that has all these weird ruins etched on it, which he assured me would hurt you quite badly, that I also just poured holy water all over; and then I kill you.”

The demon forced a laugh. “So either way I die? Fuck you.”

She opened her mouth. Dean watched in curious horror as a black smoke began to billow out of her mouth. It grew and grew, swirling all around. The woman Castiel held went limp. Dean watched as the smoke swirled all around, moving to the vents, to the windows, to the doors. After about a minute of it frantically moving about, passing through to the kitchen and to the bathrooms, it went back to the waitress host and re-entered through her mouth and nose. The re-posessed woman gasped loudly, her eyes wide. Castiel still held her. When she looked at Dean she was furious, shrieking.

“What have you done?!”

Dean laughed again, pointing the blade at himself. “Like I said before, I haven't done anything! Now, what did Bobby do? He's been spray painting the restaurant all day with wards so you're trapped here. Then we waited until the restaurant was empty, cleared out the cooks in back, and here we are. Sorry, babe.”

Her face twisted in rage. Finally, face bright red, she shrieked; no words, just pure, primal loathing. Both Cas and Dean waited until her tantrum was over. As she stood, panting, she literally spit at Dean. Then she snarled,

“What do you want?”

“It's easy. A name. Just a name.”

She started to laugh. It was completely unhinged. Dean shuddered, and he hoped it wasn't visible. If it was she ignored it.

“Fine, I'll tell you. It doesn't matter anyway, you're fucked. I'm fucked. We're all fucked.” She smiled, though it was venomous. “You wanna know who has Sam? Fine. Azazel.”

“Is that supposed to mean—”

Dean didn't finish his sentence because the waitress started screaming. With a blinding flash of blue-white light, her eyes burned from her head and she dropped to the floor, dead. For a moment all Dean could do was stare at Castiel in shock. Then anger took over.

“What the fuck, man?! We were gonna get more info out of her—”

“Trust me, Dean,” Castiel said grimly, “we have all the information we need.”

Dean blinked.

Castiel looked down at the dead waitress and looked revolted. “C'mon. Let's go.”

Chapter 12

Bobby dropped a large book in front of Dean. At a glance, it was very old, the cover worn and tattered, the material red. The pages were yellowed and delicate looking. It smelled like an old book would, but not in a musty, rotted way; it smelled like time.

The script was relatively normal, the font a little larger and bold-face. Dean assumed it was before mass-printed press, which meant everything was made by hand. That included the drawing of a wicked-looking demon with two horns, hairy goat-legs, and twisted face with its pointed tongue lolling out.

Dean looked up at Bobby. “What's this?”

Bobby pointed at the book. “Azazel, Prince of Hell.”

“Prince?” Dean craned his head down and started reading as Bobby spoke.

“There's four—Ramiel and Asmodeous, who are his brothers, and Dagon, their sister. Unfortunately Azazel is the most fanatical, utterly devoted to Lucifer.”

“Greeeeeat,” Dean said, skimming over the rest of the page and then turning it to read more.

“Lucifer was imprisoned and sealed away hundreds of years ago. Rumor has it that his most devout followers have been working endlessly to try to spring him from his prison.”

“What's this have to do with Sam?”

Bobby paused and crossed his arms. “I don't know.”

“Perhaps we are looking at this wrong,” Castiel said. “Perhaps it's not Sam who is directly correlated with Azazel.”

Dean leaned back. “I'm listening.”

“Sam has been sheltered from all this his entire life, just the same as you. He is an innocent bystander. So perhaps this has to do with the people in his life who know about Azazel.”

When both Castiel and Dean looked at him, Bobby raised his hands. “Don't look at me! I just have books on demons. I never encountered Azazel before.”

“Perhaps Mary then?”

Dean twisted in his seat to peer at Cas and looked offended. “What would my mom have to do with a Prince of Hell?”

“I don't know,” Castiel replied. “If not her, perhaps her parents? This is pure speculation, Dean, I am merely trying to figure out why this particular demon would want Sam, specifically.”

Dean frowned and turned back to the book. A thought occurred to him just then, one he hadn't considered, and he didn't like it. So, he shoved it away and focused on the book sprawled out in front of him.

“I hate to say it, but my money's on the Campbell's,” Bobby said. “They're renowned hunters with legacy ties. Not only do they have friends in high places, but they're equipped to go toe to toe with demons.”

Dean looked at Bobby. “Legacy?”

“They come from a long line of hunters and a group called The Men of Letters.”

“How do you know all this?” Dean asked. He then closed his eyes for a second and held up his hand. “Hold on—actually, how do you know my family at all? I know you're not blood related, even though we call you uncle.”

“Your dad,” Bobby replied with a shrug. “We were army together. Plus I crossed paths with Samuel and Deanna a few times on hunts, so once Mary and your dad had kids they asked me to keep tabs on their grandchildren.”

“Huh. Small world.”

Bobby merely shrugged.

“Great,” Dean said then, resituating in his chair and looking down at the book once more, “So we have a Prince of Hell who kidnapped Sam Winchester, who is the son of Mary Winchester, who comes from a line of hot-shot hunters and people called The Men of Letters. All information which is largely unhelpful at this time. Awesome.”

Bobby and Castiel frowned at one another. After a few moments, Bobby sighed and turned away. “I'll grab more books.”

~

Dean's face was illuminated by his laptop screen. Besides that, he was surrounded by darkness.

Things went from weird to awful, he typed. I'm really paranoid at this point, not going to lie. In the off chance someone—or worse, something—stumbles upon this, I don't want it to be—

Dean paused and thought about it. Really thought about it. If a demon stumbled upon his blog (and that was a big if in his mind—who ever heard of a music-blog reading demon?), he'd be afraid they would come after him. But they already knew him; if Azazel kidnapped Sam, of course he would know all about Sam and his family. At this point, after hours upon hours of research, and hours upon hours of Castiel relaying any and all lore and history he knew regarding Azazel, Dean was fully confident Sam's kidnapping was not a random act. They just didn't know the ‘why’ behind it.

Meaning, if something already had it out for Dean, a stupid blog wasn't going to make a difference, he was already a marked man. Furthermore, as his head swam with all the information he had read that day regarding demons, he realized that any random demon who might come across his blog either wouldn't care or would be amused that some mortal was trying to convince people of their existence.

However, being told about and reading about Lucifer—actual Lucifer—had made his skin crawl. The entire thing made him uncomfortable (not to mention sent a deep frantic panic over Sam's safety that buried itself deep within his very being). Dean decided it would be best to leave out Azazel’s name and Lucifer's. Those were heavy hitters, and he was sure that actually would draw attention.

So, Dean held down the backspace key and started over.

Things have gone from weird to awful. My brother has been kidnapped. No I'm not going to the authorities because they thing that took him has black eyes. I'm talking pure black eyes. Apparently that's the sign of a demon.

I know. Crazy. My life has just become one jumbled mess of crazy. I don't think the wendigo and my brother's disappearance are related. From what I've learned wendigo act alone and are a bit lower-functioning in the smarts department. I think my brother and I just had bad luck in the forest.

What would a demon want with my brother? I don't know. I dug up anything and everything I could about demons. Most of it met the checklist of stereotypes found in stories and movies; self-serving, evil, like to mess with people and possess them. What I'm struggling with is there's usually a REASON for it. The demon wants something, or needs something. My brother and I are just two regular guys. FFS, he was in college. What in the hell would a demon want or need from a nerdy college guy?

I d'no. I'm freaking out over here though, not going to lie.

Dean paused. Then he added,

I know it's a stretch, and I know most of you aren't going to believe any of this and get pissed off at me again, but for anyone who DOES believe me…Help? I'm at a loss and I'm really, really worried about my brother.

Dean's eyes stung. He swallowed thickly.

Really, really worried. This isn't a joke. So, if there are any experts out there, I'm calling in a favor.

I hate asking for help, I really do, but please.

Thanks.

Dean hit post.

“Why are you still awake?”

Dean closed the laptop and wiped away a tear, covering the gesture by rubbing his eye. To seal the lie, he yawned and then stretched his arms over his head. With that out of the way, Dean gave a small smile to Cas.

“Can't sleep. And before you do your little head tilt thing and ask me why, it's ‘cause I'm worried.”

Castiel came around the table and sat next to Dean. “Understandable.”

Their legs were touching. Dean gave it a moment. When Cas was oblivious, Dean scooted away from him.

“Dude. Personal space. Remember?”

“Oh. Right. I'm sorry…” Castiel sounded slightly exasperated, but mainly embarrassed. “This is all so new to me. It's difficult for me to behave in a way that adheres to human social protocols.”

Dean looked at him and then busted out laughing. “Okay, first of all we gotta work on how you talk.”

Castiel looked confused.

“It's…stiff. Formal.”

“I wasn't aware there was anything wrong with my speech patterns.”

Dean gave a puckered lip smile and closed his eyes, trying to not laugh again. Taking a breath, he looked at Cas. “Okay, for example. Someone would probably say in a conversation, ‘I didn't think there was anything weird with how I talk.’”

Castiel tilted his head. “But that means the same thing.”

“Well yeah, but one is more clinical, the other is more conversational.”

Cas paused. “I…don't understand.”

Dean grinned and patted his knee. “It's okay. The more you stick around humans the more you'll pick up.”

“Really?” He sounded hopeful.

“I'm sure of it.”

Castiel looked shy. “Would you…nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. It's silly.”

Dean smiled kindly. “Let me be the judge of that. What is it?”

Castiel glanced at him. “Would you be willing to help me with that perhaps? Be more human?”

Dean's heart swelled when the angel did air quotes around the last two words, and he grinned. “I'd be honored.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Dean chuckled. “It's not every day someone is given the opportunity to teach an angel something!”

Castiel frowned and his expression became uncomfortable. “Is it really that strange?”

Dean's brow furrowed. “What?”

“Me. Being an angel.”

“What? No! I mean, yes, but that's only because I didn't think you actually existed.”

Dean trailed off a little. His smile became softer, and he interlaced his hands, looking at them as they hung between his knees. When he spoke it was quiet and fond.

“I was twenty-one when mom died. I was living at home and had just finished up trade school to be a mechanic.” Dean shrugged. “I didn't know what else to do with myself. I was a high-school drop out; my parents threatened to throw me out on my ass after a point unless I proved I was doing something productive. So I got my GED and then went to trade school ‘cause I was always working on the Impala with my dad, an’ I was good at it, yaknow?”

Castiel was quietly listening, peering at him through the dark.

“Sammy was seventeen, trying to figure out which college he wanted to go to. He had his pick because he's so damn smart.

“Point is, the night my mom died was the first night I was back home. It was silly, but she came in to say good night…”

Dean's throat clenched and he swallowed. He was not going to cry in front of Cas. No way.

“When I was a little kid and she'd tuck me in, she'd say—she'd tell me that she loved me and that angels were watching over me. And that night she—” He faltered. “She said, ‘Goodnight Dean, and remember, you have angels watching over you.’ And I laughed ‘cause she hadn't told me that in years, and she laughed, and I told her to shut up. And she told me she loved me, but I—and I didn't say it back because it was a given, and I was a twenty-one year old guy, I felt weird saying that to her, yaknow? But God do I wish I told her that I loved her.”

Castiel paused. “She knew you loved her, you know.”

Dean rubbed at his eye. “Yeah, I know. Still sucks I didn't say it, though.”

Outside was windy, and something was clanking in the salvage yard. A silence unwound itself between the two. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable, either. It just was, and Dean found it interesting that the two could exist, side-by-side, a man and an angel.

“So, uh,” Dean finally said, and then cleared his throat when it came out way more strained than he wanted it to sound. “Can't you just like, read Jimmy's mind or something and know how to act like a human?”

“Would you rather not teach me?”

“No,” Dean said, startled, both eyebrows raised. “No, that's not what I meant at all. I was just curious how all that works.”

“Oh.” Castiel got to his feet then and looked down at Dean. “I have an idea.”

“Alright.”

“You help me seem more human, and I will teach you about angels.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, definitely. Sounds like a deal.”

“However, we could start this all tomorrow. It is very late, Dean, and you need your sleep.”

Dean continued to grin up at him. “Yeah yeah, and you don't, I know. Sounds good though, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. “Goodnight, Dean. I will see you in the morning.”

Dean stretched out on the couch, still smiling. “G'nite, Cas.”

Chapter 13

Notes:

I don't know if there's actually a "funmail.com". If there is please let me know so I can change it. I want to use something utterly fictitious.

Frazzled wrote: If you're being serious and your bro is missing, CALL THE POLICE. Wtf is wrong with you?

SlickChick wrote: Please tell me you're going to start a metal band and this is gonna be the premise for the album!

DumbellBro wrote: I think you need help, man. I'm not being a jerk, I'm saying this out of genuine concern.
↪️Gettysburg: Yeah like…maybe he's having a psychotic break?

Dean chuckled to himself and sipped his beer. “I wish…”

↪️KitKatKitty: Clearly delusional if he's serious about all this.
↪️Dudebro: Rod…is there someone you can talk to? A parent maybe? Are you religious? Maybe talking to a trusted priest or something would help.

HugsMcGee wrote: I'm starting to get worried. Does anyone know where Rod is? I think he's mentioned he's Stateside, but that's a huge country. Is there like, any way to get his IP or something?

Dean chuckled again. “Nope. I made sure of that eons ago. Nice try though.”

Fun wrote: I agree with this ☝️ poster. Can we find out who Rod is (‘cause c'mon, there's no way the handle he uses is his actual name) and have someone do a wellness check on him?

Dean grinned. “Aw. You guys actually care! Sweet. Not helpful, but really sweet.”

Anonymous wrote: Wendigo are one thing. Demons seem way above your pay grade. I can help.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Setting down his beer, he hit ‘reply’.

♒You can? How?

Dean continued to read.

↪️Sparkles: How do we know it's a him?

Dean's laptop dinged, and he recognized that particular sound as a new email. He was unsurprised when it was a blog comment. He clicked on the email notification. Dean was surprised when it was a reply to his asking how the Anonymous person could help him.

↪️I'm a hunter.

Dean wasn't expecting that. His eyes grew. “Holy shit…”

Another ding, and a new email popped up.

↪️I get the feeling I don't have to explain to you what that is. Is there a way to DM you??? Wanna meet up.

Dean leaned back and ran a hand over his face.

“Who do you keep talking to?”

Dean slammed his laptop shut. Bobby threw him a look like he was crazy. So, he threw him a charming smile.

“Just myself.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean got to his feet and stretched, working out some cricks in his neck and back.

“Where's angel boy?”

“Out back,” Bobby replied. “Said he wanted to make sure the premise is safe. Like I don't already have a full security system online.”

“I d'no. I'm sure your security is awesome but I gotta admit, I feel a little better knowing that we have an angel on our side.”

Bobby glanced around. “About that…”

Dean raised both eyebrows as Bobby shuffled forward.

“You don't think that it's strange an angel shows up right before Sammy gets taken, do you?”

Dean tilted his head. “No, I don't.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Look. All I'm saying is I wish there was a way we could confirm this guy is an angel is all.”

“I am.”

The pair turned. Castiel stood there, looking at them both evenly. Bobby frowned deeply.

“Balls. Cas, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to hear that.”

“It's understandable,” Castiel said with the slightest shrug. “You care a great deal about Sam. My appearance would seem suspicious to myself as well. I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about though. Besides, if I were a demon, I wouldn't have been able to leave the restaurant.”

Bobby paused. “Yeah, good point. But, technically, couldn't you be working with them?”

Castiel immediately looked livid. Nostrils flared, his eyes snapped, lips puckered. “I would never.”

Bobby cringed. “Sorry.”

“Okay, calm down, don't smite him okay?” Dean said, slightly panicked. “So is the premise secure?”

Glaring a final moment at Bobby, Castiel then swiveled his head to Dean. “Yes. In fact, please come with me.” He threw another glare at Bobby. “You are no longer welcome.”

Without another word, Castiel spun around, his coat snapping behind him. Dean damn near giggled and shrugged.

“Dean,” Castiel's commanding voice snapped.

Trying not to laugh, Dean darted after him.

It was cold out. As Dean followed the angel out into the junk yard, he flipped up his collar. It didn't do much, and he briefly blew warm air into his hands. Once they came to more or less the middle of the yard, Castiel stopped and stood before Dean. He shook his right hand once; Dean's eyes darted down as something long, pointed, and silver easily slipped into Castiel's hand. Going on alert, Dean reminded himself that he did, in fact, trust Castiel.

He jutted his chin toward the angel. “What's that?”

“This,” Castiel said calmly, tossing it end over end lightly so he held the pointed end, hilt out, “is an angel blade.”

When Dean merely looked at it, Castiel gestured for Dean to take it. Dean quickly did and looked it over, intrigued.

“This is one of the only things that can harm an angel,” he explained. “It also is extremely effective at killing demons.”

Dean smiled, poking the very tip gently with the pad of his index finger. “Awesome.”

“I wanted to show this to you so you're aware of what they look like. It will be important for you to recognize such a weapon. Careful—it's sharp.”

As Castiel said that last part, Dean flinched as he nicked himself. He was stupid, having gently run his finger over the edge. It didn't look particularly sharp, so he thought he would test it. The blade had cut him as though he were warm butter, with barely any resistance at all. It shouldn't have made such a deep cut, not with the small amount of pressure he had applied. Yet it immediately bled freely.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Castiel took a step forward and cupped Dean's hand in one of his own; with a flash, the wound was healed. Dean blinked and stared into Castiel's eyes. They stood for a moment, eyes locked, Cas holding Dean's hand.

The wind blew and Dean shuddered. Castiel let him go and took a somewhat exaggerated step backward.

“Personal space. Right. Sorry.”

Dean looked at his healed finger. He held up his unblemished hand and grinned. “Thanks for that.”

“You're welcome. May I have my weapon back?”

Dean carefully handed it back. Castiel shoved it back into his sleeve and it disappeared.

“Neat little trick you have there.”

Castiel looked confused.

“The blade. How do you keep it up your sleeve? Is there an elastic hook or something?”

“No; I keep it in the spectral realm just out of reach but always at my disposal so I can retrieve it easily. The same applies to my wings.”

Dean beamed. “Oh, so you do have those!”

“Of course I have those,” Castiel said somewhat condescendingly.

“Well I didn't know, not like I've ever seen them.”

Castiel sighed. “We're getting off topic. Here.”

Castiel reached into his coat and produced a large Bowie knife. Once again he flipped it around and proffered the handle to Dean. Dean took it, looking inquisitively.

“Have you ever stabbed anyone before, Dean?”

Dean felt himself go pale. “Um. What?”

“Have you ever stabbed anyone?”

Dean glanced off to the side. “Uh. No.”

“That's what I assumed,” Castiel said with a curt nod. “It's not as easy as your movies and television shows make it appear.”

Dean didn't reply. Castiel widened his stance slightly. Once he was prepared, he snapped off another sharp nod.

“Stab me.”

Dean laughed and screwed up his face. “What?”

“Stab me.”

“I'm not—I'm not gonna stab you!”

“You have to.”

“Dude, no. This is insane.”

“I will be fine. My vessel can easily be healed.”

“I said no,” Dean said, starting to get angry. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Castiel looked annoyed. “Dean. I would have you practice on a dummy but even that is different, especially if the material is made from straw or something. It will be better if you know what it feels like to attack the actual thing. So—” he rolled up both sleeves and repositioned himself again before waving both arms at Dean. “Come on.”

Dean tossed the knife away. “No.”

Castiel sighed heavily. “Fine.”

Without warning, Castiel pounced. Dean shouted as he was easily knocked to the ground. Dean didn't understand what was happening until Castiel started hurting him. They started to fight, actually fight. Dean had never taken any sort of formal fighting class, but between his dad being an ex Marine and him having a smart-ass mouth that he never got full control over, he knew how to fight. It didn't take long until he managed to get the upper hand and started to scramble toward the discarded weapon.

Dirt was kicking up in clouds. Castiel grabbed him, dragged him back away from the weapon. Without thinking, Dean kicked Castiel in the face—hard. Realizing what he had done, he froze, looking horrified.

“Cas! I am so sorry—”

Castiel scrambled into his haunches and gingerly touched his bleeding lip. When he hand came away with blood, he growled.

Literally.

Dean's eyes went huge. “Oh shit—”

He quickly scrambled onto his hands and knees, frantically going for the blade. He grabbed it just as Castiel grabbed him by both shoulders. Castiel hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing at all, causing an undignified yelp to come out of Dean. Castiel spun Dean around and punched him in the face. Shaking his head, Dean brought up the knife, raised it above his head, and slammed it down. It sank in right where he wanted, to the hilt, right in the trapezius.

Dean froze again and he looked mortified. He stumbled back, eyes wide.

“Oh fuck, Cas, I am so sorry—”

Castiel yanked the knife out without even flinching. He then held the knife back out to Dean. Dean blinked at it, and then blinked at Cas, confounded.

“No, that was good Dean. Stab me again.”

Dean took the knife back and looked at Cas. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, trying to ignore his throbbing head, his blurred vision, and his aching side where Castiel had viscously kneed him at one point when they were on the ground.

“Anywhere?” Dean asked.

“Anywhere.”

So, without hesitation this time he plunged the knife back in, directly into Castiel's heart. Once more Castiel removed the weapon easily. He smiled.

“Good. Again.”

Dean decided right then and there that this was the strangest day ever.

~

After Dean had stabbed Castiel at least a dozen times, the angel declared that day's fighting lesson over. He healed Dean from all his wounds, but not before giving him a full body scan.

“You have a concussion and a bruised rib,” Castiel had explained to him. “I want you to remember what these things feel like so you can assess how badly you are injured.”

Afterwards the pair helped Bobby with more research, which didn't come up with anything new. Bobby and Dean ate a tense dinner where not much was said. Afterwards there was more studying.

By the time Dean turned in for the night, he was exhausted both mentally and physically. The last thing he did was check his phone. He wasn't surprised that his dad hadn't texted nor called him. Dean then scrolled through random news for a bit before finally opening up his email. He had a bunch of new emails waiting for him, thanks to the blog.

He ignored them, instead hunting around for a very specific email, the Anonymous account where the person said they were a hunter. When he found it he quickly created a throw-away email address and then tabbed back over to the blog email.

♒Email me immediately. You'[email protected]

Dean waited, hoping whoever it was would reply quickly. Five minutes later, which felt like days to Dean, he got a new message at You'reNotTheDroid, from GarthNotBrooks.

Hey. I'm the hunter who has been going by the anon tag.

Dean tabbed back over to his blog and deleted his reply where he had provided his email address, and then tabbed back over to the email. He replied to the message.

Hey. Thanks for reaching out. Meet me at Streamline Coffee in Lawrence, KS in three days. 9AM.

Thanks.

~Rod

Notes:

I googled coffee places in Lawrence, and Streamline Coffee is an actual place apparently. I picked it because it's a trailer, and Dean/Sam were shown several times in the show getting coffee and food from joints like that. I thought it was a neat tie-in so I'm using it.

Chapter 14

The following day was spent much of the same. Both Bobby and Castiel helped Dean with his fighting skills in between looking up lore related to Azazel. At one point in the early afternoon Bobby excused himself to take a phone call. When he returned he looked a little jumpy.

“Hey guys.”

Dean and Cas looked up at him.

“In the morning I need to leave for a couple of days. You're more than welcome to stay here if you'd like.”

Perfect, Dean thought happily.

“And I'm sorry Dean, I don't want you to think Sam is taking a back seat, but a hunter needs me to meet him and—”

“It's okay,” Dean said with a smile, getting to his feet. “I understand. You've already helped so much, it's all good.”

Bobby looked guilty. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I need to get back to Lawrence anyway. Gotta check in with work, make sure my apartment hasn't burned down or something.”

Bobby paused and then gave a reluctant, “Alright.”

“If it makes no difference to you,” Castiel said to Bobby, “I would like to go with Dean. I am bound to him, after all. I promised Mary I would watch after him and Sam.”

Bobby shrugged. “‘Course. We could plan to reconvene in like, what, five days?”

“Yup,” Dean said with a smile. “Sounds good.”

 

~

The next day, Dean and Castiel set out early. He hadn't brought up GarthNotBrooks to Castiel yet. He was going to. If anything he felt he sort of had to. Dean wasn't supid; as much as he would have liked to take the offer for help at face value, he knew he very well could be running head-long into a situation that could go sideways somehow. Dean figured having an angel as a bodyguard couldn't hurt.

The first hour of the car ride was in more or less complete silence. Castiel had insisted he sit in the back seat of the Impala, even though Dean said he could sit shotgun. Dean hated it; this silence was uncomfortable, or at least on Dean's end. He had no idea what was going on in the angel's head because every time he glanced at him in the rear-view mirror he was just watching the landscape pass by with a serene expression, blue eyes seeming almost crystalline in the November sunlight.

“What would you like to know about angels?” Castiel asked so suddenly Dean admittedly jumped a little. This time when he checked in the mirror, Castiel was looking back at him easily.

“What do your wings look like?”

“Wings.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. But I meant, do they look like bat wings, or insect wings, or bird wings, or—”

“Oh! They're feathered. In fact they are just a larger, sturdier version of bird wings. The anatomy is the same.”

Dean paused. “Awesome. What color?”

Castiel looked out the window. “Much like birds, it's dependent on the angel.”

“Cool! Are there different species of angels? And what color are your wings?”

“An angel is an angel, Dean,” Castiel said, sounding amused and looking at him through the mirror. When he said the next part, he looked back out of the window and spoke quietly. “They're black.”

“Black? Woah! I always assumed that they'd be white.”

Castiel didn't reply.

“Is that common?”

A pause, and he still spoke quietly. “No.”

“So you have unique wings. Awesome.”

When Dean glanced back at Cas, this time he caught the fact that he looked sad. Dean frowned and immediately felt guilty.

“Uh, sorry. If I ever say anything out of turn, just—”

“No, it's not that,” Castiel said with a small sigh. “It's just that I'm…different.”

“Different?”

Castiel hummed.

Dean felt awful. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong, but he had to make it right.

“So? Different is good.”

“Not when you're an angel,” Castiel grumbled, now glaring out the window.

After a moment Dean cleared his throat. “What's your vessel's name again?”

“Jimmy Novak.”

“Yeah, tell me about him.”

“He lives in Pontiac, Illinois, has a wife and daughter. Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"Ah." Castiel moved on. "Every angel has one true vessel; that is, a human counterpart that can house an angel for an extended period of time—decades—without the vessel deteriorating.”

“Cool. So is Jimmy Novak yours?”

“No. But he was sufficient in a pinch. My one true vessel is currently unusable.”

“What's that mean?”

Sounding almost bored, Castiel continued to prattle off his information. “A number of months ago my vessel was in a car accident and is in a permanent coma.”

That surprised Dean. “Couldn't you just like, heal him?”

“Her,” Castiel corrected, and for the second time Dean was surprised. “And yes, technically I could, even though she's brain dead and on life support. I found myself unable to put her family through the trauma of their loved one suddenly going missing from the hospital. Her husband visits her daily.”

“Oh. That's…that's really sad.”

“Indeed.”

“But Jimmy is a suitable replacement?”

“Yes. We actually are provided lists of people—”

“I'm sorry—lists?”

“Yes, lists of suitable vessels corresponding to each time period of an angel's life. My current vessel is Susan, but Jimmy was second on my list. I will be able to use him for years on end should the need arise.”

“Huh.” A thought occurred to Dean, a thought that made him shudder. “Uh…How many angels are there?”

“Thousands. Would you like an exact number?”

“No! No, that's okay.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Uh. Is every human delegated an angel?”

“No, but many are.”

“Am I?”

Castiel paused. “How would I know that?”

Dean looked at Cas in the mirror. Castiel was looking straight at him. Perhaps it was weird, but Dean felt like he knew Castiel well enough already to know some of his tells. As such, Dean narrowed his eyes. “Am I?”

Castiel looked out the window. “Yes, but I am not allowed to tell you whom, so please don't ask.”

Castiel glanced at Dean in the mirror, his face giving a flicker of pleading. Dean looked back at the road and held the steering wheel tighter.

Dean decided for the rest of the trip he wasn't going to ask anything more about angels.

~

“Do you want anything?”

The rest of the small road trip proved to be seamless. Their conversation (when they actually talked) was light and easy. They had gone to Dean's apartment for the night. The next morning, Dean told Cas he was getting coffee and he should come with. When Dean had ordered, he absent-mindedly asked Cas if he wanted something.

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Why would I want anything?”

“...right.”

Dean, holding his wallet open, gave the batista a smile of chagrin. “Er, just the one coffee’ll do it.”

As Dean and Castiel walked over to the picnic style table off to the side, Dean took a deep breath.

“Look, Cas, I'm actually meeting someone here.”

“Oh?”

The pair sat down next to one another.

“Uh, don't ask me how, or why, but I actually met a hunter.”

Castiel looked surprised. Dean glanced around them to see if anyone was approaching; they weren't.

“I wasn't sure if I could trust them, so I asked them to meet me in a public place.”

Castiel nodded. “And you wanted me for protection.”

“Y-yeah.”

Castiel gave a soft hum, his head turning side to side now. “That was smart.”

“You're not angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“I just—”

“Uh, excuse me. Weird question, sorry, but, are you Rod?”

Dean and Castiel twisted in their seats. Standing before them was a lanky man with bright eyes and floppy brown hair. He wore jeans and a grey jacket. Dean's first impression was awkward and dorky. However, Dean's attention quickly honed in on the man standing next to this person. Dean's mouth outright dropped open while Castiel's lips parted in surprise. Dean found his voice first.

“Bobby?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, you're not Rod,” the man said.

Dean looked at him. “Garth?”

“You are him?” the man asked.

“Rod,” Dean confirmed with a nod.

“Garth,” the man confirmed back.

“Castiel,” Castiel said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him, confused.

“What?” Castiel said. “No one said my name yet so I thought I would.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, wondering how much shit he was about to be in with Bobby and wishing everything had gone differently.

Chapter 15

“Is your name actually Garth? Because you can call me Dean. Or Rod.” Dean shrugged. “Whichever.”

Garth gave a toothy grin. “It's Garth.”

“Too bad I didn't call myself Wayne.”

“We're not worthy! We're not worthy!” Garth replied, laughing.

Looking pissed, Bobby smacked Garth in the back of the head. Garth took a stance like he was about to do some (incorrect and terrible) Kung-Fu, eyes wild. Before Bobby could even round on Dean, he held up his finger and glared.

“Don't.”

“You're the blog guy?” Bobby demanded.

“What's a blog?” Castiel asked.

“I'll explain later,” Dean said quickly to him, then to Bobby, “Yeah, so?”

“Why in the hell are you ranting about that shit online?”

When Bobby made like he was going to hit Dean, Garth got in between them and raised his arms above his head, one leg up. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Knock it off, Garth.”

“No can do,” Garth replied, wobbling a little. “Rod—Er, Dean—is great!”

“Oh for fucks sake—”

Garth stood normally and beamed at Dean. He might as well have had two hearts for his eyes as he gushed at Dean.

“I've been reading your blog for years! Your take on modern music versus classic rock is wonderful, and I love how you have such a natural ear for it. The amount of songs where you point out, ‘The refrain from this new song sounds surprisingly like the Beatles’ or whatever is really cool.”

Dean felt himself color a little at the praise.

“And you manage to do all that without coming off a pretentious. You're just stating facts, telling it how it is, yaknow? You seem genuine at a time when everything and everyone is so fake online it's refreshing.”

Dean was not full on blushing. Awkwardly he fiddled with his coffee in his hands. “Oh, uh, well, uh, yeah, and uh, thank you…”

Garth grinned impossibly wider. “Oh, and lets not forget your sarcastic, sharp wit–”

“Alright, let's not encourage that part of his personality,” Bobby cut in sourly with a glare.

“What?” Dean asked, grinning. “I'm hilarious.”

“What's a blog?” Castiel asked again. He then looked at Garth and sniffed several times (earning everyone at present to look freaked out). “And why don't you smell human?”

Garth suddenly looked slightly panicked. Dean, on the other hand, grabbed Castiel by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. Paranoid, he looked all around, making sure no one heard that last part.

“What do you say we continue this discussion at my apartment, shall we?”

Not bothering for a reply, Dean started to drag Castiel towards Baby.

~

“Wow, this is exactly what I pictured!”

Dean screwed up his face, staring at Garth as he wiggled his key out of the lock and shut the door behind everyone.

Dean's place was nothing to write home about—the door entered into the small kitchen with a fridge to the immediate left, next to which was the counter and cabinets with the sink. There was a small kitchenette, a second-hand wooden table and two matching chairs. To the immediate right was the living room; white carpet (which could use a cleaning but wasn't dirty, just worn) with white walls, a TV on a TV stand where Blu-rays sat along with a video game system. Beyond that was a sliding door that led to a small porch. There was a couch and a coffee table; in back was Dean's bedroom, the bathroom, and a linen closet.

“You pictured my place?” Dean asked.

“Yeah!” Garth chuckled. “Alright, when you put it like that it sounds weird. I just mean the Led Zeppelin, Beatles, and Queen posters is just all very on point.”

“Right,” Dean replied, shaking his head and still looking a little freaked out.

“So what are you?” Castiel asked, taking a step forward to invade Garth’s personal space.

Garth looked a bit freaked out, but like he was trying to remain cool. “A hunter?”

“No,” Castiel said, sniffing loudly again. “Not what I meant.” Another sniff. “I mean what species are you?”

“Human?” Garth squeaked out.

And exaggerated, elongated sniff wherein Castiel even closed his eyes. Garth cringed and pulled himself back. When Castiel opened his eyes, they were half-shut and accusing. “Yes but there's something else, something beneath.”

“Uh,” Garth said, glancing at Bobby who now looked properly freaked out. “How about this. You tell me what you are and then I'll tell you me.”

“I'm an angel,” Castiel said immediately.

“Oh,” Garth squeaked again. “Great.”

Silence. It didn't last long though.

“And?” Castiel prompted.

Garth glanced at Bobby once more who was starting to look a little scared, too. Garth looked like he wanted to bolt. He smiled nervously.

“So, uh, we're all friends here, right? Like—”

“Garth!” Bobby snapped.

Garth flinched. “I'm a werewolf!”

Dean took a step back while Castiel slotted himself protectively in between Garth and Dean. Bobby reached for his gun. Garth threw up both hands immediately.

“Wait wait wait, I'm good, I'm not going to hurt you!”

“A good werewolf?” Dean asked, peeking around Cas.

“Yes,” Garth explained desperately. “Me and my pack—”

Bobby pulled out his gun.

“Woah woah woah, wait!” Dean snapped, stepping out from behind Cas.

“Hear me out!” Garth pleaded at the same time, taking a step back.

“Just, hang on a second!” Dean said, and walked to Bobby. He gently nudged the gun off to the side. “Bobby, c'mon man. You came all the way out here because he asked for your help, right?”

“That was before I knew what he was.”

“Okay, look, I'm kinda talking out of my ass right now,” Dean said urgently, “but how long haven't you known Garth for?”

Bobby paused and frowned. “A while now.”

“Alright. So you're friends, right?”

“Well I wouldn't go that far.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean!”

Bobby frowned.

“Point is, you've known the guy awhile, right? Doesn't that alone make you want to give him the benefit of the doubt? Or to at least hear the guy out?”

Bobby put down his gun. “Fine.”

Garth sighed heavily and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Well?” Bobby demanded.

“We don't attack people,” Garth explained. “We keep to ourselves Our food is ethically sourced.”

“The fuck?” Bobby said, squinting. “How can you ethically source human hearts?”

Garth grinned. “Not human—cow!”

“You eat cow hearts?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Garth said, and then he chuckled. “Tastes kinda like a burger.”

“I highly doubt that,” Bobby replied gruffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure he was making a joke, Bobby.”

Bobby didn't reply to Dean. Instead he looked at Garth. “When did this happen?”

“About two years ago now.”

“Two years?! Is that why you—”

“Moved? Yeah. I found these great group of people who didn't want to kill people, like me, so we eat animals instead.”

Dean paused. “So you're basically vegetarian werewolves?”

Garth laughed. “Kinda!”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Bobby said, and Dean didn't miss how hurt he sounded. “I would've helped you. We coulda figured out a way to fix you.”

Garth looked crestfallen. He gave Bobby a soft smile. “That's exactly why I didn't tell you. There's nothing to fix.”

“But you're a werewolf!”

“So?”

“So? You're a monster!”

Garth crossed his arms. “That's a highly derogatory term, Bobby.”

Bobby rolled his eyes heavily. “Well the hell am I supposed to call you? Humanity-challenged?”

“Now Bobby—”

“Alright, enough, enough,” Dean cut in. “Look. I'm still trying to get my head around everything, but if Garth says he's harmless I don't think we should gank him.”

“I don't know if you're the one who should call that shot,” Bobby said coldly.

“Yeah, well, if you're serious about wanting to train me as a hunter then you gotta let me start making decisions as a hunter. So this is my first. Until he pokes a toe out of line, you leave Garth alone, got it?”

Bobby puckered his lips.

“Bobby,” Garth said gently, and the older man looked at him. He gave a half-smile. “C'mon. It's me—Garth.”

After a moment, Bobby sighed, put the safety on his gun, and reholstered it. Garth smiled and pulled Bobby into a hug. Bobby squirmed and yanked him off.

“Alright, alright. That's enough of that.”

With that out of the way, Garth looked back at Dean and went right back to the starry-eyed look. “Wow. Rod Zeppelin.”

“Really?” Bobby said. “Rod Zeppelin? You couldn't even come up with a half-decent name?”

“You know what—” Dean started.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I do believe Rod (air quotes, which Dean slapped away, which earned him a brief confused look) and Garth met here with a purpose?”

“Right.” Garth said and looked sympathetic then. “I'm so sorry about your brother, Dean. Tell me what happened and maybe we can all come up with a plan.”

Chapter 16

The problem with someone disappearing without a trace is that they disappear without a trace. Garth was just as stumped regarding how to find Sam or where he could have gone as everyone else. He also didn't know much about demons outside knowing they existed, so he wasn't any help there, either.

By the second day, Dean was starting to feel hopeless. By the third he had another migraine clawing at the squishy space behind his eye sockets.

“No,” Bobby had said during the day. “Absolutely not. And if this is what sort of hunter you're gonna be, Lord help us all.”

“We have Cas!” Dean had tried to argue.

“Summoning a Prince of Hell without a plan is foolish at best,” Castiel had said gently. “Not to mention I am probably on par with Azazel. Being evenly matched would lessen my chances of being able to easily protect you all. I hate to admit it, but if we were to summon Azazel, there wouldn't be a guarantee I'd be able to do much.”

“We'd have to find ingredients to perform the summoning spell, not to mention find the summoning spell, if it even exists,” Bobby said.

“All that would take time,” Garth had said gently, “time we might not have, Dean.”

So, feeling like he had fallen on his face, Dean sat in the darkness of his apartment. It was nearly three in the morning. The more time passed, the more he hated himself. He felt like he should be doing something, felt like he should have an answer by now. And it wasn't that he faulted Bobby, Castiel, and Garth for not having answers, either. No, if anything else he was grateful for everything they were doing.

Dean got up and shuffled over to the sliding glass door. It stuck, and had since he moved into the apartment. His stupid landlord never fixed it, but he was good about fixing the important stuff immediately, so Dean couldn't complain, all things considered. Even so, it evidently was time for Dean to hit it with yet another round of WD40 because he struggled to yank it open, and when he finally did it let out an ungodly, high-pitched scrrch as the bottom scraped against the track. He winced, hoping he hadn't awoke his neighbors.

“Dean,” Castiel said immediately, getting up from the cheap, green plastic chair he was sitting in, “if my presence out here is bothering you I could go elsewhere—”

“No, come in,” Dean said, biting himself back from the adage I'm lonely, I'm scared.

Castiel hesitated, but then followed Dean inside, closing the raspy door behind himself.

“Why aren't you asleep?” Castiel asked in a normal voice. Bobby and Garth were at a motel; as much as Dean wanted to put them up for the night, there simply wasn't room, and he didn't have extra pillows and blankets.

Dean sat on the couch, hands dangling between his knees. He looked at the coffee table, eyes going in and out of focus. Between the blinding headache and lack of sleep, things he normally wouldn't say out loud came out of his mouth, slipping out like an oil-slick.

“I'm worried about Sammy? I feel like there is something I'm missing, or like—like I should be doing more, yaknow?”

Castiel paused. “I don't know.”

Dean looked up at Castiel with more desperation than he would have liked to. “I've spent my entire damn life looking out for that kid. We didn't have a terrible childhood, but it also wasn't great.”

Castiel tilted his head, listening respectfully.

“I always told myself that mom and dad had the perfect marriage. I reasoned with myself, yeah, they fought, but what couple didn't, yaknow? And especially them, they're both rough around the edges.” Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Lord knows that's where I got my shit attitude from, and why Sammy is the opposite.”

Dean peered up at Castiel then, eyes squinted against the pain and struggling to make out the angel in the dark. “So I made excuses for their fighting, and I tried to shield Sammy from it. And it bothered him; I mean, it bothered me too, I didn't think it was fair I was the one who had to comfort my mom. I was a kid, yaknow? She was supposed to look after me, not the other way around.”

Castiel nodded softly and still remained respectfully silent.

“But I looked after her, and I looked after Sammy. And after mom died, and dad started drinking, I did my best.” Dean's voice shook. “I swear to you I did. I did everything I could for Sam. But he got his own shit attitude and wanted nothing to do with us, and I had to get a job real fast because dad he—well, dad just gave up, and now I just…”

Dean trailed off and clutched his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. He bore holes in the carpet with his stinging eyes, because he'd be damned if Cas saw him on the verge of tears.

“I don't know what to do, Cas. I always know what to do. But Sammy is out there, somewhere, and I've always been there for him, but I'm not there. I'm not there, and I don't know what to do, and I'm worried sick, and I've never felt so useless in my entire existence.”

A tear dripped down Dean's nose. It landed with a soft plip on the carpet. He refused to blink after that, head absolutely roaring with each beat of his pulse. It was the type of headache where it felt like something else had squeezed into his skull, and there wasn't enough room for it and his brain, and his brain was about to come leaking out of his ears and eyes. It hurt so damn bad it was frying his already fried nerves.

“What are you telling me this?” Castiel said with such innocent, genuine curiosity it made Dean realize he had just dumped his heart out, poured it out of his chest so it had plopped on the floor and was beating and twitching out in the open, unprotected and quivering.

It was scary. It was exhilarating. He had never been that honest with anyone in his entire life.

It petrified him, even though he was only vaguely aware of what sort of implications such open honesty meant.

Dean looked up at Castiel, mystified. He blinked, and because of his headache even that was excruciating. “I don't—I d'no.”

Before Dean could overthink anything, or really even think, there was a knock on the door. It was so soft both Castiel and Dean would have missed the sound if it wasn't three in the morning with the rest of the apartment complex asleep. The pair looked at the door. When the barely-there sound happened again, Dean and Cas looked at one another. Upon the third series of soft knocks, Dean strode over to the door and opened it.

Before Dean could say or do something, Sam's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed forward. With a loud grunt Dean caught him. It was not an easy task, and Dean stumbled back, almost falling.

“Sammy?!”

Castiel strode over.

“Sammy?!” Dean said frantically again, his voice several octaves too high.

He sounded like that because Sam was covered head to toe in blood. Lots and lots of blood. It wasn't fresh, a deep, dark crimson, and his hair was matted and caked in it. The man smelled foul, like he hadn't showered in days, and Dean gagged, willing himself to not throw up all over his unconscious brother.

“Sam!” Dean shouted then.

Castiel helped Dean get the limp man into the kitchen and quickly shut and locked the door behind them. Dean was on his knees, gently moving Sam's head back and forth. Pride be damned, he was crying. Castiel knelt next to Dean worriedly.

“Sam? Sammy! C'mon, man, don't die—please don't die.”

Sam gave a soft moan. His eyes fluttered open. Dean barked out a wet laugh.

“F-fuck, Sam. Don't fucking s-scare me like that.”

“Dean,” Sam replied weakly, his eyes fluttering shut again.

“Where are you hurt?” Castiel asked. “I can heal you—”

Sam's eyes snapped open. “Don't touch me!”

Dean and Cas looked down at him, shocked.

“Don't,” Sam outright pleaded. “It's not—it's not my blood.”

Dean and Castiel looked at each other, stunned.

“None of it is my blood.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Castiel said flatly.

“Sam,” Dean said soothingly, “It's Cas. Just let him heal you—”

Sam struggled to sit up, so Dean grabbed his arm and helped him sit up. “N-no. I'm telling you I'm not hurt. Please, just—just let me be, okay?”

Dean gave Castiel a worried look.

“I'm just exhausted. I'm okay though.”

“Then whose blood is it?” Dean asked fearfully.

“I—I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“I don't know!” Sam insisted. “I don't know how I got here. I was in the restaurant, and then suddenly I'm standing outside of your apartment, and I don't know how I got here, I don't know why I'm here, or what happened, I just don't understand anything…I just want a shower.”

Dean looked at him sympathetically.

“Please,” Sam said miserably, looking between Cas and his brother. “I just want a shower.”

Dean and Cas looked at one another again. Castiel gave a small nod.

“Alright Sammy,” Dean said gently, patting his brother's shoulder. “Alright. We'll get you clean, and we'll figure this out, and you'll be right as rain, okay?”

Sam nodded. Even as he burst into tears while Dean and Cas helped him to his feet, even though Dean had to help support his weight, Sam nodded. Right before Dean helped Sam into the bathroom, he glanced over his shoulder at Castiel as though waiting for an explanation. He didn't get one though.

“Alright Sam. You're okay. You're safe with me. I got you. Everything will be fine.”

Chapter 17

“Um. I have to get undressed.”

Dean crossed his arms and turned around. He practically heard Sam roll his eyes. Even so, Dean heard the familiar sounds of clothes hitting the floor and then his belt. Then the water turned on. Dean looked up at the ceiling.

“Lemme know when you're in the shower.”

“Dean—”

“Shut up, Sam.”

A sigh. After a minute the sound of the spray changed, the curtain snapped shut, and Sam's voice said, “Okay I'm in.”

Dean nodded (even though his brother couldn't see the gesture) and turned around, sitting down and carefully balancing on the edge of the tub. Sam noticed the movement and poked his head out. He frowned.

“Dean. You can leave.”

Dean, with his back to the curtain, shook his head. “No can do, Sammy.”

A pause, and then, “Actually you can, and you will.”

“Nope.”

“I'm twenty-two years old. I can shower by myself.”

“You might be concussed; age doesn't matter to internal hemorrhaging.”

Sam snapped the curtain shut again. “I told you I'm fine.”

“Don't care.”

“Dean.”

“Sammy, you're acting like I didn't used to give you baths when you were little.”

“Yeah—when I was little.”

“There's a curtain; not like I'm gonna look, you weirdo. My back is to you.”

“I just want privacy.”

“What if you pass out again?”

“I was just overwhelmed.”

“Crack your head on the porcelain?”

“You're being ridiculous.”

“What if you're lyin’ to me and some of that blood is yours, and you're gonna pass out from bloodloss—”

“Dean! OH MY GOD—”

“Maybe I need to be here?” Dean finally hollered. Then remembering what time it was, lowered his voice. “Maybe I need you, okay? I haven't seen you for a fucking week, and you show up here, covered in blood with no explanation, and you smelled, and I thought you were dead, and—and—”

Dean lurched forward, got on his knees, and got sick in the toilet. When he was done, he saw Sam's head poking out again, one fist clutching the blue plastic curtain. He looked worried. Dean hated it. Grunting, he flushed away the mess and then sat on his rump, back against the wall.

“You okay?” Sam asked gently, brow wrinkled in worry and sympathy.

Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Yeah. Just have a migraine.”

“Again?”

Dean snorted. “It's been a long week, what can I say?”

Dean heard Sam duck back under the spray of the shower. Dean opened his eyes, keeping his head tilted back. The steam that quickly collected helped his head. It was nice, just listening to the water as it pelted the tub. If Dean completely relaxed, shut off his brain completely, this head didn't throb as badly.

“Sorry,” Sam said, barely audible.

Dean didn't answer right away, just let the apology hover in the thick steam.

“What happened?” Dean asked just as quietly, words almost completely enveloped under the water.

A pause. “I d'no.”

“Bullshit.”

Another pause. Then a slow explanation.

“I woke up in a basement. Or, I think it was a basement. I d'no, it was weird. It was underground, like—like some of the walls weren't finished, and I could see the earth, yaknow? But there were also beams, like maybe a room was going to be built? Or like maybe—maybe someone had started to build a room and then abandoned the plan?”

Dean closed his eyes again and listened, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“There was this—this chair. I was tied to a chair. And there was this—this guy.”

Sam didn't say any more.

“What about the guy?” Dean prompted.

“Dean, don't, please—”

“What about the guy?”

“Dean,” Sam outright begged, his voice shaking. “I can't. Not right now. I will, I will, I promise, but just not—not right now. Please.”

Dean let out a long, quiet sigh. He then gingerly got to his feet.

“Okay Sammy. Yeah, alright. If you need anything, holler, okay?”

A pause that sounded guilty. “Sure.”

When Dean opened the door, Sam said his name urgently. Dean half-turned to the shut curtain.

“What?”

“Thanks.”

Dean's heart clenched. “You're welcome.”

Dean left the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He found Castiel sitting in the kitchen, the light on now. Castiel squinted at him like he did.

“How is he?”

Without much thought and working on muscle memory, Dean walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer before sitting down. As Castiel watched him, face full of judgement, Dean shrugged.

“It's five o'clock somewhere.”

Castiel frowned.

Dean looked towards the frontroom. “He's…okay.”

Castiel hummed.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the liminal space. “Something happened but he won't tell me.”

“Give it time,” Castiel said gently. “He's clearly been traumatized.”

Dean sighed heavily, leaned his head forward and clasped his hands behind his neck, squeezing his eyes tightly. “Yeah I know.”

“Are you alright?”

“Migraine.”

“Oh. Why didn't you say something?”

Before Dean could protest, Castiel touched his forehead and made the pain go away. For some reason Dean felt himself flush.

“Because you're not my personal pharmacy, okay?”

Castiel tipped his head. “What?”

“Every little ache and pain, I can't have you just heal. You're not like, a drug I can take or something.”

Castiel was still confused. “But I'm here. Since I'm here, why wouldn't I help you?”

Because I'm not weak. Because you shouldn't have to. Because I don't deserve it.

Dean didn't reply.

Castiel got to his feet. He came around and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. Somewhat awkwardly, he patted the man's shoulder.

“Once Sam is settled, you should get some rest, Dean.”

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, watching the angel walk away.

“Out. If you need anything, pray to me.”

Without waiting for a reply, Castiel did a very human thing by opening up the door, walking out of it, and quietly shutting it behind himself.

~

“Sam?”

“Hey, Bobby.”

Bobby yanked the much taller man down into a fierce hug. After a few moments he patted his back hard and then held him at arm's length. He looked him up and down. When he saw nothing wrong with the guy, he smirked.

“Don't scare me like that, Sam.”

Sam chuckled. “I don't plan to.”

It was the following day. They had met back at Dean's apartment. Sam looked at Garth, brow briefly knitting in confusion.

“Who's this?”

Garth held out his hand. “Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth. You can just call me Garth, though.”

Sam smirked and looked amused, shaking his hand. “Sam Winchester.”

“I know.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up but he didn't say anything.

“Friend of Bobby's. Hunter. I asked him to come along with me after I read the blog and—”

Dean coughed loudly and obnoxiously. He then smiled politely, hand to his chest. Garth looked back at Sam.

“And Rod here said—”

Dean started up with the coughing again. When he stopped and Garth went to speak once more, Dean then sounded like he was about to hack up a hairball.

“Dude,” Sam said, annoyed. When Dean stopped, he said, “And who's Rod?”

Dean made a truly ungodly noise, cross between hocking a loogie and dying from some sort of chest ailment, and Sam finally punched his shoulder.

“OW! Hey!”

Castiel squinted. “Why don't you want Sam to know about your blog?”

Sam looked at Dean. “Blog?”

Dean moaned and raked his hands down his face. “Could we not?”

“What blog?” Sam demanded.

“Wait—your own brother doesn't know about the blog?” Garth gasped.

“What blog?!” Sam shouted, waving his hands over his head.

“Music And Mayhem!” Garth said, sounding absolutely pleased.

Sam's brow furrowed, eyes becoming unfocused as he plunged into his own thoughts. “Music And Mayhem, Music And Mayhem…Why does that sound familiar?”

Dean moaned loudly, rubbing his face fiercely. He then smiled, a big, toothy grin at Sam, holding his arms out to his sides. “I d'no Sammy. Let's move on. So, now that we're all introduced—”

Sam snapped his fingers and his eyes settled on Dean. He looked stunned. “No.”

Dean cringed.

“No,” Sam said again.

Dean squirmed where he stood.

“You're not—you're not serious.”

Sam looked at Garth, who nodded enthusiastically.

“The blog—that one blog that compared Ice Spice to a cactus being shoved into people's ears?”

Dean moaned loudly and covered his face. When he spoke it was muffled. “I was really, really high that day, okay?”

Sam wasn't done. “The blog that got into a pissing match with readers after the author wrote Post Malone should stick to playing Magic The Gathering because his music sucks?”

“I regret writing that piece. The guy seems like he's probably nice.”

“The one that Reddit latched onto after it dipped into Swiftie commentary—”

“I never should have dragged Swift into anything,” Dean muttered regretfully.

“The one that got so much attention it was even mentioned in passing in Rolling Stone magazine?”

“Kill me. Please, someone kill me.”

“That one?”

Dean spread his index and middle finger apart, one green eye peeking out at Sam in utter humiliation. Sam was gawking at him. Face hot, Dean threw his hands down and glared. “It's all your fault, anyway! You and dad were sick of me talking about music so my opinions had to go somewhere!”

Sam started cracking up. It didn't take long until a few tears were rolling down his face. Dean simply turned brighter red.

“You didn't have to start a blog about it!” Sam guffawed. “Oh my—oh my God this is too good.”

Dean put his hands on his hips. “It's not like I meant to become internet famous!”

“What did you think would happen upon evoking Taylor Swift’s name?!” Sam laughed.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I might’ve been pretty high that day, too.”

Sam frowned, laughter starting to die down. “I'm kinda noticing a trend here.”

“Pot helps my migraines, okay?! Not like I'm high off my gourd all the time.”

Sam merely snorted and shook his head.

“Wait—” Dean said. “How the hell do you know about Music And Mayhem?”

Sam snickered. “Dude c'mon. You used to make fun of me all the time for being addicted to studying. Do you really think studying is all I do online?”

“Yes.”

RBF came out in full force.

“I still don't quite comprehend what a blog is,” Castiel muttered dejectedly.

“Guys,” Bobby said quickly. “We really should get back on task here. Namely—what the hell happened to you, kid?”

Everyone looked at Sam. He swallowed thickly. Before speaking, he sank into a chair in the kitchen, and his hazel eyes drifted far away, not looking at anyone.

“I woke up underground somewhere. It was like a half-constructed basement or something…I don't—I d'no.

“Anyway I was tied up to this chair with chains. And there was this guy there. He uh—he had yellow eyes.”

“Azazel,” Castiel said with a sharp nod.

Sam blinked and looked up at him. “What?”

“That would have been the demon Azazel. He has yellow eyes, which is unique amongst demons. Only higher demons have different colored eyes, like Crowley, king of Hell. His eyes are pure dark red.”

“I d'no,” Sam said. “He never told me his name.”

“That's pretty standard,” Castiel replied. “To have a demon's name holds a certain amount of power.”

“So what happened?” Bobby asked gently.

Sam's jaw visibly clenched and unclenched a number of times before he spoke. “Not much, honestly.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother. “I mean, not much. We talked sometimes—”

“About?”

Sam gave a pathetic shrug. Dean looked at Bobby, frown on his face.

“What else do you remember?” Bobby asked in the same calm, even manner.

“Uh. He kept me fed, which was nice. Gave me water.”

Dean rolled his eyes impatiently. “Great. The Prince of Hell is hospitable.”

Sam started. “Prince of Hell?!”

Castiel took a step forward. “There was a demon at the restaurant where you were abducted. We managed to get information that the demon who held you was Azazel, a Prince of Hell.”

“Oh,” Sam said, voice cracking.

“Sam,” Bobby said once more, and the young man looked at him. “Is there anything else that could be helpful? Anything at all.”

Sam rubbed his palms against his jeans, thinking. After a few seconds, his eyes refocused on Bobby. “There was one thing. He kept talking about this army.”

Everyone looked alarmed.

“Army?” Garth asked.

Sam looked at him. “Yeah. He kept going on about how they were going to free someone, and he was going to do it with a child army he was preparing.”

The group looked deeply disturbed. After that, Sam looked visibly upset, his eyes glistening.

“That's it. Really guys, that's all I know.”

“Alright,” Bobby said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. “That's fine. You did good Sam, you did real good.”

Dean and Sam locked eyes for a moment. Sam looked away, and Dean frowned.

~

“He’s not telling us something.”

“No shit?”

Dean had just joined Bobby out on the small porch. Garth and Sam were inside, showing Castiel what video-games were. Bobby was leaning against the railing with his elbows, hands clasped. Dean came up beside him, taking up the same position.

“And that doesn't bother you?”

“Look, Dean,” Bobby said, squinting across the parking lot, “you're new to all this. Supernatural or not, he went through a lot. Victims of crimes, especially heavier ones, have an adjustment period. He's probably still trying to process everything himself."

Dean looked at Bobby's profile. Bobby continued to stare at the smattering of cars below them.

“You don't just get captured by a demon and walk away unscathed. Not to mention you said he showed up covered in blood?” Bobby shifted on his feet. “Something happened, something terrible.”

“That's just it, Bobby! He won't even talk about the blood! Whose blood was all that? And how did he escape? Hell, what did Azazel want with him in the first place?”

Bobby stood up and looked at Dean. Smiling sympathetically, he patted Dean's shoulder.

“He'll come around. Just be patient, and don't push him. I've noticed the more you push victims who aren't ready to talk yet seem to double-down, and it takes even longer to get the information you need.”

Dean looked through the window. Garth sat on the ground, video-game controller in hand, tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Sam and Castiel sat side by side, Castiel concentrating, eyes honed onto the screen seriously. Something happened, and Sam started laughing. Garth joined in, pointing at the TV.

Dean focused on Sam. He looked normal. Happy.

Dean frowned.

“He'll be okay, Dean. Just give him some time.”

Without another word, Bobby went back inside, leaving Dean to his thoughts.

Chapter 18

Hey everyone.

Happy to report we found my brother. He's fine. And while I don't feel comfortable getting into it, I will say his disappearance was linked to unnatural things. Or natural, I guess, because apparently ghosts and the whole lot have always existed; hypernormal things, I'll say.

Which leads me to the reason for this post. I can't be attacked by a wendigo and almost die and pretend like it didn't happen. I can't have my brother be kidnapped by malicious, otherworldly entities, and just go back to a normal life.

I know this is going to alienate most of my readers but I don't care at this point. I was never in this for fame anyway, I just wanted to talk about music and accidentally got posted on Reddit. So I'm going to lean into the whole ‘mayhem’ part of the blog name and devote this to the supernatural. Yeah yeah, I know, I've gone off my rocker, blah blah blah. You don't like it? Fine, no one is forcing you to read it.

As for the people worried about me, I'm fine. I appreciate the worriment, really. It's touching. I know a lot of you have voiced concern that I'm having some sort of extended psychotic break, but I'm not. And no, this isn't one of those, “The crazy person doesn't know they're crazy” deals.

Point is, from all this [being attacked by a wendigo, having my brother kidnapped by evil things] I've met some pretty awesome people who are aware of this dual reality that isn't talked about much, and they know how to handle it. People who are kind of like…law enforcement for the supernatural. People who protect people from monsters, like wendigo.

I'm willing to help out. Give me your troubles and I'll get you in contact with people who can help you. I promise I'll do what I can to make as many people safe as possible. I'm talking anything, from wendigo, to ghosts, to demons. I don't even know what all is out there, but I'm learning it's a lot. I'm learning that if there's some story out there…doesn't matter what culture it is, or what part of the world it comes from…if there's a legend about it, it probably exists in reality in some fashion.

So. I only have two rules going forward.

1) I'm only taking serious requests. If I waste my resources on someone looking to prank me, I'm gonna be pissed. 2) Don't make fun of or dismiss what people say in the comments from here on out. In fact, any cruelty will result in an immediate ban. I'll be the judge of who is full of shit and who isn't; I don't need anyone invalidating anyone's claims, got it?

So yeah. Sorry to everyone who has been here for the music. I gotta pivot. This is too big not to. I was sucked into something, and I'm just not the type of guy who can just stick his head in the sand. There's wicked stuff out there, and I'll be damned if I just sit idly by and let innocent people get maimed and murdered.

I feel like I should change the name of this blog since it's no longer going to focus on music. What do you all think? (I'd say Ghostbusters, but kinda don't wanna get sued, yaknow? 😉 And DO NOT say ANYTHING about Ghostfacers, thankyouverymuch!)

~Rod

“Alright,” Dean said, spinning his laptop around. “Is this kosher with everyone?”

Sam, Castiel, Bobby, and Garth all leaned in.

“Sounds great!” Garth said enthusiastically.

“I still can't believe you're Rod Zeppelin,” Sam merely commented.

Castiel frowned in concentration. “So a blog is like a diary…but you post it on the internet...for people to…read?”

“‘Diary’ sounds too middle-school girly for me; I prefer ‘journal’.” Dean smiled. “But yeah, more or less.”

“I thought those were supposed to be private endeavors?”

“In this day and age nothing is private, my friend.”

Castiel tilted his head. “That's odd.”

Bobby's lips formed a thin line under his facial hair. “I'm still not sure how I feel just opening up about all this.”

“Look,” Dean said, flipping the laptop back around and sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “This is how I see it. We have the opportunity to do something good here. Save people, kill evil sons of bitches. And yeah, I'm sure we'll come across folks who are yanking our chain, especially at first. We might even come across something trying to lay out a trap for us, yaknow? Something or someone trying to take out the good guys. But Bobby.” Dean leaned forward. “If I save even just one person it will have been worth it in my book.”

“I think this is a great way to revolutionize hunting,” Garth said, smiling.

“No one wanted to revolutionize hunting,” Bobby grumbled, eyes casting off to the side.

“If it really makes you that uncomfortable, I won't,” Dean said seriously.

Bobby sighed. “No, go ahead.”

“No really.”

“It's fine.”

“You've been doing this for decades; I respect you, Bobby.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don't be like that,”

“Like what?”

“All sarcastic.”

“Like you're one to talk—”

Sam shoved Dean over and pressed ‘Post’. “There. Done. See how easy that was?”

Dean and Bobby blinked at him. Sam grinned.

“Great! Now that that's settled, who wants a beer?”

~

“May I join you?”

Dean looked over his shoulder. Everyone had stayed for the day at his apartment. He wasn't complaining; if anything else having Bobby and Sammy around made it feel like old times. Garth wasn't that bad, too—definitely on the dorky, awkward side, but he was so damn genuine about it he couldn't fault the guy. If anything Dean found himself a little jealous of him; he was genuinely comfortable in his own skin and with who he was. Dean could tell it wasn't an oblivious thing, like Garth was obtuse to social norms; instead he seemed to give a polite “fuck you” to them and embraced his own quirks.

Then, of course, there was the addition of Castiel. Dean found himself having zero problems with Cas. He grinned at the angel.

“Not at all. I'd say pull up a chair, but my broke ass could only afford this one.”

“I'm fine standing. Especially if your bottom is broken—you should sit. I could heal you—”

Dean gave a delighted peel of laughter. He shook his head. “No, broke as in I have no money. And ass just…It's an expression, Cas.”

“Oh.” He frowned and then mumbled, “This is all very confusing to me.”

Dean snorted. “It's okay, you'll catch on. You said it yourself, it's been thousands of years since you were around humans. Lots of things to pick up on.”

Castiel nodded. As a cold breeze cut through the night, Castiel looked about himself. “If you'd like a second chair I could get one for you.”

Dean couldn't help but grin. “Naw, it's okay. There wouldn't really be room for another one, anyway.”

Castiel hummed. Dean took a sip of his beer and then cleared his throat a little bit awkwardly. “Speaking of which.”

“Chairs?”

Dean stopped himself from laughing. “No, not chairs. The other thing.”

“I don't follow.”

Dean became serious. “You not being around people…” Dean peered up into his face. “If you haven't been around, how did my mom get you to watch after Sam and I?”

“Oh. She prayed to me.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Directly?”

“No.”

Dean shifted in his chair so he could look at Cas better. “How does that work? Do angels just field random incoming prayers?”

“No, I was assigned to look after you.”

“Me?”

“Specifically.”

A shudder ran through Dean. “Why…?”

Castiel gave a short sigh. “I am unable to answer that.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“However, when I heard your mother praying for someone to watch over her children, I listened and took heed.”

“Did she know?”

“Know what?”

“That you answered her prayers?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I came to her in a dream and assured her I would protect her sons. I have no way of knowing if she believed an actual angel came to her in the dream or if she thought it was just a dream.”

“Oh. So it was a one and done sort of deal?”

“Yes. We are supposed to remain hands off.”

Dean was confused. Eyes squinted, he tilted his head slightly. “Why the exception?”

Castiel pointedly looked over Dean's head. When he didn't reply, Dean frowned, getting the hint that line of conversation was done. So, he tried a different approach.

“How do you like it here?”

That question seemed to startle Cas. He looked down at Dean, looking a little rattled.

“I mean, you haven't been on earth for years. How's it going?”

“It's…overwhelming.” Castiel looked back out at the parking lot.

Dean frowned. With his beer finished, he got to his feet a little bit unsteadily. He had been drinking all day and had a nice buzz going. Even so, he knew he should get to bed and catch up on sleep. So, he put his hand on Castiel's shoulder.

“Hey. I'm here to make it less overwhelming. Got it?”

The briefest flutter of a smile hit Castiel's lips. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean patted his shoulder and smiled. “G'nite Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

But Dean was already inside.

Chapter 19

SlapDash wrote: I don't know what's going on but thank you for the years of insightful music musings.

HousesOfTheHoly wrote: Is this a publicity stunt?

SeedsOfLove wrote: You're weird.

MusicMaster wrote: Get help.

OfFlowersAndMen wrote: Somehow this made you hotter.

Dean snorted to himself. “Thanks?”

GnomeBeat wrote: My aunt was always convinced there was something living under her front porch, to the point where us kids weren't allowed to play in the front yard. Everyone always thought she was crazy. Now I'm not so sure.

Dean called over his shoulder. “Hey Bobby! Do gnomes exist?”

“That's a negative.”

“Alright.”

Dean went back to reading.

Anonymous wrote: One time my friends and I did Bloody Mary in front of the mirror. It really worked, and she came through and killed my one friend by ripping her face off. There was a huge investigation, because it was just me and my friends in the bathroom when it happened. The police thought it was a prank gone horribly wrong and arrested us. But the DNA never matched any of ours. This was back in the 70’s; we're all out of jail now, obviously. A couple of my friends are dead already because we're all older now.

Thank you for vocalizing that stuff like this exists, because it does.

Dean called over his shoulder again. “Bloody Mary exists?”

“Yeah,” Bobby called once again from the other room.

They had decided to relocate to Bobby's for the weekend. Garth had gone back to his own life while Sam, Castiel, and Dean were given free reign to Bobby's place.

“Bloody Mary herself is a bit of a misnomer though; it's usually some sort of vengeful spirit that knows about the ritual and uses it to their advantage. The jury is out on if there is a singular vengeful spirit by the name of Mary.”

“Huh.”

Dean kept reading. It was much the same, complaints about the new format, voices of concern for his mental health, the occasional shared story of a harrowing experience. Then he struck gold.

DefSpottedLeopard wrote: I don't know what else to do so maybe you can help me.

I was pregnant but I lost the baby. I know, miscarriages happen all the time, but this was not a miscarriage! The night it happened I had a dream that this woman with long dark hair came to me. I woke up and she was standing at the edge of my bed. I couldn't move. She got down on her hands and knees on the bed by my feet and out of her mouth came this long thin tongue. It kind of reminded me of a whip. And she used it to suck the baby out of me.

Dean's eyes bulged. “Woah, what?”

And I was crying and begging her to stop, but she sucked my baby out of me like some sort of demented vacuum. I went to the doctor in the morning and he confirmed that I wasn't pregnant anymore. He told me I had miscarriage, and he tried to convince me that the dream was just me trying to protect my psyche from losing the baby.

But that's not what happened! And I know that's not what happened because there were three other women in my town who were pregnant, had this dream, and were no longer pregnant. Originally we were dismissed as having some sort of mass hysteria, but now the town's water and soil are being tested for heavy metals and chemicals that could have caused miscarriages. So far they haven't found anything, and I know they're not going to because it's NOT the water, and it's NOT the soil. I'm telling you, something came to me that night and sucked my baby out of me.

Please help. If someone else gets pregnant here I'm afraid the same thing is going to happen. It's already happened four times. Please please please help.

Dean scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. “Hey guys! I think I got something!”

Bobby, Castiel, and Sam came into the room. Dean pointed at the screen. “Read that.”

Everyone did.

“Well, that's definitely something,” Bobby said.

“Those poor women,” Sam said.

“I'll say,” Dean said with a snort. “I'd never want cunnulingus again if I were—”

Sam backhanded Dean in the chest, hard, and glared. Dean rubbed his chest and glared back.

Lofting a final look of malice, Sam said, “What could it be?”

“There are several creatures that feed primarily on unborn children,” Castiel said.

“Several?” Dean asked, pulling a face.

“However, based on what's described, I would assume a aswang.”

Dean caught himself before he snorted in amusement. “I'm sorry—ass-wang?”

“Aswang. That's what I said.”

Dean, unable to contain himself, snorted.

Rolling his eyes, Sam went to the table and sat down. Hovering his fingers over the keys, he said, “And how do you spell that?”

“A-s-w-a-n-g.”

Dean giggled and muttered under his breath, “Asswang.”

“Dean!” Sam chided.

Dean held up his hands.

“Alright, well, according to Wikipedia—”

“Wikipedia? Really?”

“Shut up, Dean. Anyway. Per Wikipedia it's a creature from Filipino folklore. It doesn't seem like just one creature though. It's a sort of umbrella term for an array of myths and stories told throughout the Philippines.”

“Great, so that's not it.”

“Not necessarily. I mean, while yes there are different sub-categories to the aswang—”

“Asswang.”

Sam ignored him, talking over him. “—they are described as having a long, fibrous tongue and reportedly eat viscera and babies, taking the appearance of an attractive, light-skinned, long-haired woman.”

“Great, so it is an asswang.”

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So,” Dean said happily then, rubbing his hands together. “How do we stop it?”

“Well, according to this when the thing feeds it actually separates in two, with the upper half sprouting bat-wings from its torso while leaving the legs behind.”

Dean screwed up his face. “There wasn't anything about this thing acting like a Legos toy in the call for help—so it's not an asswang?”

“Aswang,” Castiel and Sam corrected together.

“Whatever.”

“Going under the assumption it is one,” Bobby said loudly, trying to get everyone on task. “What do we do?”

“Eurah,” Sam said, scrolling. “Um. Sounds like it depends on what type it is? Like if it's the girl-bat one, or a weredog—”

“Weredog? That's a thing?”

Sam shrugged. “Apparently. There's a witch-type…”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Man, this is hard.”

“Never said it wasn't,” Bobby corrected.

“Yikes, hope it's not a witch-type, they're super vindictive apparently. Let's see…” Sam continued to mutter. “Ghoul-type…Not helpful...Behavior… No...Ah ha! Counter measures! Okay get this—’One method is for the husband of the child-bearing wife to remain under the house, naked, while furiously waving a sword.”

Dean immediately dissolved into laughter. “If he's naked, it's not a sword he's furiously waving—”

“Dean!”

“What?!” He was still laughing. “It's funny!”

Sam turned and threw his best, I-Am-So-Done-With-Your-Shit resting bitch face. He sat up straighter, looking indignant. “There is nothing funny about babies getting eaten!”

“There is when the creature is called an asswang and the way to counter it is with furious masturbation under a porch—”

“ASWANG!”

Bobby tisked, rolled his eyes, and left the room.

“Okay okay, seriously,” Dean said, straining to get his laughter under control. He cleared his throat once he took several deep breaths. “The whole saber-rattling while naked doesn't help. That sounds like a prevention—I wanna know how we kill this thing.”

Sam huffed and turned back to the laptop. As he went back to it, he muttered, “How are you the older one again? I swear to God I should throw you out of the damn window…”

Dean waited, picking at his nails.

“Okay. It says, ‘To kill a witch aswang, a bolo knife can be used to strike the middle of the witch's back; if that area is not struck, the witch can lick its wounds to heal its injuries. After slaying an aswang with a bolo, the bolo must be planted under the ground. Firearms are not advised for killing aswang and it is useless to stab and slash at an aswang while it is in the form of an animal. Magic prayers can be used to make the aswang vulnerable; while it is in this helpless state, its body must be cut into pieces. If the aswang is cut into two pieces, each piece must be separated and taken to opposite river banks.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Wow, that's so easy.”

“Never said this would be easy!” Bobby called again from another room.

“That's also just for a witch version,” Dean said I'm frustration, crossing his arms but gesturing to the screen briefly. “What if it's a ghoul, or a straight-up weredog?”

Bobby came back in. In his arms were six books, which he dropped down loudly on the table. He grinned, holding out a book each to Dean and Sam.

“We look up how to kill all types so we know how to deal with all of ‘em!”

Looking unsure, Dean and Sam took the books. After a moment though, Dean broke out into a grin. “Alright, I'm down. This is so awesome!”

As Bobby grabbed his own book, he said, “Also you're sitting this one out.”

Dean's jaw dropped. “What?”

He looked at Sam. “You too.”

“Um, excuse me,” Sam said, “but why?”

Without warning, Bobby had a knife out, pulled out from his vest, and stabbed Sam's hand to the table. Dean lurched back, catching his foot on the back of Sam's chair and nearly falling over. Sam, of course, screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK, BOBBY?” Dean screamed.

Bobby pulled the knife out, causing Sam to scream again. Dean thought he'd be sick.

“DUDE!” Dean screamed.

Bobby calmly pointed at Sam. “That's exactly why.”

Sam, looking horrified, cradled his hurt hand to his chest.

“You're slow,” Bobby said calmly to Sam. He looked at Dean. “Weak.” As Dean looked offended, Bobby looked between the two. “Your reflexes are non-existent. You both need training.” Looking disgusted then, Bobby tossed the blade on the table. “Otherwise you'll just be lambs to the slaughter, and we can't have that.”

“So you stab me?!” Sam said, several octaves higher both in disbelief and pain. “You couldn't just say that?!”

Bobby gestured at Sam and looked at Cas. “Heal him.”

Cas took a step forward.

Sam lurched back. “I'm fine.”

Castiel looked at him like he was crazy. “You were just stabbed in the hand—”

Sam's nostrils flared. “Yeah, and I'm sure I'll suffer worse, and you're not always gonna be there.”

Castiel cocked his head. “You might have nerve damage.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Leave it.”

Castiel suddenly looked sympathetic. “Sam, I have healed you before, in the woods, remember? I'm not going to hurt you.”

Sam swallowed loudly and he ground his teeth, his jaw working over time. After seeming to mule it over for a while, he gave a curt nod. Bracing himself and closing his eyes, he flinched a little when Cas pressed his fingers to his forehead.

“There,” Castiel said gently.

Sam abruptly got to his feet. Looking freaked out, he stared at Castiel. Lips a tight, thin pale line, he nodded. “T-thanks.”

Sam rushed out of the room. Dean looked after him, baffled, as the large man took the steps upstairs two at a time and disappeared upstairs. Dean looked slowly back at Cas.

“The hell was that about?”

Castiel frowned. “I don't know.”

Notes:

The parts that Sammy reads from Wikipedia is literally from Wikipedia. I don't know if like, legally I have to do anything other than site my source.

There. It's from Wikipedia. Guys it's literally from Wikipedia. 🤣😂🤣🙃

Chapter 20

“Dad called,” Dean announced over breakfast the next day.

Sam dropped his spoon into his bowl of cereal with a loud clatter, some milk splashing onto his shirt. He stared, slack-jawed, across the table at Dean.

Dean chewed slowly and looked off to the side a second. “What?”

“Dad called?”

He looked away for a flicker again, still talking around a cheekful of sugary breakfast food. “So?”

“Dad called and you just say it like you're saying the sun is out today?!” Sam moaned and leaned back in his chair, covering his face. “I forgot about dad.”

Dean poked at his food before shoving more into his mouth. “Honestly so did I, until he called. With everything going on.”

Sam hesitated. “So…you told him I'm back?”

“Of course I did. Should I not have?”

“No, no, it's fine you did. Just…”

“What, did you want to be the one to tell him you're back?”

“No, I…” Sam looked at his lap. “Honestly I don't know what I want.”

“Well,” Dean said, "if it makes you feel better, he wanted to talk to you.”

Sam perked up a little. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I told him you were sleeping though, which is true.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you tell him?”

“That… You were back safe and sound?” Before Sam could throw a RBF, Dean hurried on. “He was worried of course. Asked what had happened, where you were, if you were hurt. He wasn't happy that you didn't go to the police, so I made up some BS about you just taking off.”

Sam's eyes shot up. “And he believed that?”

Dean gave a one-shouldered shrug. “No, not really, but he eventually dropped it.”

“Does he want to see me?”

Dean shook his head.

Sam tisked and glared off to the side. “Figures.”

Dean frowned and the conversation died, the two men finishing their cereal.

~

♒Hey, DefSpottedLeopard,

First of all, love your name. Secondly, that is quite the experience you went through. I believe you. Of course I believe you. I'm working on getting help as soon as possible. We have to research what exactly we are up against and how to stop it. I only ask you to have patience.

Also, maybe a weird request. But could you please keep in contact and let me know if you are aware of anyone else in your town who either is pregnant or becomes pregnant? I know that might be a delicate subject for you, but we have to try to protect other potential targets of whatever this thing is. Your help would be appreciated.

We'll be in contact.

“Look,” Dean said, hurrying down the steps of Bobby's place that led to the junkyard. “You're right, Sammy and I suck. We barely know what we're doing. But please let us tackle this case. Please. No matter how long it takes.”

Bobby continued to walk, talking over his shoulder. “Why is this so important to you?”

Why was it so important to Dean?

“I d'no,” Dean said, keeping hot on the heels of Bobby. “I feel bad for what those women went through?”

“I can take care of it myself.”

“I know you can,” Dean said. “That's not the point.”

Bobby stopped and turned around. “Do you even know what the point is?”

“Bobby, I said I don't know! Maybe it's because it's my first case. Maybe it's because she reached out to me—me—specifically. She asked for my help and I can't just leave her high and dry.”

“And if I go alone, it wouldn't be leaving her high and dry.”

“But—”

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Are you really willing to put everything on hold while you train, for months? If not a year?”

“It's not gonna take me a year—”

“It'll take at least a year for you to get good enough for you to start actual, real life hunting—”

“You're acting like I don't work out. You're acting like my job ain't labor intensive—”

“This is something completely different,” Bobby said, obviously starting to get angry.

“I've been hunting Bobby—actual hunting. With dad.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and started to walk away again.

“You're acting like I don't know how to shoot a gun—”

Bobby stopped again and turned around. “All the lore specifically says using firearms against this thing would be ineffective at best, or just piss it off and make it lash out even more at worst!”

“Fine, so then teach me how to fight! You were military—put me and Sammy through the ringing. Be our drill Sargent.”

Bobby tisked and once more walked away. This time, however, Dean didn't follow. Instead his mind whirled.

“You're afraid,” Dean called finally.

Bobby stopped walking, keeping his back to Dean.

“You're afraid of us getting hurt.”

Bobby clenched his hands at his sides but still didn't move.

“You're ‘fraid of us dyin’.”

Bobby turned around and marched right up to Dean, who didn't even flinch. Bobby squinted, his eyes becoming beady.

“‘Course I'm afraid,” Bobby snarled, but Dean knew this was how he was when he tried to protect his softer bits. Dean inwardly relaxed, but outwardly he was stoic, not backing down. “People die all the time in this line of work. I've lost friends—I've lost family.”

Dean blinked.

“I'll be damned if I lose you, too.”

When the older man tried to leave, Dean cuffed his arm and forced him back around. Bobby glared.

“Do you know the percentage of hunters who die on their first job?”

“No,” Dean said cockily, calling out the fact it was a rhetorical question aimed to rile him up. “How the hell would I know that? You know I wouldn't.”

“Sixty percent.”

Dean felt himself blanch. He couldn't help it. Bobby shuffled forward, invading Dean's personal space as he stared him down.

“Sixty percent of hunters don't come back home after their first job. Thirty percent don't make it out of their second, and twenty percent don't live past their third.”

Dean shrugged and gave a cocky smile. “That's fine, three’s the magic number to beat. Got it.”

“You don't get it!” Bobby said, voice rising in anger. “The life expectancy of a hunter is five years. Five years!”

Dean still refused to be rattled. He gave a serpentine smile. “And how long have you been doing this for, Bobby?”

“I'm the exception!” Bobby shouted.

“I can't think of a better teacher then.”

Bobby grabbed Dean by his brown leather jacket. He looked livid.

“This isn't some game, Dean.”

“You think I don't know that?” Dean asked calmly. “I nearly died at the hands of a wendigo. I was dragged around a forest by it—that hurt. A lot. I saw dead people strung up and hanging from the ceiling. I tripped over someone's arm, and it wasn't attached to a body!” Dean was finally starting to get upset. “My brother's girlfriend was roasted on a ceiling with her belly cut open, and he was kidnapped by a demon. Now there's this woman—no, women—that had their babies sucked out of them, and you have the nerve to stand here and try to tell me I don't know what I'm getting myself into!?”

Bobby puckered his lips. Dean grinned but it wasn't friendly at all. He stuck his face into the older man's and spoke in a low voice.

“Now let go of my jacket or I'll show you how good I am at fighting already.”

Bobby let go of him. Giving his own glare, Dean turned around and stalked off back towards the house.

“How'd it go?” Sam asked a minute later when Dean walked in.

“About as well as we thought it would,” Dean replied, throwing himself moodily onto the couch.

Sam winced. “Ouch.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumped. “We're grown-ass men. It's not like he can tell us we can't.”.

Sam paused and, as always, went the diplomatic route. “Still though, if you go into this like you have something to prove, that's not good, either. Pride makes people sloppy and take risks they shouldn't.”

Dean shot him an impatient look. “Oh what do you know?”

“Sam's right, though,” Castiel said, walking into the room. “You have to do this because you want to, not because someone told you not to.”

“I wanted to do this before that happened,” Dean snapped, looking at both of them. “Remember?”

Sam held up his hands. Dean looked at Cas, who remained seemingly indifferent to that proclamation.

“So,” Dean said after a bit of tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “When do we begin heavy training?”

“Now,” Castiel said. He looked at Sam. “If you're ready.”

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “Oh I'm ready.”

Chapter 21

“Sam? Dean? Where are you?!”

Dean put down his blood-covered fists. He'd recognized that voice anywhere.

“Shit. Shit, Cas, heal us, heal us, heal us—”

Castiel quickly went to Sam and Dean, touching their foreheads. Castiel was just putting his arm down from Sam's head when John Winchester came barreling into sight. He took one look at Sam, looked like he might cry, and sprinted forward. John yanked his youngest child down into a fierce hug. Looking bewildered and stunned, Sam didn't react at first. Then, slowly, he hugged him back.

“Dad…”

John held him at arm's length, looking him up and down. “Son. Are you alright?”

“Yeah dad, I'm fine,” Sam said, sounding confused and mystified. “What're you doing here?”

Clearly struggling to get his emotions in check, John let go of his son. “Dean said you didn't want me to come, but I had to.”

Immediately Sam's nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Did he now? Is that what Dean said?”

Dean turned his head away.

“Yeah,” John said, so awash in relief he missed the exchange. “But I was so worried I had to come see you.”

Sam huffed, nostrils still flared, glaring railroad spikes at Dean.

“So what happened?”

Sam, bewildered now, tried to remember what line of bullshit Dean had told John. He blinked. “Oh. Uh. I just…I was just feeling really overwhelmed and I took off.”

John looked like he didn't quite believe that. “They said that you sorta disappeared, that there's no way you could've gotten out of the restaurant without being seen.”

Sam did jazz hands and smirked. “I wanted to be a magician, remember? I've gotten pretty good at sneaking around.”

Still looking not utterly convinced, John gave a short nod. He then turned to Castiel and scowled.

“What're you doing here?”

“He's our friend,” Dean snapped immediately. “He can be here if he wants to.”

Castiel looked uncomfortably between father and son. “Er, or I could not be here.”

Dean put his hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Maybe I want you here.”

Castiel looked surprised.

Dean let him go and dropped his arm to the side. “Dinner is gonna be soon. Wanna stay?”

Giving Castiel a final scowl, John agreed, and the four walked back into Bobby's.

“John,” Bobby said, surprised. “I thought you were leaving.”

“Dean invited me for dinner.”

“There should be enough pizza,” Bobby replied with a nod.

“Especially since I don't eat,” Castiel blurted out.

John gave him a sharp, questioning look. Dean nearly face-palmed. Castiel's eyes widened.

“Today, I mean.”

Dean did face-palm.

“I mean—”

“He's fasting,” Sam jumped in. “Religious reasons.”

Castiel looked at Sam. “There aren't currently any religions that have a reason to observe fasting—”

Sam laughed loudly and roughly patted Castiel on the shoulder. “This one. Such a kidder.”

“But Sam—”

“What does everyone want to drink? You know what, I'll figure it out. C'mon, Cas help me with the drinks.”

Before the angel could say another work, Sam dragged him across the way to the kitchen. John looked at the still face-palming Dean.

“He always like that?”

Dean put down his hand. “What, incredibly awkward? Yes, yes he is. Part of his charm.”

Just then Dean was saved by the [door]bell. He clapped and grinned. “Ah! Pizza! I got it!”

Dean rushed to the door, glad to extract himself from the weirdness. Unfortunately, it was inescapable.

“So Cas,” John said as they sat around eating pizza. Except for Cas. Of course. “How did you meet my sons?”

Dean gave a furtive, panicked look at the angel.

“Camping.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I'm a—ranger.”

Sam stopped eating, looking nervously at Dean.

“Oh. Is that a full-time gig?”

Castiel started to look uncomfortable. “Yes. I mean no. I mean I—”

John laughed good heartedly, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Well which is it? Are you or aren't you?”

“I'm an accountant,” he blurted out.

“Accountant?”

“Tax accountant!” Dean chimed in and smiled. “That's what he meant. He's mostly a park ranger, but is a tax accountant during tax season.”

“Oh,” John said. “That's a strange combination.”

“It gets the bills paid,” Dean said, grinning. He looked at Cas. “Right?”

Cas looked extremely uncomfortable. “Right. Bills…”

“Yeah,” Sam said with some awkward laughter. “Everyone hates bills.”

Bobby sighed quietly.

“What is your professional inclination?” Castiel asked John.

Dean forced a laugh. “He means, what do you do. Like your job.”

John threw Dean his own patented bitch face. “Yeah, I got that.”

Dean squirmed. “O-oh. Right.”

John rolled his eyes and looked back at Cas. “I don't work right now.”

Dean and Sam were both surprised at the honesty. They didn't say anything.

John looked down at his food. “After my wife died, well… I just do odd jobs here and there and live off my military pension.”

Dean clenched his hands into fists as the last part which was a lie. He remained silent.

“Oh, well…I am sorry for your loss,” Castiel said softly, inclining his head.

“Yeah,” John mumbled, picking up a slice of pizza from his plate. “Thanks.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Am I putting you up tonight John or are ya headed out?”

“No, it's alright Bobby. Seems like you got a full house. I don't want to impose.”

“I don't sleep,” Castiel said bluntly.

John looked at him, perplexed. Sam kicked Castiel under the table.

“Much,” Castiel addended.

John raised an eyebrow.

“Point is,” Bobby quickly jumped in, “you can take the couch if you wanna.”

“No, it's okay,” John said. “I don't know what this (he gestured at everyone at the table) is all about, but if Bobby is involved I probably don't wanna know. I'll be on my way after the food.”

“Sure.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

~

Sam put his arm down from waving John away. Once the car was out of sight he whipped around to Dean and punched him, hard.

“Hey! Ow…”

“You told dad not to come?!”

Dean rubbed his arm. “Really? You've been holding onto that all night?”

“Why?” Sam asked, nostrils flared. Truthfully Dean hadn't seen Sam so angry in a long time. Truthfully, the man was intimidating.

“Because I thought dad seeing you would be stupid?”

“Stupid?” Sam snapped. “Why?”

“You heard Bobby. He doesn't want anything to do with what happened to you and I, to Jess.”

Sam took a menacing step forward. “Don't.”

Dean couldn't quite wrap his head around what had Sam all riled out. Truthfully his anger was starting to scare Dean a little. Outwardly he wasn't too rattled. “Don't what? Mention your dead girlfriend?”

Sam shoved Dean, who stumbled.

“Hey!” Dean barked. “I d'no who pissed in your Cheerios, but I did you a favor!”

“Don't do me any more favors!” Sam shouted.

“What's gotten into you?”

“Stop. Just stop, Dean.”

“Stop what?”

“You're doing it again.”

Dean was starting to get angry. “Doing what again?”

“Your controlling bullshit!”

Dean snapped his head back. “What?”

“You can't decide what's best for me! You didn't want me to go to school—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Not this again—”

“—because you have a sick codependency on me—”

“I do not!”

“—and now you're trying to keep me from dad—”

“Right, because you and him have such a great relationship—”

“It's dad!” Sam screamed. “He doesn't have a good relationship with anyone!”

“I know!” Dean shouted back. “Which is why I was trying to look out for you and keep you away from his bullshit! You've been through enough, being kidnapped by a fucking demon—”

Sam shoved Dean again. Dean balled his hands into fists. “Hey!”

“Don't,” Sam said in a low, quiet voice. “You have no idea what I went through.”

“Exactly!” Dean was still shouting. “Because you won't fucking talk to me! I've been worried, man, and you just—you just clam up, and how can I help you if you won't even tell me what's going on?”

Sam looked away. Dean took a step forward, eyes narrowed, his neck craned forward.

“I didn't think that dad coming here, telling you what's what, and invalidating whatever the hell you went through would be a good idea. I was trying to protect you, Sammy!”

Sam gave a cruel smirk. “Yeah well don't. I don't need your protection, I don't need your favors, and I sure as shit don't need your sympathy.”

Dean grunted when Same walked away, purposely ramming his shoulder into Dean as he went. Dean turned around.

“Sammy? Sammy, c'mon, man, don't be like this.”

Without turning around, Sam gave Dean the middle finger. Dean watched Sam until he turned the corner around a pile of discarded tires and disappeared. Dean ran both hands through his hair and swore under his breath.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 22

Notes:

I don't know why it took me so long to write this chapter. Been struggling with it for days. But hey, here it is, finally! Enjoy.

The following few weeks were brutal. Dean found himself with nagging headaches more often than not. He knew it was the stress from his life suddenly being upended and flipped on its head.

He tried to balance his normal life with his new hunting life. That meant working his normal shifts at the car repair shop down the block from his apartment while keeping up pretenses nothing had changed. Nights looked like going home, shoving food in his face while reading any and all lore he could find.

Sam chose to stay with Bobby. That meant Dean hit the road “weekends” to meet up with them in Sioux Falls. (Dean's weekends; the shop gave him Sunday-Mondays off.) It was proving to be a taxing schedule, but Dean didn't complain about it. Furthermore, the few times Bobby suggested Dean find a more permanently sustainable schedule, Dean vehemently shut down the entire conversation. There was no denying he was exhausted and ragged from running around and having physical training on his weekends, but he needed to prove he had what it takes to be a hunter.

Mentally Dean wasn't doing much better; Sam was very standoffish the first week after their altercation where Sam accused him of being controlling. The second week was only slightly better, with Sam attempting to act normal. Tension was undeniably still there, and it nagged at Dean to no end. Even so, the third week in Dean decided to play copasetic too.

Then was the fact his father was playing some sort of weird whack-a-mole game. He'd reach out sometimes then go for spans of dropping off the face of the earth. Any time Dean even brought up Bobby, John suddenly had some excuse to end the conversation prematurely and immediately. John would stress he didn't have a problem with Bobby, and that they were still good friends, but there were some “willy nilly, tin hat, insane ideas” that Bobby held that he wanted no part of. So, Dean found himself having superficial, half-hearted discussions with his dad on the days he randomly decided to drop a line. Truthfully it quickly became tedious, and Dean was reluctant to find himself wishing the man would just stop calling altogether.

So, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone that Dean was actually looking forward to Christmas, least of all Dean. Yet somehow, when Sam walked in on Dean up on a ladder, stringing some red garland, he took pause.

“Dean.”

“Yeah Sammy.”

“What're you doing?”

“Doing the polka.” Dean rolled his eyes, and it was a rare instance where he actually looked down at Sam. “What's it look like I'm doing?”

Sam shifted his weight to one foot, looking up at Dean in utter disbelief. “It looks like you're decorating for Christmas.”

“Bingo, Einstein. Now I know why you paid the big bucks for Stanford.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. Then, “But we don't celebrate Christmas.”

Dean, finished with the first decorations, clambered down the ladder. Reaching into a plastic bag hanging off the ladder, he pulled out some items and shoved them against Sam's chest. He smiled. “Yeah, well, maybe we should. Hang these up somewhere, will you?”

Sam looked down and his eyebrows shot up. “Stockings? Really?”

“Go. Shoo. Shoo!”

Sam sighed, but nevertheless did as he was told.

“Aw Hell,” Bobby announced his entrance then. “Who said you guys could decorate my house?”

Dean looked at him. “I did.”

Bobby peered at him with a frown. “Fine. I draw the line at a Christmas tree though.”

“Too late. It's in Baby's trunk.”

“Bullshit.”

“Go take a look. It's just one of those artificial ones.”

Sam's eyebrows were up again. “With ornaments and everything?”

Dean grinned. “Tree topper and all!”

Sam flat out laughed. “I didn't think you had a tree.”

“I didn't.”

“Wait wait wait,” Sam said in continued disbelief. “So you're telling me you, Dean Winchester, bought a Christmas tree and ornaments with his own money?”

Dean tossed his hands in the air. “Why the Hell not? If anything you should be proud of me; my money usually goes to booze and women. Consider this self-improvement!”

“I ain't decorating it,” Bobby declared before leaving the room again.

There was the sound of fluttering wings, and then, “Decorating what?”

Dean and Sam turned around. Dean smiled immediately. “Cas!”

The angel nodded. “Hello, Dean.”

“A Christmas tree,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

“Here. Want to help decorate?” Dean asked, holding out the plastic bag full of decorations to the angel.

Castiel slowly took the bag, looking unsure. “I have never done this before.”

Dean grinned at him. “Neither have I. We'll learn together.”

Castiel frowned. “Alright. So long it doesn't interfere with our training too much.”

“It shouldn't,” Dean replied.

An hour later and there was faux evergreen garland strung over most doorways, random decorations nailed to the wall (cheap little signs from the dollar store that said things like “Merry Christmas”, “Joy To The World”, and “Our House Believes”, which Dean found particularly amusing), and Sam had the fake tree assembled. The lights were already wound around it and both were hanging up ornaments.

“What's this?” Castiel asked, holding up one of the last decorations he had from the plastic bag.

Dean looked over as Sam fussed over the tree topper. He grinned and walked over, taking the plastic decoration from Castiel.

“Mistletoe!”

Castiel screwed up his nose. “That does not look like mistletoe. It appears to be fake holly.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay well, we call it mistletoe.”

“What is it used for?”

Sam smirked and glanced over but didn't speak.

“You hang it in a doorway and when two people walk under it they have to kiss.”

“Oh.” Castiel's brow creased. “That's odd.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, I didn't make the tradition.”

Castiel looked at Dean. “Why is that a tradition?”

Dean looked at Sam for some support, but only got a shrug back. “Don't know that, either. Look, just—hang the damn thing so we can get to training, yeah?”

Castiel held up the mistletoe and frowned. “Oh. Right.”

Giving a final smile, Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder and went back to hanging ornaments on the tree.

~

Three days later it was Christmas. Dean had talked Bobby into inviting Garth over, but the werewolf already had plans and politely declined. He had also convinced Bobby to invite John over. While that had taken considerably less arm-twisting to extend an invite, Dean also half-expected the idea to be shot down immediately. In fact, Dean had only suggested his father's presence out of a strange sense of obligation. So when Bobby agreed, Dean admittedly felt a little put out.

There was some silence at dinner wherein Castiel attempted to pick at his food. The first bite had made him gag loudly. Everyone looked at him in alarm.

“What's wrong?” Dean asked in a panic; he had cooked everything.

Sam looked confused. “It tastes fine to me.”

“This is great,” Bobby said, also looking confused.

“I'm sure it's me,” Castiel said quietly and somewhat miserably. “It's very overwhelming. There's so many molecules.”

Sam kicked him under the table and smiled at John, who immediately looked deeply perplexed. Castiel cleared his throat.

“Er, flavors. I am not used to so many savory flavors.” He looked seriously at Dean. “I'm sure it's wonderful.”

Looking somewhat miserable, Castiel (much less enthusiastically) took smaller nibbles, trying to keep his looks of disgust at a minimum.

“I didn't know you could cook,” John commented, taking a bite of tender pork roast.

Dean gave a half-shrug.

“This is good.”

Dean shot Sam a look of disbelief. At the unexpected praise, he sat up taller. “Thanks.”

John nodded.

“Better than good, this is amazing,” Bobby said.

Dean grinned. “Really? Thanks.”

There was another stretch of silence where the only noise came from silverware against plates. With his plate not totally cleared, John cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him; he wiped off his mouth and then put down the napkin. The older Winchester looked around at everyone.

“I've been giving it a lot of thought and—and I think I wanna know things.” He looked at each person individually. “Everything.”

Bobby looked uneasy. “What do you mean?”

John took a deep, shaking breath. “I've been in denial for a long time about what happened to Mary. I know what I saw with my own two eyes though.”

Everyone looked at each other nervously as John continued.

“If these things—if these types of things keep happening and keep plaguing my family, I wanna know why. I wanna know why so I can protect my family.”

Sam shifted in his seat, looking bewildered. “Dad—”

John held up his hand. “You might not agree with it, but you can't stop me. I'm doing this.”

No one spoke. So, John waved his hand in a circle. “So, c'mon. From the top. I wanna know everything.”

“Everything is a lot,” Bobby said quietly.

John gave him a smile. “Then tell me a lot.”

After an hour's worth of discussion, John knew Castiel was an angel, knew Bobby was a hunter, and Sam had been kidnapped by Azazel (in addition to who, and what, Azazel was).

“I need something stronger than beer,” John had declared after everything was said and done.

Bobby obliged. After another hour, the bottle of whiskey was gone and they had started a second. The discussions the rest of the night varied from light-hearted (Castiel explaining things like how he tasted molecules) to harrowing tales (mostly shared by Bobby, but with Sam and Dean filling in their father about what exactly had occurred in the forest on Halloween). After that, a third and final bottle was broken out.

By the end of the night everyone was very much inebriated. Bobby had declared John wasn't allowed to drive home. As such, Dean shuffled around, gathering up a blanket and pillow for John to crash on the couch. Sam was helping a barely-conscious, somewhat coherent Bobby to his bedroom while John had excused himself to the bathroom.

Which was why Dean found himself walking into the living room as Castiel was exiting it.

“‘Scuse me,” Dean said, moving to go around Cas. Instead the angel shuffled the same direction. Dean chuckled, adjusting the pillow and blanket under his arm. “Oh, sorry.”

The exact same thing happened, trying to move out of the way of each other at the same time.

Dean laughed. “Okay, don't move, I'll go—what're you doing?!”

Castiel blinked at Dean. He had, very obviously, tried to kiss Dean. Dean had jerked back and was looking wide-eyed and bewildered at Cas.

“What?” Castiel said. Then, not allowing Dean to speak, pointed up. “Mistletoe. Didn't you say—”

Dean sighed in relief and then chuckled. “Shit. You misunderstood me. Yeah people are supposed to kiss under it, but like, a guy and a girl. Two guys don't kiss.”

Castiel tilted his head. “What do you mean? Men kiss. I might not have been on earth for a very long time, but I know men kiss, as do women.”

Dean shook his head. “I mean yeah, guys can kiss, and yeah, girls can kiss, but in general they don't.”

“Oh. So you—”

“Kiss girls.”

“Exclusively.”

Dean glanced off to the side. “Yeah. Exclusively.”

“Oh. I apologize.”

Dean shrugged. “It was a misunderstanding. No biggie. It's a weird custom, anyway.”

“Right.”

Dean pushed his way past Cas. Castiel merely watched Dean lay out the blanket and toss down the pillow.

“I should—go.”

Dean looked at the angel and shrugged. “Sure, if you wanna.”

“Alright.” Somewhat awkwardly, he said, “Well, goodnight, Dean.”

“Night Cas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Dean smiled. “Merry Christmas buddy.”

With the fluttering of wings, Cas disappeared.

Notes:

To those who celebrate: Merry Christmas!

Also to those who celebrate: Happy first night of Hanukkah!

❤️💚❤️💚💙🤍💙🤍

Chapter 23

Notes:

Will edit later. Worked on this because my insomnia is acting up. I should try to go back to sleep so I sort of get a few hours, so I don't end up hating my life tomorrow at work. 🙃

📩

Dean clicked the icon signifying he had a new direct message.

Rod,

There's a woman pregnant in our town again. She just announced her pregnancy. I fear the same thing is going to happen. Please help us; I will provide you with my address if you're serious about sending help.

Sincerely,

DefSpottedLeopard

♒Serious as a heart attack. There will be some gentlemen sent to you who take care of these sorts of things. Please provide your address and we will give you an ETA.

~Rod

Dean hit send and then called out for Bobby and Sam.

“There's another one,” Dean said, moving out of the way so the other two could read the message. “It's go time.”

Bobby sighed heavily and took off his baseball cap for just a moment to run a hand through his hair. “You sure you're ready?”

“Valentine's Day is in two days. We've had plenty of training.”

Bobby scowled.

“You said so yourself that basic training in the Army is a ten week program,” Sam chimed in gently. “We're way past that. We're ready.”

Bobby gave a hearty sigh. “You're right. Fine. I'll go get our supplies ready while you wait for a reply.”

There was a chime. 📩 Dean opened it.

“Well, get the supplies anyway. She just responded.” He smiled at Bobby and his brother. “Looks like we're headed to Michigan.”

~

“Really?”

Dean and Sam stood in the doorway of the dingy motel room. The beds looked rickety, the carpet was threadbare, and the interior design was outdated by three whole decades. The smell of stale air was undercut with a mixture of old cigarette smoke, the AC/heater, and sex. Dean curled his upper lip while Sam looked decidedly unimpressed.

“Home sweet home,” Bobby said from behind them, earning him a double look of disdain from the pair.

“Well c'mon, go in,” Bobby barked. “I'm freezing my balls off out here.”

Dean looked disgusted. “I think I'm going to get a venereal disease just by walking into the room.”

Sam smirked. Bobby, on the other hand, unceremoniously shoved them in, walked into the room himself, and shut the door behind them.

“Bobby,” Sam said quietly, his brow scrunched up in disbelief. “You paid for our rooms using a bogus credit card; this place is a shit hole.”

“What were you expecting, caviar and the Hilton?”

“No,” Sam replied, “but I also wasn't expecting to get a bout of ringworm from the bed.”

“We have to keep a low profile,” Bobby said roughly. When the two younger men merely blinked at him, he said, “I've been doing this for years. I never got ringworm—or an STD—from a motel. Get over yourselves.”

They looked mildly scandalized. Bobby continued before either could reply. “We leave nine AM sharp, got it? And don't forget to wear layers.”

“Yeah, got it,” Dean said, but Bobby was already out the door to head to his own room.

Sam sighed and looked around. He grinned then, walking over to the TV perched on a dresser. “Oh my God, the TV still has dials. Do you even see a remote anywhere?”

Dean glanced around half-heartedly and shrugged. Then he chucked his bag down on the bed closest to the window and sat down. The bed squeaked loudly. He broke into a grin immediately.

“Hey Sammy.”

When Sam turned around, Dean began bouncing up and down rhythmically. He picked up the bouncing until the headboard started smacking the wall. With a shit eating grin, he raised his eyebrows.

“Eh? Eh?”

Sam, even though he broke into a smile, rolled his eyes. “Grow up.”

“Never,” Dean said, but even so, stopped his obnoxious and infantile behavior.

The next morning, the trio piled into Baby.

“I don't understand why we have to dress like this,” Dean said as soon as they were all situated and he began to drive out of the parking lot.

Bobby held up his fingers. “One, if something tries to grab you, they'll be more likely to grab a clutch of clothes instead of skin. Two, lots of pockets so you're not running around with a tech vest or utility belt. Three, in weather like this, it keeps you warm.”

Sam looked deeply displeased. “So you're saying we should dress like this even in the middle of the summer?”

Bobby shrugged. “I do.”

“Bobby,” Dean argued. “We're wearing shirts, flannels, and jackets. We'll boil to death if he get a job in the summer in Texas or something.”

“Hey—I can't count the amount of times I nearly had my arm ripped off but instead came away with a shredded sleeve and a scratch.” He paused. “I mean, granted they were big scratches that needed stitches, but at least I had an arm.”

Sam and Dean cast each other uneasy glances. The rest of the car ride was in silence.

Shortly thereafter, they arrived at their destination, a lovely Queen Anne style home. The trio stood on the porch; after a point, Sam and Dean looked at Bobby, who was standing in between the two. He swiveled his head and then shrugged both shoulders.

“Don't look at me. You wanted this so bad, you take point. I'm just gonna be your chaperone, unless of course you really start fucking it up.”

With an eyeroll, Dean took a step forward and rang the doorbell. Moments later, the decorative glass door opened and a young woman with shoulder-length naturally blonde hair and brown eyes stared up at them. She looked anxious and leaned against the door.

“Yes?”

Dean gave a polite smile. “Hi. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, and our friend Bobby.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Are you Pam?”

“I am.”

“Our friend Rod sent us,” Sam jumped in.

Immediately the woman looked relieved. Glancing around herself, she moved off to the side, wrapping her open cardigan around herself tightly. “Yes, please, please, come in.”

She led them to a quaint living room, the type that seeped with old money. The trio glanced around and found nothing out of place nor suspicious; an expected smattering of framed pictures were around the room, as well as a TV, coffee table, and chairs.

“Thank you so much for coming. I'm just so worried about Susie.”

“Susie?” Sam asked.

“Yes, my best friend.” The woman put her hand to her forehead briefly. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe some hot cocoa? I just made some; I find it comforting on cold winter days.”

While Sam and Bobby politely declined, Dean jumped at the chance of hot cocoa. As she walked away, talking over her shoulder, Bobby furtively smacked his shoulder. Dean glared and mouthed, ‘what?’. Bobby threw him an impatient look. Sam huffed and jerked his head towards the talking woman, signaling them both to settle down and listen.

“Susie was so afraid to tell me she's expecting,” Pam said as she busted about the kitchen. “With my own loss, she was afraid I'd take it badly. And while yes, I am a little bit jealous, I'm mainly just really worried about her and the baby.” A pause, and then, “Dean, was it? Would you like whipped cream?”

Dean grinned. “Yes please!”

Bobby rolled his eyes.

Pam re-entered the room and handed Dean a steaming mug with a mound of fluffy white goodness on top. He smiled and thanked her; she sat down across from them and took up her own mug from a small table next to the armchair. “I mean, I know everyone thinks I'm crazy. We're one of those small towns where everyone knows each other. Word gets around, you know?”

“Pam,” Sam said gently, “can you tell us a little more about what happened?” Sam glanced at Dean. “Rod gave us the preliminary details, but is there anything else that might be helpful or relevant? Anything at all?”

“No, not really.” Pam sipped her cocoa and leaned back, thinking. After a moment, she said, “Actually there is one thing, I think, maybe?”

“Oh?” Dean asked after taking a sip.

Pam looked at him and smiled in chagrin. “Um. You have—you got whipped cream on your nose.”

“Oh,” Dean said, blushing and quickly wiping it off.

Bobby gave a quiet sigh.

Pam said, “All of us had this happen when we were three months along.”

Sam glanced at Dean and Bobby, shifting uncomfortably. “Er, and how far along is your friend?”

The look of anxiety returned on Pam's face. “Three months.”

~

“Great,” Dean said a few minutes later as they all made their way back to the waiting Impala. “This has now become a time sensitive case.”

“They're always time sensitive,” Bobby replied. “That's the nature of the beast. The sooner we figure out what's going on, the sooner we stop it and stop the body count from going up.”

The three got into the car and Dean started her up. Sam twisted in his seat and looked at Bobby. “So what's the plan?”

“You tell me,” Bobby said innocently. “Remember? I'm just your chaperone?”

Sam turned back around. “Well, Pam was nice enough to give us Susie's address, and the attacks happen at night, so…”

“So we go back when it's night and wait for the aswang to show up, and then we gank it?” Dean said.

“Sounds good,” Sam replied.

“Hang on,” Bobby said, leaning forward. “Now, we know Pam's attack happened at night. But do we know when the other two happened? They all happened in their sleep, but, what if one of them were napping?”

“Shit,” Sam said, rubbing his forehead. “We should've asked that.”

“It's alright, you're learning,” Bobby said gently.

Dean twisted in his seat. “Should we go back and ask?”

“No; it'll make us seem incompetent. You always try to get as much info as possible up front; the less interaction with the victims the better.”

“Why?”

“Low profile, remember?”

“Did you think of the napping slant just now?” Sam asked.

“No. Thought of it before we even left my house.”

“Why didn't you say something?!” Dean snapped. “We just fumbled key information!”

“You still have your training wheels on,” Bobby said calmly. “It's alright. Not all hope is lost; I wouldn't purposely screw you over.” Bobby grinned then and leaned forward, both forearms on the back of their seats. “So; how good are you boys with acting?”

Dean and Sam looked at each other apprehensively, not knowing where Bobby was going with that question.

Chapter 24

Notes:

Yaaaay! Who said I'd never update this again? :p

“This seems—” Dean started to say before he was quickly cut off by Sam.

“Overly complicated? Risky? Stupid? Insane? Downright illegal?”

Dean paused. “I was going to say awesome but yeah, sure, those too.”

While Dean adjusted the sleeves of his button down shirt, Sammy huffed and looked at Bobby.

“I think it would be easier to just ask what time of day the other women were attacked than gaining illegal access to medical records. We could get in so much trouble.”

“If we're caught,” Bobby said to Sam with a mischievous smile.

“Okay seriously though,” Dean chimed in. “Going to the OB office seems convoluted.”

“In this specific instance, yeah, it is,” Bobby conceded. “But it's also important practice. Sometimes as a hunter you need to bend the rules a little, sometimes circumvent them altogether. So yeah, in this case it is a little extreme, but I'd rather you two knuckleheads get your feet wet in a doctor's office than in a county jail.”

As the trio began to walk towards the building, Dean spoke. “I feel like there's a joke there, about getting something else wet and besides just feet in an OB office but yeah, I got nothing.”

Sam gave a long sigh. Bobby didn't even dignify him with so much as an eye roll.

Dean shrugged and opened the door. “Fine. I'm just happy there's one office here so we won't have to go running around trying more than one place.”

“Hi,” the woman at the reception desk greeted them as they walked up. “How can I help you?”

“We're the IT crew,” Dean said with a charming smile.

The woman looked confused. “They sent three guys for a printer?”

“Er, no, not the printer issue,” Sam replied quickly.

“There's been an outage in the area,” Dean said.

The woman didn't look like she was buying it. She glanced down and hit a key on her keyboard and gave a shrug. “My computer is fine…”

“Well according to this work order it's not,” Bobby said, pulling out a fake work order they had typed up quickly at the local library beforehand. He handed it over to the woman, who looked at it. As she did, Bobby (who was dressed differently, wearing well-worn overalls and a Carhart jacket and boots while Dean and Sam wore business casual attire) said, “I'll go try to find where the break is. I didn't see any locates out there so this might take awhile; I gotta find and trace the internet line.”

Dean smiled. “No problem.”

Without another word, Bobby left the building. The woman still looked skeptical. “I'm telling you, our internet is fine—”

“This will only take a minute, ma'am.”

She frowned a little bit and bit her lip. Then with a shrug, she said, "Allright .”

Dean and Sam came around the desk. Sam sat down; the woman hovered, arms crossed. Sam began to half-heartedly make it look like he was doing something, opening up the prompt window and poking around systems. He kept glancing at Dean. Finally Dean cleared his throat a few times, and then coughed.

“I'm sorry,” Dean said, “I have a little tickle in my throat. Is there water?”

“Yeah. It's right down the–”

Dean coughed again and then cut her off. “This is my trainee. We're taking him out on some routine, easy jobs, you know, to get his feet wet. Point is I have to make sure he's doing everything correctly. Would you mind…?”

Looking slightly annoyed, the woman agreed and excused herself.

Dean smiled at her as she hurried away. “Thanks.”

As soon as she turned the corner, Sam switched over from what he was doing to the office database. In the time it took to get what they came for the woman had come back with water. Dean grinned at her.

“Thanks.”

Sam leaned back and looked confused, looking up at Dean. “I don't get it. She's right—everything is fine.”

“What?” Dean said, leaning over Sam's shoulder. He clicked the mouse a few times and typed some stuff nowhere with the desktop pulled up so nothing would happen. He then stood to his full height. “Huh. Weird. Let me see that work order again?”

The woman handed it back to Dean. He read it over and frowned.

“Aw shoot. We read the address wrong—this is for the next suite in the building.” Dean smiled as Sam quickly got to his feet. They both smiled.

“I'm really sorry for the mix up,” Sam said and the pair walked out from behind the desk.

“Thanks for the water,” Dean said, finishing off the paper cup and tossing it on his way out.

They met Bobby outside.

“Well?” the elder man asked.

“According to the records both woman miscarried overnight.”

“Alright. Well, we'll stake out Susie's houses overnight then. Let's go.”

~

Dean was peering through a pair of binoculars with night vision. When nothing happened, just like the past two hours, he grunted in annoyance and brought his hands down. “Are we even sure this monster is going to walk up to the front door?”

“No,” Bobby said.

“Great,” Dean said with a disgruntled eyeroll. “Should one of us wait in back? Maybe it'll go around the back so it's not seen—”

“Dean,” Sam said urgently, frantically tapping Dean's shoulder from the back seat.

Dean glanced at Sammy, who pointed at the roof. Dean quickly lifted the binoculars back to his face; he was shocked when he saw a woman with long hair skittering across the shingles effortlessly on all fours like a demented humanoid spider. She dropped down onto the second story balcony, looked around briefly, and then started to mess with the window.

“Shit,” Dean said, trying to do too much at once and doing little more than fumbling with the door and dropping the binoculars. “She's there. Let's go.”

“Let's go around back,” Bobby said as all three scrambled out of the car, pulling out their respective weapons. “Hurry.”

The trio darted across the sidewalk and front lawn, hurrying to the back yard, Sammy only slipping once on some ice. Once they ran up the porch, Sam quickly crouched down, ready to pick the lock. Bobby yanked him back though.

“No time for that.”

Bobby gave the door three swift kicks and the door broke open. Sam and Dean didn't even allow themselves to be shocked or annoyed at the rukus Bobby had caused; instead they focused on the task at hand. Mini-flashlights now out, they walked into the dark house, machetes at the ready. They barely got to the middle of the kitchen when there was a female scream from the second floor.

No one hesitated. They broke into a run. Above their heads was what sounded like a bad scuffle, two people fighting. When they were on the winding stairs leading to the second floor, there was another scream—this one was male, and it was followed by a grunt and a loud thump.

The trio burst into the bedroom of where the noises were emitting from. In an unconscious heap was a man crumpled on the floor in front of a dresser. Huddled in a corner was presumably Susie, wide-eyed and terrified in a nightgown. Stalking towards her was a woman. Everyone watched in horror as the menacing woman transformed before their eyes; with a sickening squealch, the monster split itself in two; sinews broke away from its torso as the head sprouted huge, bat-like wings. The aswang flapped its wings, once, twice, and it lifted in the air, its lower half falling useless to the ground.

Susie shrieked in horror.

The noise pulled Dean and Sam out of their shock; Dean leapt forward first, swiftly beheading the terrifying creature. Sam, meanwhile, took his machete and began hacking at the lower half. After a few whacks he stopped.

Susie gawked up at Dean. In a strange, disconnected sort of way, he imagined what he must look like; covered in blood sprays, wielding a machete. He quickly tossed the machete off to the side and rushed forward, helping the pregnant woman to her feet.

“Hey, are you alright?” Dean asked gently.

The woman burst into tears. “W-what was that?”

“C'mon, sit down. Try to relax.”

“Relax? Relax?! You just beheaded a monster!”

Dean winced at the choice of his words, sitting on the bed with her and not letting go of her hands. “You're pregnant, right?”

Looking confused as to how this stranger knew that, she nodded.

Dean gave what he hoped was a calming smile. “That's all I meant. Just—I know this is a lot, but stress can't be good for the baby, right?”

She bit her lip and nodded, putting one hand on her stomach. Just then her husband moaned from the ground. Susie looked stunned, clearly having temporarily forgotten the fallen man. She jumped up and rushed over to him.

“Jules?!”

Bobby went to him and knelt, checking him over. Meanwhile Dean smiled up at Sam. “Sammy, get the lady a glass of water, would you?”

“On it.”

As Susie kissed her husband's face all over, his eyes fluttering, Bobby assured them everything was going to be fine.

~

“I'm proud of you both, you know.”

The body was in pieces; the head would ride in a cooler in the front seat, the top half of the body in the back seat, and its lower half in the trunk, all wrapped in sheets taken from the house. Sam shut the trunk while Bobby situated the cooler in front.

“You boys barely hesitated. Most people are rattled on their first hunt. I—”

Dean had opened up the driver's door to the Impala. He then leaned heavily against it, doubled-over, and threw up. Sam paused from getting in the car, looking concerned.

Bobby sighed a little. “Spoke too soon.”

“You alright?” Sam asked, brow wrinkled.

“I just beheaded something!” Dean snapped. “Of course—” he wiped at his mouth in disgust. “Of course I'm not alright!”

Sam shrugged. “Well yeah, but it was a bad guy.”

“Still, that was—” Dean couldn't even finish, gagging.

“Gross?” Bobby offered.

Dean nodded and pointed at him, still doubled-over.

Bobby now gave a proper sigh. “Look, if it's too much—”

“No.”

Bobby looked surprised. “No?”

Dean stood up and threw a fierce look at Sam and Bobby. His voice hardened with conviction. “No. We saved three lives tonight. Not one, not two, but three. I thought what we were doing was important, but I didn't realize just how important until just now.” Dean paused and gave a final, definitive look at Bobby. “I'm good.”

Dean got in the car and shut his door. Sam shrugged and got in. Bobby paused before he followed suite, smiling to himself and looking proud. “‘Atta boy.”

When Bobby got in Dean started the car, driving off into the night.

Chapter 25

“Man, why couldn't we have landed a job in the Caribbean?” Dean nearly whined.

They were in Illinois and it was early March. March in Illinois wasn't much better than the winter months. Mother Nature never wanted to release her icy talons from the area, and the thaw was painfully slow, Illinoisians always antsy for the looming Spring.

As such, the grass was still frosty. On their way to their destination, they drove past piles of leftover snow, all of which were disgustingly black with muck by that point. Outside of Baby's windows was a landscape that looked deceptively warm. Now, outside of the car's warmth, Dean flipped up the collar of his jacket.

“I rarely hunt outside of the continental US,” Bobby replied.

Dean looked at him like he was crazy. “Why?”

“Low profile, remember?”

“So?”

“So?”

“You have a plethora of fake ID’s, credit cards, bank accounts,” Dean said. “Doubt anyone would notice you jetsetting all over the globe.”

“Right, because people don't hold down steady jobs, and if I keep flying out of the same airport no one would notice that one trip I'm John Doe and the next I'm John Deacon.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“So what have we got?” Sam jumped in.

Bobby pulled out a bit of newspaper folded up from his pocket. “There's been three disappearances from this town in the past five months.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up. “Three? And we are where again; Bumfuck, Illinois?”

“Exactly,” Bobby replied. “Small town like this can't afford to have three people go missing. Or at least not have something like that happen and go unnoticed.”

“Okay,” Sam slowly, “and leads?”

“That would be one Miss Heather Harper,” Bobby replied. “She knows all three of the missing men.”

“Okay,” Dean said with a shrug, “So she's some kind of, I don't know, black widow serial killer. Doesn't really seem like our type of beat.”

Bobby shook his head as they climbed up the cement stairs to the front door. “Something don't seem right. Call it my spider-sense, but I get the feeling there's more here than meets the eye.”

Sam and Dean looked at one another and shrugged. There wasn't enough room for all of them on the small, rusty railing porch, so Dean and Sam hung back on the first step while Bobby rang the doorbell. It didn't take long before the door opened with a woman standing there. She looked frazzled, her eyes red rimmed.

“Yes?”

“Hi,” Bobby greeted. “Is Heather here?”

The woman burst into angry tears and immediately started shouting. “She's already down at the station. Leave me alone!”

The door was slammed in their face.

Bobby stood for a moment, dumbfounded. Both Dean and Sam snapped their heads back, surprised. Finally Bobby turned around, blinking profusely.

“Wow,” Dean said.

“Wonder what that was about,” Sam said.

Bobby wiggled past the pair and descended the stairs. “D'no. Let's go to the station and find out.”

After a quick change into suits, they headed to the sleepy downtown area. Before they exited the car, Bobby handed them both wallets that flipped open easily. They both looked, stunned to find fake badges with fake FBI I.D.’s with their faces on them.

“Woah!” Sam said.

Dean broke out into a grin. “Awesome!”

“Let me do the talking here,” Bobby told them strictly. “I don't want you buffoons pretending to be FBI until I'm sure you can handle it. That'll take a while so just follow my lead and Don't. Say. Anything. Got it?”

“Got it,” Sam said.

Dean made like he zipped his lips and threw away the key.

Moments later they were in the police station.

“Hi,” the woman behind the desk wearing a blue police uniform said with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“I'm special agent Jim Kepler, and these are special agents Dan Stewart and Frank Brown.”

Bobby flipped open his wallet, with Sam and Dean quickly following suit.

The woman behind the desk eyebrow's raised, obviously in surprise.

“You have in your custody a woman by the name of Heather Harper, correct?”

“Yes.”

Bobby smiled. “Excellent. We need access to her, please. We just have a few questions.”

The officer looked a little apprehensive. “We didn't get prior notification…”

“Sorry, this was a little bit of a rushed procedure,” Bobby continued. “You see, she's a person of interest in an ongoing investigation that crosses multiple state lines.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It's my understanding she's being held in connection to the three disappearances, correct?”

“Actually, no.”

Sam and Dean glanced at Bobby.

“No?” Bobby said.

“No.” The woman glanced around and smirked, then spoke in a low voice. “I mean, not officially, anyway.”

“We think she might be part of a larger picture,” Bobby pressed, sounding like he was straining to keep annoyance out of his voice. “A network of disappearances and more nefarious things. We just need to ask her some questions.”

The woman paused and looked skeptical. “Could I see your I.D.’s again?”

“Of course,” Bobby said, fishing into his pocket to get it out. Sam and Dean hurriedly got theirs out as well, and all three laid them out on the desk.

As the woman picked them up, looking them over one by one, Dean began to sweat. He didn't know what she was looking for. He didn't know how good the I.D.’s were, or if this police officer even knew what she was looking for to spot a fake. Dean glanced furtively at Sam; his expression was stonewalling. Dean knew while he exuded indifference, it was actually his poker face. Bobby on the other hand seemed cool as a cucumber, legitimately unbothered by the scrutiny.

Finally she started handing them back. “Sure, she's in holding area one. First door on your left.” She then called over her shoulder loudly. “Yo Greg! Room one has visitors—let ‘em in!”

“Okay,” another voice called back.

“Thanks,” Bobby said, and the trio moved further into the building.

Down a small hallway stood another officer in the same light blue shirt and dark blue pants uniform. He smiled at them and unlocked the door.

“Thanks, we'll take it from here. You're dismissed.”

The officer paused. “I can't leave my post—”

“They're FBI, Greg!” the woman at the desk called. “If they want privacy, give ‘em privacy.”

Greg held up his hands, popped the door open for them, smiled, and walked away.

Dean, Bobby, and Sam shuffled into the plain room and closed the door behind them. The set up was simple; a small square table with three chairs, one of which was already occupied by a frazzled-looking woman with brown hair and brown eyes. Upon their arrival her eyes grew large and she sat up straight. When she put her hands on the table, they were cuffed.

“Are you lawyers?” she asked hopefully.

Bobby sat in a chair; Dean gestured for Sam to take the other, while Dean himself leaned against a wall and crossed his arms.

“No,” Sam said when Bobby didn't.

The woman slammed her hands on the table. “I want a lawyer! I know my rights!”

“Why do you need a lawyer if you haven't done anything?” Dean asked.

Bobby twisted in his seat and quickly threw him a glare.

“Because,” she snarled, “you’re holding me here for a stupid parking ticket, and we all know what I'm actually here for has nothing to do with a damn parking ticket! So either officially charge me with something and get me a lawyer, or let me go!”

Bobby paused and then spoke sympathetically. “How long have you been here for?”

“Three hours!” She paused and then wrinkled her nose. “Wait—who are you, anyway, if you're not lawyers?”

“I'm special agent Jim Kepler. This is special agent Frank Brown, and the gentleman over there is Dan Stewart.”

The fiery attitude disappeared, and she looked scared suddenly. “Special agent…?”

“FBI,” Dean said with a smile.

Heather paled. “FBI?” She leaned back in her seat, looking bewildered. “What does the FBI want with me?”

“We just want to ask you about the disappearances,” Bobby said gently.

She brought her hands up so she could rub her forehead. When she put them back in her lap, she was crying softly. She tisked bitterly and glared off to the side.

“I knew it. Why should I tell you anything when the police wouldn't take me seriously in the first place.”

Bobby paused. “What do you mean?”

“The stalking!” She looked at them. When they didn't respond, she leaned forward. “Certainly they told you about the stalking?”

“Please relay it to us, in your own words,” Bobby said.

Heather sighed and wiped off her face. “Five months ago this guy started following me around.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up. “Guy?”

Bobby glared again.

“Yeah. Never seen him in my life. He doesn't live here.”

The trio remained silent, letting her have the floor entirely.

“I never was able to give a good description because whenever I'd notice him, he was always far away—you know, across the street, or outside the window of whatever store I was in, stuff like that. Whenever I'd try to get closer, he'd take off. He always wore different clothes, too, and he never got into a car.”

Bobby spoke. “And you contacted the police?”

“Of course I did,” she snapped at Bobby like he was dumb. “They said with so little to go on, and with no other witnesses besides me, they couldn't do anything. Not even when he started showing up at my house.”

“It escalated?” Bobby asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes.” Heather's voice hardened with the next words. “They claimed they didn't have a squad car to spare to keep an eye on my property. There's only five thousand people who live here. They just are too lazy to help! And then Zach—”

She let out a strangled sob. When she closed her eyes, tears dripped out.

“Zach?” Sam dared to ask.

Heather opened her eyes. “My brother. My twin brother, specifically.”

Bobby and Sam glanced at one another.

“And, in your own words,” Bobby said gently, “the two other men who went missing. What relationship do you have with them?”

Heather took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking. “Well Sal is my best friend. I've known him since we were little. And Mike, he—” She paused, her lip quivering. “Mike, he—”

Bobby leaned forward and gave her a tissue from the box on the table, looking sympathetic. She worried it in her fingers instead of actually using it. Taking another breath, she looked around the room at the three men.

“Mike's my fiancé.” Heather burst into fresh tears. “You have to believe me, I would never do anything to them! These are all some of the most important people in my life, I would never do anything to hurt any of them!”

Everyone frowned at her, looking sympathetic. She brought the tissue to her nose and blew it loudly. Once done, she looked at them all with huge, imploring eyes.

“Everyone here thinks I'm some sort of man-hating monster, but I'm not!”

“Why do they think that?” Sam asked softly without thinking.

Heather tisked angrily once more and flung herself back into her chair. “Because the only people who have disappeared have been men? After Zach went missing, my little sister had a bit of a breakdown; dad was never in our lives and mom died last year. I moved in with her recently to keep an eye on her. So everyone is like, ‘OH, well, Alice is fine, and your coworkers are all fine, and every other female that's close to you is fine’.”

“Alice, your sister?” Dean clarified.

Heather looked at him. “Yeah.” She threw him a nasty look. “Gee, for the feds you seem pretty unprepared.”

Dean gave a wink, replying before Bobby could intervene. “I'm guessing your only exposure to the FBI is through Netflix or something. They make everything look simple on TV. And, like we keep saying, we just want to hear everything we already know, in your own words, unbiased.”

Heather seemed to chew on that reply. After a few moments she deflated again and leaned back. She rubbed her head and closed her eyes. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be difficult or rude. I'm just under a lot of stress. I'm usually a nice person.” She opened her eyes and looked tearful once more. Eyes wide, she looked at them imploringly. “I'm a victim here and everyone seems to forget that.”

Notes:

I make a Queen (the band) reference here—can you catch it? ;)

Chapter 26

Notes:

This is a long chapter. Whoops. Sorry for the length inconsistency.

Also, please note—the town named here is purely fiction. I was going to use an actual Illinois town but I somehow feel weird doing that??? Idk. Anyway yeah. Everything in this chapter is made up, obviously, lol.

Dean thought he might be getting a headache, so he chased his drink with two Advil. He knew it was stress.

Work was no longer buying the extended family emergency bit. They threatened to cut his hours if he didn't start showing up regularly again. Then, of course, there was Sam.

Sam seemed fine. Dean had given up long ago trying to get him to talk about what happened while he went missing. He still refused to explain why he showed up, covered in blood, or even say whose blood it was. The last time Dean had tried to get Sammy to open up, it ended with a shouting match and Sam proclaiming he “had everything handled and it wouldn't be an issue”. He evidently had only said that in the heat of the moment, because afterwards he refused to say literally even a word more to Dean the rest of the day.

So, Dean had done what Dean did best—he started to overthink things. His mind flew to some pretty dark and demented scenarios revolving around what had happened to Sam. Some of the thoughts involved Sam being the victim. Other conclusions made him think Sam had done something awful. Truthfully Dean never knew which ill-begotten fantasy was worse, ones where Sam was tortured or ones where he had murdered someone.

The entire situation was made even worse by the fact that Sam and Dean were sharing one-room motels now. That meant Dean was privy to knowing how Sam was having nightmares almost nightly. And they didn't seem to be your average, run-of-the-mill ones, either. They seemed some type of night terrors, with lots of whimpering, and flailing, and sometimes tears.

It wasn't really a surprise to Dean that every time he asked Sam about it, the man claimed to never remember what he dreamed about. It was infuriating, and just made Dean's imagination of what Sammy had gone through even worse. So, with everything going on (and now a case on top of job woes and freaking out over whatever Sammy wasn't telling him), Dean resorted to the second thing Dean did best—drinking until he blocked all his worries out.

Suffice to say, Dean was doing a lot of drinking these days.

“Hey jerk.”

Dean leaned forward at the voice, peeking around the corner. Sam walked into the motel room, all smiles. He held up a heavy-looking white plastic bag.

“Lunch is on.”

Dean grinned and shut his laptop, rubbing his hands together. “Thanks, bitch.”

When the first thing Dean opened was a salad, he gave a murderous look at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, took the container for himself, reached into the bag again, and produced a much smaller box. Dean quickly opened it and grinned when a burger greeted his eyes.

“Ah, now that's what I'm talking about!”

“Here,” Sam said, reaching in and then holding out an even smaller box.

Confused, Dean took it. When he opened it his head snapped up and he smiled ear-to-ear.

“They had it, so I couldn't not get it for you.”

“Sammy!” Dean said, his voice deep and he laughed. “My good man!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam held out a plastic fork. Dean snatched it and immediately began to shovel pie into his face. Sam gave him a bemused, albeit disgusted, look.

“Didn't mom always say dessert was after dinner?”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said around his full mouth, gesturing with this fork down at the pie, “this ain't dinner—”

Suddenly Sam gasped and winced, and he brought his hand to his temple. A second later he screamed. Dean immediately put the food down on the table.

“Sam?”

Sam screamed again, this time clutching his head with both hands. Dean watched, helpless, as Sam collapsed to his knees and the doubled over, groaning and still clutching his head.

“Sammy?!”

Dean rushed around the table and grabbed Sam's shoulders as the man continued to moan. Dean shook him.

“Sam. Sam. Sammy!”

Sam screamed a final time and collapsed fully onto the floor. Dean clutched at him.

“Sam! What's wrong?!”

Sam jolted and his eyes opened. He made this horrible wheezing sound like he wasn't getting enough air. He gasped, and gasped, eyes wide, breathing quick like he had just sprinted a marathon.

“Sammy?”

“I'm okay,” Sam managed to get out shakily.

“Sam—”

“Dean, I'm okay,” he repeated.

Dean's brow furrowed as a small line of blood trickled out of Sam's right nostril. “If you're okay then I don't want to know what qualifies as bad.”

Sam, still panting, gave his brother a confused look. Dean gestured to his own nose, and Sam, still looking baffled, touched his own. His hand jerked at the unexpected wetness, and when he touched it again and looked, his eyes bulged at the sight.

Dean helped Sam sit up. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Sam continued to stare at the blood on his fingers. “No.”

“Then let me call Bobby—”

“No,” Sam said somewhat panicked. He forced a smile, his eyes fluttering. “I'm—I'm fine, it's nothing—”

“Let me have Cas help you—”

“No!” Sam shouted.

Dean blinked.

“N-no,” Sam said at a normal volume. “No Castiel. Look, I'm—I'm fine, really.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but knew it was going to be futile. As such, he stared at his brother a moment longer. Maybe if he stared long enough he could bend his stubborn brother's will, like some Jedi mind trick. However, as the seconds clicked by, Dean understood with disappointment that Sam wasn't going to embrace help.

“You sure?” Dean asked a final time.

Sam smiled. “Yeah.”

Dean stood up and held out his hand to Sam. Sam took the offer, and Dean hoisted him to his feet.

“Dean, I'm fine,” Sam said when Dean didn't let go of his forearm. “Promise. Maybe I'm starting to get migraines too.”

“A migraine never dropped me to my knees and made my nose bleed,” Dean grumbled.

Sam sighed and his breathing was finally back to normal. “Look, if it happens again, I'll go to the doctor.”

“Promise?”

Sam smiled. “Promise.”

Dean didn't return the smile. Instead he turned, dumped the rest of his pie in the trash, and started in on his burger.

The pair finished their lunch in silence.

~

“So get this. Heather runs a non-profit out of her house. She only has a handful of employees, and they're all female.”

“Okay,” Dean said to Sam, putting down a steaming mug of coffee in front of his brother before taking a seat across from him. “Well, that explains the comment about how none of her coworkers are disappearing.”

“Maybe we should talk to her sister? Alice, was it?”

“Maybe.” Dean tapped his fingers on the table. “I'm still not convinced this has anything to do with the supernatural.”

“Well what about Heather's stalker? That could be something.”

“She said there's no other witnesses. No one's ever seen the guy besides her.”

Bobby got to his feet. “Instead of spinning our wheels here, let's go track down one of her coworkers.”

~

The trio sat in a small house on the edge of town. A woman named Amanda had just given them all some tea and coffee.

“I've known Heather for years,” Amanda said with a smile. “When my husband and I moved in, I got a flat on the way into town. Heather pulled up and helped me get my spare tire on. We've been friends ever since.”

Sam smiled. “How would you describe Heather?”

“Sweet,” Amanda replied. “Funny. Caring. She's always finding strays, feeding them, taking them in.”

“Your non-for profit?” Bobby asked.

“Well, yes, that's how it started. She was tired of people poisoning stray cats and finding their dead bodies everywhere, so she opened up the shelter. It got so popular though she's been working towards expanding the business.”

“Meaning?” Dean asked.

“The old abandoned theater downtown. She's looking for a way to purchase it, fix it up, and create a homeless shelter.”

The trio glanced at each other. Sam spoke. “Does she do a lot of work with the homeless?”

“Oh yes. She's a regular volunteer with the food pantry, which is run by the church. She's not a member, but she volunteers every Thursday and Saturday.”

~

A little while later, the three were walking out of Amanda's home. Dean was shaking his head. “I don't get it, Bobby. The more we find out the more I'm just not seeing the supernatural slant.”

“I gotta admit I'm starting to agree with Dean,” Sam said as they all climbed into Baby. “I mean, okay, so, we know Heather takes in strays. What if it's not just animal strays?”

“You mean like, what if she befriended a homeless guy and he's stalking her?”

Sam shrugged. “I d'no. Maybe.”

“But wouldn't she recognize the guy? I mean, if that were true, she'd probably see the guy at the food pantry, right? So if she saw him standing across the street, she'd recognize him, right?”

Bobby spoke up. “I think it's time we pay Alice a visit.”

~

“I'm sorry for the other day,” Alice said as she led the trio into the living room. “I didn't mean to freak out on you when I opened the door. Just, my sister was dragged away in handcuffs and she said she would call me. I didn't hear from her for nearly four hours.”

“It's alright, it's understandable,” Bobby said gently.

Alice nodded and everyone sat down.

“So, what can you tell us about your sister?” Sam asked.

“She's the sweetest person ever. She wouldn't hurt a fly! There's no way she's had anything to do with our brother's disappearance, much less Sal’s. And why on Earth would she do something to her own fiancé?!” Alice sighed in frustration. “I just can't believe they're seriously holding her as a person of interest. It's absurd.”

“Do you know why anyone would want to harm the men who disappeared?” Dean asked.

“No,” Alice said immediately. She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Sal’s the head mechanic in town—he knows everyone. He's the type to give you the shirt off his back. And our brother, well, he's so much like Heather, he wouldn't—” she swallowed thickly, tears gathering in her eyes. “—he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“And her fiancé?”

“Great guy. I was looking forward to officially calling him my brother-in-law—” Alice burst into tears.

Sam paused before speaking gently. “Alice, I'm sorry. I know this is hard.”

Alice nodded.

“Did your sister ever mention being followed before?” Dean asked.

Alice looked at him, surprised. “Well, yes. You know about that?”

Bobby nodded.

“No one here has taken it seriously. For a while it was all Heather would talk about. And then the creep started showing up here—”

“He did?”

“Yeah.” Alice wrapped her arms around herself. “Heather moved in with me to—to help out. After our mom died last year. I uh, took it pretty badly.”

“Did you ever see the guy?” Sam asked kindly, gently nudging her away from her breakdown she clearly didn't want to talk about. He also didn't want to let on that they knew her mental struggles; it didn't seem relevant to the case.

“No.” She sounded frustrated. “Every time she'd say she saw him by the time I made it to her, he was gone.”

“Conveniently,” Dean said with a smile.

Alice gave him a sharp look. “Heather wouldn't make it up. She's not that type of person.”

Sam looked hesitant, and then said, “Could I ask you something?”, but as he said it he was looking at Bobby.

“Sure,” Alice replied.

Bobby gave Sam a look of warning, but gave the tiniest nod. Sam shifted his eyes to Alice. With his brow wrinkled, he spoke carefully.

“How…did your mother die?”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “In a hospital. After a long battle with cancer.” Alice got to her feet. “A lot of people have said a lot of shitty things, but I think you implying my sister had anything to do with our mother's death—”

Dean sighed quietly and rubbed his head, closing his eyes. Bobby puckered his lips but, also, didn't look surprised at the tirade and situation unraveling.

Sam looked bewildered and regretful. “Alice, I'm so sorry, we have to explore every angle, you have to understand—”

“I don't have to understand anything,” Alice snapped. “Now I think you should go. Please. And don't come back.”

~

“Idjit,” Bobby grumbled at Sam as they made their way back to Baby.

“It was a valid angle!” Sam said.

“Yeah, but we could've gotten that information elsewhere.” Bobby sighed heavily. “You do see why that line of questioning got us thrown out, right?”

“Yes,” Sam replied despondently. “And I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Bobby said. “You are still learning. I had a feeling you were gonna ask something insensitive, but sometimes you gotta stumble. I'm gonna let you learn how to do this and sometimes it's the hard way.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam repeated, looking downright miserable.

Bobby patted his shoulder and smiled. “It's okay, really.”

“I still don't get it Bobby,” Dean said after they settled into Baby. “What makes you think there's more to this?”

“Here,” Bobby said, fishing into his pocket. He produced a folded up newspaper clipping and handed it off to Dean. Sam leaned forward. “Read this out loud.”

Dean unfolded it and read. “Man goes missing in small Illinois town.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Michael Callahan, age twenty-six, of Alticello, was reported missing on the evening of March 7th by his fiancé, Ms. Heather Harper, after he failed to arrive for a planned date. On the same night, Mr. Jeremy Luxor of the 3700 block of West Virginia Ave., made a phone call to the authorities about a man being dragged across his property. By the time police arrived, the disturbance had passed. There is a pending investigation. Police have issued a statement that something heavy was in fact dragged across Mr. Luxor’s property, as made evident from a trail left through the snow. The trail ends at the lake which, despite the freezing temperatures, was searched extensively; nothing was found.

“This is the third such disappearance to hit this sleepy Illinois town since October. Zachariah Harper, age twenty-five, of the 300 Block of Mockingbird Lane, was reported missing on October 29th. Salvatore Vittori, age twenty-six, of the 2400th block of Sugarlane Ave., was reported missing on January 13th. Pending investigations into both those disappearances have turned up nothing.

“If you have any information—” Dean glanced at the rest of small article and put the paper down. “—blah blah blah call the police blah blah blah.”

“Okay…” Sam prompted, eyebrows raised. “So?”

“The lake,” Bobby stated.

“What about the lake?”

“A body wasn't found.”

“So?” Dean asked.

“There's a trail leading to the lake. There's nothing coming out of the lake.”

Dean paused, involuntarily shivering. He tried to push the creepy feelings aside and be logical. “Okay. So…creep drags Mike down to the lake with the intention of drowning him, changes his mind, and turns back around.”

Bobby shook his head. “There's one set of footprints going to the lake. The grass is all squished in the same direction; nothing was dragged back. And the footprints are a problem, too.”

“How so?”

“Well first of all they never turn around. Second of all, it's footprints. Not shoeprints—footprints.”

“Wait,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “You're trying to tell me someone dragged an alive, grown-ass man, through the snow, not even wearing shoes?”

Bobby smirked. “Weird, right?”

“What the Hell, Bobby?” Dean snapped. “Why didn't you lead with all that?”

Bobby shot him a look of audacity. “Because we got derailed right off the bat! And like I keep saying, I'm trying to teach you knuckleheads here. I was kinda hoping you'd pick up on the lake lead, but it doesn't seem like we're going to. So now I'm pointing you in that direction.”

“Great,” Dean said angrily, starting Baby and backing up. “We just wasted time, and now Mike is probably dead.”

“I doubt he was alive to begin with.”

Dean looked at him seriously.

“This is about stopping another disappearance. Sometimes you can't save everyone.”

Dean looked back at the road and frowned.

Chapter 27

Summary:

Wherein the main plot finally starts to show itself.

“Mr. Luxor?”

“Yes?”

“I'm special agent Jim Kepler, and these are special agents Dan Stewart and Frank Brown.”

A middle-aged African American man with peppered hair stood in the doorway. He smiled at them, but looked nervous. “How can I help you?”

“We were just wondering if you could let us know what happened on the 7th.”

“Sure, of course. Please, come in."

" Thank you," Bobby said.

"No problem at all. It's a cold one today!"

"It sure is," Dean said with a polite smile.

Once they were situated, Mr. Luxor continued. "I had just finished up dinner when I heard a commotion.” He shrugged. “It happens from time to time, being so close to the woods. Anyway, I didn't think much of it, that is, until I heard some guy screaming his head off. When I looked up out my back door, well, I saw it.”

“It?” Dean asked.

Jeremy Luxor rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, er, them.”

“Them?” Sam asked.

Jeremy shifted on his feet. “Yeah. There was this—this guy. I mean, of course it was a guy. And he was dragging this other guy who was screaming and kicking. I was so shocked it took me a second for my brain to catch up with what I was seeing. By the time I snapped out of it, I ran into the house to grab my shotgun. By the time I made it out the back door, it was gone.”

“It?” Dean asked again.

Mr. Luxor rubbed at his neck again. “Him. Them. Whatever.”

“Mr. Luxor—” Bobby said.

“Please, it's Jeremy.”

Bobby smiled. “Jeremy. I've been doing this long enough where I can tell whatever you saw really shook you up, bad. No doubt a man being violently dragged across your back yard was shocking, but...that wasn't it, was it?”

Jeremy didn't say anything, his lips pursing into a thin pale line.

Dean and Sam glanced between the pair.

“Jeremy,” Bobby promoted, still kindly, but there was an authoritative edge to it now.

“Look, the cops didn't believe me, and you're FBI? Unless you're part of The X-Files, you're not gonna believe me, either.”

“What made you grab your shotgun instead of calling the police first?” Bobby asked soothingly.

Jeremy shook his head. “I'm not telling you, you're not going to believe me.”

“What if I told you we were X-Files?” Dean jumped in. Everyone looked at him, surprised. Dean simply smiled at Jeremy. “Fine, we're not, but we have seen a lot of unexplainable things out there.”

“A lot,” Sam added.

“It's our field of speciality. Point is, nothing you tell us is going to make us not believe you.”

“Please,” Bobby said. “Three people are missing. Just tell us, no matter how crazy it sounds.”

Jeremy gave Bobby the side eye. “You ever—you ever seen the old movie Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

“Yeah,” Bobby answered for all of them.

“That,” Jeremy said with a shudder. “That's what I saw. Only, only it was wearing clothes.” Jeremy looked desperately at them. “You gotta belive me.”

“Did they make it to the lake?” Sam asked.

Jeremy looked a little defeated and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Once I believed my own eyes, I ran for my gun. It's right by the front door, so it didn't even take me a minute to get it. By the time I made it out, I stopped. I stopped because the thing just…disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Bobby asked.

“I mean, not like, disappear disappeared. It tossed the guy into the lake and then dove in after. But the thing that doesn't make sense is, this time of year, that lake is completely frozen over.”

The hunters all looked at each other. Dean raised his eyebrows. “You sure?”

The man looked annoyed and waved his hands. “I knew you wouldn't believe me—”

“We didn't say that,” Sam said quickly. “I'm just trying to understand how someone gets tossed into a lake that's frozen over.”

“I don't know,” Jeremy said exasperatedly. “That's what I've been trying to wrap my mind around!”

“How deep is the lake?” Bobby asked. “If the lake is frozen over, how'd they search it?”

“It's not too deep,” Jeremy said. “I mean, it's plenty deep, someone could drown in it if they didn't know how to swim, but it's clean enough where you can see the bottom. They just dusted off the top layer of the snow and looked. They'd be able to see something, or someone, trapped in the ice. There's nothing.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Not even a damn break in the ice.”

The three hunters exchanged uneasy looks.

Sam slid his hands into his pockets, gesturing his body towards the back of the house. “Er, mind if we…?”

“No, go ahead, be my guest. It's still roped off from when the police looked.”

Jeremy didn't follow them around back to “the lake”. Everyone knew what and where “the lake” was, because it was the only one in town. While it wasn't a huge lake it was sizeable, with a pier. From eyeballing it, it's circumference was probably a little over a mile. The entire towns back end, where they were now, was butted up against a nature preserve, it's treeline a few hundred yards from the lake itself.

It was bitterly cold, the air dry and puffing out of their mouths in great plumes. Red tape sectioned off a large area, stretching all the way from the side of the house down to the lake. Making sure to not disturb anything, the three hunters slowly walked the line. They made observations as they went, noticing everything Bobby said was true. Something large had clearly been dragged along, and the footprints that did the dragging were abnormally large. When they were down by the frozen water, Dean couldn't help himself and giggled a bit.

“You, Sammy. Put your foot in this footprint. I think we actually have a contender here for—”

Sam shouted out and grabbed the side of his head, dropping to his knees immediately. Before Bobby and Dean could even rush over he was on the ground, clutching his head, curled up in the fetal position and writhing. Bobby and Dean were shouting his name, arguing about calling an ambulance, but Sam couldn't hear them.

He couldn't hear them because he was having a vision, just like last time.

Dean was shooting a gun, running across the snow. It was night. There was a scuffle, but Sam didn't know if it was Dean, or him, or maybe even Bobby. Perspective shifted, and suddenly Sam was watching Dean running across the frozen lake. Time skipped, seemed to jolt forward unnaturally three times, before Dean was out in the middle of the lake, his gun still drawn. Then suddenly, he failed, and disappeared beneath the ice. Sam screamed and outstretched his hand for Dean—

The vision abruptly ended. Sam blinked, eyes adjusting back to the daylight. Bobby and Dean looked at him.

“Dean!” Sam said, lunging forward and grabbing Dean. “The lake! Don't—don't go by the lake!”

“Woah woah woah, Sammy, it's okay, we're feet away from the lake.”

Sam clutched at Dean's jacket. “No, you don't understand, I saw you—I saw you fall in the lake—”

Sam and Bobby looked at one another deeply concerned.

“Whatdoyamean, you saw him fall into the lake?” Bobby asked. “Dean's right here and he's been here this entire time.”

“No,” Sam said desperately, “that's not—that's not what I meant. It was—it was dark, and the moon was out, and—”

“Sammy, slow down,” Dean said with a chuckle of disbelief.

Sam continued to cling desperately to his jacket. “Shut up, Dean! You don't understand, there was this—this scuffle, and you were chasing someone, and—”

“Like a vision?” Bobby asked.

Bobby sounded scared, and Sam abruptly stopped talking. He froze, simply staring at Bobby, eyes wide.

“Sammy,” Dean said in worry. “Your nose is bloody again.”

Sam wiped his nose and his hand once again came away bloody. He looked very scared now, and he looked fearfully at Bobby.

“What do you mean again?” Bobby asked Dean roughly.

Dean looked sheepish and didn't reply.

“I said, Dean, what do you mean again?”

Dean still didn't answer, glancing at Sam.

“This has happened before?” Bobby snapped. “When?”

Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw several times before answering. His nostrils flared and he spoke through pursed lips. “Yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Why didn't you say anything?!”

“Because—because it's not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?!” Bobby snapped. “You were just hit with a vision like a two-by-four and your nose is bleeding!”

“That's what I said yesterday!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. Dean crossed his arms then and when he spoke sounded mily offended. “Although he didn't mention anything about a vision.”

“That's because there wasn't one yesterday!” Sam argued desperately. “Or I mean, there was, but it didn't make any sense, just a jumble of images—”

“Alright, I've heard enough,” Bobby said, getting to his feet and yanking on Sam's arm. “C'mon, lets go.”

Sam frowned. “But the case—”

“Fuck the case! Case closed!”

Both Dean and Sam frowned at him.

“For now, anyway,” Bobby amended. “C'mon.”

Looking miserable, Sam allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet and led back to the Impala.

~

Dean was pacing back and forth in their motel room, arms crossed, looking worried. Meanwhile, Bobby was hunched-over, looking at Sam's pupils with a pen light.

“I feel like he should be looked over by a professional,” Dean said in a low voice, glaring at nothing in particular when he stalked past the pair.

Bobby looked over his shoulder. “I am a professional.”

“Medic,” Dean snipped testily. “Trained medical professionals!”

Bobby snorted. “What, you think I haven't patched up Rufus in the field after a hunt went wrong?”

Dean was temporarily so shocked he stopped pacing. He uncrossed his arms, mouth dropping open. “Rufus is a hunter too?”

Bobby looked over his shoulder again and snorted. “Why else would I hang around him so much?”

Dean opened and closed his mouth several times. Then he blushed. Then he wrung his hands, squeaking. “No reason.”

Bobby looked impatient and confused. “What, Dean?”

Dean blushed more.

Bobby narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, genuinely baffled.

“I mean—” Dean faltered. “It's just—I thought—you see—well, after Karen died—”

Bobby stared for just a second longer before it clicked. Bobby rolled his eyes and glared. “The hell is wrong with you, Dean? No!”

“Well, I d'no!” Dean said, face so red it looked like he needed a washcloth to cool off. “I mean, whenever he came around you guy always fought and bickered like a married couple—”

“Oh,” Sam said, blinking, catching up as to what was happening. “Oh. Wait, Dean, you thought after all these years that Bobby and Rufus—”

“Can we just move on?!” Dean snapped as Sam cracked up.

“Your gaydar is way off,” Bobby mumbled, turning back to Sam.

Sam looked stunned for a second and then burst into fresh laughter. Dean's mouth opened and closed several times before he screwed up his face. “Bobby, where in the hell did you hear the term ‘gaydar—’?”

Sam howled in laughter.

“What?” Bobby snapped. “I might be old but that doesn't mean I walk around with earplugs. I get around. I know about whatever hip new things the kids are saying these days.”

Now Dean cracked up. “I find that impossible, seeing as you just said, ‘hip new things’.”

“No one says ‘hip’, Bobby,” Sam laughed.

Bobby all but growled. “Point is, I got into hunting because of Karen. She was killed. By a demon.”

Dean and Sam immediately stopped laughing. Dean's lips parted and he was the first to speak.

“Shit, Bobby, I'm sorry.”

“We had no idea,” Sam said sympathetically.

“‘Course you didn't. I wasn't about to tell you boys that demons were real. I mean, I wanted to, but…”

“I'm sorry,” Dean repeated.

“She was a great woman, what I can remember of her. We were pretty little.”

Dean snorted and crossed his arms. “Speak forward yourself, sasquatch.” He smiled at Bobby. “And by that I mean, he's right. I remember her very well, and she was really wonderful.”

For a second Bobby looked emotional. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Sam. “So long long have you been having visions, boy?”

“Since yesterday,” Sam answered immediately.

Bobby looked at him like he didn't believe him.

“What?” Sam challenged stubbornly.

“Could it be something he ate?” Dean asked.

Bobby turned sharply to him. “No, numbnuts, it's not something he ate.”

“Well I don't know how these things work!”

“Well I'm telling you, that ain't how it works.” Bobby looked back at Sam and frowned. “What could work though is some sort of curse.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Curse?”

“Makes sense. Maybe we're too close to figuring it all out and someone cursed you.” Bobby sighed heavily. “Sam, I hate to do this, but I'm gonna have to sideline you for the rest of the hunt.”

Sam's eyes widened. “What? Bobby—”

Bobby held up a hand. “Now Sam, don't try to argue with me—”

Sam was starting to look panicked at the prospect of being put on the proverbial bench. “But Bobby—”

“It's for your own good—”

“Bobby—”

“I'd just feels safer for everyone involved if you just stay put until we figure this out—”

“It has nothing to do with the case!” Sam finally exclaimed.

Dean looked at him sharply.

“You don't know that,” Bobby said gently, not seeing the look Dean gave Sam.

“I do.”

“Not for a fact.”

“Actually I do!” Sam snapped, nostrils flared.

For a beat the air filled with wretched uncomfortable silence. Dean took a step forward. “How would you know that for a fact?”

Sam whipped his head away for a second and then looked back at Dean, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Because I do, alright?”

“How?” Bobby asked, now sounding suspicious and guarded.

“Because of what happened to me!” Sam shouted.

“What happened to you?” Bobby asked, not understanding.

“What happened to you?” Dean asked in a different tone, as a question of wanting knowledge, unlike Bobby's confusion over wording.

Sam took one look at him and Dean's mouth went dry. Dean nearly crumpled at the look. He never wanted Sammy to look at him like that.

“Sammy,” Dean said, his voice shaking, on the brink of cracking. He swallowed thickly. “What?”

Sam looked away. “I…W-when I was kidnapped. By Azazel.”

Dean saw red immediately. “What did that son of a bitch do to you?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “Nothing. But that's the entire problem.”

Dean's heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

Sam took a deep breath and his eyes darted to Bobby, and he gave Bobby the same look he had cast Dean that crushed him moments ago. He kicked his lips nervously and brought his hazel eyes back to Dean.

“He said—he tried to convince me that I was—special.”

“Special?” Bobby asked.

Sam looked at him evenly. “Important.”

Bobby and Dean didn't say anything. So, Sam got to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the beds nervously. Every so often he glanced at his brother and pseudo-father.

“I didn't understand a lot of it. I didn't understand most of it. But he said—he told me that he wanted me to lead an army.”

“What?” Dean breathed out, all the air in his lungs rushing out.

Sam didn't stop pacing. “He had all these people there, children—”

“Children?” Dean asked, disturbed.

“Yeah. He said they were to be my army.”

“What in the hell would you do with a child army?” Bobby asked.

“I d'no but—but he kept telling me that I was like—like a rose bush, and I just had to be pruned and shaped.”

Dean spoke. “I don't understand—”

“I don't either!” Sam said, stopping his pacing finally and looking desperately at them. “That's the point, I don't get what he meant. He was feeding them blood—”

“Blood?” Dean asked, sounding horrified.

Sam ignored him. “But he said that he didn't have to do that with me because I wouldn't need it because—because—” Sam started to hyperventilate. “And then he—he touched my forehead and I saw all these—these things. All these horrible, vile things—”

“Sammy, sit down,” Dean said, gently touching his brother's arm.

Sam sat on the bed, his gaze far away. “I saw destruction and—and fire, and—and lightning and—and I think I saw Lucifer—”

Bobby looked stricken. “Lucifer?”

Sam started to cry. “I got out of there. That's why I was covered in blood. They tried to keep me, but I didn't want to stay, so I killed them. I killed them all.”

A shudder rammed into Dean's body and he was too stunned to say anything.

“Who?” Bobby pressed. “Who did you kill?”

Sam looked at him, his eyes two big pools of bottomless hopelessness. “Demons. I killed all the demons.”

Sam couldn't say anything more after that because he broke down into quiet sobs, cradling his head in his hands.

Chapter 28

Dean quietly shut the door behind himself. When he turned around, Bobby and Castiel stood there. He looked at them and gave a curt nod.

“He's asleep.”

The trio walked to the next door over, Bobby's room.

“Thank you for contacting me,” Castiel said as they got settled in Bobby's room. “Bobby filled me in while you calmed Sam down.”

Dean scrubbed at his face.

“How does someone kill a bunch of demons?” Bobby asked in disbelief.

“I don't know,” Castiel replied, his voice sounding even more deep to Dean. “He couldn't. Unless—”

Castiel didn't say anything.

“Unless?” Dean prompted.

“He practices witchcraft.” He squinted and tilted his head. “Your brother isn't a witch, is he?”

“What? No.”

Castiel frowned. “Mmm. Didn't think so. Even if he were, I'd be shocked. He would have to be an extremely powerful witch to kill multiple demons, much less even a single demon.”

“So he's lying,” Dean said flatly.

Castiel looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “I didn't say that.”

“Well how else could he have done it?” Bobby asked, shrugging both his shoulders.

Castiel frowned deeply and he cast his gaze down, eyes darting back and forth as he thought. “I do not know.”

Dean sighed heavily and ran both hands through his hair.

Castiel looked at him. “Your brother has never shown any sort of precognition up until now?”

“Precognition?” Dean balked. “He saw me fall into a frozen-over lake.” He gestured at himself up and down. “Clearly that didn't happen.”

“Bobby told me Sam said it happened at night. It's night now.”

Dean gestured at himself again, eyebrows raised. “Yeah. Here. Hi. Hello? I'm dry? ‘Sides,” Dean said, moving to the window and moving aside the shade before he pointed at the sky. “He said there was a moon. No moon.”

“He also said he saw Lucifer,” Bobby said. He squirmed a bit in his seat. “Lucifer's not—”

“What?” Cas asked. “Here?”

Bobby nodded.

“No. He has been imprisoned in a cage for millenia.”

Bobby let out a long sigh of relief.

“However, if Sam is having visions now, it is worrisome that the only two he's had involved Lucifer and Dean falling into his certain death.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence I'd be fine, Cas.”

He tilted his head slightly. “The odds of human survival after taking a plunge into a frozen body of water are—”

Dean cut him off. “Is there anything we can do?”

Castiel slammed his mouth shut, looking slightly offended at being cut off. Then he said, “Without me being allowed to lay hands on him, no. There is nothing.”

“Well that ain't happening,” Dean said, getting to his feet.

Castiel frowned. “Why not?”

“He explicitly made me promise that I wasn't going to let you do anything to him while he slept.”

Castiel blinked. “I don't understand, I've healed him before—”

“I d'no man, but I'm telling you, he's gonna be pissed if he wakes up tomorrow and finds out you ‘laid hands on him’.” Dean made a face at the expression.

“That's absurd.”

Dean had gone over to the fridge and grabbed himself a beer. He popped it open, leaning against the wall. “It is, but I'm always all about consent.”

A silence fell over the group. For a few minutes Dean drank his beer and picked at the label. Bobby was clearly lost in thought, and Cas…Well, Cas was just Cas, looking almost as though he was on standby and waiting for directions.

“Wanna go for a walk Cas?” Dean blurted out. “I could use some fresh air.”

“It's very cold out, Dean.”

“Yeah and I'll be fine.”

Castiel hesitated and looked at Bobby.

“Fine with me,” Bobby said with a snort. “You're the freaking angel, you do what you want.”

Dean grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. Castiel, ever wearing his trench coat, made no further preparations. As such the pair struck out into the cold night.

Dean's breath puffed out, as did Castiel's. It was in fact bitterly cold out, and from the corner of his eyes Dean watched the angel at his side. Castiel seemed largely unaffected by the temperature that was well below freezing. Curiosity getting the best of him, Dean looked at Cas.

“How do you work?”

Castiel looked at him, obviously confused. Dean gestured at Cas, up and down.

“Are you cold?”

Castiel paused. “My vessel is cold, yes, but I am unaffected.”

“How?”

“When an angel, or demon, enters a human and takes them on as a vessel, the person becomes more robust. Essentially, my celestial essence is making Jimmy Novak heartier.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“I suppose.” When Dean didn't reply, Castiel continued. “Was there something you wanted, Dean?”

“I was just wondering your opinions about Sammy.”

“You already have those.”

Dean shook his head. “No, you have facts. You had some questions. Besides you thinking he might be a witch, you haven't said much.”

“I don't have enough information currently to make any sort of educated guess as to the situation and what it pertains.”

Dean gave a sigh. “That makes two of us.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, stopping and gently touching Dean's elbow to get him to stop, too. “Is there a purpose to all this?”

“All what?”

“You asking me to come with you on a walk, away from Bobby and away from your brother.”

“Well, Sammy's sleeping.”

“I know that,” Castiel replied, sounding like he was trying to remain patient. “It's my understanding that usually when humans want one-on-one conversations, it's because they are more private in nature.”

Dean blinked. “Oh.” He paused, thinking. “Well in this case, no, not really. I just enjoy your company.”

A mixture of emotions exploded on Castiel's face—surprise, confusion; guarded happiness. “You do?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. It's not every day I get to hang out with an angel.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked away.

Dean was slightly concerned at the abrupt change in tone. “Oh?”

“I'm…fascinating to you.”

Dean's eyes widened slightly. “Yeah but that's not it.”

Castiel looked slightly hopeful. “It's not?”

“No, man. I enjoy your company. You're…unique.”

“I am?”

“You're…quirky.”

Castiel squinted a little. “Quirky. Is that a good thing?”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I'd say so.”

The corner of Castiel's mouth lifted up into a smile. “Well, that's good.”

Dean let out a frustrated half-sigh, half-growl, and continued walking. “Thanks for coming with me. There's something Sam's not telling us, and it's killing me, man.”

“Oh?”

“He's…scared.”

Castiel tilted his head. “He is? I mean, given the circumstances I feel like he has every right to be—”

“He's scared of me.”

Castiel stopped walking again, and so did Dean, facing him. “Of you?”

“He gave me a look when we were talking,” Dean said quietly, sadly. “When he first started talking about what happened when Azazel kidnapped him. He was scared—of me.”

Dean wiped off his mouth and turned away, back to Castiel as he continued to speak.

“I've never seen him look at me like that. It went beyond being scared of what I was going to say. It went beyond being scared of my reaction, my judgment. It was like…” Dean looked at the sky, willing his eyes to remain dry. “It was like I suddenly wasn't his brother anymore, and he looked like he was afraid I was gonna hurt him. Like whatever had happened was gonna make me wanna hurt him. “ Dean turned back to Castiel. “I'd never hurt Sam. I have no idea what was going through his head to make him look scared of me like that. “

Castiel was frowning.

“He also gave the same look to Bobby. Bobby might be a little rough around the edges, but once again, Bobby would never actually hurt Sam.”

Dean turned away again and started to shiver, and it wasn't just from the cold. For a few moments the angel didn't say anything. When he spoke it was slowly and deliberately.

“I have been watching over you and Sam for long enough to be confident in the fact that, when he is able, he will open up to you and you will get through this.”

Dean looked at Cas. “I d'no, man. He looked like he did when that Wendigo got him. He looked like he was afraid I was gonna kill him.”

“The bond you share with your brother is unique. I understand your relationship has been tumultuous, but I know you are both devoted to each other's well-being. I saw what Sam's going to college did to you and how it shook your foundation, and I saw your perceived betrayal, but I know Sam knows deep down you will always be there for him.”

“I hope so.”

“You look very cold, Dean. Let's head back to the motel.”

“Sure,” Dean said because it was true; he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. As they walked he watched Cas from the corner of his eye again. “So, you never explained to me why my mom wanted you to watch us. How long have you been watching us?”

“Look, Dean.”

Castiel stopped walking, which prompted Dean to. For a moment they just stood and stared at each other in the cold. Finally Castiel turned his head and looked away, looking ashamed.

“There are things that I cannot tell you about. However, I am beginning to question my orders.”

Dean's lips parted and he was stunned. “Huh?”

“You are very important, Dean. Even had your mother not reached out to me, I was put in charge of your well-being should anything happen to you. But I'm starting to disagree with that and your role in everything.”

“You're starting to freak me out. What are you talking about?”

Castiel stepped closer, invading Dean's space. “There might come a time where certain things transpire, and you will be required to fulfill your Heavenly duties.” When Dean opened his mouth Castiel held up his hand, silencing him. “However, the longer I am by your side, the more I am starting to understand why I was not to interact with you. I…”

Castiel looked away.

“What?” Dean prompted.

Castiel looked guilty. “I feel bad that in the eyes of Heaven you are reduced to little more than a puppet, a plaything to be used should the time arise. It's not fair. You are more than just a tool.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “I mean, thanks for that, but your cryptic mumbo jumbo is still freaking me out here.”

Castiel shook his head. “The point I am making is, Mary Winchester, shortly before she gave birth to your brother, sent out a prayer. As you know, I was the one who answered. Dean, I—”

Castiel looked away.

“What?” Dean asked. When the angel didn't continue, Dean took a step forward, and they were now so close they were almost touching. “Cas—what?”

Castiel looked at him. “What I am about to explain to you, I fear it will tarnish your memories of your mother.”

Dean braced himself. “Just tell me.”

“Your mother made a deal with Azazel, and because of that deal, she begged me to look after her children.”

For a moment all of Dean's senses shut down. He felt numb, head to foot. He only snapped out of it when a cold wind nipped at his face. He blinked profusely.

“I'm sorry,” he said with a mirthless chuckle, “I coulda sworn you said my mom made a deal with Azazel.”

“I did.”

“No.”

“Dean—”

Dean stumbled away, holding out a finger. “No. No no no. My mom was a lot of things, but there's no way, no frigging way, she was the type to make deals with devils—”

“Your father was going to die.”

Dean slammed his mouth shut. Castiel shuffled forward.

“Your father was going to die, so she made a bargain to save his life. She didn't relay the details of said pact, but she told me that she regretted it. She told me, begged me, that if anything were to ever happen to her, that she needed to be sure her children would be cared for. She eluded to the fact that, whatever deal she made with Azazel revolved around Sam—”

“Sam?”

“Yes. It revolved around her unborn child, and that she was afraid for not only his safety, but yours.”

The numb feeling came back.

“She begged me to help, and she begged for repentance.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “And you gave it to her?”

Castiel splayed his hands. “What else could I do? You are important to Heaven. It was already my duty to protect and guide you. Then, your very own mother asks me to look after her unborn child and you? What could I have done, Dean?”

A thought occurred to Dean. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You keep saying you're not to interact with me. Heaven doesn't know you have been, do they?”

Castiel looked like he had been caught red-handed. “Not…exactly.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“They know that I have become invested in you and your brother. But I have not shared with anyone the ins and outs of why.”

“Has anyone asked?”

“Yes, but it also largely is none of their concern. I am of a high enough stature where there are few in Heaven whom I owe anything to, much less an explanation regarding what I do with my free time.”

The last two words got air quotes. Despite the gravity of the discussion, the gesture made Dean laugh. It was short lived though and Dean frowned.

“Dean,” Castiel said, touching Dean's arm. He spoke with sincere earnest. “Your mother was a good woman and she made her deal out of desperation. It was not a reflection of her core self.”

Dean shook his head. “Then why do I feel like she failed me?”

“One bad decision does not make someone inherently evil, just as one good day does not make someone inherently good.” Castiel squeezed his arm once. “Please Dean, I am telling you; at her core your mother was a good woman.”

The pair fell into silence, simply staring at one another. Finally the wind whipped again, bringing Dean out of his strange revery. He shivered.

“S-so, you think whatever happened with Sammy had to do with whatever deal my mom made with Azazel?”

“Undoubtedly.” Castiel turned away then. “Come, Dean. Your teeth are chattering now. It is much too cold out here for you.”

“It really is,” Dean said and rushed off after the angel.

Right before they got to the motel, Dean spoke.

“So…what should I do about Sammy? I feel like he deserves to know our mom dragged him into this.”

“Do what you will with the information I provided you. He might not believe you. Conversely, it might get him to open up about what actually occurred in the time he was held by Azazel.”

Dean frowned as he unlocked the door to his motel room. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get much sleep that night.

Chapter 29

Notes:

I will edit this later; sorry!

“I was talking to Cas last night, because he's said before that he was watching over us and I wanted to know why. When mom was pregnant with you, dad almost died so she made some sort of pact with Azazel to save dad and it somehow involves you, and I don't think Bobby knows that so you cannot tell Bobby, got it?”

Sam simply gawked up at his brother for a few moments, blinking. When he finally spoke it was in sheer disbelief. “What?!”

Dean rung his hands. “I know, I'm not usually the type of person to just lay it all out there, but this is really important, and it's kinda eating me up, and I've had like, twelve cups of coffee because I couldn't sleep and I'm freaking out, Sammy.”

“I…can see that.”

“Why are you not freaking out?”

“Because I just woke up! ARGH!” Sam dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots. Then he looked back up at Dean. “I literally just sat up and you spew all that at me?!”

“Sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry, I'm kinda panicking and really freaking out—”

“Dude! Smoke some pot or something, I cannot handle this right now.”

Dean snapped his head back, offended. “Excuse me, I literally only do that when I have a migraine, thank you very much.”

RBF.

“Sam.”

Still RBF.

“Sammy!”

Sam sighed heavily. Rubbing his right eye, he yawned. “Do you think dad knows?”

“What, that he almost died, or that mom made a pact with a devil?”

“Dean.”

Dean squirmed. “Okay sorry, I'll be serious.” He sat next to Sam. “I mean, dad seems genuinely oblivious to everything. I doubt he knows.”

Sam hesitated. “Should we tell him?”

Dean screwed up his face. “Why?”

“Because it's a big deal,” Sam exclaimed. “If Jessica had made a deal with a demon, I'd want to know!”

Dean frowned. Sam hadn't mentioned his once-girlfriend for months. Dean hadn't brought it up, wanting to give Sam the space he needed to heal. Hearing her name shocked Dean.

“Why?”

“Because it would change everything,” Sam said. “And I think dad has a right to know.”

Dean frowned deeply and crossed his arms. “I don't wanna tarnish mom's image for him, yaknow?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They fought like cats and dogs anyway. Hey, it might give him some closure knowing that maybe she wasn't a good person so it wasn't entirely on him for their marital problems.”

Dean was shaking his head. “Cas was adamant that mom was a good person, that she had made the deal out of desperation. She regretted what she had done, and had asked Cas to watch over us to make sure nothing bad happened.”

Sam frowned. Dean tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Also, since when the fuck do you give two shits about dad and his well-being?”

“Since I found out mom made a deal with Azazel. That's huge, Dean. I don't know if I can forgive mom for that.”

Dean was blown away. “What?”

“What?”

“You're so…forgiving! And it's mom. You always liked mom more than dad.”

Sam got to his feet angrily. “Well yeah, but dad never made a deal with Azazel!”

Dean blinked. “Are you okay?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “I'm fine.”

“You're not acting like you're fine.”

“What am I supposed to do, Dean?” Sam asked, exasperated, throwing his arms out to the side. “How am I supposed to act? I don't know because this is all so weird, and terrifying, and I'm somehow wrapped up in it all? This is new territory for me, Dean, so please excuse me if I'm not behaving like some caricature of what you think Sam Winchester should be acting in a situation like this!”

Dean held up his hands, eyebrows raised. “Sorry.”

Sam took several deep breaths. With a huff, he turned his head away and ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back, he spoke through clenched lips. “Sorry.”

Dean paused, making sure Sam wasn't going to say anything further. Then, with his hands still held up placatingly, he said, “What can I do for you?”

Sam deflated with that. Looking miserable, he rubbed his eye again. “Get me some coffee?”

“On it.”

After a couple of minutes, a fresh mini-pot of coffee had been brewed and Dean was handing off the steaming mug to Sam. Dean sat next to his brother on the bed. After a minute, Dean looked at Sam.

“What happened to you?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Dean—”

“Look, I get it. We're not really the type to hash out chick flick moments.”

Sam smirked and took a sip of the coffee.

“But,” Dean continued in a low voice. “I'm worried about you. And if you wanna tell me to fuck off, then fine—”

“I was tortured.”

Dean slammed his mouth shut.

Sam cupped the small coffee mug in his hands, staring at the brown liquid. “I mean, just a little bit.”

“Sammy,” Dean said emotionally, “torture is torture, there aren't really qualifiers—”

But Sam was shaking his head. “I mean, yeah it was bad but I get the feeling it coulda been worse, yaknow?”

Dean frowned.

“I was tortured because they wanted me to—to lead that army, like I said. They tried talking me into it at first, but after a point they moved onto… Other means.”

“How did you escape?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam closes his eyes. “I told you. I killed some demons and ran away.”

Dean turned his entire body to Sam. “Yeah, but how? Cas was saying it's not exactly easy to kill them, and you killed multiple demons?”

Sam tisked angrily. “What does Cas know?”

Dean blinked. “He's a frigging angel of the Lord—I'd imagine he knows a lot!”

Sam got to his feet then and looked down at his brother. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Dean stood up. “Sam—”

“I said I don't want to talk about it!”

“Will you ever?” Dean asked before he could even think to stop himself.

Sam looked away. When it became apparent the conversation was over, Dean patted Sam on the shoulder and forced a smile.

“Look. At the end of the day, I'm just happy to have my brother back.”

For some reason, that made the taller man frown. “Yeah. Right.”

When no further explanation for that reaction was given, Dean understood the conversation was over. Suppressing a sigh, he went about his day.

~

“So, what type of creature do you think Mr. Luxor saw?” Dean asked, later that day.

Bobby, Dean, and Sam all sat in Bobby's hotel room.

“I think, based on the description, some sort of mereman,” Sam said, flipping around his laptop for Dean to look at. “Every part of the world seems to have their own legends about evil creatures that live in bodies of water. Their motivations for what they do vary tale to tale, region to region. They also look slightly different, depending on where they live, so the term mermaid and mermen can actually encompass several different creatures.”

“Right,” Bobby said. He was leaning against the wall, letting Dean and Sam occupy the two chairs in the room. “What do you think is the motivation for this one?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean cleared his throat and spoke.

“Well…Everyone knew Heather.”

“Right, but I can't help but believe her that she is just as upset over the disappearances as everyone else,” Sam said, his brow wrinkled.

“Honestly, I'm with Sam on this one, and I'm usually a suspicious son of a bitch,” Bobby said.

“Alright,” Dean said, thinking. “Maybe…maybe these men wronged Heather in some way?”

“And what, Heather hired this fish on legs to get revenge?”

Dean shrugged.

“That doesn't sit right with me,” Bobby said.

“Could she be a mermaid?” Sam asked.

Bobby and Dean looked at him.

“Here me out. There's some legends where merfolk can transform into people. So maybe it's her brother or something, and like Dean said, maybe he's acting as a bodyguard?”

“What are the odds of not one, but two, merpeople, coming to live in a small town that's largely landlocked?” Bobby said.

Sam frowned and slumped in his seat.

“Unless they were ostracized from their mercommunity and had to flee?” Dean said. “They were, excoMERnicated, if you will.”

Sam groaned slightly. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Get it? Excommunicated? ExcoMERnic—”

“We get it,” Sam interrupted. “It just wasn't that funny.”

“Don't quit your day job, Dean,” Bobby said flatly.

Just then Bobby's cell phone rang. As he excused himself, Dean turned back to the computer and grumbled to himself.

“You both don't have a funny bone. That was comedic gold.”

Sam punched Dean. Dean hit him back. Sam punched him again. As Dean raised both his fist and his eyebrows, Bobby hung up and walked over.

“That was the police station.”

“And?” Sam asked.

“They didn't have enough evidence against Heather so they had to release her. They wanted us to know.”

Dean got to his feet and grabbed his jacket hanging off the back of his chair. “Let's go give her another visit.”

~

“How do you feel about The Little Mermaid?”

Heather blinked at Dean. “What?”

“What my idjit of a probation officer is trying to say,” Bobby jumped in, glaring venom at Dean, before looking kindly at Heather, “is, do you know Jeremy Luxor?”

“Yes. Of course I do. Just about everyone knows each other here.”

“So you know about the disturbance on his property the same night you reported your fiancé missing,” Sam said.

“Yes.” Heather looked up at Sam, eyes wide. “If you're saying Jeremy had anything to do with Mike—”

“Ms. Harper,” Bobby cut her off, “that's not what we're saying at all. We were just wondering if you talked to him about what happened that night.”

She shook her head. “No. Should I have?”

All three looked at one another, unsure how to answer that.

~

It was made evident that Heather had zero inklings as to the fact there was some sort of creature involved with the disappearances of her loved ones. Bobby decided they should go to the source; with Jeremy Luxor’s permission, the three searched the lake and its surrounding area for clues. After a cold day's work and nothing to show for it, they decided to call it a night.

Dinner had been eaten and they had just settled in for a movie when Bobby got a phone call. After he answered it, the call quickly took a turn for the worst.

“Hello? Yes this is officer—Heather? Wait. I can barely understand you. Wait. Slow down. Slow down sweetie.”

Sam tapped Dean's arm, and he quickly shut off the movie. They both looked at Bobby anxiously.

“Where are you? Okay, we are coming right now. Whatever you do, stay put.”

Dean and Sam jumped to their feet, hastily grabbing their jackets.

“Keep quiet and don't move, okay? You'll be okay. Leaving now.”

Bobby hung up, already partially out the door with his jacket half-on.

“What's going on?” Sam asked as the trio ran to Baby, Dean pulling the car keys from his pocket.

“The thing attacked Jeremy,” Bobby said. “It's still at the house; Heather is hiding under a bed. We gotta get to her—now.”

Minutes later they were on Jeremy Luxor’s property. The front door was wide open.

“Be careful,” Bobby told them as he swiftly handed them guns. Without another word the three sprinted across the property.

As he took point and entered the house, Dean tried to ignore the fact that not only was it full night out, but the moon was full and bright overhead. Shaking that thought from his head, he tried to just focus on the task at hand. Feeling woefully distracted, he couldn't help but wonder if Sam made the connection, too.

“Psst,” Bobby said as soon as he walked in behind the two Winchesters.

They looked at him, and he gestured towards the couch they were about to pass. Unfortunately, Jeremy Luxor was laid out, a pool of blood surrounding him, his eyes opened and glazed over. It wasn't immediately apparent what had killed him, just that there was a lot of blood. Swallowing thickly, Dean watched as Sam got down on one knee and felt for a pulse; he shook his head as though the unblinking eyes were just for show.

There was a shout and then sounds of a scuffle broke out. Moments later, Heather came tearing into view from around the corner. Sam was first to react, lurching forward to go after her. He didn't get far because suddenly the monster showed itself. Dean was so surprised he stopped, and Bobby ran into him from behind.

It looked human, even had clothes; in fact, if it weren't for the blueish-greenish skin and webbed appendages, someone probably wouldn't have been able to notice there was anything off about this person at first glance. It took one look at Sam and let out a weird gurgling screech, baring unusually sharp teeth. Shocking everyone, from the sides of its head fanned out two large fins; with the strange appendages extended, it really looked like the monster from Creature From The Black Lagoon.

The thing was fast. It grabbed Sam and whipped him around, throwing him against the wall so hard it cracked. As Sam crumpled on the ground, knocked silly, the creature hissed; this time it expelled a stream of liquid from its front teeth like a spitting snake. Dean reflexively ducked; it hit Bobby in the face. Bobby screamed and dropped his gun, wiping at his face. In the commotion, the thing turned around and bolted out the back door after Heather.

“Bobby!” Dean shouted as the man dropped to his knees.

“I'm fine for now. This shit just itches and it made my vision all blurry.”

“But your face is all red—”

“I'm fine, go.” When Dean didn't move, Bobby shoved him. “Go!”

With a displeased huff, Dean got to his feet and ran out the back door.

Even though Heather had a good head start, the monster was unnaturally fast. Dean fired a shot—and missed. He shot again. Another miss. Swearing, Dean launched himself off the back porch and took off sprinting. Dean had barely taken five paces before the thing overtook Heather. As it scurried, a weird sort of zig-zag, gallop-trot-run, it grabbed Heather around the waist. Dean pumped his legs faster when the thing didn't even stop; it just scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder, and kept going, even as she screamed and kicked and beat on it.

“Sonofabitch!”

Dean's thighs were burning at the exertion but he ignored it, focusing instead on Heather's screams. Wanting to save her overrode his aching lungs and legs that were threatening to cramp up. He knew he was too late but he refused to accept that.

The creature swung Heather off his shoulder, cradling her at its front. Simultaneously it leaped into the air; Dean watched, horrified, as it spun mid air, diving headfirst towards the frozen ice sheet. Dean didn't see an outcome where they didn't both get their necks broken.

“No!”

They vanished. Dean made it to the lake, skidding to a stop. He looked down, right where the creature and Heather should have hit the ice.

There was nothing. No crack, no break in the ice.

“What the fuck?”

Nothing.

“What the fuck?”

There was the distinct sound of Heather screaming beneath the ice, and a pounding. She was quickly being dragged away. Against his better judgement, Dean carefully toed the ice. It seemed solid enough; he put his whole weight on it and then didn't move, listening for cracking ice. When it never came, he put his second foot on the ice; when it still held, he made his way as fast as he could towards where it sounded like she was being dragged off to.

When he was in the middle of the lake, he came to a slippery stop. The muffled screaming and pounding was no more. He looked around frantically.

“Heather?” he shouted.

Silence.

“Heather?!”

Suddenly it was like there was never ice there at all, and Dean was submerged. Water that felt like hundreds of needles went into his nose, his ears, immediately freezing his ear canals and causing an unbearable pain he had never felt. Fighting off panic he opened his eyes and then shut them against the pain; he forced them open again, trying desperately not to completely panic because he knew that if he panicked he would die.

The ice had closed over him. He couldn't see where he had fallen through. He couldn't see a way out. The blurry moonlight was like waves of a mirage that filtered through his frantic pounding against the ice. It hurt, everything hurt.

With horrifying realization, a single thought shot across his mind:

I'm going to die.

Abruptly there was the sound of a huge crack, almost sounding like something being ripped apart. Unable to make sense of it, to Dean's immediately right there was a disturbance in the water; bubbles, moonlight, a coat. Then someone had him under both arms and was pulling him up, pulling him out of the large hole that was suddenly there. As soon as they broke the surface Dean gasped loudly; it hurt, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to exist, but he was alive.

As though he weighed nothing he was dragged out of the icy hole and placed on the safety of the ice. He was choking on the too cold air, coughing.

“Breathe, Dean,” Castiel said, his hand on Dean's back.

“Heather,” he sputtered, convulsively shivering. He could barely make out what he was saying, and he hoped Cas understood him. “She's still down there!”

Castiel hesitated. His trench coat was suddenly dry, and he pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead; miraculously, Dean was then dry, too. Cas hastily took off his coat and draped it around Dean.

“Wait here,” he commanded, and before Dean could protest Castiel turned to the hole he had created and slid back in.

“Cas?!” Dean screamed, getting on his hands and knees.

Bubbles, and then nothing.

“Cas?!”

Silence. Dean could feel tears stinging his eyes. “Cas?!”

“Dean!”

Dean lifted his head. Sam was coming towards him, unsteady on his feet. Dean looked away again, back at the ice.

“CAS?!”

There was an explosion and Dean flinched; frigid water and bits of ice rained down on him. A little farther away Castiel's head popped up, and with it came Heather's. She was crying and sputtering, but she was alive. Castiel lifted himself out of the death water with one arm, the other hoisting Heather out of the water.

“You're alright,” Dean could hear Castiel telling Heather as she sobbed and clung to him. “It's over. You're alive and safe now.”

Chapter 30

...so, it turns out The Victim had met the creature in its human form at the food pantry. It had fallen in love with her, and started systematically killing any males that were close to her.

Dean was typing. He paused a moment, thinking back on the previous night.

“Of all the stupid, reckless, asinine, idiotic things you could have done!” Castiel was ranting at him once they were all safely back within the motel.

“I wasn't just about to leave Heather!” Dean snapped.

Castiel rolled his eyes so much it became a full-body situation. “Oh my GOD, DEAN, you knew what was going to happen!”

“Yeah? And?”

Castiel looked somewhere skirting the line between undiluted disbelief and utterly furious. “How would you dying have been beneficial to anyone?!” He threw his hands in the air. “You can't save anyone if you're dead!”

Sam snorted, quickly covering it with a cough. It wasn't enough though, and he earned his own glare from the angel.

“So what was I supposed to do?” Dean balked. “Sammy was knocked unconscious, Bobby couldn't see—”

“You call for backup!”

“Which I did!”

“Not directly!”

“Like I said, you're not my damn pharmacy—”

Castiel's nostrils flared. “You don't want me to heal you because you have something to prove, or you have some sort of demented definition of masculinity, fine But if you're literally drowning let me be your lifesaver!”

“And you were!” Dean said exasperatedly.

“I am here to help!”

“I know!”

“So then let me help you! And preferably BEFORE you end up in a lake, half-frozen to death!”

Dean crossed his arms and looked away. Castiel puckered his lips and did likewise. The small room inflated with an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Bobby spoke.

“Alright, now that your lovers' quarrel is done, can we please get outta here? I'd like to put as much distance between us and this town as possible.”

Dean went back to typing.

The Victim explained how she had been dragged to a sort of underwater nest where, unfortunately, the corpses of the victims were being kept.

Dean thought again about the previous night, before everyone had parted ways. They had draped a sheet over Jeremy's body and retired to the bedroom to talk. While Castiel had dried Heather off just as he had Dean, she was still cold and shaken up. As such, both her and Dean sat on the bed, individual blankets wrapped around each of them.

“I came over because after talking to you, I called up Jeremy to see if we could talk. He invited me over for dinner. I agreed,” Heather explained. “We were just about to have some cocktails when the door was rammed in. I recognized the guy as one of the regular homeless guys I see every week at the shelter. I was confused and asked what he was doing here. He told me that he loved me, and he wanted to know why I didn't love him back. I was bewildered; yeah I was nice to him, but I'm nice to everyone. He seemed really upset, and I was worried what he was going to do, so I apologized for the misunderstanding. I was scared, I thought he was on PCP or something since he was scrawny but able to break down a door. He said, ‘Heather, I just don't understand why you keep the company of all these men’, and he looked at Jeremy.”

Heather started crying.

“I told him that Jeremy was just a friend, it wasn't like that, but he only got more agitated. I told him that we could talk about it but later, that I would be willing to meet him at a café or something to discuss everything. I was doing everything in my power to just diffuse the situation and get him to leave, but then he…” She made a disgusted, horrified expression. “Changed.”

Everyone looked at her sympathetically.

“When Jeremy went for his gun, the thing gutted Jeremy with its bare hands. I don't know if you saw but the—the fingers of that—that thing weren't just webbed, they were clawed. All it took was one swipe and Jeremy's entire front was just—just ribbons—”

Heather held her face in her hands, the rest of her story coming out muffled.

“I ran and hid in the bedroom and called you guys. I didn't call the police because they wouldn't have believed me. I heard him looking for me, knocking stuff over, throwing things. He kept saying my name, over and over…I heard you guys come in, and it sounded like he was down the hall, so I tried to run. But you saw what happened, agent—”

“It's Dean,” Dean cut in quickly, “just Dean.”

Heather peeked out at him. “You're not really FBI, are you?”

Dean shook his head. Heather continued.

“Well, he snatched me up and he was able to like…manipulate the water somehow. He made the ice just…disappear, and reappear. And I could breathe somehow, and I could hear him when he spoke as he dragged me away. I was fighting, and kicking, and screaming. He told me that he was going to make me one of his people, and we were going to be happy together.”

Heather moved her hands and began rubbing at her forehead. “At the bottom of the lake was this…nest thing. And I saw—and I saw—I saw—”

It took Heather a while to finally get out that the corpses of her brother, best friend, and fiancé were down at the bottom of the lake.

After Heather's harrowing story, they tried to decide what to do. Castiel had already killed the monster; they decided they would go back to dispose of the unnatural body. Afterwards, they thought it best if Heather reported what had happened to the actual police (minus the fact a monster had now killed four people) and let them take it from there. Bobby, Dean, and Castiel offered ways to convince police that the attacker had fled and to minimize further scrutiny into her being a suspect, gave their condolences, and wished her the best.

Afterwards they reconvened at the motel where Castiel ripped Dean a new one for being stupid. Then the trio gathered their things, Castiel bid his farewell, and the hunters piled into Baby and kept driving until there was a state between them and Heather. Checking into yet another motel, the trio got some much-needed shut eye. When Bobby and Sam offered to go get breakfast, Dean jumped at the offer, itching to update his blog.

The deaths are being reported to the authorities, obviously. Luckily everything turned out alright, I suppose? I mean, people died, that's never alright, but I'm fine, my brother is fine. Our third friend who helped us got spit on by the creature, some sort of itchy venom that made his eyesight go blurry. It wore off though.

Dean still didn't feel comfortable mentioning Cas, so the part where the substance went from itching to burning, and Bobby was blinded but then healed by the angel, stayed out of the blog. As he realized he was, once again, skirting around the mention of Cas, Dean understood he could just ask Castiel's permission. Yet…Dean realized he felt a strange, all consuming protectiveness over the angel. It was ridiculous, the guy could clearly take care of himself. But…Angel’s didn't interfere with humans. There had to be a reason for that, right? Dean decided he didn't want to blow Castiel's cover—nothing more, nothing less, irrational protectiveness be damned.

Also, Dean typed, I thought of the new name for this blog. Short, sweet, to the point.

Stay safe out there. And remember, King Trident is an asshole.

--Rod

Dean hit post, waiting for it to update. Once it did, he refreshed the page to make sure the name had changed; he smiled when Supernatural now read at the very top of the page.

Just then the door opened and Dean was hit with the smell of food. His stomach growled, reminding him how famished he was. Bobby and Sam were mid-conversation, Bobby speaking.

“—never meant for it to get out of hand, and I sure as shit never wanted you to get involved. I meant what I said about side-lining you.”

“Bobby, it's fine,” Sam insisted for what was probably the millionth time based on the tone of his voice. “I'm fine. We're all fine. Plus it's not like I don't know you didn't want me there. Everything happened so fast we didn't have time to talk about me staying behind. We all just jumped.”

“Food,” Dean said, holding out his arms and making ‘gimme gimme’ hands. Sam shot him a look, which made Dean drop his arms and pout.

“Yeah, well, maybe we should all be a little less jump-y,” Bobby grumbled, setting down the double-bagged meal that was bulging, clearly testing the bag's limits.

“I'm with Sammy,” Dean said, smacking Bobby's hand away so he could try to untie the takeout. Bobby raised his hand wordlessly like he was going to strike Dean, who flinched and quickly stuck out his tongue. He then went back to struggling with the bag handles. “Alls well that ends well.”

“He was knocked unconscious!”

“And you were blinded,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes at the knot. “So?”

Bobby sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Jeez, you guys buy the entire restaurant?” Dean asked, tugging.

“You're welcome,” Bobby said gruffly.

Sam, his mouth curled in a smile as he watched Dean struggle, said, “Yeah, we knew you'd be starving, so we made sure to get extra so we didn't have to hear you bitching.” He paused, sounding absolutely tickled. “Dean, just rip the bag already.”

“I was trying to be civilized, okay?!” Dean snapped dramatically. Even so he grabbed the side of the bag and easily just ripped it open.

“Since when?” Sam equipped, amusement thick in his voice.

“Shuddup, bitch” Dean said, pointing at him. “Keep it up and I'm eating your portion, too.”

Sam laughed. Once the food was passed out along with plastic utensils, and they were all situated at the tiny table (Bobby and Sam on the couch, Dean sitting cross-legged on the floor), Bobby continued the initial conversation.

“I've decided we're gonna dial it back a bit. Go back to basics, good ol’ salt n’ burns.”

“Salt and burns?” Sam asked.

Bobby nodded. “Ghosts. They're still dangerous for sure, but they tend to be easier to deal with. You find out who is haunting someone, dig up their bones, and burn them. Burning the bones releases the spirit, allows it to pass on.”

“Pass on—like, go to Heaven?” Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. “Usually. Now, the only tricky thing is sometimes the spirit isn't just tied to their bones, sometimes they are tethered by an object, something that meant something to them when they were alive.”

“So you'd have to burn that too?” Sam asked.

Bobby smiled at him. “Yup.”

“What's the ‘salt’ part of it?”

“Salt has a lot of natural purifying attributes,” Bobby explained. “Now, a lot of psychics and witches use crystals and stuff to help amplify their abilities—”

“I'm sorry,” Dean interrupted, “did you say psychics? Psychics are real?”

Bobby slapped the back of his head. “Yes; keep up, boy.”

“Call me now for your free tarot reading!” Sam said in a horrible accent before dissolving into laughter.

Dean sputtered and cracked up.

Bobby gave a heavy sigh and talked loudly over them. “They use crystals a lot as a focus point, and as a means to amplify their powers, but unless you know what you're doing, it ain't gonna do much. Salt, on the other hand, is not only universal, but requires zero effort to use. It's highly effective against ghosts; surround a person in a salt circle and the ghost can't get to them. It's an invisible barrier.”

Dean's eyes widened. “Woah, really?”

“Yup.”

“Awesome.”

Bobby gave a sharp nod. “If there's a spirit or ghost chasing you outside and you don't want them to come in, salt along the door and windows. Conversely, there were a couple of times where Rufus and I didn't want the thing to leave, so we trapped it by doing the same thing.”

“You trapped it with you?” Sam said, sounding surprised. “Did you have the bones to burn?”

“No, but at the time we were trying to do damage control and keep it away from its victim.”

“Weird,” Dean said.

“I don't remember the exact details, but it made sense at the time. You gotta think on your feet a lot and improvise.”

“Like with Heather.”

Bobby frowned at his food and grumbled, “Like with Heather.”

“So,” Sam said, “besides salt, how else can you protect yourself from ghosts? We covered a lot of different monsters the past few months but not much about ghosts.”

Bobby nodded. “Right, because we haven't come across any hauntings yet, and honestly it's so run-of-the-mill to me it slipped my mind. But, to answer your question, really the only other thing it iron.”

Sam paled immediately, his head shooting up. “Iron?”

Bobby gave him a brief questioning look. “Yeah…it's heavy so, unless I know I'm dealing with a ghost from the get-go I don't carry an iron weapon on me. But grab a iron fire poker or whatever is available and swing at the ghost, and it makes them phase out of existence for a few moments. It's not a way to dispatch them, but if the thing is attacking you it's a good way to give yourself a chance to escape.”

Sam had gone very still, his nostrils flared a little bit. Dean noticed, and glanced at Bobby.

“You okay there?” Dean asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“Will I have to use iron?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice steady but largely failing.

Dean gave Bobby an uncomfortable look, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah,” Bobby replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Is that a problem?”

Sam's pupils dilated. “N-no. Not at all.”

Suddenly Bobby was on his feet with his gun drawn, pointed directly at Sam. Sam jerked himself back, both hands raised. Dean was bewildered.

“Bobby, what the fuck—”

“I knew there was something off with you,” Bobby snapped, pulling the hammer.

Sam looked ready to piss himself. Dean lurched to his feet, hands held out.

“Bobby, stop!”

“What are you?” Bobby demanded.

Sam looked near tears. “I'm Sam!”

“Don't bullshit me! I'm only gonna ask you one more time—what are you?”

Dean tried again. “Bobby, calm the fuck down—”

Tears were now visible in Sam's eyes. “I'm me! Bobby, please, you have to believe me—”

Bobby hesitated. He looked at Dean, then looked back at Sam. “Don't. Move.” As Bobby slowly made his way to the bed where his duffle bag was, he kept the gun pointed at Sam. “Dean, get away from him.”

“I will not!” Dean snapped.

“Dean—don't be a God damn idjit. Get away from your brother!”

“Look, just, calm down, everybody just calm down!”

Bobby took out a small ingot of a dark color from his bag. He strode back to the table and tossed it down in front of Sam. He leveled the gun again.

“Touch it.”

“Bobby,” Dean protested with a annoyed laugh, “this is absurd—”

“Touch it!” Bobby shouted.

Sam didn't move.

A shiver ran through Dean. He looked at Sam. “Well go ahead, touch it.”

Sam swallowed thickly.

“Sammy, c'mon. Just touch the damn thing and let's be done with this.”

Sam blinked and a tear fell out. He was staring at Bobby.

“I can't,” Sam whispered.

Dean immediately drew his gun, the gun no one even knew he had on him. He pointed it at Bobby.

“Bobby, put the gun down or I swear on mom's grave I'll blow your brains out.” When Bobby looked at him, Dean raised both eyebrows and cocked his gun. “Try me.”

Notes:

Hello, main plot. 😈

And yes, it's probably hokey that I have the blog named Supernatural, but I had to. 😆 Sorry not sorry.

Chapter 31

Notes:

Welcome to the plot wonkiness. Keep your arms and legs at your sides at all times, and, as always, please enjoy the ride.

“Put the gun down, Dean! I'm tryin’ to protect you, can't you see that?”

“Guys, enough with the standoff!” Sam said.

“You have no room to say anything,” Bobby snarled at him. “Now I wanna know what you are and what you did with my boy!”

“Bobby,” Sam said, desperation in his voice as more tears trickled out. “Please, you have to believe me, it's me—I'm just Sammy.”

“Get that name out of your mouth,” Bobby ranted, and he flat out sounded hurt. “You ain't allowed to use that nickname!”

Sam cried harder. “Bobby—”

Bobby reached into his back pocket, never removing his gun sights from Sam. He took out a flask, and quickly uncorked it with his teeth, spitting it out. Dean almost made a quip about it really not being a good time to hit the bottle, but then he threw its contents at Sammy. The second the clear liquid hit Sam, he howled in pain and jerked back. He upset the chair and tipped over, hands covering his face. Dean nearly dropped his gun he was so bewildered. Bobby, however, was quick—he took two strides forward and straddled Sam. The hunter pressed the barrel of his gun against Sam's temple, getting a fistful of shirt with the other.

Bobby started speaking.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—”

Sam howled in pain.

Bobby spoke louder.

“omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio—”

Dean slowly lowered his gun, unblinking. “Bobby…”

Sam began to thrash around. Bobby kept going.

“omnis congregatio et secta diabolical. Ergo draco maledicte, et omnis legio diabolica
adjuramus te—”

“Bobby, you're hurting him—”

“Cessa decipere humanas creaturas—”

“Bobby, knock it off, you're hurting him!”

Bobby paused along enough to glare at Dean. “That's kinda the point!” He looked back down at Sam. “eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”

“Bobby, stop it,” Dean said frantically when Sam's nose started to bleed.

Sam started beating on Bobby's forearm, screaming in agony. Bobby just screamed over him.

“Vade, Satana, inventor et magister—”

“Bobby, stop—”

“omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis—”

“Enough—”

“contremisce et effuge, invocato a
nobis sancto et terribili nomine—”

Dean raised his gun again, fighting off tears. “Stop or I'll shoot you, you stupid sonofabitch, I swear to God—”

Bobby glared over his shoulder, partially because Sam had started gasping and wheezing, clawing at Bobby's face. “quem inferi tremunt.”

“Bobby!”

“Please stop,” Sam choked out.

Dean grabbed at his own head, tears in his eyes
“CASTIEL!”

Wings fluttered, and everyone froze; everyone except Sam. He was still writhing in pain. Cas took one look at the scene and looked deeply concerned.

“What is happening?”

“He's a demon!” Bobby shouted, scrambling off Sam and pointing at him.

Castiel tilted his head and squinted his eyes in disbelief. “That's absurd—”

Sam rolled onto his side and gasped so loudly it sounded painful. After a second desperate bid for air, eyes bulging, he said, “I am.”

Castiel looked murderous immediately. He barely took a step forward before Dean leaped between him and Sam, pushing against Cas. Cas, eyes wild, looked at Dean, lips puckered angrily.

“STOP!” Dean bellowed. “Everyone just—STOP!”

The room settled, the only sound for a few seconds being Sam's coughing and gasping.

“Look, if Sam was bad he'd have killed us already, right?”

Bobby and Castiel didn't answer.

“Right?!” he demanded.

When they still didn't say anything, Sam struggled onto his forearms and looked up at them. His face was red and blistered where the holy water had touched his skin. He was panting, eyes squinted. “I never—I never wanted to hurt you guys. I never wanted to hurt anyone—”

Castiel took a menacing step forward, and Dean pushed him back. Glaring, he turned away then and pointed his gun at Sam. Sam's mouth dropped open.

“Dean—”

“You have five seconds to start explaining what the hell is going on,” Dean said, and it was obvious how serious he was. “Five—”

“Dean—”

“Four—”

“Okay okay okay! I'm only part demon.”

“So you're possessed—” Bobby said.

Dean cut him off. “Shut up, Bobby! Let the guy talk.”

Sam slowly crouched so he could hold both his hands up. He glanced around fearfully at everyone as he spoke, voice trembling. “N-no. I'm part demon.”

Castiel tilted his head again. “How?”

Sam was trying desperately to not completely break down. “Mom. Her deal with Azazel. He was looking for someone to lead the army, but it wasn't just that. There's more. But his deal with mom, in order to save dad's life—”

Sam looked at Dean and Dean suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Sam caught the look and his face crumpled. Dean put his gun down. He swallowed thickly.

“No.”

Sam cried harder. “Dean—”

Dean pointed at him. “Don't say it. Don't you dare say it.”

“Dean—”

“Don't you fucking say it!”

“What?” Bobby finally interrupted.

Sam looked at him. “Do you remember when our parents almost got divorced?”

Bobby tisked. “They were throwing around the d-word every other day.”

Sam shook his head. “No, that one time when they actually separated. Mom took off. It was the only time they actually physically separated.”

Boby paused and thought. “Yeah…”

Dean rubbed at his mouth, and when he spoke his voice was shaking. “Look, Bobby… I dunno what they told you, or if they told you anything at all, but they seperated because mom cheated on dad.”

Bobby looked absolutely horrified and he looked at Sam. “Oh fucking balls.”

“They had a really, really bad fight about it.”

“We heard everything,” Sam said.

Dean was staring at nothing. “It was around the time dad almost died when she cheated, so then they argued because he was convinced she cheated because he was in the hospital—”

“Dad said some really, really shitty things that day—”

“Called her whore and every other name under the sun.”

“And she took it all, didn't deny anything, and then…she left.”

Dean sat heavily in the chair that wasn't tipped over. “I don't get it though. Why did she tell him she cheated on him years later?”

“Guilt? I d'no.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

Castiel had whispered that. Everyone looked at him. His lips were partially parted, like he was just figuring something out. His eyes focused and he looked at everyone desperately.

“She knew that Sam was going to be used as the leader of the demon army—it's why she asked me to protect you both. She wouldn't have known if Sam would be good, or evil, so she wanted me to protect not only Sam, but John and Dean from Sam.” Almost excitedly, Castiel looked at Dean. “How long before she died did she tell your father that she had cheated on him?”

Dean blinked, surprised. “Actually, not very long before…”

“She died shortly after they decided they were going to try and work it out,” Sam spoke up. Then, quietly, “That fight was one of the reasons I went to Stanford. I couldn't take them fighting like that anymore.”

Dean looked at his brother, accusation sitting behind his eyes. “Then mom died and you left.”

Sam looked away.

“Maybe she knew that her death was imminent,” Castiel said. “Perhaps that's why she came clean about her infidelity.”

“Maybe, but why?” Dean asked. “After all that time, why would Azazel come after mom? Why would he want her dead?”

“I…might know.”

Everyone looked at Sam. Sam slumped onto his ass, holding his head in his hands. “Azazel said that it wasn't—it wasn't just the army he needed me for.”

Sam couldn't seem to continue.

“Sam…” Dean said.

Sam started to sob. “You have to believe me that I'm good. You have to believe me that I don't want to hurt anyone. You have to believe me—”

Dean dropped onto his knees, kneeling in front of his brother. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Sam looked desperately up at everyone, starting to cry so hard it was difficult to understand him. “You have to promise me you won't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Please.”

“Sam,” Dean said, reaching out and kneading Sam's shoulder. “We won't. We promise.”

Sam laughed bitterly through his tears. “You might after this.”

“We won't,” Dean said strictly, and looked behind him up at Bobby and Castiel. “Right guys?”

The pair said nothing. Dean looked back at his younger brother and gave him his best smile, just like he did when they were little and Sammy had skinned his knees. The look that let Sam know his brother was always going to be there to pick him up and dust him off.

“Sammy, it's okay. What is it?”

A shudder visibly rammed through Sam. He looked at everyone desperately. “Y-you know how angels have vessels?”

Dean's smile slipped away.

“Every demon and every angel has someone, a human, who was made for them. A person made specifically for them, so that the human can contain the angel, o-or demon, without getting hurt.”

“A true vessel,” Castiel said quietly, and for the first time ever, he looked scared.

Sam took a deep breath. “I'm…Lucifer's…vessel…”

Dean's entire vision narrowed and he thought he was going to pass out. Sam immediately became hysterical and flopped over on Dean, clinging to him. Dean absentmindedly pulled him close, rubbing and patting his back as the large man curled up on the ground. Dean was absolutely numb; he wasn't even aware he had taken Sam into his arms.

“You have to help me,” Sam sobbed. “I want to be good. I want to be good. I am good, you have to believe me. You have to help me. Please don't hurt me. I want to be good.”

Notes:

Please don't hate me. 🤣

Chapter 32

Sam sat on the couch, his eyes glazed and watery, his face red and splotchy. It was evident he was going to look like that for a while in the aftermath of his breakdown. Dean handed him a glass of water, which he took thankfully. Dean then sat next to him.

“You know you'll always be my brother, right?” Dean said in a quiet voice. “It don't matter if you're part—if you're a—”

“Abomination,” Castiel said from the side where he was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

Dean's brow furrowed. “Hey!”

“What? He is.”

In spite of himself, Sam laughed. “I mean, he's not wrong I guess.”

Dean looked at him. When Sam continued to laugh, a smile twitched at the corner of Dean's mouth, and then he grinned. Then before long he was laughing rather hysterically with Sam.

“I don't see what is amusing,” Castiel said seriously, a little confused.

“You called him an abomination,” Dean said, falling against Sam, still laughing.

Castiel looked deeply confused.

“Stress response,” Bobby said to Cas over their laughter. “They'll get over it soon.”

“Ah.”

Sure enough, after about a minute they both settled down. A thought occurred to Dean, and he gently touched Sam's forearm.

“Woah. Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait,” Dean said, tapping Sam's arm.

Sam tilted his head, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Mrs. Donohugh’s gate!”

Sam glanced off to the side. “Huh?”

“Mrs. Donohugh! Remember, we hit our baseball into her yard that one time. And when we went to go retrieve it—”

Understanding lit Sam's face, his eyes going wide. “The wrought iron fence! That's right, she had an iron fence!”

“You burned your hand when you opened it!”

“And you thought I was crazy because then you touched it and were fine!”

Dean laughed a little. “I called you a bitch for a week because you acted like you were dying.” Dean paused. “Er, sorry for that.”

Sam looked amused. “It's not like we knew I was—”

“And abomination,” Cas repeated.

Dean paused, looking at the angel. He then looked back at Sam. “—a demon.”

Sam laughed. “Remember, in our infinite kid wisdom we figured it had just been heated up by the sun?"

“I mean, it was really hot that summer.”

“Yeah, but not that hot.” Sam looked mystified for a second. He looked almost excited. “Dean! Do you remember that one Sunday when I was helping mom cook breakfast, and I burned my hand when I grabbed the pan?!”

Dean thought and then understanding dawned on his face, and he equally looked somewhat excited. “That was a cast-iron skillet, wasn't it?!”

“She scolded me for not being careful, but—”

“After that incident I never saw that specific skillet in the kitchen again!”

“And that must've been the first time she realized that iron hurt me!”

“She must've thrown it away!”

For a moment the brothers just stared at one another. Then, at the same time, they went, “Huh.”

“Now that I'm actively thinking about it,” Dean said slowly, looking off to the side. “I don't remember there ever being any iron anywhere we lived.”

Sam cocked his head. “Yeah… except the tire iron when we'd work on Baby, and dad taught me how to change a flat.”

Dean shook his head. “He specifically explained that the one we had wasn't made of actual iron but a durable composite of steel and plastic.”

“Wait a second,” Sam said. “Steel is made from iron and carbon though. I've touched steel before.” He looked at Bobby. “Why didn't it hurt me?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, the mystified tone coming back to his voice. “Why can he cook with stainless steel and stuff?”

“It's not pure iron,” Bobby said with a shrug like it should be obvious. “Plus think about it. When you cook you're not just standing there, holding onto the handle the entire time. You let it go, you stir, you walk away. And when you eat with stainless steel utensils, you'd actually be surprised how little you're actually touching the stuff. Usually you usually wolf down the food quick enough that you didn't hold onto it much, or you take a bite, put it down to talk, or use a napkin.”

“Huh,” Sam said, intrigued. “Makes sense I guess. When Azazel had me, he kept me tied to a chair with iron chains.”

Dean winced a little. “Did it hurt?”

“Yeah. Over my clothes it was okay. It felt strangely warm. But if it was on bare skin…” He shook his head.

“Okay, I gotta know,” Dean said. “Now that we know everything…How did you escape?”

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Oh. Um. Part of…why he kidnapped me… My demonic abilities were latent. He had to sort of unlock them, make me realize I had powers at all.”

Bobby shifted on his feet and looked uncomfortable. “What sort of powers?”

Sam blushed. “Er, well you know about the psychic abilities. And I can, uh—” he cleared his throat. “I can forcibly expel demons from their vessels. Without saying an exorcism.”

Bobby looked shocked, uncrossing his arms. “Holy shit.”

“I can, um, also, uh. Make…things…explode.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up. “Explode?”

“People,” Sam clarified, looking very uncomfortable.

Bobby half-heartedly started to raise his gun at Sam, and Castiel immediately shoved it away. Dean glared at him.

“Stop that,” Dean snapped. Then, more gently to Sam, “Explode…how?”

Sam glanced off to the side. “Uh. I don't know how else to describe it. I just snap my fingers—” he held up his right hand, holding like he was going to, “and—”

“WOAH!” Dean screamed.

“WAIT!” Bobby screamed simultaneously.

“DON'T!” Cas also screamed.

Sam put down his hand and sounded offended. “Relax. I wasn't going to.”

Dean put his hand to his chest and breathed out, closing his eyes. Bobby also sighed in relief and stumbled into Cas, holding onto him.

Sam rolled his eyes at everyone. “Don't be so dramatic.”

“You're a very powerful demon if you have that ability,” Castiel said.

Sam threw him his trademark bitch face. “My dad's Azazel. I'd be surprised if I wasn't powerful.”

Castiel squinted. “I know. I simply meant you possessing that ability is indicative of your power.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked uncomfortable, no longer able to meet the angel's eyes.

“So you made a bunch of demons…” Dean prompted, trailing off.

Sam looked at him. “Explode? Yes. That's why I was covered head to toe in blood.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome!”

Sam sighed. “I suppose.”

“What, you don't think it's awesome?”

“I'd rather be human.”

Any levity that had been in the small cramped room evacuated. Sam looked around, speaking with conviction.

“I'd rather have my mom. I'd rather have my fiancé back.”

Dean was shocked. “Fiancé? Sam, what—”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He popped it open and handed it off to Dean. Looking miserable he stared at the ring while Dean looked at it, then at Sam, then at the ring again. He did that the entire time Sam spoke.

“Part of why I wanted to get back home so fast after camping was because I was going to ask her to marry me.”

Dean locked eyes with Sam.

“And she was going to say yes. And I know she was going to, because we talked about it, seriously talked about it.”

“Sammy,” Dean said, voice thick with emotion.

Sam kept going. “Azazel told me he's going to kill everyone I'm close to. So he killed mom, and he killed Jess because she was a tied to me, and he’s trying to sever all my personal ties so I'll have no reason to do anything but join him and lead his army of freaks.”

Dean didn't know what to say, and he could feel his eyes becoming watery.

Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw several times, nostrils flared. He looked at everyone, and there was a cruel but sad undercurrent to the look. “So now you know everything. Mom died because of me. The woman I loved died because of me.”

“Sam,” Bobby said softly. “That ain't on you.”

Sam sniffed and looked away angrily, lips puckered. After a moment he looked back.

Bobby raised both eyebrows. “It's not.”

Sam held out his hand to Dean, pissed off look back. “I'd like my ring back please.”

Dean looked heart broken. He slowly closed the case and handed it back. Sam got to his feet and shoved it in his pocket, then glanced at everyone. “If you'll excuse me.”

Everyone wordlessly watched Sam stride into the bathroom and quietly close the door behind himself. Bobby, Dean, and Castiel all looked at one another with zero idea what to do.

~

Bobby had muttered “balls”, went to his bag, and pulled out a handle of Jim Beam. He uncapped it and drank straight from the bottle. He didn't stopped drinking until he passed out.

Castiel, after a point, quietly excused himself. He told Dean if he or Sam needed anything to pray to him, and he would come immediately.

Sam never came out of the bathroom. Dean occasionally checked on him, made sure he was still there (“Dean, I'm fine, I just wanna be left alone.” “Yeah well, you and bathrooms don't have the best rapport recently, so sorry if you being in there kinda skeeves me out.”), usually in between commercial breaks of the TV shows he was half-heartedly watching. Truthfully he wanted to sleep—he needed to sleep. But with everything that happened he found himself unable to.

That was why when Dean opened his eyes, he was very, very confused. He was laying on the bed, stomach first, head tilted off to the side so he could breath. He glanced around the room—it was morning, judging by the light coming in from the window. He snorted and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, then sat properly. There was a circle of drool on the blanket where his mouth had been, and he wiped off his mouth.

He didn't remember going to sleep.

He didn't remember going to bed.

Bleary-eyed, Dean scrubbed at his face and looked around, trying to figure out what happened. Bobby was still passed out on the couch, empty bottle precariously hanging from his fingertips. Dean smirked and shook his head. Had he joined Bobby and just didn't remember? He didn't think so…

Something caught Dean's eye. Brow furrowed, he turned to the nightstand and grabbed the notepad on it. Sam's handwriting greeted his gaze.

It's safer this way.
Don't come after me.
I'm sorry.

Love,
Sam

Dean dropped the paper. “Oh fuck.”

Chapter 33

Notes:

*taps microphone* Testing, testing, this thing on?

Hi. UHHHH all I can say is writers block is a bitch. I might be past it now so, here, have a chapter. Not thrilled with it but I wanted to write SOMEthing. Enjoy?

Dean rushed to Bobby, took his face in his hands, and started to gently slap him.

“Bobby! Bobby. Bobby. Wake up. Bobby?”

He snored. Dean rolled his eyes. Then—

“Cas?! Castiel, could you please come back to the—”

There was the distinct flutter of wings and Dean glanced over his shoulder.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, and then looked worried when he saw Bobby. “What's wrong?”

“Sammy's gone.”

“What?”

Dean shot him a snotty look. “You deaf? I said my brother's gone.”

“What happened? Was he taken?”

Dean was trying to rouse Bobby still. “Bobby. Bobby. Hey!”

Cas strode forward and put two fingers on the passed-out man's forehead. With a great snort Bobby's eyes shot open. Dean let go of his face immediately. Bobby peered up at them, confused.

“What're you both staring at? Why are you—”

Dean rushed over to the note Sam had left, picked it up, and then rushed back, handing it off to Cas. He stood over Bobby, looking mildly worried.

“I don't think he was taken,” Dean said, and then quickly to Bobby, “Sam's gone.”

“Balls!”

“What happened?” Castiel repeated.

“D'no. I woke up and found that note with Bobby passed out. I think Sam did something to us so he could sneak away. I don't remember going to sleep.”

Judgement written all over his face, Castiel picked up the empty bottle of Jim Beam. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I didn't drink any.”

Still judging, Cas turned to Bobby, empty bottle held out accusingly. Bobby looked at the bottle and then up at Cas, and snorted.

“I'm with Dean here. Yeah I drank that but it takes a lot more than that to get me to pass out. That amount was like a baby bottle to me.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Ah, so you're the alcoholic brand of hunter.”

“Is there any other kind?” Bobby asked, and it was a serious question.

“Guys!” Dean said before they could continue, and he snapped his fingers at them. “C'mon, focus! Sam flew the coop.”

“I'll try to locate him,” Castiel said and, without any more explanation his eyes began to glow. After roughly a minute they turned back into their normal hues and his shoulders slumped.

“Well?”

“He's doing something to block me,” Castiel said in clear annoyance.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”

“Well he couldn't have gone far, right?” Bobby said, getting to his feet.

“Not necessarily,” Castiel said. “I don't know what sort of powers he is capable of. Demons can travel great distances with just a snap of their fingers.”

“Double balls.”

Dean blew out a breath through his cheeks, clutching his hair.

“Don't panic,” Castiel said.

“Too late, buddy,” Dean answered.

“Is there anywhere he would have gone?” Castiel asked.

Bobby looked at Dean, and Dean stared at both of them. “I d'no.”

“Anywhere that is safe? Anywhere that felt like home to him?”

Dean thought and then looked at Bobby, dropping his arms at his sides. “I mean, Bobby's place, but he knows we'd look for him there.”

“Anywhere else?” Castiel implored.

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Now what?” Bobby asked.

“Maybe he went back to Azazel.”

Dean rounded on Castiel. “Why the fuck would he do something stupid like that?”

“To protect you,” Castiel said calmly with a nod of his head.

Dean looked livid.

The angel looked completely nonplussed. “To give Azazel what he wants so he wouldn't go after those Sam cares for.”

Dean reached into his bag and pulled out his gun, making sure it was loaded as he spoke. “Alright, well, how do we find the son of a bitch bastard?”

Castiel threw him a look of impatient warning. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean snapped back. “In fact, after I get done murdering Azazel, imma murder Sam too for being so stupid.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Dean.”

“I doubt he went crawling to Azazel,” Bobby chimed in. “That ain't something Sammy would do.”

Dean rounded on him now. “Oh what do you know? Just a day ago you didn't trust him and were ready to pump him full of lead. I don't think you get a say in what Sam would or wouldn't do.”

“Enough,” Castiel growled. He looked evenly at Dean. “Dean—calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?!”

With a roll of his eyes Castiel snapped his fingers and Dean suddenly found himself sitting on the bed. The fresh hunter looked shocked. Then he looked Castiel up and down indignantly. “Rude!”

Castiel gave a quiet huff of a sigh. Then, “I am worried that Sam is out there on his own left to his own devices. It's bad enough he is Lucifer's true vessel, but being Azazel’s son makes everything worse. We have to find him.”

“We already established that,” Dean replied, getting to his feet. “Any suggestions on how we'd go about doing that would be appreciated.”

There was a brief pause. Bobby let out a sigh and got to his feet, fishing his cell from out of his pocket. “I'll put out an APB in the hunter community.”

“Don't mention he's a demon,” Castiel said.

Bobby rolled his eyes before pressing the phone to his ear. “No shit?”

That gave Dean an idea though. He went to his laptop immediately and opened it, turning it on. Once booted, he ignored the fact he had a ton more emails (he was sure they were comments from his blog) and opened up the web browser, signing into his account immediately.

Hey everyone,

I have a bit of a fire drill over here on my end. There's a missing persons case I'm working on, so any and all information someone might have would be appreciated. The man in question is early 20s, has shaggy brown hair a little past his ears, prominent cheekbones, hazel eyes that usually look brown but sometimes green-ish, a broad nose that turns up near the tip, and thin lips. Tall. Clean-shaven, Caucasian. Last seen wearing a dark blue shirt with a white and black flannel, dark jeans, and dark boots. Last known whereabouts were in central Illinois.

Any information regarding this man, please drop a line here or DM me.

Thanks.

~Rod

Dean looked up at Castiel from where he sat. “How bad could this get?”

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Azazel’s son, who is also Lucifer's vessel, just went MIA. So—” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Lay it on me. How bad could this get?”

“I don't enjoy participating in conjecture.”

“Do it for me?” Dean said, throwing his best boyish smile.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well, he already escaped once with his life. Let's just hope no one in Heaven learns of his status.”

Bobby had just hung up his phone call. Both he and Dean looked at Castiel. Bobby spoke.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I—”

Castiel faltered. When he closed his mouth, Dean's eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

Castiel puckered his lips. “Like I said—I don't participate in conjecture.”

Dean had it. He leapt to his feet, came around the table, and grabbed Cas, ramming him into the wall.

“Dean!” Bobby snapped.

“Look here, you little shit,” Dean growled, barely an inch away from Castiel's face. “You're going to tell me how bad this is or—or so help me I'll—”

Castiel looked thoroughly amused, looking at Dean through lidded eyes. “You'll what?”

Dean paused, and then hissed out, “I'll find out what makes you tick and I'll snap it in two.”

Castiel laughed but then glared. “Need I remind you whom you're talking to?”

“Yeah, an asshole who thinks he's better than everyone.”

Castiel blinked and his entire disposition morphed. He looked downright shocked. “What? I don't think I'm better than anyone.”

“Right,” Dean continued to snarl out, “because it's not like you're a friggin’ angel that can just pop in and out of places, who can fly, who can smite things—”

Castiel looked almost injured. “That doesn't make me better, that just shows I'm an entirely different species—”

“Oh whatever, I'm sure you're getting your rocks off knowing that you're a puppet master to us lesser humans that need your help—”

Castiel tilted his head. “Getting my rocks off? What does that mean?”

Dean blinked in disbelief. Then he rolled his eyes quickly. “Nevermind what it means! The point is I'm sure you're thrilled you get to play a little game with lowly humans—”

Castiel shoved him off, looking offended. “Is that how you perceive me?”

“How else should I?” Dean shouted. “I asked you a straightforward question and you couldn't even answer me directly!”

“Because I don't want to add to your worry!”

“I'm so worried I'm about to start molting here so why don't you just lay it on me already and—”

“Heaven has no idea that I'm here!”

Dean blinked. “What?”

Castiel glanced at Bobby before turning his eyes back to Dean. “I haven't reported my findings to my superiors regarding the fact that Sam is Azazel’s biological son. They already know he is Lucifer's vessel and they're fine with that, but they have no idea about this child army nor that Azazel has a son.”

Dean was stunned. “Wait—Heaven knows Sam is Lucifer's vessel?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied with a huff.

“Why don't they just take him out then?” Bobby asked.

Castiel looked at him. “It's—complicated.”

“Well make it as un-complicated as you can.”

Castiel looked so anxious when he turned his gaze back on Dean he almost looked like he might throw up. A full body shiver of dread coarsed through Dean.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. “You might want to sit down.”

Dean looked nervously at Bobby and then did just that.

Chapter 34

Dean shut off Baby, slid the key out, and moaned, putting his forehead against the steering wheel. It didn't take long before he was (gently) hitting his head against it. Once done, he squinted against the early morning sunlight at the auto shop that read in big, blocky, red lettering, ALAN’S TOWING AND AUTO SERVICE.

He knew he couldn't hide in Baby forever. So, taking a deep breath, he grabbed his lunch bag that was on the seat next to him and opened up the squeaky door. After making sure the car was securely locked, Dean slipped the keys into the pocket of his navy blue coveralls, looked both ways, and jogged across the street.

He winced when he opened the door, causing the doorbell to jingle. There unfortunately was no way around it; he was opening today, so the bay wasn't open yet. That meant he had to enter through the front door, which always stuck; you had to shoulder-ram the damn thing to even get in. Dean was hoping to get through the front office and into the garage without being seen, but his luck was nowhere to be found that morning.

“Winchester!”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. That was the annoyed voice of the general office manager, Tom. The exact person he was hoping to avoid. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep, quiet breath. Then he plastered on his happiest, sunshiniest smile and turned around.

“Tom!”

“Where the hell have you been?!”

Dean continued to smile. “Family emergency.”

“For weeks?!”

Dean's smile almost faltered. Instead he held up his paper lunch bag. “Before we do this, may I please at least stick my lunch in the fridge?”

“No you may not!” Tom snapped, his partially-balding head turning red as he put his hands on his hips. “How do you even have PTO left?!”

Dean put his arm down and turned around. “I don't answer to you, Tom.”

As Dean walked to the door that led to the garage, Tom followed hot on his heels. “No, but I do they schedules. Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it has been, scrambling to find people to cover your shifts?”

Dean reached the back door and opened it, rolling his eyes. When he spoke he didn't even bother to look at the general manager. “I'm entitled to my days off just as much as anyone here.”

“You are, but—”

“Look,” Dean said, finally starting to lose his patience, rounding on the smaller man. “I'm going through some personal stuff, and that's all you need to know.”

“I know shit happens,” Tom said, still following Dean as he continued through the garage and flipped on the lights, heading towards the break room in back. “And we all have a life away from here, but we all have personal issues in our lives. You can't just ghost your job. People rely on you, Dean, and it's not fair for you to take off so many days consecutively.”

Dean opened up the fridge harder than he meant to. Squeezing the handle like he was strangling it, he slid his lunch in and then turned around, smiling.

“How behind are we?”

Tom paused. “Well, I mean we're not, but—”

Dean pointed towards the door, still smiling. “Even if we were, there's a Meneike right down the street.”

Tom looked scandalized as Dean shoved past him, now glowering. “That's not the right attitude, Winchester!”

Dean ignored him, going to the bathroom for a breather before he blew his stack.

The rest of the morning went smoothly. By the time Dean came out of hiding in the bathroom, Tom was back in his office. The other mechanics were happy to see him. When the first car rolled in, it was business as usual. The team worked together seamlessly, and they mixed their grease with wise cracks at one another's expenses. It was all in good fun, and these people were the only reason why Dean even stayed at the little shop.

As such, a few of the guys tentatively tried to get out of Dean what was going on. They weren't being jerks about it, and he could tell there wasn't animosity from any of them, just genuine worry. As such, Dean kept it vague. One of them, Ryan, knew a lot more about Dean's background than anyone else in the shop did. He guessed it had something to do with Sam, seeing as Sam was really the only person in Dean's family he actually gave a shit about. But even then all Dean confirmed was it did have to do with Sam, and that he had gotten himself into some trouble, but that was it.

“Winchester!”

Dean, elbow deep in an engine, looked at the clock. It was only 9AM. His actual boss, Peter, was walking into the shop. Dean smiled and nodded.

“Hey Pete! S’up?”

“My office. Now.”

The shop stilled and everyone looked nervously at Dean. Dean swallowed, muttering a curse under his breath. He grabbed a rag and wiped off his hands as he made his way to the room in the back corner of the shop. Even though an uneasiness gnawed at his stomach, Dean trailed in behind Peter with a smile.

“I'd tell you to shut the door, but—” Peter said, waving vaguely at the doorframe missing the door.

Dean chuckled. “Closed door meeting, huh? Should I sit?”

“If you want,” Peter said, not cracking a smile.

Dean chose to stand and crossed his arms, fiddling with the dirty light-blue rag in one hand.

Peter sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. He looked up at Dean. “I don't wanna, but I have to write you up.”

Dean dropped his arms, stunned. “What? Why?”

“You and I both know why.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth, trying really hard to not get angry. “Are you serious right now?”

“Unfortunately yes, yes I am.”

Dean was losing the battle with his anger. “I've never been written up before!”

“I know.”

“Man, this isn't fair!”

Peter didn't say anything. Dean took a deep breath and held up his hands.

“Sorry. You yourself said you didn't want to, so can't you just…not?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, Dean. If it was only up to me I wouldn't. But it's not.”

Goodbye, composure. Dean welcomed himself to Planet Anger, population, well, Dean Winchester. “Tom put you up to this, didn't he?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “It is wasn't just Tom.”

“Yeah, well who else?” Dean snapped, getting loud about it. He threw his hand out towards the shop. “‘Cause all of the guys were fine with it!”

Peter puckered his lips.

“Well c'mon, who is it?”

“Dean,” Peter chided, “You know I can't say that.”

“It's Debbie isn't it?” Dean shouted. “Maybe she should put down the fucking doughnut, mind her own business, and do her fucking jobs instead of sitting on her lazy ass and watching Netflix all day!”

That got a couple of mechanics attention. The fact there was something going on spread quickly, and it wasn't long before work had stopped, everyone watching Dean and Peter go at it.

“Dean! That was grossly unprofessional—”

“Oh like I give a rats ass!” Dean said, pulling a disgusted face and leaning back for a moment. “Unprofessional is how you let everyone take off all willy-nilly! I bust my ass for this shop, and where has that gotten me, huh?”

“Everyone is alloted the same amount of time off—”

“That's bullshit and you know it. With how often I cover for other people who call off, I know that ain't true!”

“No one made you come in those days—”

“Look, I get that you're nice and you want to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, so if they say they need a day off you give it to them, and we all appreciate it, we do, but my fucking brother is missing—”

“Dean—”

“—and this is the first time I've taken time off, ever—”

“Dean—”

“—and without me this shop would have closed eons ago because there wouldn't be a working mechanic here most days, and you can't run a fucking car repair shops without mechanics!”

“Dean!” Peter screamed then. When Dean didn't speak, he continued in a raised voice. “I'm sorry to hear about your brother. But the fact remains that we only give consecutive days off for weeks at a time when there's a death in the family—”

“Did you not hear me say Sammy is missing?” Dean roared.

“And I'm very sorry about that,” Peter shouted over him, “but if he's missing let the cops do what they're doing and come into work! That's all I'm saying!”

Dean opened his mouth but what could he say? The truth? That the cops weren't involved because his brother was part honest to God demon, and he was on the run because he didn't want to get anyone killed?

Instead, he said, “I quit!”

Peter paused. “Dean—”

Dean pointed at him. “No, fuck you, I quit.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak but Dean wouldn't let him.

“I never even wanted to be a damn mechanic in the first place! All I ever wanted to do was open up my own bar, but that wasn't practical, and I never had the money up front so I took this stupid ass job because my dad taught me how to work on cars, and it's what he did, and just—fuck this, I write my own destiny, damn it!”

Dean spun on his heel and rushed away.

“Dean. Dean, don't. Dean, we can talk about this. Dean. Dean!”

But there was no talking. Everyone watched in silence as he went to the seven-drawer rolling tool cart and threw it on the ground in sheer anger, watching as he kicked it a few times, and then kept walking. No one tried to stop him as he went into the front office, where Tom was helping a customer, and screamed at Tom, “Fuck you, I quit!”

Debbie had stopped, powdered doughnut halfway to her open mouth, and watched him, stunned, with her eyes wide. Dean yanked on the front door, once, twice, shouted “Fuck!” when it wouldn't open, and finally practically tore it off its hinges. He turned around.

“And fix this fucking door already!”

Not even bothering to look both ways, Dean crossed the street to Baby, chin tucked against his chest. When he pulled out the keys he almost dropped them because he was trembling so bad. Dean got in, slammed the door, and promptly burst into tears.

Dean pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and then beat it with his open palm. Then taking in a few deep breaths he slid the key into the ignition and drove off, tires squealing.

~

“You did what, you damn idgit?”

Dean shrugged. “Not like I need a job if you show me how to do all this credit card fraud and crap you do.”

Bobby blinked, looking incredulously at Dean with his hands on his hips. “Maybe I never wanted you to resort to breaking the law! You ever think of that?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Then he held up his overnight bag. “Look, I'm gonna change out of my work clothes and when I get back out we're going to look for a case.”

Dean started to make his way out of the room so Bobby spoke at his back. “Look for a case?”

“Yeah, you know! Ghosts, ghouls, something. Can't find Sammy and I'm going out of my mind, so I have to do something.”

Bobby let out a long-suffering sigh but said nothing.

A little while later, Bobby was sitting down, watching the news, while Dean sat in a chair with his laptop, pouring over the internet. He had stumbled upon some weird stuff in random local newspapers he found, but nothing that really caught his eye. Until—

“Woah, Bobby!”

Bobby grunted in reply.

“You hear of the Heartless Serial Killer?”

Bobby paused. “I think I heard something in passing. Down south, right?”

“Yeah. I don't think it's a serial killer. I think it's a werewolf!”

Dean excitedly grabbed his laptop and unceremoniously plopped down next to Bobby. The older man glowered at being jostled. Dean was so excited he was oblivious to the other man's annoyance.

“So they're calling this active serial killer Heartless because the only thing that runs common in all the murders is the fact their hearts have all been removed. It's also because whoever is doing the killings seems heartless, because amung the victims includes a old lady and a young boy.”

Bobby frowned, switching off the TV, now fully invested in what Dean was saying.

“Apparently the first few murders were blamed on wild animals, but when more and more victims started popping up, they realized they had a serial killer on their hands.”

“And what makes you think werewolf?”

“Well, first off the hearts, duh (Bobby smirked), and secondly I pulled up all the dates I could find of when the bodies were found.”

“Let me guess—all around the full moon?”

Dean winked. “You got it.”

Bobby sighed and got to his feet. “Well, guess we're going down to Georgia. Pack a bag.”

Chapter 35

Dean flicked his eyes into the rear view mirror, checking on his passengers. Castiel sat behind Bobby on the passenger side, while Garth sat directly behind Dean. Both were looking out of their respective windows, not saying anything.

Dean cleared his throat, looking at Garth. “Yaknow, Garth, if uh, if you don't wanna do this, if it's too weird for you—”

Garth smiled. “I wouldn't be here of I didn't want to be.”

Dean paused and looked back at the road. “Well, yeah, but these are your people.”

“They're not my people,” Garth explained lightly with zero animosity or chiding impatience. “I don't even know them. The afflicted have options that don't include murdering people. It's their choice, they're choosing to be murderers, so as a hunter I wanna stop them.”

“Yeah, but—”

Garth leaned forward and put his hand on Dean's shoulder, giving a soft smile. “It's okay.”

Dean looked at the hand, and then threw Garth a dirty look. Garth, looking somewhat put off, extracted his hand and awkwardly sat back. Dean rolled his eyes.

“If anything I'm honored you guys asked me to tag along,” Garth continued.

Bobby twisted in his seat and gave the younger man a look like he was crazy. “Honored?”

“Well yeah! You didn't have to ask me along, or you could've asked any other werewolf questions.”

“Right, because we know so many werewolves,” Dean snipped.

Garth rolled his eyes. “I mean technically, yeah, ya do? My pack? If you didn't want me involved you could've asked me to hook you up with another member of my group.”

Dean rubbed his forehead. “I'm not hooking up with anyone from your group.”

Garth laughed. “Not what I meant, idiot.”

Dean looked slightly taken aback but didn't say anything at the playful banter.

“Point is,” Garth said, “if you really didn't want me around or were really afraid it would make me uncomfortable, you didn't have to bring me along. But this shows that you not only trust me, but trust that I can separate any personal conflicting feelings I might have and just focus on the case.”

Dean glanced at Bobby. He wasn't about to admit that no, that's literally not what happened at all, that it literally was just that Garth was a werewolf and he thought he'd be a good resource, and it would wasn't until the dude was in his car and they were halfway to Georgia did he realize how weird the situation might be for Garth. Bobby cast Dean the same furtive glance and gave a tiny shrug.

Dean cleared his throat. “R-right.”

Garth went on smiling and settled back in his seat, looking back out the window. Dean looked back at Bobby; Bobby made the gesture like he was relieved and wiping off his brow. Dean had to stifle a giggle.

“So, uh, Cas,” Dean said a little while later, glancing at the angel over his shoulder. “I got a question for you that's been eating away at me for a while now.”

Castiel swiveled his bright blue eyes at him. “Yes?”

Dean swallowed and looked back at the road. “You were able to smell that Garth here was a werewolf. How come you didn't notice anything about Sammy?”

“I have wondered that as well,” Castiel replied, “and I have several theories. One simply is that I was expecting him to be human, so I didn't pick up on the scent. I have watched over you both for years now, so I may have just grown accustomed to his particular scent and never realized anything was amiss. Secondly, even knowing that now, however, the scent is so faint it is nearly non-existent. I would like to find comfort in that fact, because it would hint towards the fact that Sam inherited more of your mother's human attributes, but we all know he has very powerful supernatural abilities thanks to his demon lineage.”

Dean couldn't help but wince at “demon lineage”.

“My last thought,” Castiel said, “is that there was some sort of infernal spell placed upon him that permanently hides it as a means to hide him.”

“Why would they wanna hide Sam? And from who? In fact,” Dean said, “he's a grown ass man. Why would they have waited so long to kidnap him? Why wasn't this more Rosemary's Baby, where they could've raised him from the get-go? Why didn't they just keep my mom under lock and key until she gave birth to Sammy?”

Castiel looked back out the window and looked troubled. “I do not have the answers to any of these questions.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah I know. It was largely rhetorical.”

“Maybe they were waiting for something,” Garth piped up.

“Huh?” Bobby said, twisting in his seat.

“I d'no,” Garth said. “Maybe he wasn't ready yet or something. Like, maybe his super powers just flipped on, yaknow? Maybe he had to, I don't know, go through demon puberty or something.”

Dean pulled a face. “Gross.”

“That is an interesting theory,” Castiel said, even sounding mildly intrigued.

“Great, now I get to Google demon puberty,” Bobby grumbled sardonically.

Dean playfully hit his arm, looked at him, and grinned. “If you don't want that in your search history, I could look it up. I have no shame.”

“We know,” literally everyone else in the car said.

Dean thought he should be offended by that, but instead he just laughed.

~

The four gave the usual spiel of how they were the FBI sent in to investigate the Heartless Murderer. It was also the usual spiel how, yes they were aware other agents had already come by, but they wanted to be thorough and were doing a follow up. After that, they were allowed permission to examine the most recent victim in the morgue. Their plea to see the body was further prioritized when they lied and said (in secrecy, of course) that the previous agents had botched their data collection and the body would have to be re-examined and processed correctly this time. The ME felt special that the “federal agents” leveled and entrusted him with their mistake, so he willingly brought them back to the body and allowed them private access. Dean had winked at him and told him they were going to put in the good word for him, and that they would suggest on his behalf he should get a promotion.

(Bobby had hit him for that once the medic turned away.)

Once the quartet was alone and the sheet was pulled back, everything was upended. Dean, first off, made a face at the body with a gaping hole in it's chest. Second was the angels and werewolves' immediate reactions.

“Oh no,” Garth said, looking slightly panicked.

“Well this is unexpected,” Castiel said, looking at the body with a frown.

Dean and Bobby looked across the body at them.

“What do you mean, oh no?” Dean asked, squinting.

“What's unexpected?” Bobby said.

Castiel and Garth looked at them with equal looks of anxiety written on their faces. Garth was the first to speak.

“A werewolf didn't do that.”

Dean and Bobby looked at one another, shocked. Dean then looked at the supernatural beings. “Then what did?”

“I don't know,” Castiel replied grimly, looking at Garth, who merely shrugged.

Chapter 36

“What do you mean?” Dean said. He gestured vaguely at the wound, making an absolutely disgusted face. “I mean, clearly it's a werewolf. Guy doesn't have a heart.”

“No, the wound is too clean,” Castiel said, leaning over and squinting at the gaping chest cavity.

Dean paled. “Clean?”

As Castiel continued to all but stick his nose in the cadaver, Garth spoke. “Yeah. This isn't a claw mark. In fact, I don't see any claw marks at all.”

Dean tried to look detachedly at the hole that had killed this person, but he didn't manage to hold back a small gag. “How can you tell?”

Castiel stood up. “Think of when an animal with claws strikes its prey. There's a downward pulling motion.”

Dean tried not to gag.

“Right,” Garth said, “there's a downward swipe. Plus the wound itself tends to be more jagged.”

“Yes, because there is resistance when flesh gets caught in the claws,” Castiel said.

Dean gagged and everyone looked at him. He smiled, motioning for the conversation to continue.

“But if you look,” Castiel said, “the edges around the wound are clean. They're not razored like claw-marks are.”

Dean glanced at the wound and put his fist to his mouth for a second. Bobby gave him a look of sympathy covered up with annoyance.

“You alright there, boy?”

“Yeah, I just—” Dean gagged again and shuddered. “Just never really spent this long around a dea—” another gag. “—around a dead—” GAG, “—dead person.”

“Need a bag?” Garth asked. “You uh, you look green around the gills.”

Castiel looked at Dean. “You don't have gills—”

Before any more nonsense about having to explain the expression to Cas, and thus extending their time around a dead body, Dean cut him off.

“Alright so, wound doesn't match, got it. What would have caused a wound like that—aw man, dude really?!”

Castiel had thrust a finger into the chest, curled it, and gave a gentle but firm pull, exposing a bit of the rib he had hooked his finger under. He had leaned back down and was squinting at the bone. Dean, utterly repulsed, turned away for a second, but then looked back. This time he kept his fist over his mouth.

“Couldn't you at least put a glove on?”

Castiel largely ignored Dean's reaction, giving him only the briefest look of worry before going back to the task at hand. “Why?”

“Because—” A gag and Dean shook his head. “Nevermind, just please, let's get this over with.”

“There aren't serrated cuts in the bone to show some sort of toothed weapon,” Castiel said, now going so far as to squat down a little so he was at eye height with the rib. “In fact, I don't see the fine cuts in the bone that come with a knife. This is as though something was forcefully driven downward in the same area again and again.” Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Almost like an excavation tool.”

Bobby eyed him. “Excavation tool? What, you mean like—like a chisel and hammer?”

Castiel looked up at him. “Yes, actually.”

“Aaaaand I'm out,” Dean said, spinning on his heel and rushing out the double doors. As he hurried past the ME, who looked at him in worry, Dean made a lame excuse about his lunch not agreeing with him. Dean couldn't get out of the building into the fresh air fast enough.

A few moments later, Castiel walked out. He looked both ways, saw Dean leaning against the building to his right, and went to him.

“Dean. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just never spent an extended period of time around a dead guy before,” Dean said with a shudder. “In fact, that wendigo cave was the first time I saw dead bodies outside of a funeral. And that smell in there—”

Dean cut himself off with a loud gag. Castiel looked alarmed.

“You are clearly not fine.”

“No shit Sherlock?!”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but right then Bobby and Garth joined them.

“You okay?” Garth said in sympathy.

“If you're gonna do this, you gotta toughen up,” Bobby barked.

Castiel stood in front of Dean, glaring harshly at Bobby. “Be more lenient! He's doing remarkably well, given the circumstances. You have had years to get used to being around dead things; this is Dean's first extended period around a dead body, and he hasn't even vomited yet.”

Dean gaged again and sounded suddenly close to doing just that. Everyone looked at him, wide-eyed in fear. Dean held up his index finger and closed his eyes.

“Let's refrain from saying the ‘v’ word. Or the ‘b’ word. Or ‘p’.”

“Huh?” Garth said. Then, “Oh! Barf and puke?”

Dean pointed at him. “Shuddup, Garth! Get in the car!”

The quartet piled into Baby and not a further word was spoken.

~

“What about a striziga?” Dean put down the book and looked up. “Am I even saying that correctly?”

“Strzyga,” Castiel confirmed. “You mean the Slavic female demon, correct?”

Dean held up the book to Cas and nodded, tapping the page with his finger.

“Doubtful. Those tend to drink the blood of their victims. They also eat other organs of their victims, not just their hearts.”

“What about a kumiho?” Garth said.

“Once again, doubtful,” Castiel replied. “While yes, those do eat human hearts, they also will eat livers, and none of the victims had their livers removed.”

“It says they'll eat the liver or heart, depending on the legend.” Garth looked chipperly optimistic. “Maybe it just thinks hearts taste better?”

Dean pulled a face and shook his head, looking back down at his book.

“I have never heard of one going on a killing spree though,” Castiel further argued. “They eat the human parts to gain power. One human heart or liver usually lasts for a long time before they feel the need to feed again.”

Dean grinned. “Maybe it's just gluttonous?”

Castiel frowned, giving Dean the side-eye. “Perhaps. Although, historically they tend to feed off the dead in graveyards. These have been fresh kills. I'm still not completely convinced what we're dealing with is a kumiho.”

“Plus they're foxes,” Bobby chimed in. “Once again the wound would've been messier.”

Dean gagged. Everyone looked at him. He forced a smile.

“Well I'm lost,” Dean said then, putting his book down and raking his hands over his face. “There surprisingly aren't a lot of creatures that eat human hearts.”

Bobby eyed him. “Surprisingly?”

“Yeah, I d'no. I just thought there would be more.”

“Wait,” Garth said, suddenly sitting straight in his chair. “Did all these killings happen overnight?”

Bobby flipped through his notes for the case. “Yeah. “

“Who was the first victim?”

Dean grabbed his laptop. “Before or after they decided it was a serial killer?”

“Whichever. I just need to know who the first victim is that we know of.”

“Alright, hang on,” Dean said, eyes focused on the glowing monitor as his hands flew over the keys. Within a few minutes he frowned and threw himself back in his chair. “Aw man. It was a kid. Caleb Williams, age six. Dude, that's heartbreaking.”

“Ah ha!” Garth said, jumping to his feet.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Ah ha?”

“It's a valravn!”

“A what?”

“Valravn.” Garth turned his book around to show and everyone gathered around, craning their necks down. “There's a lot of different and conflicting lore, but it's a raven with supernatural powers that feeds on the hearts of men and the blood of children.”

“Whaaaat?” Dean said, impressed.

“There seems to be a few ways they come about. One is if a chieftain or king is slain on the battlefield and not buried, and a raven starts to eat it, the raven gains human intellect and is cursed into a valravn.”

“There ain't any chieftains or kings around these parts,” Bobby said sardonically.

Garth rolled his eyes. “Yeah I know. But then other accounts say that the raven had become cursed, and the only way to free itself is to drink the blood of children, which it does by eating the heart of a child.”

“Okay,” Dean said, crossing his arms, “but if one of these cursed ravens ate Caleb's heart, wouldn't the curse be lifted and it wouldn't be a raven anymore?”

“Right,” Garth said, “but then there's a another variation of the myth that states it's a half-raven, half-wolf monster that feeds only at night!”

“Okay hold on,” Dean said, holding up his hand. “So you're trying to say we're dealing with a raven-werewolf hybrid thing that eats the hearts of people?”

Garth looked utterly pleased with himself. “Yeah!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What the fuck.”

“That would account for the wound-type,” Castiel said. “If this thing has a beak it would have to break through the chest cavity by pecking it repeatedly.”

“Which would have accounted for the bone fragments we found in the chest area as well. As the bones were chipped away they would've become embedded like we observed,” Bobby said.

Dean gagged again, and swallowed hard. “W-wait. So you're saying these poor people, this poor kid, was pecked to death?”

Castiel frowned deeply. “If it is some sort of were-creature, it would also account for these murders happening in sync with moon phases.”

“Alright, I think we have a winner,” Dean declared. He looked up at Bobby. “Now what?”

“Now we do a deep dive into the valravn and gather all the info we can amass so we don't just run in blind.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, getting to his feet excitedly and pulling on his jacket. “Let's hit up local libraries and see what we can find. I want to gank this thing as fast as possible so there aren't any more dead children.”

Chapter 37

Valravn are incredibly strong and fast. They can be hurt by powerful weapons. They are intelligent, often acting as their own sub-category of crossroads demon. Valravn are known to make pacts where the outcome is obtaining access to more hearts, which they obsessively feed from either as a means to maintain their powerful abilities or as a means to free themselves of the valravn curse, which binds their souls to the valravn form.

Dean was driving. They had gotten word as to where the valravn might be and had jumped on the lead immediately. It was night, something that didn't deter any of the hunters. If anything it spurred them into action, knowing what they were dealing with was nocturnal.

Dean was almost giddy, finding himself jumpy. He was equal parts excited and scared, eager to see how this would pan out, the words of the research they had gathered rattling around his head as he drove.

Valravn possess the ability to shape-shift. They can appear mostly human, their arms being wings and the hair on their heads instead being feathers. Valravn are most comfortable in their natural form, a large, raven-wolf hybrid, where they walk upright on two legs. They also have the ability to turn into a single raven, or a swarm of ravens, as well as a large, feathered wolf.

Truthfully Bobby, Garth, Castiel, and Dean had zero idea what they were about to walk into. There had been multiple eyewitness reports recently of a large bird flying overhead, always heading in the direction towards an old mining station. The reports had been so numerous they were starting to gain traction within the community where the most recent death had occurred; it was likened to a thunderbird, or theorized to be a thunderbird.

“It's gotta be our monster though,” Bobby had reasoned. “Thunderbirds are a Pacific Northwest thing. Not saying it ain't possible, but what the heck would a thunderbird be doing all the way down in Georgia?”

“Wait, Thunderbirds are real?” Dean clarified.

Bobby shrugged. “I mean, I never came across one but it wouldn't surprise me.”

“Huh,” Dean said, shifting in his seat, and then the car fell back into silence. It remained silent until Garth said slowly, sounding winded,

“Oh. My. God.”

“What?” Dean said.

“Look out the window.”

At first no one saw it. But then Bobby let out a small gasp, and Dean, leaning forward and staring upward out the windshield, saw what Garth was seeing.

“Follow that,” Castiel said, but Dean didn't have to be told that, already veering off the road into the grass.

Dean followed the hulking flying bird that looked like a shadow against the dark night sky. He had to push Baby faster and faster; he wasn't sure if it had spotted them and was flying faster, or if the sheer size of its wingspan simply made it travel great distances with a single flap of its wings. Regardless, Dean was pushing sixty before it finally dropped in altitude, disappearing behind a thick line of trees.

“Isn't this where the mine is?” Garth asked as Dean slowed down just before the mini-forest.

“Yeah,” Bobby said as Dean then rolled to a stop and parked the car.

“Alright,” Bobby said once the trunk was popped. “Remember what we discussed.”

Dean rolled his eyes, double-checking that his sawed off shotgun was loaded. He spoke like a petulant child, bobbing his head with each word in annoyance. “Since it's an intelligent creature, talk first, shoot later. Blah blah blah yeah I know, no ganking it right out of the gate.”

“I'm actually pretty excited for this,” Garth said, slipping a knife into the waistband of his pants and picking up a hunting rifle. “I mean, you know, assuming it doesn't eat us.”

Dean looked at Cas, hand on the trunk before he shut it.

“You sure you don't want a weapon?”

Castiel blinked, his eyes glowing, and he shook his arm once, angel blade falling into his hand. He held it up and gave the slightest smirk. “I am fine.”

“Fair enough.”

Dean shut the trunk and Cas blinked, his eyes returning to their human appearance.

“Everyone ready?” Bobby said. When everyone nodded, he cocked his shotgun and said, “Let's go.”

“Careful,” Castiel said once they entered the maw of the abandoned mine, lifting his eyes to scan all around them. “I don't trust the integrity of the mine.”

“Great,” Dean said, “that puts my nerves at ease.”

“Sh!” Bobby snapped.

Dean looked off put but remained silent.

It wasn't until they were deep within the mine did they start to hear voices. It was faint at first, and the more they pressed forward the louder and clearer it became. There was a woman's accented voice and what sounded like a male voice. The male spoke in an odd, stilted manner, with a high-pitched warble at the end of some of the words. Dean realized that it had to be the valravn, for it sometimes sounded just like a parrot speaking.

“Discretely!” the woman was saying, annunciating each syllable in chopped annoyance. “Look, I understand you have to eat, I do, but you can't just leave the bodies around all willy-nilly!”

“Where should I put them?” the bird-man voice squawked in equal, condescending annoyance. “In a tree? Where they'll eventually fall down, half-rotted, probably on top of someone? Excellent plan, Rowena.”

“You don't have to get bitchy about it,” the woman said, sounding offended.

Bobby raised a closed fist, signaling everyone to stop walking. Dean looked at him, not appreciating how the older man's eyes had gone wide.

“I didn't even want to be here in the first place,” the bird-voice half-whined, and there was the distinct sound of feathers ruffling as it shook itself in anger.

“Did it say Rowena?” Bobby whispered as the conversation in the chamber just ahead continued.

“Yes yes, I know,” the woman's voice rolled in thick Scottish, “cry me a river. Be that as it may, you are here, so you have to follow the rules!”

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean whispered back. “Why? Is that a bad thing?”

“Rules are stupid,” the bird clucked sullenly.

“Oh grow up!” Rowena snapped.

Bobby continued to whisper, “If it's the Rowena I'm thinking of it could be, depending on which version of the story you wanna believe.”

“Imagine how I feel!” the bird screeched, and the sound of flapping wings rang out. “Don't tell me to grow up!”

“Ach, my hair! Stop flapping!”

The flapping continued, faster and louder. The woman let out her own screech.

“At least you don't have to babysit a whiny, infantile, overgrown, stupid bird—”

Dean shot Bobby a questioning look. So Bobby continued,

“She's either the most powerful witch the world has ever seen, or was, and is now nothing more than a washed up hag—”

“I am not a hag!” Rowena snapped so suddenly everyone jumped.

“And yes, I know you're there. I have ears yaknow. So why don't you come out of hiding already!”

“Fuck,” Bobby muttered under his breath.

When no one moved, Rowena said, “Come on, don't be shy!”

Castiel took the initiative and strode forward, everyone trailing behind him. When they entered, a petite woman with flaming red hair arched her eyebrows. Besides her stood a massive bird-creature with black feathers, a humanoid face with a beak, muscular arms, and two wolven clawed feet. Dean took one look at it and his eyes widened in awe.

“It's a real life owl-bear!”

Bobby elbowed him in the ribs and gave a sharp glare. Garth, on the other hand, held up his fist, staring at the creature; Dean glanced at it and gave a quick bump.

The valravn flapped its wings in annoyance, cocking its head to the side. “Can it, human. I'm much more than a made-up creature from a lame, infantile, table-top RPG made by and for maladaptive adults who are so pathetic they need to retreat into a fantasy world.”

“Hey!” Dean barked back, brow furrowed. He paused, but when he spoke he still looked offended. “I don't know whether to be angry you called me infantile and maladjusted or impressed you know what D&D is!”

Rowena groaned loudly but then spoke. “Who are you all, exactly?”

“Rowena MacLeod?” Bobby asked.

She crossed her arms. “Depends on who's askin’.”

Bobby shifted on his feet. “Well, name's Bobby—”

“Bobby what?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Bobby None-Of-Your-Damn-Business—”

Rowena reached her hand out like she was holding something. Bobby dropped his weapon and clutched his throat, choking, unable to breathe. Everyone looked scared and surprised.

“Don't play with me,” Rowena said icily. “I will give you one more chance because I'm feeling kind today. So—” She put down her hand and Bobby gasped loudly, able to breath. “Who are you?”

“Bobby Singer,” Dean said said for him.

Rowena looked slightly alarmed. “Singer?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, lifting his shotgun and leveling it right at her head. “This is Garth, my friend Castiel, and I'm Dean Go Fuck Yourself.” He cocked the shotgun. “Pleased to meet you.”

Rowena took a step back, looking outright panicked. “A hunter and a angel? Good luck with that. Bye.”

Before anyone could react she pulled something from the bag that was strapped across her chest and threw it to the ground. With a loud bang and a puff of purple smoke, she disappeared.

Dean's eyes widened. “What the hell?”

The valravn gave a cooing hoot and shuddered all over. It began scratching at the ground. Looking pleased, it somehow managed to grin with its beak. It hunched down, ready to pounce, deadly glint to its beady black eyes.

“Oh goodie. Dessert!”

Notes:

It's been my head canon for awhile now that Dean always wanted to play D&D and secretly looked into it. Since this takes place in a universe where he didn't grow up a hunter, he TOTALLY would play D&D.

Deal. 😎

Roll initiative!

Chapter 38

The valravn launched itself at Dean. Simultaneously Bobby scrambled for his dropped weapon but was too late. With an undignified yelp Dean found himself on his back, two-hundred and forty pound bird-wolf-man on top of him. There was a brief struggle; the valravn tried to peck at Dean's face, Dean jerking his head right, and then left, and then yanking his upper body even more left as he tried to get him again.

“Can't we talk about this?!” Dean shouted, struggling, eyes wide.

The monster cluck-hissed at him.

Shots rang out; Bobby and Garth were unloading their weapons into the monster. With every impact the creature jerked, Dean getting splashed with its blood. Finally, after the fourth and fifth bullet wound, it reared its head toward Bobby and Garth, gave an ear-splitting screech, and launched itself at them, clawed wing-arms extended. It had pushed off of Dean, knocking all the wind out of him. Even so he tried to get up, groping for his own weapon.

The valravn was on top of Garth. Garth screamed; the monster tore a chunk of skin out of Garth’s shoulder with its beak. Castiel jumped on its back then; the valravn screamed in anger and lurched to its feet, beating its wings furiously as it tried to shake the angel off.

Bobby was at Garth’s side, frantically stripping off his own flannel and pressing it hard to Garth’s injured shoulder. Dean was on his feet then, unloading his weapon into the creature's chest and abdomen. All of the wounds seemed to merely piss the thing off, it screeching over and over furiously. When Dean ran out of bullets he ran over and clocked the thing in the face as hard as he could with the stock of his shotgun, swinging it like a baseball bat. The valravn blindly swung its arm out; it hit Dean in the chest and he went flying backwards, hitting a wooden pillar that cracked and splintered under his weight.

Castiel had been stabbing the creature over and over again with his angel blade. With Dean getting tossed, Castiel began to glow.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!”

He grabbed both sides of the valravn’s head and smote it. It screamed, finally stilling its rampage as its eyes burned out of its skull. It dropped to its knees, and when it pitched forward Cas leapt off its back, landing on his feet gracefully.

Dean was struggling to get up, arm wrapped around his midsection; he had at least one broken rib in back from when he hit a rotted support beam. Dirt and bits of debris were raining down on his head, the beams of the room moaning and groaning.

Castiel rushed over to Dean, looping his arm under his shoulders and hoisting him to his feet. Dean yelped at the jostle and grimaced. Not giving Dean a chance to move at any sort of easy pace, he rushed over to where Bobby and Garth were.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked as they hobbled at a half-run across the large room.

“Broke a rib or two,” Dean said, wincing, arm still wrapped around himself. “I'll live.”

When they reached Bobby and Garth, Castiel frantically tapped Bobby's shoulder, signaling him to take Dean. Bobby did just that, slotting himself under Dean's arm and helping him hobble towards the tunnel leading out. Simultaneously, Castiel scooped Garth into his arms.

“Go,” Castiel urged, the four hurrying out of the room that was now groaning loudly. “I'll be right there!”

With a flutter of wings, Castiel and Garth disappeared. It didn't take long, a few seconds, before Castiel reappeared in front of them, touched both of their shoulders, and suddenly they were all outside. Garth was sitting on the ground, poking at his now-healed shoulder.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

Garth grinned up at him. “Good as new!”

Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead, the pain of his back vanishing. Dean gave a small smile of relief.

“Thanks.”

Everyone jumped when something inside of the mine audibly collapsed. Dean grinned.

“Wasn't expecting to play Indiana Jones today. Happy we made it out in time.”

~

Bobby, Castiel, and Dean sat in the motel room. After a few quick goodbyes, Garth headed out, wanting to get back home as soon a possible. As such, the remaining trio sat at the round table of their room, unable to sleep.

Dean tapped his fingers nervously against the table. Every so often one of them glanced at the other two, looking almost guilty in their silence. After briefly chewing on his fingernail, Dean couldn't take the crickets anymore and spoke.

“Anyone else notice that the valravn didn't want to be here?”

“Anyone notice Rowena didn't sound thrilled she had to keep tabs on the damn thing?” Bobby said.

“I noticed both,” Castiel said, his voice undercut with some anxiety.

“Why would a powerful witch be delegated to babysitting a monster?” Dean asked.

“And why would something like a valravn be being held against its will?” Bobby said. “To what end?”

“I'm more concerned with who was making them do things neither wanted to do,” Castiel said, speaking the thing that was really worrying everyone.

“Or what,” Bobby tacked on.

Everyone looked at each other. When no one offered an answer after a few minutes, the question hanging heavily on the air, they all retreated for the evening without so much as a goodnight.

Chapter 39

Sam was worried. He was worried because he had been gone for so long. Worried that Dean was going to take one look at him and deck him (or even worse, not do or say anything at all, simply closing the door in his face). He was worried that Bobby would give him the cold shoulder, and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive himself if that happened.

He worried about that angel, Castiel. Would he know what he had done, what he was doing? Would he care? Sam had tried to reason with himself that Castiel was his protector, but Sam knew there was something within himself, deep and dark lurking just under the surface, something that was literally the exact opposite of what Castiel was. If the circumstances had been different, would he have killed Sam? If circumstances changed (because, let's face it, Dean and Cas had some sort of weird, automatic bond right out of the gate, and Sam was pretty sure the only reason he was still walking around above ground was because Dean wanted Sam alive), would the angel kill him the second he could?

Did that even matter?

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, and raised his closed fist. He paused, thinking about how easily he could just run again, but instead knocked loudly.

Sam thought to himself, over and over and over again, Please don't be Dean, please don't be Dean, please don't be Dean.

The door opened and, of course, it was Dean.

Sam braced himself for what was about to happen. He was taught like a coil, ready to duck out of the way of a thrown punch. He told himself that whatever Dean said, whatever tantrum was about to be unleashed upon him (inevitably complete with screaming and swearing), Sam would remain cool and collected.

Instead, Dean took one look at him and yanked him down into a fierce hug.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice way more emotional than he ever wanted it to be from being utterly caught off-guard.

After a moment, Dean pulled away, holding Sam's shoulder at arms length. He swallowed several times, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. The shorter man was clearly fighting back tears.

“Don't ever do that again to me, Sammy.”

Not giving Sam a chance to reply, Dean pulled him into another hug. This time, Sam hugged his brother back just as hard. After a few more moments Dean gave a loud sniff and then pulled away, furtively swiping a tear from his eye. He then beamed up at Sam.

“Man, I am so happy you're here.”

“I noticed,” Sam said in spite of himself with the tiniest smirk.

Dean moved aside then and eagerly told Sam to come in.

“Who's at the—” Bobby was saying, walking into the room. He saw Sam and faltered in his words. “—door.”

Sam smiled. “Hey, Bobby.”

Bobby came forward with another hug, which Sam gladly accepted. Bobby took a step back, looking Sam up and down.

“Where’ve you been, kid? We missed you.”

“Yeah, uh…about that.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Anxiously Sam smiled.

“Could I have a beer to begin with?”

“Shit, this must be a doozy,” Bobby said. “You never ask for beer.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. Sam shifted on his feet. He glanced between the pair before settling his eyes on Dean.

“I think Cas should be here too.”

“So then call him,” Dean said thinly.

“I feel…wrong, praying to him.”

Dean gave him a look like he was crazy.

“I d'no. Wouldn't that be blasphemous, a half-demon calling on an angel?”

Dean rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. Closing his eyes, he said, “Our Father, who may or may not be in Heaven, blah blah blah something something, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here.”

Dean opened one eye. Standing behind Sam was Castiel. Dean opened his other eye and grinned.

“That's not how that goes, Dean,” Castiel said, causing Sam to jump and spin around.

“Hey, it worked!” Dean said.

Castiel peered up at Sam. “You've returned.”

Sam shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Er, yeah.”

Surprising everyone, Castiel stepped forward, reached out, grabbed Sam's face, and twisted his head every which way, looking him over.

“Are you uninjured?” Castiel asked, going so far as to grab one of Sam's eyelids and pull it upward to get a good look at his eye. “Where did you go?”

Sam gently but firmly grabbed Castiel by both wrists and shoved his hands away. “I'm…fine. Stop man-handling me.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel once again grabbed Sam by the chin, this time smooching his cheeks so his lips puckered out. “Open your mouth.”

“What? No! I'm fine!” Sam now shoved the angel away.

Looking put out, Castiel took a small step back. Casting him a final brow-scrunched look of annoyance, Sam then looked at Bobby. “About that beer.”

Bobby laughed, shaking his head. “On it.”

Dean, Sam, and Cas stood in silence, waiting. Slowly and trying to be sneaky about it, Cas started to reach for Sam's face again. The man slapped his hand away and whispered harshly, “Stop it!”

Bobby came back then, three beers in hand. Castiel tried to intercept Sam's, but Sam reached around and over the outstretched arm. He clutched the cold drink to his chest, nostrils flared.

“Cas, stop it! I'm fine!”

Dean laughed. “You're getting mother-henned.”

Resting Bitch Face™. “Oh shut up.”

As Dean took a seat on the couch and Bobby leaned against the door frame, Sam chose to stand, still next to Cas. He looked around nervously and took a long pull from his beer before speaking.

“I, uh, was doing research.”

Dean's eyebrows raised. “Research?”

“I, er, I didn't exactly, uh, run away. I mean I did, but I ran to somewhere.”

“Spit it out already,” Dean said, trying to mask his unease under a chuckle.

“I went back to Azazel.”

Castiel stepped toward Sam and Sam leapt back. “Cas, I swear to God if you touch me one more time—”

Castiel held up both hands.

“The hell you mean, back to Azazel?” Bobby all but shouted.

Dean got to his feet. “Are you insane?!”

Sam quickly set down his beer and held up both hands. “Hear me out.”

“No!” Dean said brusquely, coming around the coffee table. “Didn't you explode a bunch of demons to escape? Wouldn't he be pissed about you killing a bunch of his people?! That was so reckless, so stupid! What if he killed you on sight? What if he chained you up again? What if—”

Castiel slotted himself between Dean and Sam. “I want to hear what he has to say, Dean.”

Sam let out a small sigh of relief, even as Dean glared over the angel's shoulder at him. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel turned around then, leveling his own glare. “This had better be good.”

Sam looked down at Cas and swallowed thickly, clearly scared. He then went and sat on the couch, looking up at everyone.

“I actually apologized for that—for killing a bunch of demons.”

Dean rolled his eyes and took a huge gulp of beer.

“I told him I was just overwhelmed and spooked, and that I ran away because I was scared.” Sam paused a second, taking a deep breath. “I lied and said—said that I was ready.”

An icy shiver ran down Dean's spine. Even though he knew the answer, he had to ask. “Ready for what?”

“To lead the army.”

Dean immediately left. He barreled out the front door, not even bothering to shut it. As he stalked away at a fast clip, hands bunched at his side, he heard Sam calling after him. It didn't take long before he heard footsteps running behind him, and then Sam grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

“Dean, wait—”

Dean threw a wild punch, clocking Sam in the jaw. Sam recovered quickly, holding his chin as Dean stood before him, seething. Taking a deep, calming breath, Sam said, “I deserved that.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Dean exploded.

“I was thinking,” Sam said, voice getting louder as he went on, “that it was a perfect opportunity for me to work as a double-agent—”

“Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“No, Dean,” Sam finally yelled back. “This was actually one of the smartest things I've ever done!”

Dean laughed bitterly. “Oh that's peachy, that's just perfect—”

“Look,” Sam huffed, “I didn't mean to scare you. It took me awhile to find him, it took me even longer to prove to him that I was sorry and ready to accept my position—”

“I don't believe you, this is ridiculous—”

“—and it took me even longer to gain his trust!”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Dean screamed. “We used to tell each other everything, man! Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I knew you'd try to stop me!” Sam screamed right back.

“Fuck yeah I would've! I would've chained you to a chair my damn self!”

“Yeah I know, which was even more reason for me to do this! And it's a good fucking thing I did, Dean, because I learned something, something important.”

“Oh yeah Sammy? What did you learn, huh? What earth-shattering bit of information that you risked life and limb for—”

“He's starting the Apocalypse!”

Dean slammed his mouth shut. “What?”

“He's starting the Apocalypse and he wants me to lead the charge!”

Dean felt dizzy. Sam was so pissed now he shoved Dean, hard.

“He's doing it, with or without me, so it's a good thing I went because now we can try to stop him! So get off your fucking high horse, acting like you know everything always—”

Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him into a hug. When Sam struggled, tried to shove him off, Dean simply held him tighter, looking over his shoulder with a thousand mile stare until Sam settled and hugged him back.

“I'm sorry,” Dean said, still staring off at nothing, feeling numb. “I'm so sorry.”

Sam took in a deep breath, trembling all over. “Yeah Dean, I know. I'm sorry too.”

Dean closed his eyes, a tear escaping. He had never felt so scared in his life.

Chapter 40

“So let me get this straight,” Dean said, pacing back and forth. “Azazel kidnapped you, tortured you, told you about mom, awakened your demonic powers, then put you in a town where you killed people, innocent people, and then fled. Then you went back, convinced Azazel everything is going according to plan and that you're going to keep an eye on us, eventually luring us and other hunters into a trap so they systematically shrink in numbers so by the time this Lilith bitch comes around she'll be able to more or less effortlessly break most, if not all, of the sixty-six seals keeping Lucifer trapped in a cage, after which you take on Lucifer and start the Apocalypse?”

“Yes,” Sam said from the couch where he sat.

Dean looked helplessly between Bobby, who was leaning against the doorframe, frowning with his arms crossed, and Cas, who stood there, unreadable.

Dean ran his hands through his hair and forced out a breath. “Sammy. There's a huge fucking difference between you killing demons to escape and you killing innocent people in a town—”

“They weren't innocent!” Sam argued. “Some of them had done awful things once they realized they had powers! They were fed demon blood!”

“And so were you while you were there!” Dean snapped. “Like being half-demon isn't bad enough, then you gotta be drinking blood on the top of it—”

“Only to keep the ruse up—”

“That don't change the fact you lied to me!” Dean stopped pacing, raising his voice. “Dammit, Sam, how am I supposed to trust you after you lied to me?”

Sam moaned in frustration. “I didn't lie to you, I just left out the part where everyone who was fed demon blood were all pitted against each other!”

Dean glared, hard.

“What was I supposed to do?” Sam snapped, eyes narrowed. “When you opened the door and you saw me covered in blood, if I said, ‘Oh hey, Dean, sorry I've been gone, I just murdered about twenty people but don't worry, most this blood all over me is just demon blood’, what would you have done, huh?”

“Talked to you! Gotten to the bottom of it!”

Sam gestured at Bobby. “He damn near killed me when he realized I might be a demon!”

“I didn't know you were a demon,” Bobby said quietly. “I assumed you were just possessed.”

Sam threw him a resting bitch face. “It felt like you were ripping my insides out, thanks.”

Bobby shrugged and muttered an apology. Sam whipped his head back to Dean.

“Do you really think learning I was a murderer on top of me being a demon would've helped?!”

“I mean okay, maybe not,” Dean said, “but I don't trust you now on top of everything!”

Sam held up his hands. “That's on you. I didn't have to come back, Dean.”

“Of course you did!” Dean declared incredulously.

“No, I really didn't,” Sam retorted furiously. “I'm doing you a favor by coming back to warn you what's going on! I could have just played double-agent on the sidelines without letting you know the whole scope of what's going on here!”

“That's the stupid load of bullsh—”

“No, Dean,” Sam shouted then, pointing at him, “the only thing you're upset about is the fact that I did something on my own two feet without running it by you first!”

“Oh don't start that up again—”

“Enough,” Castiel said loudly, glaring at them both.

Everyone in the room looked at him. Castiel gave a small sigh.

“It is of my opinion that Sam was behaving within the confines of the situation he was given.”

Sam brought himself up tall and shot a smug look at Dean, who seemed to wither angrily.

“However,” Cas continued, throwing a sharp look at Sam, “moving forward you must tell us everything in order to keep my trust. Do you understand?”

Sam swallowed and looked a bit guilty. “Yeah. Totally.”

Dean rounded on Cas. “You suddenly become the de facto leader or some shit?”

Castiel cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “No, however, I feel like it is within my right to make such decisions seeing as I am the one who has been dealing with demons for millions of years now. I know with absolute confidence that had Sam not participated in the deadly elimination competition, he would have been killed outright.”

Dean couldn't believe that. “Even though they know he's Lucifer's true vessel…you're seriously trying to tell me they'd throw that away?”

“Yes.”

Dean looked at Bobby. Bobby shrugged. Dean looked back at Sam, who was giving him an angry look. He knew his little brother well enough to see the hurt shining through. Dean couldn't take it, so he looked away.

“That's ridiculous.”

Castiel shuffled forward. “These are demons, Dean. Logic does not always play a factor. They get what they want as easily as they can, even if that means settling for the second or third option of a plan.”

“Really? Path of least resistance, not what yields the best outcome?” Bobby asked in disbelief.

Cas looked at him. “Correct.”

“So are we done here?” Sam asked, voice strained. Everyone looked at him as he spoke at a clipped pace, lips puckered. “I told you everything I wanted to. I'd like to get going.”

“Going?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” the tall man replied, jaw clearly clenching and unclenching. “I can get a motel room in town.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Bobby admonished.

“No it's fine, really,” Sam said, holding up his hands and walking to the door. “It was nice that you were happy to see me, Dean, for all of two seconds.”

Dean almost rolled his eyes. “Sam, don't be like that—”

“Like what?” Sam snapped, hand on the doorknob. “Angry that you said you don't trust me? Hurt that instead of being worried about my well-being after everything I've been through—torture, being forced to kill people—you're more concerned with my not telling you everything up front because I'm trying to wrap my God damn head around it all and present it in a way that won't make you hate me?”

Dean's features softened. “Sam—I could never hate you.”

Sam yanked open the door, nostrils flared. “Then fucking act like it.”

When Sam slammed the door behind himself and Dean started to go after him, Castiel cuffed him around the arm. Dean glared.

“Don't, Dean. You're largely in the wrong. He clearly doesn't want to speak to you and frankly I can't say I blame him.”

Dean ripped his arm out of the angel's hold. Giving a nasty look he stomped away upstairs.

~

“You know, Dean.”

“Jesus!”

Dean spun around, hand to his chest. Castiel stood before him. He looked confused.

“I'm not Jesus.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally his features settled on annoyance and he turned back to the night's sky. “What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to Sam.”

Dean rolled his eyes heavily. “Oh, now you want me to talk to him? Just a few hours ago you told me to leave him alone. So which is it, leave him alone or not?”

Dean didn't give Cas the chance to answer. “Or I have an idea; how about you stop telling me what to do?”

Castiel gave a cruel smile. “Oh, you mean like you do to Sam?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and took a menacing step forward. “Don't act like you know our relationship.”

“Then don't act like I haven't been watching you since your brother was in diapers.” Cas took a step forward as well, so close they could have kissed if they wanted. He returned the threatening look, tipping his head to one side. “Have you even considered how difficult this must be for Sam?”

Dean met the stare evenly. Cas continued.

“Do you understand how his entire life has been turned upside down? I want you to try to imagine how it would feel, to discover you're half something evil, and that you are to fulfill a role in the end of the world. Can you fathom the loss from housing this part of you you went your entire life oblivious to? The loss of bodily autonomy?”

Dean turned his head away, so Castiel grabbed his chin and yanked his head back to look at him. Dean was surprised, and a little scared, at how pissed off the angel looked.

“No, Dean, you don't deserve to look away. You screwed up and I want you to own it, to feel it.”

Dean shoved his hand away. “Okay first off, personal space. You can't just grab people's faces.”

Castiel puckered his lips.

“And secondly,” Dean said, his voice cracking with the last few words. “Yeah, I know.”

“He might be an abomination,” Castiel said (Dean rolled his eyes), “but I have spent over a decade watching him. He's a good person, Dean, I can say that with utmost certainty.”

Dean sighed and Castiel allowed him to look at his feet. “Sorry.”

“You're telling the wrong person that.”

Dean lifted his head, but he was alone on Bobby's porch.

~

“Dean.”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said gruffly.

Sam looked baffled. “How'd you find me?”

Dean shoved his way past Sam into the hotel room, head on a swivel. “Bobby showed me how to track your credit card.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shut the door. “Yes Dean, do come in.”

When Sam turned around, Dean made a face at him in response to the sarcasm. Sam frowned.

“What do you want, Dean?”

Dean looked at his feet and mumbled what Sam could have sworn was an apology. He craned his neck forward, grinning. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

Dean mumbled again.

Sam, still grinning, cupped his ear. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

Dean snapped his head up and glared. “I said I'm sorry, okay? Don't be a little bitch about it.”

Sam put his arm down and laughed. Dean relaxed, his own small smile creeping onto his face. After that they stood for some awkward moments, not talking. When they finally did, they spoke over each other.

“I'm sorry I got so angry—”

“I guess I shouldn't have stormed off—”

“I should've asked you how you've been—”

“I shouldn't have scared you by taking off again—”

They both stopped talking and laughed.

“Go ahead,” Dean said.

“No you go ahead,”Sam said.

“No, I said you.”

“No really, you.”

“No you.”

“You!”

“Just spill your guts out ‘cause I know you want to, bitch!”

“Shut up, jerk! This is a once in a lifetime apology I'm getting from you, I wanna hear it!”

Before either of them knew it, Sam had Dean in a headlock and was giving him a noogie, Dean hitting Sam's back with his closed fist.

“Okay okay okay, enough, sasquatch! I relent! Lemme go already!”

Laughing, Sam released his brother. Dean playfully glared up at him. “No fair! You're like, way bigger than me!”

“If you really wanna be a hunter, size doesn't matter.”

Dean threw a lewd grin. “Size always matters.”

Sam pulled a face. “Gross.”

Dean laughed. Then the two fell into more silence wherein they simply looked at one another. Finally Dean ran a hand through his hair.

“Look, Sammy, I—”

“Dean, don't. It's okay.”

“But—”

“No, really. It's okay.”

“But it's not okay!” Dean suddenly snapped. “You were kidnapped, and tortured, and you're part demon, and you're Lucifer's host, but most importantly you're my baby brother and I don't know how to help you. I don't know if I can help you, and it's killin’ me, man.”

Sam's face crumpled sympathetically. Dean swallowed, his jaw working over time.

“I know this ain't about me, this is so outside of the realm of being about me, but it's killin’ me.”

Sam stepped forward and hugged Dean. The shorter man immediately shoved him off.

“Hey! No chick flick moments.”

Sam held up both hands and smirked.

Dean looked him up and down in annoyance. Then, softly, embarrassed, “I'm just being honest.”

“I know Dean. And I appreciate it.”

Dean gave a curt nod, unable to meet Sam's gaze. Sam knew Dean was damn near about to crawl out of his skin, so he gave a playful shove and a disarming smile. “So, what’ve you been up to since I was moonlighting as a devil?”

That made Dean chuckle. “Moonlighting as a devil, eh?”

Sam laughed and shrugged.

“Eh, hunting.”

“Yeah? How that's been going?”

“Fine. Bobby wanted to scale it back, do easy stuff like ghost hunting…because apparently that's easy? I wouldn't know because we keep coming across crazy bad monsters.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, like this last one was something called a valravn.” He let out a cut-off giggle. “Looked like a owl-bear…”

Sam gave him a mischievous smile. Before he could make a smart ass comment about it, Dean rushed on.

“Anyway, it was pretty cool, I mean until it tackled me. And before you have kittens I'm clearly okay. The mine we were in, well, not so much.”

Sam chuckled. “Sounds exciting.”

“It was! Although the witch we ran into didn't think so.”

Sam's eyebrows shot right back up. “A witch?”

“Yeah, Rowena. She kept complaining about how she didn't want to be there—”

“Rowena?”

“Yeah. She disappeared like a ninja, smoke and all—”

“Wait wait wait. Rowena.”

Dean glanced off to the side. “Yeah?”

“Woman about yay-high—” Sam said, brow scrunching as he held up his hand to show someone dwarfed compared to him, “—ginger, thick Scottish accent?”

“Yeah…Wait, how do you know Rowena?”

Sam looked ever so slightly panicked. “And...You…Killed. The valravn?”

“Yeah, Sam, I mean that's kinda what we're supposed to do.”

Sam's shoulders slumped. “Shit."

"Shit?"

"We have a problem.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"I've met her personally. Dean—Rowena is working for Azazel."

Chapter 41

Notes:

I have officially lost sight of the main plot again. Was there ever one to begin with, seeing as I formed this idea months ago while very sick with COVID? Who knows. I certainly don't. 😂 Lets all see where this goes.

“What're you doing here?” Bobby asked, eyes squinted with sleep he needed to shake off. “I thought you got a hotel room?”

Sam, who had been sleeping on the couch, startled awake. He blinked harshly a few times and then sat up, stifling a yawn. “Huh?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nevermind for now. Where's Dean?”

“Upstairs,” Sam replied, no longer able to suppress his yawn.

“Want coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Bobby paused, giving Sam a fond look. “You might be part demon, but you're still more polite than Dean ever was.”

Sam snickered and shook his head. As Bobby shuffled into the kitchen, Sam yawned again and stretched. He moved his head until his neck cracked. Once done he got up, shook himself a bit, and then padded upstairs.

Sam knew Dean was grumpy in the mornings, especially before he had coffee in his system. As such he crept down the hallway as quietly as he could (which by this point was damn near silently, between his hunter training, his demon training, and then being intimately familiar with every squeaky board in the place). Once again with somewhat newfound stealth, he quietly closed the bathroom door to take a piss.

Once done, Sam obviously washed his hands. He gave an extended yawn; turning the water slightly colder, he closed his eyes, leaned forward, and splashed some water on his face. Turning off the faucet, he groped around with his eyes closed until he found the towel. Standing up his full height, Sam dried his face and then opened his eyes.

Azazel stood behind him, yellow eyes watching his I'm the mirror's reflection.

Sam gasped loudly and spun around. The bathroom was empty. Freaked out and not necessarily wanting to, Sam slowly looked over his shoulder back at the mirror. The only thing there was his own reflection.

“What the fuck?” he breathed out, shaking.

Half expecting Azazel to be there still, he turned his head forward. The bathroom was definitely empty. Setting the towel down on the sink he stepped forward; hesitating, he reached out unsteadily towards the shower curtain. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he grabbed the curtain and ripped it open.

Only the empty bathtub greeted him.

Letting out a slow, shaking breath, Sam told himself it was nothing but nerves. Just to be sure, he closed his eyes and tentatively reached out with his preternatural demonic abilities, just enough to prod the immediate area but not enough to give his location away to anyone. He sensed nothing unexpected; he felt Bobby and Dean, their personal signatures washing over him like a warm, comforting blanket. Besides that, the house was empty.

Sam, now feeling annoyed, flipped off the light switch and exited the bathroom. He didn't get far before he was rocked by a powerful vision. Tinnitus screeching in his ears, he stumbled and clutched his head. Barely even aware of his conscious self, he slammed into the wall, a picture frame falling and shattering. He yelped out, head pounding, an onslaught of confusion and terror engulfing him.

Azazel. Rowena standing in a ring of fire, arms lifted above her head, chanting, eyes glowing purple. Sam seeing himself in a suit of white. A storm, thunder, lightning, hail. People running, but there was something wrong with them, attacking one another, biting and clawing at each other.

Running. A forest. Dean on the ground, clutching his bleeding stomach. Sam, once again in a suit of white, talking to Castiel. Castiel jerking, like he had been shoved by an invisible force. Castiel smiling maniacally. A woman dressed in black, almost sickly thin, brown hair and intense eyes. People choking on smoke, veins turning black beneath their skin, people beating each other to death with bats.

Castiel and Dean…kissing? Suddenly a sterile room, black bookshelves for miles and miles unending. All filled with black books. An older man with beady eyes and paper thin skin, slick backed hair, and a hooked nose, wearing a suit and holding a scythe, standing in one of the rows of books. Behind him a voluptuous black woman wearing a black leather coat; she reached out a perfectly manicured hand, putting it on the man's shoulder. The man slowly looked over his shoulder at her.

Abruptly a—dungeon? No…Sam recognized this place. He had been in this room before. A throne room. Yes, the stone throne. It had been empty when Sam had seen it, but now sat a balding man in a suit, holding a cup of wine, looking smug. A man to his right, laughing in a nasally voice, licking blood off a knife slowly. To his left, a rather plain looking woman with blonde hair; she looked sweet but there was a murderous look beneath her smile.

A short man with salt and peppered hair sitting in a bar at a table with booths. To his right a…computer? In his hand, a pocket watch. This man seemed to look directly at Sam as though he saw him.

Dean and Sam physically fighting, both bloodied. Sam getting the upper hand, running Dean through the stomach, dagger pointed upward and thrust all the way up to the hilt. Sam could feel Dean's warm blood pouring over his hand.

Sam touching Castiel's forehead in a field; Castiel collapsing. Seeing Castiel from an overhead view, lying there, trench coat haloed around his unmoving form, the shape of black wings burned into the ground.

Then finally, a cage engulfed in darkness, flames licking it's black bars as lightning struck at random. Red glowing eyes in the cage, staring into Sam's soul.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Sam!”

Sam gasped loudly. Dean was squatted before him, dressed only in a black t-shirt and black briefs, hair pointed every which way. He looked absolutely besides himself with panicked worry. He was holding Sam's face. Terrified it was still a vision, not understanding he was conscious and in reality, Sam shoved Dean away. Dean, who he loved, who he would do anything for, who he didn't want to hurt or much less kill.

“Hey hey hey,” Dean said, almost falling over but catching himself, and then holding Sam's face again. “Sammy! It's me!”

“Dean?” Sam wheezed out.

“Yeah, it's me. It's okay, I got you.”

“Dean.”

Sam yanked his brother into a tight hug. Bobby came barreling up the stairs then. He took one look at the scene and slowly approached.

“What's going on?” Bobby asked.

Dean merely puckered his lips and shook his head once. Bobby nodded and turned back around, giving the pair space.

“It's okay Sammy,” Dean said, cradling the back of Sam's head. “I got you now. I got you.”

~

Dean was fully dressed, as was Sam. Him, Dean, and Bobby all sat at the kitchen table.

“You sure you're good?” Dean asked.

“For the millionth time, yes,” Sam said, even though his words came out muffled on account of the tissues shoved up his nostrils.

“It's been twenty minutes. You're not going to have any blood left if it doesn't stop soon.”

“Don't be dramatic. Besides, what can I do? Go to the ER and say, ‘Hey, I had a demonic vision that made my nose bleed. Seeing as it's an unnatural cause, I don't know if cauterizing my nose would do anything, but could you try anyway? Thanks.’”

Dean flipped Sam off who laughed.

“So where is he?” Bobby asked.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. “I don't know!”

“Well try again?”

“Ugh. Fine.” Dean closed his eyes. “Castiel, angel of the Lord, I hope you acquiesce and get your feathery ass down here sooner than later—”

“My ass is not feathery, Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes. “There you are! Where have you been? We've been calling you for a while now.”

Castiel completely ignored the question. “Truthfully, my ‘feathers’ (air quotes) aren't what the ‘human perception’ (air quotes) comprehend as ‘feathers’ (more air quotes), they're actually more akin to ‘blades’ (for some reason, air quotes) than—”

Dean was looking at Cas like he had sprouted three more heads. “Okay, first off stop with the ‘unnecessary air quotes’ (which he did to drive his point home), because man, we have got to get you to understand what they mean and ‘how to use them’—”

Castiel tilted his head slightly. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Yes Cas, I am,” Dean snapped, using air quotes around the entire damn sentence.

Castiel crossed his arms and looked off to the side. “Well that's just rude.”

“What's rude is you not answering for nearly half an hour—”

“I had pressing matters to attend to.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“I know it's difficult for you to wrap your pea-brained mind around the fact that something might be more important than you—”

“Hey!”

“But I assure you, if I don't immediately answer your beck and call it's for a good reason—”

Sam moaned loudly and held his head for a second. He then glared at them both. “OH my GOD would you two just shut up and kiss already?! You fight like a damned married couple!”

Dean screwed up his face. Castiel turned red and looked only slightly less confused (and frankly disturbed) than Dean did.

“What?” Dean said.

Sam opened his mouth but then closed it. He was fine telling them about the murder, and blood, and death, and fire and brimstone, but kissing? No, that was right out; Sam was going to just play that one close to the vest. He ran an angry hand through his hair.

“Nevermind, it doesn't matter—”

“Why do you have your nose stuffed with—what is that? Tissue? Toilet paper?” Castiel asked.

Sam rolled his eyes heavily and gave the angel a harsh resting bitch face. “It's about time you noticed. Gee, thanks.”

Castiel grew serious. “Are you alright?”

“No he's not alright!” Dean snapped.

“Dean,” Sam said gently. “Chill.”

Dean crossed his arms and slammed himself back into his chair, glaring off to the side.

Sam relayed everything about his visions (minus the kissing) to everyone. By the time he was done, Castiel looked deep in thought.

“So,” Sam said with some hesitation in his voice. “Any ideas?”

“Several, actually,” Castiel said, brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought quickly. Refocusing his look, he added, “but nothing concrete, and nothing I want to share until I am absolutely certain.”

“Great, so no help at all,” Dean said rudely.

“What Dean is trying to say, since he's emotionally constipated and any emotion besides happiness comes out as anger,” Sam said, and when Dean got up to leave Bobby grabbed his arm and yanked him back down, “is that we appreciate any information you're willing to divulge, whenever you're willing to do so.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Yeah. That.”

Bobby gave out a quiet, long sigh.

“Do we think,” Castiel said, abruptly switching gears, “Rowena is being forced to help Azazel?”

“Does it matter?” Bobby asked flippantly.

“Yes, of course it does. If she's being coerced we could use that to our advantage.”

“How?” Sam asked.

“I'm admittedly unsure, but we could use her freedom or protection as leverage to get her to help us?”

Sam was shaking his head. “No, I'm pretty sure she's doing this in an attempt to gain immunity for whatever is coming. I overheard her and Azazel talking once, and it definitely sounded like a one hand washes the other type of situation.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Do you think Rowena sought him out?”

“Once again, does it matter?” Bobby said.

Castiel hummed. “Less so, I suppose. Depending, it might show a willingness to help us though.”

“Wait wait wait,” Dean said, pushing himself back. “You want her to help us? Guys, this is the same woman who ninja’d herself away as soon as trouble showed up. I highly doubt she'd—”

“Her and I are friendly,” Sam said excitedly over Dean. “I might be able to slowly work her over.”

“Gross,” Dean said playfully, earning himself a slap on the back of the head from Bobby.

Sam tugged at the collar of his neck. “Euragh, um, actually, that's…Kinda why I might have a leg up.”

Dean's mouth dropped open. “You slept with a witch?! I mean, good for you, she's a little hottie but slept with a witch?!”

“No I did not sleep with a witch!” Sam snapped angrily.

“Oh. Then—”

Clearly uncomfortable with it, Sam interrupted, “She, uh, she has a crush on me, it seems.”

Dean grinned and leaned forward. “Oh really?”

“Dude, shut up. My heart’s still only in it for Jess.”

Under normal circumstances Dean would've immediately jumped at the opportunity to give Sam shit for being a sentimental softy. But nothing in Dean's life fell under the normal circumstances category anymore, so Sam's comment merely made a lump form in his throat. Dean muttered, “Sorry.”

Sam acknowledged the apology with a small mod. Then he looked around at everyone. “So what do you think? Should I try to get in Rowena’s good graces and see if she'd help us?”

“I doubt she'd be willing to without something compelling,” Castiel replied. “I still believe it would be in our best interest to find out if she sought this alliance between herself and Azazel, or if he enlisted her help.”

“Agreed,” Bobby said, “‘cause if she offered her help I doubt she'd want to help us at all.”

“Then it's settled,” Dean declared with a smile. “So! How do we go about this?”

Everyone looked at Sam. Sam cringed.

“I have no idea.”

Notes:

I had sooooo much fun writing this chapter. I hope you like it!

Chapter 42

The night was mostly still, an irregular wind announcing its presence from time to time. The moon would have hung overhead if it wasn't for the late-May clouds, obscuring its whereabouts. It was unseasonably cool; as such, Sam flipped up the collar of his jacket against the nippy breeze.

He walked sure-footed through the graveyard. Dean had dropped him off a mile back because someone entering the cemetery well past the dusk curfew on foot would go better unnoticed than a noisy ‘67 Chevy. Sam, for the first time since learning about his heritage, was grateful for his demon blood; he had always chalked up his uncanny ability to see well in the dark as good eyesight. Now he wasn't so sure.

Sam nervously looked around, fingering what he carried in his right pocket. He was alone; he knew he was alone. Even so, he wanted to make extra sure. Closing his eyes he forced himself calm, taking in deeper, slower breaths. Once settled he reached out, no more than a ping, like a stray echowave from a bat. When nothing familiar vibrated back, he was convinced he was the only living thing in the graves.

Sam carefully removed the small felt bag from his pocket. He looked it over; the string he had tied it off with wasn't perfect, the anal-perfectionist part of him worried the entire spell would crumble just because of one lousy piece of twine. Shaking his head and chiding himself for being ridiculous, he stretched out his arm at full length, long fingers curled around the bag.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Then, louder, “Rowena MacLeod, I summon you!”

Sam crushed the bag in his palm. There was a small explosion of black smoke; coughing, Sam put his arm down and waved his other hand in front of his face, trying to see.

“While I enjoyed your flare for the dramatic, you didn't have to say ‘I summon you’.”

The smoke cleared and Sam blinked in disbelief. “It worked?”

Rowena, wearing a green dress, put her hands on her hips and smirked. “Of course it worked, dear—my spells never don't work!”

“It worked!” Sam said then with a smile. He walked over to Rowena and bent over, wrapping his arms around her. She laughed, delighted.

“So, how is my favorite Winchester?” she asked.

Sam snorted lightly and gave her the side-eye. “Aren't I the only Winchester you know?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Yes yes, don't you have a brother or something?”

“And a father.”

Rowena swatted his elbow and leered. “If they’re as good looking as you are, you might be in trouble.”

As the pair began to meander through the headstones, Sam could feel himself color slightly. Even so, he gave a cocky smirk. “Who’s to say you’ll ever meet them?”

“Oh, I have my ways…”

Sam didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t. Rowena looked about them and shivered.

“Really, Samuel? A graveyard?”

“Scared?”

“Repulsed is more like it.”

Sam chuckled.

“They’re so drab and dreary!” Then, sarcastically, “Nothing says romance like walking on dead people.”

“This isn’t a date, Rowena.”

“I figured as much,” the witch said, stopping her walk and turning to him. Eyes half shut, she gave a smile. “So–why are we here, Sam?”

“I…”

Rowena waited expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, she arched her eyebrows. Still nothing, so she crossed her arms.

“I haven’t got all night, you know.”

Sam sighed and looked at the ground, running a hand through his hair. When he looked at her, he threw her a small, boyish, shy smile. “Actually…I need your help.”

~

“You worry too much,” Castiel said.

Dean glanced down at the angel who was sitting crossed-legged on the ground. His coat was thrust out behind him, creating a sort of fan, and from Dean’s angle he could just see how his brow was taught in concentration, the very tip of his tongue sticking out. Dean would’ve thought it was adorable if Cas were a chick. But he wasn’t a chick, so it was just…well, whatever synonym meant ‘adorable’ and could apply to a dude.

“You don’t know Sammy like I do,” Dean replied, green eyes re-focusing on the screen.

Castiel hummed but didn’t reply, eyes honed in on the video game they were playing.

“He’s too trusting,” Dean continued, because damn Castiel was good at video games. He was currently getting his ass handed to him, so he was hoping if he distracted Cas enough he would start losing. “Knowing Sam he’s gonna just spill his guts to her and try to win her over that way. ‘Truth is the best policy’, blah blah blah, etc. etc.”

“That would be stupid,” Castiel replied bluntly, fingers deftly and expertly flying over the controller.

“Yeah, well, for as smart as the kid is, he can be pretty stupid sometimes.”

Castiel paused the game and twisted around.

“Hey!” Dean snapped, annoyed the game had stopped.

“I highly doubt Sam would do something as reckless as show our hand to a witch we have no reason to trust. Everything I have ever heard about Rowena states she is extremely self-serving. Even if we were to somehow win her over, the question would become, how long until she turned on us? A smart witch is a dangerous witch, Dean.”

“Not arguing with that,” Dean said. Castiel turned back around and hit the pause button again, and the video game sprang to life. Dean sat up straighter, indignantly. “Hey no fair I wasn’t ready, you ass! You can’t just start and stop it!”

Dean couldn’t see it, but Castiel was making a face and mocking him silently.

“Look,” Dean said, trying to gain equal footing in the game, “all I’m saying is that I don’t feel comfortable with just dropping him off at the meeting place. I mean, what gives? He wouldn’t even tell us how he was going to contact her, just that he was going to.”

Castiel paused the game again. Dean was pissed and glared. “Hey!”

Instead of resuming, Castiel got to his feet and gently took Dean’s controller away. He then sat next to Dean so close they were touching. After a moment, Dean scooted away.

“Personal space.”

“Right,” the angel said. “Personal space.”

Dean couldn’t help it; he chuckled.

“Dean,” Castiel said seriously then, “I know your heart is in the right place, but I must know; why do you seem to assume the worst in your brother?”

“I don’t.”

“You act like you do,” Castiel said, tilting his head down and speaking matter-of-factly. He wasn’t being rude about it; if anything he had said it gently.

Dean sighed and got to his feet. “It’s not that I don’t trust him, I do. Probably more than anyone else I know.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

Dean stood in front of his window. “It’s just…Man, I d’no. He just doesn’t do things the way I would.”

“Is his name Dean Winchester?”

Dean turned around and looked confused. “What? No.”

“Then why do you expect him to act like you?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and puckered his lips. Cas got to his feet and walked over, staring at Dean. “You may not see eye to eye, but just because his way of doing something is different than yours doesn’t make it less valid.”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from dropping his eyes down. “I know,” he said softly.

Cas titled his head to the side. “Then why do you feel the need to ‘hold his hand’ through most things?”

“Dude, ya gotta lay off the air quotes.”

Cas smirked. Dean rolled his eyes.

“It’s just…”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “He’s my little brother, yaknow?”

“He’s not very little, Dean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Castiel said, shuffling forward and encroaching on Dean’s personal space, “but I also mean what I said. He is large enough to take care of himself, and he is a grown adult.”

“Yeah I know,” Dean said, and without even thinking, he let slip, “that’s what’s so scary.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a knock on the door. They both halted their conversation and looked at the door.

“Dean, it’s me,” Sam’s muffled voice came through the door.

Dean strode over and opened the door. He wasn’t expecting Rowena to be standing next to his brother.

“It’s you!” she exclaimed, sounding surprised. Castiel came into view then, and she looked pissed. “And you! You killed the valravn! Ach, do you have any idea how much trouble I got into over that?” Then, before any of them could respond, Rowena turned to Sam and glared up at him. “You didn’t tell me the asshole who killed the valravn was your brother!”

Sam didn’t look sorry at all. “Oops?”

Rolling her eyes, Rowen turned around and started to walk away. Sam gently grabbed her by the arm, steering her back around.

“Hey hey hey! C’mon, Rowena. Remember what we talked about?”

Rowena rolled her eyes heavily again. “Ugh. Fine.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his brother. Sam smiled.

“So, you gonna let us in or just have us stand here?”

Grunting, Dean moved aside and the pair entered. Dean looked down at Rowena, who smiled charmingly. The witch proffered her hand, expecting it to be kissed.

“Why hello, Dean. I’m Rowena. Pleased to meet you.”

Dean frowned and crossed his arms. Rowena cocked an eyebrow. When it became clear Dean wasn’t about to even shake her hand, she turned to Castiel and gave a twitchy smile. She looked genuinely fearful.

“And hello. My name’s–”

“Rowena, I know,” Castiel cut in.

“O-oh.” The powerful witch seemed genuinely fearful. “Please don’t smite me?”

Castiel puckered his lips.

“Look, how about this,” Rowena said. “I don’t hex you and you don’t smite me, got it?”

“Don’t give me a reason to and I won’t,” Castiel replied flippantly.

That didn’t seem to go over well, her fear disappearing. She narrowed her eyes and she gave an unfriendly smile. “Then don’t give me a reason to hex you, either.”

“Great, now that that pissing contest is over,” Dean said, “care to tell me why a witch is standing in my kitchen?” Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Dean snipped, “I said talk to her, not bring her home with you.”

“Trust me,” Rowena said, her words frosted over, “I’m about as thrilled to be here as you are to have me.”

“No, it’s a good thing!” Sam said enthusiastically. “She’s agreed to help us!”

“Oh goody,” Dean replied with a sarcastic edge to it. “So, might I ask what exactly you told her to enlist her help?”

Sam cringed a little. “Oh. Uh. Everything?”

Dean paused, willing himself to be calm. “Everything? What does everything entail? Care to elaborate?”

Sam glanced nervously off to the side. “Euruh, everything everything?”

Dean turned to Castiel, red in the face. Without saying a word, he pointed at Sam, nostrils flared. Castiel looked at Dean, gave him a look that clearly said, I know, and then rounded on Sam.

“You did what?”

Sam outwardly cringed. “Honesty is the best policy?”

Dean stamped his foot and pointed once again at Sam. Castiel gave a soft sigh and briefly put his head in his hand. He then glared at Sam.

“Well, seeing how I can’t go back in time to prevent you from doing something so idiotic (Sam further cringed), I want to know what compelled you to do something so stupid and what exactly she’s agreed to.”

“And on what terms? And I swear to God, Sam,” Dean interjected, “if you slept with her in order to to–”

A laugh bubbled out of Rowena. “Sleep with me? I’d never! Besides, my name’s not Ruby.”

Dean looked at Sam, who was suddenly bright, bright red. Dean mouthed at him, ‘Ruby?’. Sam simply shook his head frantically. Rowena continued to laugh.

“I’m a lot of things, gentlemen, but suicidal isn’t one of them.”

That made Dean once more mouth ‘Who’s Ruby?’, and Sam dragged a palm over his face.

“Look,” Sam said loudly, “it turns out Rowena does need our help.”

Rowena muttered, “Begrudgingly.”

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Fine. What does she need?”

Rowena crossed her arms and looked displeased, moving her head so she didn't have to look at all of them. Sam gave her a gentle nudge. She didn't respond, simply puckered her lips, so he nudged her again.

“I’m in a bit of a bind,” Rowena said, looking at them. She held out her arms, wrists up. Her eyes started to glow purple. Dean took a surprised step back, and Castiel slotted himself in front of Dean protectively. There was no need to though; a moment later, magical, glowing purple chains appeared on Rowena’s wrists, crisscrossing across her chest and torso. She smiled sadly at everyone. “Literally.”

Chapter 43

“So who’s Ruby? Huh? Huh? Huh? Who’s Ruby?”

Sam let out a slow, long-suffering sigh.

“Sounds like you banged her. Did you bang her? What happened to your heart only belonging to Jess? Huh?”

Sam turned his head, glaring out Baby’s window. “I said my heart, not my dick.”

Dean laughed at that, loudly. Glancing at his brother he then focused on the dark road. “So who is she? Is she hot?”

Sam wiggled down into the seat and crossed his arms. “Dude. drop it.”

“Well c’mon! Is she or isn’t she?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I slept with her, didn’t I?”

“Okay. So, blonde? Brunette? Red-head like Rowena?”

Sam sat up. “Dude! Why are you like this?!”

Dean glanced at him again. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“It’s weird! Why do you wanna know, so you can live vicariously through me and file away the description in your spank bank?”

Dean cracked up. “What has gotten into you? You’re not usually this crass.”

Sam sighed. “Can you just drop it, please?”

“What?” Dean gave a genuine smile. “I can’t be happy for my brother? I ain’t trying to be weird, it’s just your life has been fucked up lately so I’m happy you’re finding some sort of happiness somewhere.”

Sam glared out the window. “I wouldn’t exactly call getting my rocks off happiness.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Sam gave a small sigh.

Dean glanced at his brother once more. “What? Is she not good in bed?”

Before he could stop himself, Sam grinned. “Oh no, it’s not that.”

“Okay, then what?”

Sam took a deep breath and spoke through his teeth. “You just–wouldn’t approve of her.”

“Why not?” Dean asked innocently, genuinely curious.

“Because you just wouldn’t, okay?” Sam snapped. “Now drop it.”

Dean frowned. “Fine.”

“Now–Rowena.”

“I can’t believe you told her everything!”

“How else was I supposed to get her on our side?”

“I d’no! Threaten her? Make some shit up?”

“I’m powerful, Dean, but I don’t want to go toe-to-toe with Rowena. You don’t get it–she’s the most powerful witch this side of the ocean. Also, what was I supposed to make up?”

Dean opened his mouth, but then shrugged.

“Exactly,” Sam said.

“Do you really think we can trust her?” Dean asked softly.

“I do,” Sam replied immediately with such conviction there was no hesitation.

“Why? There's gotta be some reason, right? I mean, you couldn't have known her that long—why do you trust her explicitly?”

“It's…complicated.”

Dean glanced at his brother’s profile. “Try to make it uncomplicated for me?”

Sam looked uncomfortable.

“Look, Sammy…”

Sam looked at Dean. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes dead set on the road ahead of them.

“I trust you, I do. If you say we can trust her, then I put my faith in your decision.”

Sam's lips parted slightly in surprise.

“But I just wanna know what's going on, okay? I get the feeling there's still more to Rowena than you're letting on. And this ain't an anger thing, and I don't think you're malicious hiding stuff from me, but I'm just…Curious.” Then, very quietly and in an almost shy, sad manner, “I just wanna know.”

“After I killed everyone, she was kind to me.”

Dean waited for more. When there wasn't anything more, Dean looked at him. “That's it?”

“That's it.”

Dean snorted, fighting the urge to roll his eyes and take back everything he said.

“Dean, look,” Sam continued, seeing that response wasn't good enough, “after I did that, after I killed all those people in the town, I was…lost.”

The elder Winchester glanced at him. “Lost? How big was this town?”

“Not like, physically lost. I, uh—I was questioning if I should go on.” Sam looked at his lap. “I was questioning if I could go on.”

Disturbed, Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked away, ashamed.

“And maybe it was manipulation, and maybe she's playing some sort of long game, but I really don't think so. She talked me out of—well, she talked me into staying.”

A terrified shiver ran through Dean. “Staying?”

Sam swallowed audibly. “Y-yeah. And she was genuine about it. I don't know why she gave a fuck…she didn't have to give a fuck about me…She was made to oversee things. She was watching and listening, making sure the Special Children weren't going to try an uprising or flee or something.” Sam chuckled, lacking any sort of mirth. “She was like a referee I guess.”

Dean was fighting off the lump that had formed in his throat, letting Sam continue.

“I was in a house, in a kitchen, and—and she stopped me. Talked me down. Said she could tell I wasn't like the rest.” Sam looked at Dean full on. “Do you wanna know why I trust her?”

Dean looked at him and nodded.

“She was honest about the fact that if I killed myself, she would be in trouble. The fact that she admitted her stopping me was partially for selfish reasons, that she didn't want to be tortured and thrown into Hell for eternity, well…” Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at his lap. “She didn't have to tell me. But she showed me her fear. In my few interactions with Rowena, I know she doesn't like showing her fear. She shared with me her vulnerability, and she doesn't give that out freely.”

Dean swallowed and gave a curt nod. “Yeah, I noticed. When Cas implied he'd smite her, instead of backing down she just got angry and dug her heels in.” Dean paused. “Which, for the record, if Cas and Rowena went at it my money is totally on Cas.”

Sam laughed at that and Dean grinned. When the laughter died away, Sam cleared his throat.

“So uh, yeah. Now you know.”

Dean pulled over and put the car in park. Wordlessly he pulled Sam into a hug, which surprised Sam. Sam hugged him back. Giving a nod, Dean then put Baby in drive and went back on the road. The conversation picked up like nothing had occurred.

“So,” Dean said, scratching the back of his neck under his jacket collar. “Something’s been bugging me.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“I kinda feel like dad should know you're not his kid.”

Sam let out a huge breath of air and ran a hand through his hair. “Dude. What good would that do except hurt dad?”

“Well, nothing I guess. But I kinda feel like he deserves to know his son isn't his and is part demon?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The guy hates me enough as it is—let's not pile on more reasons, okay?”

Dean threw him his own version of Resting Bitch Face. “Dad doesn't hate you.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“No he doesn't.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

“Does to!”

“No!”

“Dean,” Sam said flatly, “he saw me going to Stanford as disobedience, like I was just supposed to rot away in Lawrence forever.”

“Hey!”

“You carved a life out for yourself Dean, I didn't mean that as a jab. But instead of being happy and supportive, he got pissed. But hoping their kids do better than they ever did, isn't that something parents should want for their kids?”

“Dude, his wife had just died.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She didn't ‘just’ die, Dean.”

“All I'm saying is that you're one of the last things of his wife that he has, physically,” Dean said, irritation coating his words. “I have no idea what sort of Hell someone goes through when they lose a spouse. If I ever lost a wife or whatever, I'd cling to whatever children we had too.”

Sam couldn't help it; trying not to smile, he said, “‘Wife or whatever’?”

Dean glanced at him. “Huh?”

“You said, ‘wife or whatever’.”

Dean paused. “Yeah, so?”

Truthfully Sam had an inkling Dean wasn't straight for just about as long as he knew there was an entire spectrum beyond heterosexual. He never outright questioned Dean about it for several reasons: first and foremost he worried what sort of reaction he'd have (probably violent, at best with screaming, at worst with punches thrown, or whatever wasn't bolted down). Then there was the very real fact that Sam wasn't sure Dean himself knew he wasn't straight, and that was uncharted and scary waters.

Sam didn't know if he was just genuinely oblivious, so emotionally stunted that he was lacking a deep self-awareness. Then Sam feared it was more nefarious; perhaps Dean was so shamefully embedded in the closet that he suppressed that part of himself into near-oblivion. Sam really, really hoped not. He knew that his brother carried a unhealthy dose of self-loathing around with him, but to hate a part of yourself that was innate, something you couldn't help, something you were born with? Well, Sam couldn't fathom that.

Or, at least for most of his adolescence and young adulthood he couldn't have imagined. Now he suddenly understood on a very horrible level. Which was why Sam questioned what Dean had just said. Even though an unfortunate amount of people on Earth demonized bisexuality and homosexuality, the fact remained Dean wasn't literally a demon. Hating yourself for not being straight simply wasn't something Dean should be doing, if he was doing it. Then add to the fact he had a vision of his brother kissing a certain angel? Well, Sam was pretty much Hellbent now on making Dean understand being true to himself was okay, and that being his authentic self around his brother was more than okay.

“I just was surprised you tacked on ‘whatever’,” Sam said as nonchalantly as he muster.

Dean glanced at him. “I just meant I might not be married. You know, common law is a thing, Sammy.”

“Ah.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Ah?”

“I just didn't know if you meant whatever like…Partner.”

“Huh?”

“Wife or partner. I was just wondering if that's what you meant.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Dean said, and Sam nearly groaned in frustration because it was evident Dean genuinely didn't understand what Sam was getting at. “I mean, men and woman call each other partners nowadays when they're not married, it's not just strictly a gay thing anymore.”

“Right.”

Dean glanced at him, looking warily confused. “Right…”

Sam paused. “You know Dean, if you did mean it like a gay thing, that'd be okay too—”

Dean pulled over again and threw Baby into park. He turned his entire body to Sam, face scrunched up. “What?”

Sam's eyes went huge and he held up both hands. “I just wasn't sure what you meant—”

“Okay—”

“—and I just want you to know that if you meant ‘whatever’ like ‘partner’—”

“Great, now you're doing air quotes like Cas—”

If Sam wasn't so scared he would have laughed at that, but he didn't. “—that it'd be fine. Like if you wanted to end up with a dude with kids—”

“—what gave you that impression?”

Sam paused. He wanted to say, “How you trip over yourself sometimes around attractive men”. Sam wanted to say, “Sometimes I have caught you checking dudes out, or at least I'm pretty sure I have.” He wanted to scream and shake him and say, “You CLEARLY have some sort of weird thing with Cas, I could see that WAY before I had a psychic vision of you both MAKING OUT.”

Instead what Sam said, his voice several octaves too high, was, “Nothing?”

Dean stared at Sam for several moments wherein Sam literally held his breath. Instead of exploding, Dean simply put Baby back in drive and shook his head. “You are weird. So weird.”

As Dean drove the subject was dropped, with Sam letting out the tiniest, relieved sigh as he sank down into his seat. The rest of the car ride was silent.

Chapter 44

The rest of the car ride was silent because Dean was thinking.

Was Dean straight? No. He knew he was bisexual from the first time he saw Pierce Brosnan as 007. He, his hand, and his mind had a very interesting discussion that night in bed.

It wasn't that Dean was ashamed. If anything he was accepting of it, which would probably come as a surprise to people if they knew. Yet the fact remained he wasn't about to flaunt it. If someone asked him point blank he wouldn't deny it, but he also wasn't the type of guy to go screaming it from the rooftops. It just Was™, no different from how he had green eyes, light brown hair, and freckles.

The whole not wanting to scream his throat hoarse on the mountaintops about it also steamed from one particular experience. The one time, the one time he felt comfortable enough to talk about it to someone, he not only learned that bi-erasure was a thing, but it was alive and thriving, and he was smacked in the face with it. Repeatedly. Annoyingly.

The guy he was hoping to hook up with tried to convince him sexuality was a spectrum (no shit? That was strike one; Dean didn't appreciate being talked down to). Then somehow, after only a five minute conversation, the complete stranger felt he knew with one-hundred percent certainty Dean was “actually” pansexual. Then, when Dean denied it, the guy had the audacity to get offended.

In the span of roughly fifteen minutes, Dean had gone from horny to ready to burn the entire club down on principle. Instead he did what any rational adult male who had overserved himself would do—he tossed his drink in the guy's face and left.

There was also a second reason he didn't exactly want to join Broadway or something; his name was John Winchester. He didn't think his father was homophobic, but the bottom line was he didn't know. With John's proclivity of getting loud and handsy about stuff he didn't like, Dean decided he didn't want his dad to know without first knowing with one-hundred and ten percent certainty the guy didn't have a homophobic bone in his body.

So, Dean lived his life toeing the line. The best part was he knew Sam knew, but he loved playing dumb and innocent with his brother. Over the years Sam had made it apparent he knew, or thought he knew, but didn't have the balls enough to ask Dean bluntly if he was straight. So, they played this little game where Dean strung Sam along, secretly enjoying when his brother would become more and more uncomfortable until he was practically vibrating out of his skin with nerves and worry.

Was playing with Sam like that exactly nice? No, and Dean knew that. But Dean also never claimed to be nice, so there was that, too. When Dean thought that he chuckled to himself, which earned an anxious glance from Sam. Dean could tell Sam wanted to say something but didn't; it was all Dean could do to not bust out laughing.

“There you idjits are.”

Dean rolled his eyes, shutting the front door. “Gee Bobby, it's great to see you too. You're welcome for driving from Lawrence all the way here in the middle of the night because you asked. The drive was great. No, I couldn't take your money for gas, I'm sure.”

“Alright, alright, smart ass.”

Dean threw Bobby a shit-eating grin. It occurred to Dean right then he had never thought about if Bobby would have a problem with his sexuality. Somehow as soon as the thought came to him, Dean knew he wouldn't, so the thought left just as quickly.

“So what's this about Rowena?” Bobby insisted.

“It's three in the morning, you guys just drove several states, care for some coffee?” Sam chimed in, also with a shit eating grin.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “I'll get a pot going. And to think I usually like you better than your brother.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped while Sam laughed.

“You know this all coulda been avoided had you not hung up on us when we called,” Dean said loudly after Bobby, still grinning mischievously.

“Yeah,” Sam jumped in. “We tried calling you back like, three times, and you kept sending us to voicemail. What else were we supposed to do?”

“Not betray me by enlisting the help of a witch,” Bobby snapped from the kitchen.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, who didn't look exactly pleased, either.

“Oh c'mon, Bobby. We didn't betray you,” Dean said.

“I told you the only good witch is a dead witch,” Bobby said. “Then you go and befriend one? If that ain't the definition of betrayal, I don't know what is.”

“It's not like that, Bobby,” Sam soothed. “She's not like that.”

Bobby, his back to them as he finished scooping grounds into the pot, rolled his eyes. “I can't wait to say I toldja so when you start coughing up your internal organs because she hid a hex bag in your house.”

Dean and Sam made a face at one another. Knowing the men for their entire lives, Bobby knew their response without even seeing it. As such, he tacked on, “And no, I'm not kidding and that ain't an exaggeration.”

Bobby closed the coffee maker with a little more force than was needed, flipped it on, and then re-entered the living room. He squinted his eyes at both of them in anger.

“Seriously, the hell are you boys thinking?”

“She needs our help,” Sam stressed.

Bobby snorted loudly and crossed his arms. “What does one of the most powerful witches in the world need your help with? Guys, she's like, four hundred years old.”

Sam and Dean looked at one another, surprised.

“Why would a damn-near four hundred year old witch ask for help from a pair of hunters that haven't even been hunting for a year? I'm telling you, something don't add up.”

“Azazel has her magically bound,” Dean blurted out.

Bobby cocked his eyebrow.

“We saw it with our own eyes,” Sam said.

“He nerfed her powers. Remember when you said in the mine, depending on what you've heard about Rowena she's either one of the most powerful witches, or was and is now a washed up hag? It's both,” Dean said. “She really is that powerful, but Azazel trapped her, binded some of her magic so she can't revolt against him, and he's making her collect monsters from all around the world to bolster his demon army.”

Bobby looked surprised.

“Look, Bobby,” Sam said. “I know you don't agree with this. But I met Rowena a handful of times when I was kidnapped initially. While she showed indifference and contempt to everyone else, she was curious about me.”

“Yeah, like a science experiment,” Bobby snapped. “She knows you're powerful. I'm sure she wants to dissect you to figure out what makes you tick and how to harness that to her advantage.”

Sam bit back an annoyed growl, willing himself to be patient. “Yes and no. Look, Bobby. I'm not asking you to agree with it, and I'm not asking you to trust Rowena, but I asking you to trust me.”

Bobby's face softened.

“Can you do that for me? Can you please trust me, Bobby?”

Still looking unsure and uncomfortable, Bobby didn't answer. He looked like he was thawing to the idea though, just a little.

“Rowena has been nothing but up front about everything,” Sam continued. “She caught wind of this whole summoning Lucifer thing and she approached Azazel and offered up her help in exchange for protection when the Apocalypse happens. But he double-crossed her and bound her to himself and drained a good portion of her powers.”

“So she wants you both to help unlock her powers?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

Bobby sighed, briefly taking off his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair. “What does the angel have to say about it?”

“He's begrudgingly okay with it,” Dean said.

“He's okay with it because you're okay with it,” Sam pointed out. “Otherwise I don't think he'd go for this at all.”

“Look, Bobby,” Dean said. “Rowena wants Lucifer roaming the earth just about as much as we do. She's terrified of him. Also, since honesty is the best policy (he threw a quick glare at Sam), I trust her because she really has been so transparent about her motives. She flat out said she wasn't sure if she could suck up to Lucifer enough to get him to not kill her like he's probably gonna kill everyone else, so she wants to stop him.”

Bobby groaned. “Great. So she's everything I've ever heard. She's just as self-serving and dangerous as they say.”

“Yeah, but she's on our side.”

“For now.”

“For now,” Dean agreed. “And when that changes, we'll deal with it then.”

Bobby frowned deeply. “Look, I think the gravitas you both have towards hunting is great, and you've really proven your chops in the lifestyle already. But the fact remains I don't trust her. You both don't seem to fully comprehend how powerful she is. Once she's back at full witchiness, who knows what sort of tricks she has up her sleeve.”

Sam abruptly disappeared and reappeared directly behind Bobby literally in the span of time it takes to blink. He leaned down, speaking directly in Bobby's ear.

“And you keep forgetting that she's not the only one with powerful tricks up their sleeve.”

Bobby jumped practically twelve feet in the air and spun around. He looked Sam up and down, a look of annoyance mixed with fear he failed to cover up.

“Dammit, Sam, don't do that.”

The smile of subversive glee Sam gave made Dean uneasy.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Chapter 45

Summary:

The song referenced in the chapter is this:

Chaconne In Winter.

The specific song I use is performed by the group Time For Three. Please either look it up on whatever streaming site you use or YouTube.

I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THIS SONG NOR DO I CLAIM TO.

Notes:

This chapter is probably super cringe. If it is be honest and I will remove it and rewrite it. And yes, I really did sit there and dissect the song and reference when specific things happen in the music with time stamps. It might be an eyesore but I wrote it in the least eye-sore way, and in a way that made it readable.

Uh. Enjoy...???

The first time Dean almost died on a hunt was harrowing for several reasons, not least of which was the fact that he, you know, almost died. But to deny that there was actually a plethora of reasons to make that specific hunt memorable would be unjust to everything that happened.

“Werewolves? Really?” Sam asked incredulously.

Dean smirked. “Are we sure it's actually werewolves this time?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Rowena said it was werewolves so it's werewolves.”

“Oh. Rowena said,” Bobby said, lip slightly curled.

Dean scrubbed at his face. “Would you stop being a little bitch about Rowena? C'mon, it's been days—OW!”

Bobby pointed at Dean. “Don't call me a little bitch. Next time I'll aim the book corner at your eye.”

Sam grinned but ducked his head. “We both know what a good mark he is—I wouldn't push it, Dean.”

Dean glowered at his brother, rubbing his sternum where Bobby had nailed him with a book. Bobby raised both eyebrows, goading Dean to say something else. Instead Dean slid down in his chair a little and muttered, “Sorry”.

“So get this,” Sam said, “they're only about a mile away from where we had the valravn problem.”

“Not surprising,” Dean replied. “If Rowena summoned them then it makes sense I'd be in the same area.”

“Not necessarily; the mereman was all the way in Illinois. Then the aswang was in Michigan. The wendigo was Kansas.”

“Can she not control where she summons creatures?” Bobby asked.

Sam looked slightly uncomfortable. “I don't know. It'll be something to ask for sure.”

Dean drummed out a little ditty on the table and then got to his feet. “Well, what're we waiting for? Let's go.”

Bobby had insisted on going with them, because actual werewolves could be quite nasty. After Dean complaining they didn't need a babysitter, Bobby telling him to shove it where the sun don't shine, and Sam taking the middle road and admitting he'd feel better if Bobby tagged along “just this once”, the three set off.

They found themselves in a wooded area, just as they remembered (seeing as they really were only about a mile away from where they dispatched the valravn). They grabbed their shotguns and machetes and tromped off towards the location Rowena said they would find the monsters.

However, what they found was not what they expected.

“The fuck is that?” Dean sputtered out as the three slowed their approach to a near crawl.

Before them, reality wasn't, well, reality. After a point the forest changed in color; rather it lacked color entirely.

“You're both seeing this?” Sam said, giving the forest in front of them the side eye.

“Yeah,” Bobby breathed.

“What the fuck?” Dean repeated in awe. “It looks like a frigging black and white movie.”

He wasn't wrong; almost like there was a line drawn, the forest stretched out in shades of white, grey, and black, just like movies did before Technicolor was invented. Curious, Dean reached out a tentative hand—at least, until Bobby smacked his arm away.

“Don't touch it, you idgit!”

Dean glared.

Impulsively Sam reached out instead; as soon as he touched the air where the ground and leaves turned dark grey, himself and Dean lurched forward as though something had pushed them. Stumbling and nearly falling over themselves, they stepped into the colorless world. Dean stared at Sam and his mouth dropped open. Sam was looking at him with the same shocked, open-mouthed expression.

They too were now washed in black and white. Dean pointed and spoke…

But no sound came out of his mouth. Baffled he jerked his head back, and mouthed more words. Still nothing came out.

Then, suddenly, with a great crescendo of sound from an unseen musical score, a speech card appeared over his head while a full-string arrangement of music played:

~ { DUDE NO WAY, YOU'RE BLACK AND WHITE! WAIT, WHY CAN'T I TALK?} ~

Sam's eyes just about popped out his head as generic, sweepingly dramatic orchestral instruments played around them from thin air. Sam spoke; there was the same few-seconds delay before a speech card floated over his head in the air:

~ {WAIT… ARE WE IN A SILENT FILM?} ~

Dean rolled his eyes heavily:

~ {WHAT @#!?% SENSE DOES THAT MAKE?} ~

Sam pointed out the speech bubble and gave a prolonged, open-palmed shrug. Dean sighed, shoulders slumping:

~ {ALRIGHT FINE, IT WOULD APPEAR THAT WAY…} ~

Dean paused:

~ {WAIT. WHERE'S BOBBY? BOBBY?} ~

Dean and Sam turned around. The orchestra music shifted, changing to a dramatic minor key, slowing in tempo. The forest colors were gone now; for as far as the eye could see, everything was washed out. Dean and Sam started to panic, both calling out and walking to where Bobby should have been, but he was gone:

~ {BOBBY? BOBBY! BOBBY, COME OUT NOW. MAN, THIS ISN'T FUNNY! BOBBY?} ~

Sam looked like he was pantomiming, palms pressing against the air like he would find a way back into the colored world. When it didn't work, he looked at Dean:

~ {NOW WHAT DO WE DO?} ~

The music abruptly stopped. Suddenly, a lone wolf howled. It sounded close. Way too close for comfort. Dean touched Sam's elbow, eyes wide:

~ {RUN.} ~

The brothers took off running, deeper into the woods, away from where the wolf howls were coming from. Sam spoke as they ran:

~ {DO WEREWOLVES ACTUALLY HOWL?} ~

Dean shook his head:

~ {DON'T KNOW, DON'T REALLY CARE RIGHT NOW. KEEP RUNNING!} ~

Before either of them knew it, a huge speech card appeared directly in front of them. They skidded to a frantic stop, not wanting to run into it. They found their footing, reading over the large card:

~ {CHACONNE IN WINTER, AS PERFORMED BY TIME FOR THREE} ~

Dean blinked:

~ {THE @#%&?} ~

Another howl rang out and there was movement off to the side. The card disappeared. Just then the song started playing (though neither of them understood that, having never heard the piece; they just knew the music had picked back up). Dean and Sam briefly grabbed onto each other's forearms before frantically running again.

44 seconds into running, they caught their first glimpse of the werewolves; they looked like regular humans at a glance. Neither Dean or Sam wanted to get up close and personal to see the differences, so they continued on their way. Unfortunately, one of the werewolves spotted them and pointed.

50 seconds in found the pair sneaking through the underbrush, darting in and out behind trees. They didn't speak, grateful that the overarching music covered up their footfall.

1:08 into the song and they found large bushes to hide behind. The Winchesters quickly looked around; they didn't see any werewolves. Dean wanted to ask where they went but decided against it, not wanting to reveal their location with a stupid dialog card. Instead at 1:23, they crept forward.

Everything was going fine until suddenly, at 1:30, the music abruptly stopped. Dean stepped on a twig simultaneously; suddenly everything reverted back to normal, and the twig actually made a noise. Dean froze. Then he noticed the three werewolves off to the side just a few feet away. Dean looked at them; they looked at him.

“Oh what the—”

Everything shifted again, plunging the world back into black and white. The music swelled and over Dean's head read:

~ {!?@#$} ~

Things picked back up at 1:36, and they were chased for several seconds. Unfortunately, two more werewolves jumped out from behind some trees; baring their mouth full of teeth, they arched their hands at their sides, palms up, menacingly showing off their claws. Sam and Dean backed away, but the other three were there. 1:47 in the song hit and they were cornered.

Chaos broke out. At 1:52, Dean was attacked; he grappled with the werewolf, but after a point they both went down, Dean struggling to not get bit. Sam managed to shoot one in the face; two of the monsters spooked and took off running. Sam clocked another one in the face with the butt of his gun, took out his machete, and quickly beheaded it. Sam then hacks away at the monster on top of Dean.

2:33 into the song, Sam helped Dean up. It's clear Dean was injured badly; the pair stumbled away, trying to get as far away from their current location as possible.

3:05, Dean stumbled and fell, arm wrapped around his bleeding stomach. Sam squatted, grabbing onto Dean.

3:09:

~ {SAMMY, JUST GO ON WITHOUT ME.} ~

~ {WHAT? DON'T BE RIDICULOUS, I'M NOT DOING THAT. GET UP.} ~

~ {SAMMY, NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. I'M REALLY HURT HERE AND I'M JUST SLOWING YOU DOWN—} ~

~ {I'M NOT LEAVING YOU BEHIND, DEAN!} ~

~ {YOU'RE PUTTING YOURSELF IN DANGER! JUST LEAVE, I'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT—} ~

Instead, 3:21 into the song, Sam forced Dean to his feet and took off running with him:

~ {SHUT UP, DEAN.} ~

A little over ten seconds later, at 3:35, werewolves showed up again. Sam quickly shoved Dean against a tree and then brandished his machete. The monsters circled menacingly, making scurried runs at Dean, but Sam wouldn't let them near his brother. Finally the werewolves attacked, and at 3:41, Sam fought them.

There were too many though; evidently they had come across an entire pack because more and more started showing up. Sam was doing his best to keep in front of Dean, but between monsters pouring out from every side and him trying to protect himself as well as Dean, it quickly became too much.

One of them tackled Sam to the ground. He looked desperately at Dean:

~ { DEAN! NO!} ~

Sam was helpless to watch as one of the werewolves grabbed Dean by the neck, slammed him against the tree he had been cowering against, and then ripped a huge chunk out of Dean's chest with his teeth.

3:47 comes and there's an explosion of light out of Sam; the werewolves disintegrated.

Sam dropped his machete. With a pounding head and freely-bleeding nose, Sam rushed to his brother. He gathered Dean into his arms and started to cry; he could tell just by looking at the gaping hole in Dean's chest he was not going to make it.

4:00:

~ {DEAN!} ~

~ {I'M SORRY, SAMMY. I DIDN'T MEAN TO DIE ON YOU.} ~

Sam frantically pulled off his flannel at those words and pressed it against Dean's wound. Dean screamed, kicking his legs out with the pain.

~ {ARGHUH!!!} ~

~ {DEAN, YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE—} ~

~ {SAMMY, I—COUGH—I NEVER GOT TO—NEVER GOT TO SAY WHAT I WANTED TO, BACK AT THE CAMPSITE.} ~

Sam started to cry, his hands soaked now in Dean's blood:

~ {W-WHAT?} ~

~ {I WANTED—I WANTED TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU, FOR BEIN’ A JERK AFTER MOM DIED—} ~

Sam sobbed:

~ {DEAN, PLEASE DON'T—} ~

Dean started to cry even though it clearly caused him great pain:

~ {I INVITED YOU CAMPING BECAUSE I WANTED TO MAKE AMENDS. I'M SORRY SAMMY. FOR EVERYTHI—} ~

Dean stopped. He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. Sam shook him.

~ {DEAN? DEAN. DEAN! DEAN! WAKE UP! DEAN, NO, DON'T LEAVE ME, DON'T LEAVE ME—} ~

4:40 hit in the song, and, with the instruments suddenly reminding Sam of wings, Cas appeared. Sam blinked up at him, still crying.

~ {C-CAS?!} ~

Unfortunately more werewolves showed up from seemingly nowhere. Cas immediately fought and killed them all. Sam, I'm the throes of emotional turmoil from losing Dean, couldn't rouse himself to do anything more than watch in numb awe. Castiel then rushed over to Dean. Looking like he might cry himself, he dropped to his knees.

~ {OH, DEAN.} ~

Castiel cupped the side of Dean's face. Sam looked at him expectantly.

~ {IS HE…?} ~

Castiel looked heartbroken.

~ {SAM, I'M SO SORRY. I—} ~

5:12 into the song and Dean gasped, sitting up. Both Sam and Castiel grabbed Dean by both arms. Sammy gasped:

~ {DEAN?!} ~

Dean, still gasping and looking utterly bewildered, nodded. Castiel and Sam threw their arms around him. Unfortunately their exuberance was cut short when even more werewolves suddenly appeared.

The three started fleeing at 5:30.

34 seconds later, the trio abruptly smacked into a wall that wasn't there. Bewildered and slightly injured from running headlong into a brick wall, they all stared at the new piece of their environment, utterly confused. Sam turned around; eyes wide, he then frantically tapped Castiel's shoulder until he also turned around. Eyes growing wide as well, Castiel grabbed Dean by the arm and spun him around.

They were no longer in the forest, but in a small brick room with nothing in it. That is, nothing except for a man standing before them with blond hair and small-set eyes and a small mouth.

Dean was the first to speak:

~ {WHO ARE YOU?} ~

The man didn't reply right away, simply strutting forward. Castiel stood on guard; Sam was surprised when Dean physically put himself in front of Castiel as though to protect him.

~ {I'M NOT TELLING YOU THAT YET, IT WOULD SPOIL THE FUN. I GO BY MANY NAMES, THOUGH} ~

Castiel cocked his head and glared.

The time in the song came to 6:15, and a big revelation was made:

~ {I WILL SAY THIS. I AM WORKING FOR LUCIFER, AND THIS IS A WARNING; YOU ALL BETTER WATCH YOURSELVES.} ~

Castiel was no longer glaring, but looked curious:

~ {YOU'RE OTHER, AREN'T YOU?} ~

The man looked at Castiel and smirked:

~ {YES, ANGEL, AND I COULD SQUASH YOU LIKE A BUG IF I WANTED TO.} ~

Dean took a step forward, hands clenched into fists:

~ {HEY!} ~

Sam started speaking:

~ {IF YOU'RE WORKING FOR LUCIFER, THEN YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S PLANNING.} ~

~ {LAUGHING OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING.} ~

Castel took a stance now, slightly ahead of Dean as 6:20 hit in the song:

~ {SO YOU AGREE WITH IT?} ~

Looking amused, the man said:

~ {I NEVER SAID THAT} ~

~ {THEN WHY? IF LUCIFER IS RELEASED FROM HIS CAGE, HE WILL LAY WASTE TO EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE. I DOUBT EVEN YOU WOULD BE SAFE.} ~

The man crinkled his nose:

~ {YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM. I'VE ALWAYS LIKED A LITTLE CHAOS IN MY LIFE; I'M JUST INTERESTED TO SEE HOW IT WORKS OUT FOR YOU ALL.} ~

Castiel tilted his head, his expression like he had just figured something out. However, when he opened his mouth to speak, the man continued:

~ {LOOK, I'LL LET YOU IN ON A LITTLE SECRET. THE BIG MAN UPSTAIRS HAS PLANS FOR THE THREE OF YOU. THIS? ALL OF THIS?} ~

The man gestured around them, eyes briefly looking up at the ceiling:

~ {IT WAS ALL MY DESIGN. LIKE I SAID, YEAH I'M WORKING WITH LUCIFER, BUT I ALSO WANTED TO SEE IF YOU THREE GOT WHAT IT TAKES.} ~

The man frowned, looking pointedly at Dean.

~ {DEAN DIED, SO I CAN'T EXACTLY SAY I WAS IMPRESSED. YOU'RE ALL IN THE BIG LEAGUES NOW, BOYS, SO ACT LIKE IT. I DON'T WANT LUCIFER TO JUST BOWL YOU OVER.} ~

The man scrunched up his entire face and brought his fists to his cheeks, looking excited.

~ {I WANT SOME ENTERTAINMENT, GENTLEMEN, GOT IT? IF I GOTTA WATCH THE WORLD BURN I WANT TO ENJOY IT AT LEAST.} ~

Dean and Sam gave each other uneasy looks.

~ {WELL, IT'S BEEN FUN.} ~

The man held up his right hand, ready to snap his fingers. Castiel lurched forward.

~ {WAIT—!} ~

The man grinned:

~ {SEE YOU ON THE FLIP SIDE}. ~

7 minutes into the song and the man snapped his fingers and sent them back to their reality, colors, Bobby, and all.

Notes:

Okay so I was always disappointed that Supernatural never had an episode where it was a silent movie. So here you go. It probably falls on its face so if it does please save me from embarrassment and I will take it down and rework it to read, you know, like a normal chapter.

🫣

Chapter 46

Sam was extremely worried about Dean.

Sam knew his father was an alcoholic. He knew his older brother had fallen into the same footsteps. Dean never got belligerent about it, but not a day passed where Dean Winchester wouldn't have at least one beer with lunch or dinner, usually both. Sometimes he'd finish out his day with a small glass of whiskey, an acceptable two-fingered pour, no more. Sam watched this habit from afar but never mentioned it. It was, after all, an “acceptable” intake of alcohol in America (especially in the Midwest). A little excessive, but nothing to bat an eyelash at.

What Sam was witnessing now far surpassed anything that was even in the same ballpark as acceptable.

Sam could tell as soon as they had returned to their normal reality something was amiss with his older brother. Further proving that, Dean had been silent for the entire car ride back. Sam had taken a protective seat next to Dean, with Castiel and Bobby in the back.

Sam had to explain to Bobby everything that had taken place. He kept glancing at Dean, who looked like he was barely even seeing the road in front of them. At first Sam chalked it up to the death experience; it wasn't even a “near death”experience, the guy had stopped breathing for a minute. Sam couldn't imagine what a horrible, traumatic experience that must have been.

But then Dean declared he was tired and wasn't about to drive all the way back to Bobby's, which fine, no red flag there. They all had been through a lot and honestly Sam couldn't blame the guy for just wanting to sink into a bed and knock out for a few hours. What was a red flag, however, was Dean insisting he get his own room. Sam dropped the issue when Dean got irritable about it.

Castiel left once they got to the first motel they found. Sam tried to sleep but couldn't. He finally gave up after tossing and turning, and went down the hallway to Dean's room. Dean told him through the door he was fine, so Sam dejectedly went back to his own room. Fifteen minutes later he was back though, checking in with Dean again. Dean once again insisted he was fine and he was trying to sleep. So Sam left.

Sam was awoken a while later to the sound of Baby's engine; he hadn't woken up when Dean had left, but when Dean pulled back into a parking spot the headlights had hit Sam in the face. The tall man got out of bed and peeked out of the curtain, not daring to move it even an inch lest Dean see him. He was shocked when he saw Dean going to his room, a case of beer tucked under his arm while he clutched what was clearly more alcohol in a brown paper bag. Sam, ever striving for logic, waited for Dean to come knocking, expecting an offer to come join in on the drinks.

The knock never came though.

With dawn right around the corner now, Sam snuck away to the front office. He lied and said he had accidentally left his key card in his room, and he needed another one. Without batting an eyelash the clerk gave him another key to Dean's room. So, taking a deep breath, Sam walked into Dean's room, not even bothering to knock.

Dean was sitting on the couch in the dark, face illuminated by his laptop which he had positioned on the coffee table. Dean barely acknowledged Sam entering; green mournful eyes swept over to see who had entered, and then settled back on the glowing screen. Sam noticed the entire six-pack had been drunk, empty bottles strewn about everywhere, while half of the bottle of whisky was gone. Sam noticed there wasn't a glass, either.

“Dean.”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said softly. He grabbed the bottle and took a pull, not even looking at Sam.

Sam was stunned. “Er…what's going on?”

Dean shrugged.

“Do you wanna talk?”

Dean shook his head.

Sam hesitated. “Do you need to talk?”

Dean blinked, not bothering to reply, dead eyes honed in on the monitor.

Sam, afraid Dean was going to physically lash out, slowly approached his brother. Equally slow, he reached out to the bottle.

“I'm just—I'm just going to take this now…”

Dean didn't really seem like he heard Sam at all. Swallowing thickly, Sam wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle and pulled it towards him.

“Y-yeah. I'm uh, I'm just gonna take this.” He forced out a laugh. “Don't need you to get alcohol poisoning, right?”

Dean didn't reply. Sam swallowed again, now backing away towards the door.

“R-right. Well—well okay then. I'll uh, I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

Dean didn't move, didn't even blink.

Sam fumbled with the door and then opened it. “G'nite, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, still looking at the screen.

Sam quietly shut the door.

Dean's blog was open. He had been keeping up with it; he had shared whatever unique lore he had learned as he was being taught how to be a hunter. He had relayed the valravn ordeal (leaving out mention of Rowena). The newer content of his Supernatural blog was drawing in a whole new crowd; he had dropped a lot of followers, but had quickly rebounded those numbers in people who were interested in the unexplainable. He was still pretty sure everyone thought he was full of shit, that he had turned it into some sort of fiction blog, but he didn't care.

He wanted to help people. He needed to help people.

Now though? Now he was the one that needed the help, but he had been struggling with it for hours. Hours ago he had typed out one simple question but it sat since, taunting him, cursor mocking him with every flash.

Do you believe in the afterlife?

Dean hit ‘Post’ finally and burst into tears. Clutching a throw pillow he tipped sideways onto the couch, curled up, and quietly bawled into the pillow. It didn't take long until he cried himself to a deep, dreamless sleep.

The thing was, Dean already had his answer, but he hated it.

~

The next morning, Sam and Bobby piled into Baby. Dean was already sitting in the driver's seat. He had on a pair of cheap sunglasses. Before anyone could say anything, he held up his finger.

“Anyone says anything before I get coffee in me, imma murder them. Got it?”

Bobby and Sam looked at one another in apprehension.

“Got it?”

Sam and Bobby muttered their respective yes’.

Dean nodded and then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Excellent. Now, Sammy, get in back.”

Sam didn't know why he was being told to sit in back, but also didn't want to argue with a hung-over, uncaffeinated Dean. So wordlessly he popped the passenger's door open again and climbed in back with Bobby. Not even bothering to see if they were situated, Dean sped off, blasting Led Zeppelin over the speakers like his head wasn't killing him.

~

After breakfast, Dean was back to acting like normal. If anything, he seemed in a downright jovial mood. Once they reached Bobby's place and they had called Castiel to regroup and go over everything, he even joked about dying at one point.

Sam kept his worry to himself; while Castiel and Bobby had witnessed how sullen he was after being returned to non-black and white reality, Sam hadn't filled them in on the bender Dean had gone on. He wasn't really sure if he was going to. Sam ended up not, because by the time he would have had the opportunity to mention it the entire thing had passed out of his mind.

The opportunity had presented itself at one point when Dean had excused himself to the washroom. His phone had been blowing up all day, presumably with replies to his question (which he only vaguely even remembered posting). However, he regretted even posing the question, and he wasn't up for reading over dozens of comments. So, without even reading one comment, he logged into the blog through his phone and deleted his last post.

Because, like previously stated, Dean already had his answer, and he hated it.

Chapter 47

Sam sat, holding his head in his hands, eyes bulging. He was fine. Dean and Bobby? Not so much.

“It was clearly a trap!” Bobby screamed at Dean.

“Would you get off it already, old man?” Dean screamed, winging a paperweight against the wall. It thudded and left a mark.

“Don't throw my shit around my house, Dean!”

Out of spite, Dean grabbed a book from off Bobby's desk and threw it, too.

“Come on, use your fucking head,” Bobby continued to scream. “Rowena told us the location of the werewolves—didn't mention how many, didn't mention she had a psychopath reality-bender at her disposal—”

Castiel sat on the ground, cross-legged. He was half-listening to the conversation while he played a video game (which he purchased using money Dean had lent him, not wanting to ask Bobby for money seeing as he was morally opposed to the credit card fraud Bobby ran to sustain his needs. Dean conveniently failed to mention to Cas that the money he was giving Cas for the video games was lent to him by Bobby).

“I'm nearly positive that same reality-bender is the one who brought Dean back to life,” Castiel interjected.

Bobby glared at the back of Castiel's head as he continued to rant. “—who, by the way, fully admitted was working with Lucifer—”

“So is Rowena!” Dean screamed.

“Why the Hell are we trusting people linked with Lucifer?”

“Because it's benefiting us?!”

“Oh really? Getting sucked into a silent movie and DYING is benefiting you how, Dean?”

“Look, whoever that guy was seemed willing to help us!”

“Declaring he wants you to be a better hunter because it would make for better entertainment isn't the definition of benevolent help I feel comfortable with,” Castiel chimed in again.

Dean spun around and screwed up his face. “Who's side are you on, anyway?!”

“Whichever side stops Lucifer,” Castiel said plainly, then the tip of his tongue snuck out in concentration.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Bobby, still screaming at him. “Why would Rowena send us into a trap? We're her best shot at getting her freed!”

“Says you,” Bobby roared indignantly. “She says she wants your help but who knows what her actual agenda is!”

“You just don't like that she's a witch!”

“Damn straight I don't! Witches tend to be evil! Anyone who can bend reality like that has to be really powerful. Who's to say that guy who messed with you isn't a demon himself?!”

Dean glared and spoke at a normal volume. “Like Sam?”

Bobby blinked, surprised. “What? No, I just—”

“You just what, Bobby?” Dean cut in with words like icicles. “Your entire problem is you're seeing everything in black and white when it's not.”

“So that's what this is really about, huh?”

“Damn straight it is!” Dean shouted. “If you don't want to trust a witch, then how can you possibly trust Sammy?”

“It's completely different.”

“Is it though? Is it? How do we know there's not some sort of evil switch in Sam's head that'll get flipped and he'll turn full Damien Thorn on us?”

“That's ridiculous—”

“Really?” Dean went back to screaming. “Because last I checked there's never been a half-demon, half-human hybrid! Last I knew you said—you said, Bobby—that you knew absolutely nothing about the subject! You went on this whole rant about how you don't even know if he had a soul—”

“He does,” Castiel chimed in loudly, with a huge sigh, clearly growing tired of all the screaming. “Granted it's murky, but he has a soul.”

“Ah-ha!” Dean pointed at Bobby. “See? Sammy has a soul!”

“I'm right here yaknow,” Sam snapped, still holding his head in disbelief. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about me like I wasn't.”

“It's different ‘cause I've known the guy since he was a baby,” Bobby shouted. “I met Rowena once, she has a certain reputation about her, she's fully admitted she's only helping us out because we can give her something, and the last bit of information we got out of her sent us headlong into a forest overrun with werewolves and you died!”

“Yeah I know, I was there, remember?!”

Castiel sighed. Loudly. He was ignored.

“Look,” Bobby growled, “with the literal Apocalypse on the line, I'm just saying the margin for error is next to none!”

“And all I'm saying,” Dean screamed, knocking over Bobby's table lamp, “is with the Apocalypse on the line, like you said,” he grabbed all the books off the desk and threw them, “we should take all the help we can get because we are so fucked it's not even funny!”

“Yes, Dean,” Bobby said with a snide tilt to his words, “and panicking like you're doing right now is very helpful.”

Dean kicked over the chair and clutched at his hair, eyes bulging. “AND I DON'T THINK YOU'RE PANICKING ENOUGH!”

Castiel had paused his game and twisted around, looking at Dean evenly. Sam had snapped his head up and was gawking at Dean's violent outburst. Bobby remained calm, boarding cocky. The elder hunter crossed his arms.

“Done now?”

Glaring, Dean walked forward and grabbed his jacket that was slung over the back of the couch. He spoke now and didn't scream. “Oh we're done here. C'mon Sam, let's go.”

Sam got to his feet. “What? Dean—”

Dean stopped at the door and raised his voice again. “No Sammy, I'm done! I'm done with everything! I'm done with being told I'm too hot-headed and impulsive, I'm tired of being made to feel like my brand of hunting is wrong—”

“I'm trying to keep you safe!” Bobby screamed, bright red.

“I'm tired of you not trusting me!” Dean screamed. “So now you don't have to worry about it anymore. I'll just fuck off and do my own thing.”

“Dean, c'mon, don't be ridiculous—”

“Sammy, c'mon! Let's go!”

Sam reluctantly padded towards Dean, eyes shifting between Dean and Bobby. Castiel got to his feet.

“Dean–”

“You're welcome to tag along if you want,” Dean said to Castiel with a smile, shrugging his jacket on and adjusting the collar, “but Sir Blowhard standing next to you is not.”

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered, “Mature, Dean.”

“Here's mature for you. Hey Bobby.” Dean opened the door and smiled at Bobby; it was cocky and lacked any sort of warmth. “When you catch wind I got myself dead on a hunt, have a great time sleeping at night knowing you're the one who drove me away.”

“Dean!” Castiel snapped.

Dean just grinned. “Thanks for nothing. C'mon, Sam, let's go.”

Dean left. Sam hesitated, looking at Bobby. The older man looked hurt.

“It's okay,” Bobby said quietly.

Sam's brown crinkled. “Bobby—”

“Go on. Get. I understand.”

Sam's shoulders slumped. “I'll talk to him. He just needs time to cool off.”

Bobby sighed and took off his baseball cap. “Yeah, I know.”

Baby revved to life outside, and seconds later, Dean's voice called, “Let's go!”

Sam cast a sympathetic look at Bobby. Tapping the door he then left.

By the time Sam strode up to Baby, he was livid. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he popped open the passenger side door and got in. Dean took off immediately.

The first few minutes were in silence. Dean was twisting his hands along the steering wheel over and over again, clearly trying to calm himself. Sam sat, nostrils flared, glaring out the window. Once Dean trusted himself, he spoke.

“I gotta get gas. After that I was thinking we could hit the road, go back to my place. We'll have to figure out where you're staying. I mean, I have no problem with giving you my couch, but I feel like eventually you're gonna want something more permanent—”

Sam whipped his head to face Dean. “What was that?!”

“What was what?” Castiel said, suddenly in the back seat.

Luckily Baby was the only car on the road because Dean swerved wildly, startled. Sam jumped so badly he knocked the top of his head against the ceiling. Sam clutched the crown of his head, wincing. Dean straightened out Baby and then glared in the rear view mirror at Cas.

“Dude, you can't do that! I coulda crashed!”

“Sorry,” Castiel replied, eyes squinted. He looked at Sam. “What was what?”

Sam rolled his eyes quickly. Then he went back to glaring at Dean. “What was that absolute tantrum you had?”

“That was really uncalled for,” Castiel admonished before Dean could reply.

“Not to mention incredibly disrespectful?” Sam snapped. “Dude, Bobby is basically our father, and you had the audacity to try to guilt trip him?”

Dean pulled over to the side of the road and threw Baby into park. Without explaining anything, Dean reached across Sam and opened up his door, pushing it open. He then sat normally, pointing out of the car. “Leave.”

Sam looked offended, brow wrinkled. “What? Dean—”

“I'm serious,” Dean said, eyebrow raised. “Go.”

“Don't be ridiculous—”

“You don't like how I handled it, fine. But I'm sick of people telling me that how I breathe is wrong, so get the fuck out of my car.”

Sam was shocked. “Dean—”

“Get out!”

Sam huffed in disbelief. Even so, he puckered his lips. “Fine.”

Dean puckered his own lips, resting his right wrist on the steering wheel and glaring straight ahead.

“C'mon, Cas,” Sam said, clambering out of the vehicle.

Castiel hesitated. Dean glanced at the angel in the mirror and, speaking softly and not angry at all, said, “It's okay Cas, just go.”

Even though he frowned, Castiel didn't argue and got out of the car too. As soon as his door shut Dean sped off, tires squealing. Sam and Castiel watched the back of Baby until they couldn't see it anymore. Only then did Castiel turn to Sam, a questioning look on his face.

Sam, looking perturbed, patted Castiel's shoulder. “Welcome to my brother. C'mon, we're not far from Bobby's. Let's go.”

Still silently questioning everything that had just happened, Castiel allowed himself to be guided away by Sam, who looked over his shoulder, making sure Dean was really gone. Once Sam realized Dean wasn't coming back he sighed, slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and walked back to Bobby's with his head down.

Chapter 48

Sam and Castiel had decided to go after Dean. It wasn't totally urgent, so they waited a day. They told Bobby what they were doing, and he offered them a car. When Sam initially declined, Bobby twisted his arm. Besides that, the rest of the day was spent awkwardly, Bobby and Sam avoiding each other while trying to act like they weren't.

After a quick breakfast, they declared it was time to hit the road back to Kansas.

“Hey, uh, Sam,” Bobby said as the trio made their way to the front door. “Hold on a sec.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Sam looked at Castiel. “You can wait for me outside, I'll be right there.”

Castiel nodded and left. Sam turned to Bobby, trying to not look uncomfortable. “What's up?”

“Look, what Dean said—”

“Bobby, it's fine—”

“It ain't though,” Bobby snapped. “Finding out I was questioning if you had a soul behind your back? That's shitty.”

Sam smiled kindly. “It's not though.” He chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What were you supposed to do? Ask me? How would I even know that?”

Bobby frowned. “I d'no. But I coulda asked instead of confiding in someone else I was scared of you and what you were capable of.”

“I get it. Seriously, Bobby, it's water under the bridge.”

Bobby paused and looked at Sam keenly. “You're very calm about all of this.”

Now Sam outright laughed and shrugged. “What good would being anything but calm do me?”

“I d'no. You're just handling it well. I just thought you'd, I'd d'no, be enraged or something.”

Sam smirked. “Oh trust me, I had my rage. Still do, if I'm being honest.”

Bobby raised his eyebrows, surprised.

Sam chuckled again. “Once again, Bobby—what good would it do if I had a temper tantrum like Dean does? I'd still be half-demon. I'd still be manipulated to take on Lucifer. I'd still be fighting against my birthright, as I was told it was.”

Bobby frowned, a look wrought with sympathy.

“So yeah, damn right I'm pissed that I've gone my entire life working within the confines of a reality that simply didn't exist, or at least not how I believed it was. Yeah, I'm fucking furious that I suddenly feel like my body isn't my own and I don't know myself.” Sam gave a dark smile then, and truthfully the look was ever so subtly unhinged it disturbed Bobby. “But until I have Azazel standing in front of me, I'm keeping all that rage in reserve, just for him.”

“You're gonna have to fight him,” Bobby said softly, quietly. “Aren't you?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I really hope not. But if I do? I'll be ready for him.”

Bobby walked forward and hugged Sam. After patting each other on the back they stepped away and then went outside where Castiel was waiting patiently for them. Pulling out some keys, Bobby walked down the steps first.

“C'mon. Car's out back.”

“Really?” Sam asked once they stood in front of the vehicle.

“It's the best I could do in a pinch. I could take it back if you'd like—”

Sam held up both hands. “No no, it's great, Bobby. It's appreciated.”

The older man looked amused. “You're welcome.”

Sam and Castiel climbed into the 1987 Ford F series. It was an eyesore, brown and tan. Bobby walked over, leaning his arms against the open window and looked at Sam.

“‘Sides, what more do you want? I gave it a tank full of gas, the plates are valid, and it's so dang ugly you're not gonna raise suspicion.”

Sam snorted. “Thanks Bobby.”

Sam started the engine. Bobby tapped the window twice and then backed away.

“Keep in contact.”

Sam smiled fondly. “We will, don't worry.”

“You better.”

Smirking, Sam gave a lazy salute and then pulled away.

Sam hadn't really thought about what it would be like to travel with Cas. Castiel, freaking angel of the Lord. Castiel, who he knew eventually was going to at least kiss his brother (although given how they were necking he got the feeling it was going to turn into some sort of relationship). Castiel, who was literally the exact opposite of Sam (well, the evil part of Sam, anyway). Castiel, the same guy who could easily smite him if he really wanted to.

Awkwardly, after about an hour had passed and neither had spoken, Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Cas.

“Uh, thanks for coming with.”

“You're welcome,” Castiel replied blandly.

Sam waited for something more. When it didn't happen, he cleared his throat again.

“Thanks for helping me out.” He winced and corrected, “Us. Thanks for helping us out.”

“Youre welcome.” After a Moment, Castiel turned in his seat to face Sam. “Sam.”

Sam jumped a little. “Yes?”

“Your apprehension is nearly palatable.”

Sam looked at Cas. Somehow him saying that made Sam relax. As such, Sam laughed. “It is?”

“Yes. I feel like if I went ‘boo’ or something, you would flip the truck.”

Sam cracked up. He looked at Cas, nose crinkled. “Boo? Where'd you hear about people going boo to scare people?”

“The TV.”

Sam rubbed at his mouth, trying to get his laughing under control. “TV, huh? Cas, buddy, look. Not everything you see on TV is applicable or true.”

“It isn't?” he inquired innocently, eyes slight squinted.

“No. I mean… Well, like with saying boo. Yeah, people do that, but it's mostly little kids, or if you're just messing around with someone—goofing around,” Sam tacked on when Cas didn't seem to understand ‘messing around’. “I understood what you meant, but I feel like I have to let you know people don't just going around shouting ‘boo’ when they want to scare someone.”

“Oh, I see,” Castiel replied with utmost seriousness. “That's a shame. I think it would be comical.”

Sam chuckled and bit back the words, “This conversation with you is comical”.

“Sam,” Castiel said suddenly, “are you and I ‘alright’?”

Sam screwed up his face when he glanced at Cas. “Okay, one, Dean's right. Just…Stop doing air quotes altogether.” When Cas frowned, Sam rushed on, “And two, what do you mean?”

“Since your return I have sensed a certain strain between you and I.” He tipped his head. “Is that incorrect?”

Sam let out a long sigh. “No, it's not.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, sounding a little bit sad. “What's wrong?”

Sam shot him a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Yes really. I feel like our relationship has fractured and I don't understand why. I would like to fix it, if you're willing.”

Sam couldn't believe his ears. As such, a small smile flickered across his lips and he looked full on at Cas, taking his eyes off the road. “You're serious?”

“Why would I not be?”

Sam swiveled his head back to the road, eyebrow smooched as he spoke. “‘Cause I'm a demon?”

Understanding lit Castiel's face, and his featured softened. “Sam. I was put in charge of Dean's well-being a very long time ago.”

“So you've said. What's that got to do with me?”

“In watching Dean grow, I have watched you grow. If I believed the demonic part of you beat out your humanity, I would smite you in an instant.”

“Not exactly as assuring as you think you're being,” Sam muttered.

Cas either didn't hear him or ignored him. “Instead, I wasn't even aware of your demonic heritage until presented with it. I never would have healed you that first night when the wendigo almost killed you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Castiel looked curious. “Is that why there was a time after you came back after your abduction that you didn't want me to touch you?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly, his eyes hardening as he stared out the windshield. “I knew I was a demon. I knew my powers had been unlocked. I didn't know if that potential was always within me, or if it had been… I d'no, turned on. I was afraid you'd sense the evil I me and you'd kill me.”

“Sam,” the angel said seriously, “the only time I would ever kill you is if Lucifer enters you and there is no other way to save you.”

“Oh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well I am.”

“Why?”

“I d'no. You just seem…I don't know, forget it.”

“What?”

Sam shook his head.

“Please tell me, Sam?”

Sam squirmed a little in his seat. “You just seem closer to Dean. He's fully human, so I'd expect that. But you're being so kind to me.”

“I have a more profound bond with Dean because he is the true vessel of a very important angel. It is my duty to watch over Dean and ensure that he remains bodily in one piece until he is needed to fulfill his Heavenly duty.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” he replied gravely.

Sam smirked. “Wow. That's…That's wild. Imagine that, one brother is the vessel of Lucifer, the other an angel. What're the odds?”

“God has a funny sense of humor,” Castiel replied dryly.

Sam glanced at him. “Who is it?”

Castiel seemed to have an internal struggle. Finally, he shifted in his seat to look at Sam directly.

“There is something you need to understand, something I haven't been exactly forthcoming about.”

Sam's eyes darted off to the side. “Alright. What is it?”

“I…I've been cast out of Heaven.”

Sam slammed on the brakes. Slowly he looked over at Cas. “What?”

“This…profound bond I have with your brother,” Castiel explained. “It's made me feel things and experience things I didn't think possible.”

Sam blinked.

“I was—shown something. Something that made me question my entire existence. It made me question where I fit in Heaven, and if I even fit at all.” Castiel clenched his jaw and looked out the window. “Evidently I was…am….more expendable than I thought.” Castiel looked back at Sam. “I questioned God's plan. I rebelled in doing so. As such, I am no longer working on behalf of Heaven, nor have I for quite some time now.”

Sam's lips parted, stunned.

“When I saved you and your brother from that wendigo, I felt like I could no longer just watch from afar.” Castiel put his hand on Sam's forearm. “Something is coming Sam, as you know, and I no longer feel like I can just stand idly by.”

“The apocalypse?”

A car sped around them, blaring it's horn. Sam jumped; Castiel seemed unperturbed. Once it passed, Sam looked back at Castiel.

“Yes, but before that. Sam, I…”

Suddenly all at once the angel had tears in his eyes. An unwelcome shiver slammed into Sam's body, and when he spoke, his voice quivered. “W-what?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Your brother is the vessel for Michael.”

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Like the archangel?”

“Yes.”

“Woah.”

“Sam.” Castiel tightened his grip on Sam's arm. “I cannot keep this from you and your brother anymore. Michael is the one who is to fight Lucifer should he ever be released from his cage.”

Sam suddenly felt dizzy. “Fight?”

A dark look passed over Castiel's face. “Yes, fight; to the death.”

Notes:

Yeah, while this chapter is pretty in line with canon, I can't say the same for the upcoming one. 😈

Chapter 49

Sam rang Dean's doorbell. Nothing. He tried it again; still nothing. Dean lived in the type of building that kept the front door locked and you had to be buzzed in if you were a visitor and didn't have a key. Lucky for Sam, he still had the spare keys Dean had lent him.

Sam let himself in; wordlessly Sam and Castiel walked up the three flights of stairs. When they reached Dean's door, Sam knocked.

No answer.

Sam knocked again, louder. “Dean.”

Still no answer.

Sam rapt his knuckles against the white-painted door again. “Dean? It's Sam. Open up.”

Nothing moved inside.

“Maybe he went somewhere?” Castiel said at his side.

“Where? He quit his job.”

“A hunt? The grocery store?”

Sam shrugged, slipping the second key into the doorknob. “I guess. Baby is out front though."

When Sam and Castiel entered, nothing seemed out of place. They both looked around themselves and entered.

“Dean?” Sam said, walking into the apartment as Castiel just stood there. “Dude, you here?”

Sam ducked his head into Dean's bed; it was empty. The bathroom door was shut. He knocked.

“Yo Dean, you in there?”

No answer. So Sam opened up the door—

And promptly screamed for Cas. The angel came running, there in seconds. His eyes grew wide, looking over Sam's shoulder.

There was blood everywhere, an alarming amount. It was splattered on the sink edge, pooled on the ground. There was a smear on the wall. Somehow worse than all that was the mirror—it was cracked, splintered like a web, something obviously impacting it hard. Worst of all, written on it in blood was a message:

COME FIND HIM

~

Dean groaned, coming to. His head was throbbing and he felt nauseous. Blinking a couple of times, he assessed his injuries; he felt concussed, and he was worried about how badly his head had bled (even though he tried to talk himself down from panicking, reminding himself you could have a paper cut on your scalp and it'd bleed like a sive). His ribs hurt—of course his ribs hurt. They were the reason he had passed out in the first place.

“Hey cutie pie. It's about time you woke up.”

Dean painfully lifted his head. Standing before him was his attacker. Her visage swam, and he squeezed his eyes tight, trying to get the room to stop spinning. When that didn't work he settled for squinting. Dean got to his feet from his knees and instantly regretted it—he cut off a yell of pain on account of having been a dead weight in a pair of shackles around his wrists.

The business-casual dressed woman in front of him with dark hair taunted him. “Awwww, what's wrong, Deany Bean? Wrists hurt?”

Dean forced a smile. “Not as badly as you're gonna hurt when I get done with you.”

She laughed. “Funny you're threatening me when you're strung up like that.”

“I'm known to be hilarious.”

The woman walked over, standing at his side. Dean swallowed thickly when she brought the tip of a wicked looking knife under his chin. When she didn't do anything more than lick her lips he eyed her out of the corner of his eye, hoping he came off less scared than he felt.

“What'd you do to my ribs?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I'm adorable?”

“Ha! Says who?”

“Your mom.”

The woman moved the knife away and threw her head back, giving a genuine laugh. “Really? Mom jokes? You must be delirious.”

“I mean, you did slam my head against a sink. And then a mirror. What did you think would happen?”

“I thought,” she mocked, coming around to look at him straight on and pressing the tip of the knife under his chin again, “that a big, bad hunter like yourself would've put up more of a fight.”

Dean smirked. “Have you met my brother? Compared to him I'm a pipsqueak. You shouldn't have been surprised.” Dean grinned. “‘Sides, I magaged to use my weight to ram you into the wall after you slammed my head against the sink.”

“Yeah, but then I took your head and slammed it against the mirror until you passed out. I think I won that match, Dean.”

“Ah yes, you should feel so proud, sneaking up on a defenseless guy.”

“I'm a demon! Did you really expect me to play nice?”

Dean paused. “That's fair. So—what'd you do to my ribs?”

The demon with long dark brown hair pouted. “Aw, really? I was hoping you'd drop it. Guess you're not a concussed as I'd like.”

Without warning she punched him in the face. He shouted; there was a gross crack and he saw spots. Dean could feel fresh blood pour out of his nose. The demon grabbed him by the back of the hair and yanked his head back; to his horror she ran her tongue along his chin, lapping up a streak of blood.

“Lady! That blood came out of my nose.”

“So?”

“Enjoy your boogers with your blood I guess.”

“Adorable and classy. You really know the way to a woman's heart.”

“Yup. So—ribs?”

The demon gave a dramatic, loud moan and rolled her eyes. She ambled over to a metal folding chair and dragged it over. Dean was in some sort of holding room, the walls dirt and the floor concrete, so the chair scraped obnoxiously against the floor. Dean winced, and it took all of his willpower to not throw up. The demon situated the chair in front of Dean and sat in it backwards, forearms resting comfortably on the back of the chair.

“Ugh, you're no fun.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. Word on the street is you have an angel that's soft on you. So, using a bit of magic I burned etchings into them that make you hidden from all angels!”

Dean's blood ran cold. That meant—

“Aw, Dean. Don't look so crestfallen! Your brother is resourceful. I'm sure it won't take him long to track you down.” The demon, looking smug, got to her feet. “Especially when he gets help from his gal-pal Ruby.” She lifted her arms and made a heart-shape over her head and smiled. She winked. “Yours truly, by the way.”

Dean gaped. He couldn't help it. “You're Ruby?!”

Ruby put her arms down, looking genuinely surprised. “Wait—you know me?”

“He accidentally let it slip he slept with a chick named Ruby—” Everything was too much and Dean gagged. “I'm gonna be sick.”

Ruby made a face. “Gross. Please don't.”

“Can't exactly help it!” Dean snapped at her. “I have a freaking concussion, you—you branded my ribs internally, I just found out my brother is getting freaky with a demon—”

Ruby put a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. “He's a demon too yaknow.”

“Yeah I know!” Dean snapped. “Regardless he's still my brother—”

Ruby put both hands to her chest, pulling a dramatic face like she was about to cry. “Aw! That's so sweet!”

“—and you're luring him into a trap with me as the bait!”

Ruby crinkled her nose. “I know. Poetic, isn't it?”

“Point is,” Dean said, glaring as best he could, “this is all a lot, so excuse me if I wanna up chuck my lunch.”

“But wait, there's more!”

Another woman stepped out of the shadows. She was shorter, curvier, also with dark hair and eyes but with wavy hair instead of straight. Ruby turned to her and smirked. “Hey Meg. What're you doing here?”

The new demon crossed her arms. “Bossman wanted me to make sure everything is going smoothly.”

“I just finished up with his ribs. He passed out for a while but he just woke up.”

“Damn, look at you, apple-eyes,” Meg commented, coming over and scrutinizing Dean. “Ain't you purdy.”

Dean impulsively spit on her. Meg impulsively backhanded him. He groaned, shutting his eyes tight as he felt like something was rattling around his head. Before he knew it someone was grabbing him by the face roughly; he oepend his eyes and it was Meg.

“I suggest you keep a lid on it, pretty boy,” Meg drolled. “You're lucky I have the sensibilities of a classy woman. Otherwise I'd kill you.”

“You know, you both talk a lot of game but so far your words ain't backing up your actions.”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “You got a death wish?”

Dean smiled. “Maybe.”

Meg looked at Ruby. “What's this guy's deal?”

Ruby merely shrugged.

“Well, whatever.” Meg waved a dismissive hand and started to walk away. “I'm sure Sammy found the apartment by now—”

“Hey!” Dean bellowed, “you don't call him that, only I do!”

Meg turned around and leaned forward, hands on her hips. “Sammy Sammy Sammy.”

“I'm gonna rip your face off, bitch—”

“I'd like to see you try.” Meg turned back around and sauntered away. “Toodles.”

Once she was gone, Ruby paused. She then rolled her eyes. “You can come out of hiding, Rowena.”

The distinct sound of heels clicking rang out. Surprised, Dean looked over. From another entrance, Rowena herself awkwardly walked in. She wore a lovely dress as always, hair swept up in an elaborate hairdo.

“Rowena?” Dean said.

Rowena curled her upper lip. “Ach. What happened to you?”

“Oh, you know—a sink, a mirror, a couple of punches to the face.” He smiled. “Oh, and evidently some magical runes on my ribs that hide me from angels.” Dean winked. “I'll be fine though.”

Rowena arched her eyebrows, walking closer. “I see.”

Ruby rolled her eyes as Rowena came to stand in front of Dean. The demon crossed her arms. “What do you want, Rowena? You're not even supposed to be here.”

Rowena looked Dean up and down. “Just curious. Wanted to see if this one was as handsome as his brother.”

Ruby cocked an eyebrow. “I thought he was there for the whole valravn incident?”

“He was,” Rowena said coolly, staring almost imploringly at Dean. “but I wanted to see the goods up close.” Smiling charmingly, she turned back to face Ruby. “Like I said, I'm a curious woman.”

“Ugh, whatever. Just don't touch him. Azazel would be pissed.”

“Hey Rowena,” Dean said, and the witch half-turned to him. “You know Bobby, right?”

She hesitated. “That older hunter?”

Dean smiled. “That's the one.”

Rowena spoke slowly. “What about him?”

“Have you seen him? I think it's fair I pin this fiasco on him. That is, once I get out of these chains.”

Rowena looked at him a moment evenly. Then she smiled and scratched her head, turning her back to Dean. “Can't say I have. And good luck with that.”

Dean suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Rowena by the wrist. She shouted out. Ruby stepped forward and grabbed Rowena, backhanding Dean. The demon glared at Dean.

“Enough! Rowena, get lost and don't come back, you hear?”

“Fine,” Rowena snarled, turning around, the jostling causing a lock of hair to fall from the rest of the bunch. “You're lucky I don't hex you myself. How dare you lay a hand on me!”

“Ooo, I'm so scared,” Dean mocked. “Thanks for nothing.”

Rowena gave a smile, eyebrows raised. “You're welcome.”

“C'mon, Rowena, let's go,” Ruby said, roughly grabbing the witch by the upper arm. Then, “Bye, Dean. Someone will be back to give you some water—eventually.”

Dean silently watched the pair leave. When he was absolutely sure they were gone and he was alone, he let out a sigh of relief. He then gingerly fingered the bobbypin Rowena had slipped him, flipping it end-over-end, trying to figure out how he might lockpick himself out of his shackles.

Chapter 50

“Oh Rowena, I am gonna sing your praises as soon as I get home,” Dean muttered to himself.

Part of his hunter training had been lockpicking. Bobby had insisted that Dean spend weeks practicing in between his lore lessons and fighting practices (which he was extremely grateful for now). Within months he knew how to pick a plethora of different locks with various—often improvised—lockpicks. As such, he managed to get the long hairpin into the lock of his cuff one-handedly.

When there was a click, Dean paused, not sure if he had actually done it. He wiggled his wrist until the mechanism of the cuff popped off. He gave a victorious, deep-throated chuckle. He quickly picked his other cuff, slipped the hairpin in his back pocket, and then held up one of the cuffs at eye level.

“Alright, let's see here,” he said quietly to himself. He put his wrist back in a cuff; he needed to see if it would would, one, keep together without being locked and two, if it looked noticeably different locked compared to unlocked. Not only was there apparently some sort of spring mechanism that kept the cuffs together around his wrists, but you couldn't tell they were unlocked. Grinning, he fist-pumped the air.

“Rowena, I could kiss you!”

It was cheesy, the whole “Bobby-pin/bobby pin” hint he had dropped. Regardless Dean felt impressed with himself for thinking on his feet like that. He also was relieved the witch had picked up what he put down.

“Alright,” Dean said, rushing to what seemed like the main entrance to the room and peeking around the corner. “Time for some reconnaissance.”

As Dean crept along the walls, he considered the fact this could all be some sort of trap. Were the two demons really that dumb to not realize Rowena had slipped Dean one of her hair pins? He really hoped they were. He got the feeling they weren't too fond of Rowena. It seemed like she was more of a nuisance than anything, so he hoped that they were blissfully ignorant to the fact that she would do something so bold. He also felt a swell of pride, because they clearly underestimated him.

It didn't take long before Dean heard voices. Quietly he followed it until the words became discernible. Eventually he came to another room. Dean peeked in, allowing himself just the quickest glance for intel. There was a table in the middle of the room, wooden, square. Standing around it was a small gathering of people. He recognized Ruby and Meg. With them was a woman with pale skin and red hair—not Rowena—and a woman with wavy blonde hair that fell about her shoulders; her eyes were pure white, reminding Dean of the pure black orbs the demon in the restaurant had. This had to be some sort of demon.

Most disturbing of all, however, was a man standing at the head of the table. He looked middle-aged, with prominent smile lines around his mouth. His light hair was clipped short. Like the blonde-haired woman his eyes were a different color. Unlike her, however, his were yellow.

Dean pressed himself against the wall and listened.

“This is taking too long,” he heard Meg say.

“Patience, daughter,” the man said.

“My children are scared,” one of the females said, and when Dean glanced in it was the white-eyed one who was speaking. “It's been difficult to find them, much less coax them out.”

“Which is why we brought in the witch,” Meg said, still speaking impatiently.

“Meg, sweetie,” the white-eyed one said, “like I've said before, Rowena can't just pull them out of her ass. She has to know what she's summoning.”

Meg groaned.

“Trust me, we all want Lord Lucifer here,” the last female voice said, presumably the red-haired one. “But we can't rush these things.”

“How are those pesky seals going, Abaddon?” Meg asked, sounding rude and cocky.

“Just fine,” Abaddon replied smoothly. “Over half have already been broken.”

“Oh gee. So that's what, 34 seals? Goody.”

“I'm thrilled you can do simple math, Meg.”

“Oh bite me, Abaddon.”

“Enough,” the man cut in strictly. He paused to ensure the bickering was snuffed out. Then, “Any word on my son?”

Dean cringed and had to fight off the very real, but very stupid, urge to rush in there and try and gank the guy. Luckily logic won out and Dean settled for clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

“No,” Ruby said.

“Not yet,” Meg added.

“And how is Dean?” the yellow-eyed demon asked thinly. “You haven't killed him, have you? I'm sure it's tempting; I've heard how annoyingly cocky he is.”

I'll show you cocky Dean thought angrily; instead he stayed hidden just out of sight.

“Still alive,” Meg said.

“Unfortunately,” Ruby snipped.

“Relax, Ruby, you will have your fun once we get Sam back.”

“I don't see why Ruby gets the fun,” Abaddon said and, if Dean was looking he would have seen her cross her arms.

“Don't worry Abby—once Dean's soul is in Alistair’s care I am sure you can have all the fun you want with him. As I keep saying, patience everyone, patience.” Another pause. “Now, final order of business. Do we know yet how to break the final seal, or what it even is?”

“Not yet,” the white-eyed one said.

That seemed to be the wrong answer; Dean jumped when the man slammed his hands down on the table.

“What am I even paying you idiots for?” he snarled. “It doesn't matter if we manage to break every single seal if we don't have the last one!”

“Much like coaxing my children out of hiding,” the white-eyed one chimed in with an air of placating confidence, “it takes a while to find this information. The Abbots who helped lock Lord Lucifer away are long since dead, the angel's we interrogated were no help—not surprised—and any clues we've had to the whereabouts of the documents that explain the final seal have lead to dead ends.”

“I don't care if you have to go over the bottom of the ocean with a fine toothed comb, or go spelunking personally in every active volcano,” the man snarled, “we need to find it sooner than later, especially since we found out we don't even need to break all of them or go in order!”

Dean's eyes widened.

“We're fast approaching the viable number, so someone had better get me that damned seal, NOW.”

“Of course, Azazel,” the white-eyed demon said.

“Your bidding is our command,” Abaddon agreed.

“Do not fail me,” Azazel snarled, “my patience is growing thin.”

Dean took that as his cue to leave and he scurried away into the shadows before he was found.

~

“What do you mean you can't locate him?” Sam snapped.

“It means I can't locate him,” Castiel said impatiently. Then, looking annoyed he glared off to the side. “Something appears to be blocking me.”

Sam tossed his hands into the air. “Well that's just great.”

“You're sure you don't remember anything about the location you were held in? Absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” Sam said exasperatedly. “I told you a thousand times; when they moved me from the cellar to the town where I killed everyone, they loaded me into a van or the back of an SUV and had a sack over my head so I couldn't see!”

“I'm shocked they transported you like that,” Castiel said, brow furrowed in thought. “I'm surprised someone didn't transport you from point A to point B by snapping their fingers.”

“I don't know why,” Sam admitted. “Like I keep telling you—once I killed everyone, Rowena magically transported me right outside Dean's door. I don't even know what part of the county that town was in! I could've not been in Kansas for all I know! And Rowena disappeared before I could ask.”

“Wait,” Castiel said suddenly, turning his head away and holding up his finger.

Sam looked confused. “What?”

Castiel looked at him and didn't answer, brow furrowed in concentration, his lips a thin line. Inside his head he heard Dean, clear as a bell.

Heya Cas. I d'no if this is gonna work. I hope it will. Anyway, I'm okay. I have no idea where I am, but they're keeping me in a cell. Rowena—

“Cas?” Sam tried.

Castiel shooshed him loudly and went back to concentrating on the prayer coming to him.

—get out of the chains they have me in. I snuck around a little. While I still have zero frigging clue as to my location, I did find out some interesting stuff. None of it's good, but it's interesting.

“Is everything—”

“Quiet, Sam, “ Castiel growled out. “Dean is praying to me.”

Sam looked so relieved he could faint. “Dean?”

Cas went back to listening to the prayer.

—Abaddon and this chick with blonde hair and pure white eyes. No one said her name so I d'no who she is—do you? Then there's the fact they burned into my ribs some sort of magic where angels can't find me, so I really hope this is working.

Last bit I guess could actually be considered good news! Azazel and his cronies don't know where the final seal is that unlocks Lucifer, or what it even is! That's good, right? Maybe we can find it before they do?

Well, that's it for now. Oh, and if you do actually get this, warn Sammy not to trust Ruby. She's working with them, saw it with my own two eyes. Anyway…Uh. Yeah. That's all. Amen or something.

Castiel closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. “Dean's alive.”

“Oh thank God.”

Castiel spent the next few minutes telling Sam everything he knew.

“Abaddon,” Sam said once he was filled in. “Like—Biblical Abaddon?”

“Is there any other?”

“Er, I mean I guess not…Uh, what about the other one? He said she has white eyes?”

“There are a handful of demons that have eyes like that, however, given the company I think it's fair to surmise that it is one particular being.”

“Okay? And?”

“Probably Lilith.”

Sam scrunched up his brow. “Lilith? Like…Adam's first wife, Lilith?”

“Mother of monsters, yes, that one.”

“Greeeeat,” Sam said sarcastically. “So—how do we stop them?”

Castiel's shoulders slumped and he gave his honest answer.

“I have no idea.”

Chapter 51

“So what's it take to get some food around here?”

“You're lucky we're giving you water.”

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he gave a thin-lipped smile. “Not a Ninja Turtles fan I see.”

When Meg just gave him a blank stare, he said, “You're supposed to assure me I'm going to be okay? That's how the movie goes—oh nevermind.”

The demon rolled her eyes and took a step forward. She grabbed his face roughly and brought the cup of water to his lips. After a moment he sputtered and coughed. She took a step back and looked disgusted.

“What're you trying to do, drown me?!” he snapped between coughs. “I can't drink it that fast!”

Meg rolled her eyes. “It's a glass of water, Dean. You can't drown on a glass of water.”

“Technically you can drown if you inhale a teaspoon of liquid and your body reacts poorly. It can disrupt how your lungs function and you'll die hours later.”

Meg screwed up her face. “Gee, you must be the life of the party with fun facts like that.”

Dean winked. “You'd be surprised.”

“Right. I'm sure the lady folk just flock to you, talking about macabre subjects like drowning on a teaspoon of water.”

“The ladies love me.”

“Don't mistake desperation for willingness.”

“Ouch, I'm hurt.”

For just a second Meg looked like she was going to laugh. Instead she schooled her face and grabbed his cheeks again, this time a little more gently. “Open up, lover boy. Try not to drown this time.”

Dean finished off the glass of water without incident. When finished, Meg turned to walk away.

“Alright, I'll see you tomorrow when I have to water you again—”

“Wait!”

She paused and looked at him.

“I'm not a damn plant."

Meg rolled her eyes and started to leave again. So Dean said quickly, "Also, so uh, what's your deal?”

She peered at him. “My deal?”

“Yeah, you know.” Dean shrugged. “Like did you sell your soul? Were you born in Hell? Wait, can demons be born in Hell? I mean, you're wearing a meatsuit so I assume not.”

Meg screwed up her face. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“I d'no. I'm just—” Dean paused, and tried to make his expression as pathetic and wide-eyed as possible. “—lonely.”

Meg screwed up her eyebrows. “Lonely.”

“Yeah. You know. I mean, I've been chained up here for weeks—”

“Weeks?”

“—without anyone to talk to.” He full on pouted.

Now Meg did laugh. “Okay, first of all it's been days, not weeks. Jeez, maybe I should have someone check your head, make sure it didn't get too scrambled. Secondly, I'm not one of those desperate girls I was talking about.”

“I never said you were!”

Meg briefly rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Dean.”

When she started to walk away, he called after her frantically. “Hey wait! What about Ruby? Can you tell me anything about Ruby?”

Meg didn't turn around, simply waved over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Dean,” she repeated forcefully.

“Hey, uh, what about my ribs, huh? You said angel's can't find me, right? But can they hear my prayers?”

Meg spun around and was standing back in front of Dean so quickly he couldn't help but flinch, thinking he was about to get punched or something. Instead she just glared, eyes briefly tracing all over his face. The hunter forced his expression into neutrality. Meg turned her head to the side and grinned.

“Oh, Deany Bean, what have you done? You do something stupid?”

Dean didn't answer.

Meg laughed cruelly. “Whatever. Not like it matters. Even if Castiel heard you, he couldn't find you.”

“Why?” he asked quickly. “Am I that far from home?”

Meg laughed. “Man, you must think I'm pretty dumb to even reply to a comment like that. Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean didn't know what else to say or ask, so he just watched her leave.

“Are you stupid?”

Dean looked over to where the new voice had come from. Rowena emerged from the shadows, rushing over. Dean was surprised. She walked right up to him before looking around in paranoia.

“Well? Did you get yourself unlocked or do I have to do everything for you?”

In response, Dean yanked his one wrist free and shot her a dirty look.

“Well what the fuck are you still doing here?!”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his wrist back in its restraint. “Rowena—I have no idea where we are. Even if I manged to escape, which, while I thank your vote of confidence in my abilities, is doubtful because there's two guards posted at every door, where would I go?”

“I d'no! Anywhere?”

“Do you know where we are?”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “If I did, do you really think I wouldn't have told you that?”

“I d'no, I haven't seen you in what, three days?”

Rowena smiled. “Ah, so you have been keeping track!”

“More or less, yeah. So if you don't know where this is, how do you get here?”

“A forceful summons.”

Dean raised both eyebrows.

Rowena shrugged. “They call me, I come. I don't really have a say in it.” Her eyes glowed purple and her magical bindings appeared. “Remember?”

Dean sighed angrily. “Can't you just spring me loose?!”

“I could,” Rowena said, “but how long do you think it'd take them to figure out who freed you?”

“Fine—can't you just—I don't know. Tell Sam and Cas about stuff?”

“Once again, how long do you think it would take Azazel to figure out he has a mole?”

“Well if you're not going to help me then what are you doing here?” Dean snapped.

“Two things—one, I want my hairpin back because if they figure out you're no longer locked up tightly I don't want them tracing it back to me.”

Dean rolled his eyes, undid his cuff, reached into his back pocket and gave her back her hairpin. She smiled, twisting her hair up quickly and sticking it in.

“Thanks for that. And two, I have something to tell you.”

Dean paused. “Okay…”

Rowena smiled and leaned forward, whispering directly into his ear. When she was done he gawked at her. She winked and turned away.

“Go ahead. Tell your little birdie. But you didn't hear that from me.”

Dean watched in disbelief as she walked away.

~

Castiel was just about at his wits end.

He hated feeling helpless. Worse, he had lost the person he was tasked to keep safe. As though that wasn't bad enough, it wasn't exactly like he could go back to Heaven and ask for their help. Truthfully by now he was sure he was on some sort of kill on sight list.

He didn't want to bother Sam nor Bobby with that information. Sam and him had been back at Bobby's since Dean had disappeared, doing research and getting feelers out. As though spinning his wheels wasn't bad enough, the fourth day of Dean missing was fast approaching. It would have been three days since Dean had prayed to Castiel.

Had something happened? Had they figured out he had prayed and had lobotomized him? Had they outright killed him?

Castiel felt weak in the knees with relief when, just as the sun was setting with Bobby and Sam bustling about, making dinner, did Castiel hear Dean's voice in his head.

Cas! Cas, oh man, I hope you can hear me. I know what the last seal is! Or rather, I know where it can be found! There's this book Rowena knows about called The Book of the Damned. She said last anyone knew it was located in a monastery in Spain. She unfortunately doesn't know where exactly in Spain, but that doesn't really matter! I mean it matters, but it's a lead at least, right?!

Castiel didn't know whether to feel fond or annoyed at Dean's rambling. Truthfully he felt a bit of both. A small smile played on his lips; he hadn't realized just how deeply he missed Dean's presence.

So yeah. That's all. I hope you get this. Amen, or whatever.

Castiel rushed into the kitchen. Standing tall and interrupting the conversation Sam and Bobby were having, he declared,

“We are going to going to Spain.”

Chapter 52

Dean looked around. For the briefest second he didn't understand where he was; the confusion melted away as his surroundings became not only familiar, but welcome.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean looked over and smiled. “Cas!”

“You were asleep for a while. I'm sorry the movie ran over,” the angel said.

Dean yawned and stretched. Well, stretched as good as he could within the confined space of the front seat of the Impala.

“S’all good,” Dean said, finally releasing his taut muscles and sitting correctly. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“I did. It was fascinating, though I admittedly didn't understand the plot.”

“Oh. The plot was simple. It—”

Dean plunged into a long explanation about the movie he and Castiel had just seen at a theater. Even as Dean talked it didn't make sense to himself, and he found he was rambling. For whatever reason though, Castiel was nodding along. When he was done, Castiel looked at him seriously.

“Thank you Dean for explaining that to me. You are very smart.”

Dean could feel himself blush. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“No really. You are the smartest person I know.”

Dean looked at his hands in his lap, face on fire.”Well, I d'no about all that—”

“We're here Dean.”

Castiel pulled up to an apartment complex; it wasn't Dean's though. Or rather it was. He knew he lived here, but on some level he felt like it was wrong somehow. Thinking nothing of it, Dean looked back over to Castiel.

“Thanks for the ride.”

Castiel leaned over, closing the space between them, and planted a soft kiss against his lips. Dean's eyes widened. Otherwise, he didn't have a reaction to the brief kiss. Castiel leaned back and smiled.

“You're welcome, Dean.”

“I love you,” Dean found himself saying for some reason, and it didn't even feel weird. In fact, it felt perfectly normal, like he had told Castiel he loved him all the time.

“I love you too.”

Dean got out of the car. He turned around, but Cas and Baby were gone. There were no surroundings suddenly, the suburban landscape replaced by just liminal space. The only other thing around was the apartment complex. Once again not feeling like anything was out of the ordinary, Dean walked up to the building, took out his keys, and entered.

Dean found himself in a gymnasium. Sprawled before him and taking up the entire expanse of the room was a multi-layered obstacle course. He knew he had built it. Why or how he wasn't sure. But he had built it, and it was difficult, a course only he could complete. As he scaled and crawled, jumped and balanced, he felt like someone was watching. Balanced on a literal plate attached to a pole, he paused to look around himself; the gym was empty, so he kept moving.

Eventually he got to the end of the obstacle course, and it ended in an inflatable slide. Grinning, he slid down. Waiting for him at the bottom stood Rowena.

“Rowena!” He greeted enthusiastically. “What's up, buttercup?”

“Shouldn't you be in Spain?”

Dean was confused. “Spain? What?” He laughed. “No. Why on Earth would I be in Spain?”

“For that thing,” she said urgently.

“Uh…what thing?”

Rowena closed her eyes, looking ready to strangle him. “That—thing! That important thing I told you about?!”

“Dude, Ro—mind if I call you Ro? I feel like our relationship has progressed to where I could call you Ro.”

Rowena gave a half-groan, half-growl. “Focus.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “That thing!”

“Oh! You mean The Book of the Damned?”

Rowena laughed. She laughed and laughed until she started to melt. Dean watched, horrified, as she collapsed slowly, looking like wax melting. Her eyes fell off, then her nose, and her ears and her lips. When she finally melted completely, a process that only took a few seconds, Dean was shocked to find Azazel standing before him. Dean gasped loudly and took a step back. He tripped on something and fell backwards. Confused and petrified, he picked up Castiel's trench coat. Dean looked back up at Azazel.

Dean opened his eyes. He jolted; everything was as it should have been. He was in the dungeon, strung up. He realized all at once he had been dreaming.

He also abruptly realized everything was horribly wrong. It was wrong because Abaddon stood in front of him; she was holding Rowena by the neck, flush against her. While she looked physically unharmed Rowena looked petrified, makeup smeared with her tears. Standing next to them was Azazel himself.

“Tisk tisk tisk,” Abaddon taunted. “You've been such a naughty boy!”

Dean looked helplessly to Rowena.

“Thanks for sharing your dreams, Dean. And a thank you is in order for you too, Rowena. With your help I finally got what I needed.”

Abaddon jerked her hand; with a loud crack she snapped Rowena’s neck. As Dean gasped, Rowena’s lifeless body fell to the ground. Abaddon grinned wickedly. “Spain, eh? See ya.”

Abaddon snapped her fingers and then she was gone.

~

“This has to be some kind of mistake."

Sam sounded heartbroken. He, Bobby, and Castiel were standing in a field in beautiful Spain. It was up on a hill. Nestled below it in the distance was a town. The only hint that there had ever been a monastery where they stood was a single, old, crumbling stone wall covered in moss. Besides that there was nothing.

Castiel sat on his haunches, running his hand over the dirt and grass. He picked some of the earth up and brought it to his nose, smelling it.

“There was a fire,” he said, and then took another brief whiff of the dirt he held before putting it down and wiping his hands off. “About one hundred years ago.”

Bobby looked at him skeptically. “You can tell that. By…huffing dirt?”

Castiel stood up, squinting at the hunter. “Give or take a few years, yes.”

“Maybe you didn't understand the Spanish they were speaking,” Sam said. Castiel turned abruptly to him. “Maybe you misunderstood the directions the priests gave you?”

Castiel looked mildly offended. “I do not ‘misunderstand Spanish’,” Castiel said. “I am ‘programmed’ to know every single spoken language on Earth fluently—”

“Would you stop with the air quotes already?!”

“There's no reason to shout, Samuel.”

“Don't call me Samuel!”

“But it's your name.”

“But I prefer to be called Sam. Samuel was my grandfather, and—”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah it matters, my grandfather was kinda a dick—”

“Guys,” Bobby said.

“You mean your grandfather had a dick.”

“What? No. I mean yes. I mean—”

“A person cannot transmute into a—”

“Guys,” Bobby said again, a little louder.

Sam moaned loudly. “I know that, Cas, it's a figure of speech—”

“GUYS!”

Castiel and Sam turned to Bobby and snapped at the same time, “What?!”

Instead of answering, Bobby pointed.

Running up the hill was a priest. The closer he got, the more apparent it was that something was seriously wrong. The trio rushed forward. The priest collapsed into all of their outstretched arms. He was pale, shaking, sweaty. He had some blood on him, though it wasn't apparent if it was his or someone else's. Most alarming, however, was the fact that the veins of his neck and along the side of his face were quickly turning a deep, angry red, spreading quickly right before their eyes.

The priest spoke in gasping Spanish, which Castiel immediately translated.

“Demons. Demons came and attacked the church. They're killing everyone with some sort of magic. I'm going to die soon but they're here for the book that you're looking for.”

The priest pointed a trembling hand towards the wall.

“There's a crypt. Hurry.” The priest weakly shoved them all away. “Hurry!”

Sam and Bobby scrambled towards the decrepit wall. Castiel thanked the priest and gently set him down on the grass. He then ran over to where Bobby and Sam were on their hands and knees, doing something in the dirt. By the time Castiel was there, they had partially unearthed an old wooden hatch with a rusted iron ring (which Sam made sure to avoid).

“Move,” Castiel urged, and they did. Castiel easily yanked open the door and the three hurried down the old steps.

The crypt was small, a tunnel built out of the dirt itself. There were support beams but that was it, roots brushing against their heads and faces while bugs scurried all around. Castiel had made himself glow so Bobby could see. About a hundred feet in the tunnel opened to a single room. This room held a single stone pedestal, and on it sat a single book. Without even bothering to check if it was what they actually needed, Bobby grabbed the book, held it to his chest, and Castiel grabbed his and Sam's arm and disappeared.

Seconds later the crypt hatch reopened and feet ran down the stairs and through the tunnel. Abaddon entered the chamber first, three henchmen filing in behind her. She looked around at the empty room, saw the empty pedestal, and let out a shriek of fury. She grabbed one of the lesser demons by the throat and forced it out of its vessel. She then threw the body against the wall like it weighed nothing. The two remaining demons scurried out of her way when she stalked back out into the tunnel.

“Come on. Let's go.”

Chapter 53

"I should string you up by your balls and let you hang from them!”

“You say that like I wouldn't enjoy it.”

Abaddon let out a scream of fury, raking her nails down Dean's face. She then grabbed him by the throat and easily lifted him off the ground with one hand. He gasped and choked, kicking his feet, grabbing her forearms and squeezing.

“If it wasn't for Azazel, Dean Winchester, I would kill you right now!”

“That's enough, precious.”

Abaddon glared over her shoulder, the look concealed by the fact she didn't turn around.

“I said,” Azazel said, walking into the room, “that's enough.”

Abaddon released Dean and he fell back into his feet, gasping loudly. Abaddon composed herself and turned around, smiling sweetly.

“Sorry sir. I was merely taking out my frustration on him.”

“I know,” the yellow-eyed man said, “you'll be able to kill him soon enough, once Sam gets back.”

“Will I get to,” Abaddon replied snottily, “or will the Hellhounds?”

Dean nearly squeaked, craning his neck forward. “Excuse me, what? Did you say Hellhounds?”

Abaddon turned back to him and snapped, “Shut up, Dean.”

Azazel shrugged. “Either or. I mean, the hounds bring him to Hell—you know how these things go.”

Dean was starting to sweat. “Woah woah woah hang on there buddy. Who says I'm going to Hell?”

“I do,” Azazel said, walking over and over looking smug. “You see, we have plans for you. Big plans. Unimaginable plans. But unfortunately, for you, anyway, all those plans are dependant on your death and being sent to Hell.” Azazel shrugged and gave a wicked smile. “Sorry.”

Dean's gaze fell over Azazel’s shoulder and before he could stop himself, his mouth dropped open. Dean panicked over his own inability to hide his shock. Not knowing what else to do, Dean showed his hand. He uncuffed himself quickly, grabbed Abaddon before either her or Azazel could have a reaction, and wrapped the chain tightly around her throat. As she made choking noises and hit Dean's arms, he squeezed the chains tighter. The sounds stopped. He gave the chain a viscous yank for effect.

“You can't smoke out of the body if you can't open your damn throat, now can you?”

“I'm impressed, Dean,” Azazel said like he didn't have a care in the world. “How long have you had that little trick up your sleeve?”

“Long enough.” Dean grinned and winked. “I'm full of tricks.”

Abaddon pointed behind Azazel but it was too late. Rowena stabbed him in the back of the head with a dark dagger. She then stumbled away when he opened his mouth and black smoke billowed forth. To Dean's slight horror, the smoke took on the shape of a large, shrieking skull. It swirled around menacingly before fleeing the room like a bolt.

“Now what?!” Dean asked desperately, trying to not panic as Abaddon thrashed about.

Instead of answering, Rowena stepped over the body that had held Azazel, walked over to Dean, and held onto his arm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she said something that sounded like Latin. Everything abruptly changed; suddenly they were standing in the middle of a forest. Dean stumbled, unprepared for the transportation spell. Rowena steadied him.

“What the fuck?!”

“I think you mean, ‘thank you’,” Rowena corrected, giving a sweet smile.

Dean looked at her, clearly deeply disturbed. “You were dead!”

Rowena nodded. “I was.”

“Abaddon snapped your neck!”

“She did.”

“Then how—”

Rowena yanked on his arm, trying to get him to walk. “Assuming we both make it out of here alive, I'll explain all that, deary. For now we just have to put as much distance between them and us as possible!”

Dean stumbled after her, foot catching on a root. “Where are we?”

“Don't you recognize it? You've been here three times now.”

“Ugh, the stupid mine?!”

“That's the one.”

“I thought you said you didn't know where we were!” Dean accused.

Rowena tisked and rolled her eyes, pointing over to the side. The open mouth of a mine was visible.

“Keep moving!”

Dean had stopped walking. “Now wait a minute, just hang on.”

“You want to dilly dally about fine, it's your death wish.”

“Not what I meant. Rowena, hang on.”

Looking extremely uneasy, she stopped and faced him.

“Do you have someplace safe to go?”

She laughed. “Of course I do. Now c'mon—”

“No, we should split up.”

“What? Dean—”

“I'll be fine,” he assured her quickly. “We should split up so they'll have to divide their resources, decide which one of us they want to go after.”

Rowena laughed. “As valiant as that is, you don't understand the severity of the situation! This is Azazel—he has literal legions at his disposal! Manpower is the least of his concerns. I wouldn't even call it a concern of his, period!”

“Okay hold on,” Dean said quickly, looking around, making sure they were still alone. “You said they can forcefully summon you against your will. Why were you able to transport us now?”

“I died, remember? Some of the less-powerful magic he hexed me with fizzled upon my death. A summoning spell, while it may seem like a big thing, is actually relatively run of the mill if you know what you're doing.”

Dean's shoulders slumped. “Oh. So you're still chained up?”

“Yes!” She grabbed his hand and yanked it. “Now would you please shut the fuck up already and start running again?”

“Rowena, just send me home.”

“They'll look for you there first, are you stupid?”

“Trust me—just send me there if you can.”

“Ugh. Fine! Although I'm not coming with you!”

“Fine, whatever. Just get me out of here!”

Rowena dug into her bag. As she did, Dean prayed.

Cas! I need an extraction. I'll be at my apartment—don't ask questions, just be there!

Rowena took out a tied off satchel. Chanting, she opened it, stuck her hand in, and grabbed a fistful of what appeared to be sand. When she was done speaking in Latin, she took a deep breath and blew the sand into Dean's face as hard as she could. He coughed and sputtered.

“Rowena, what the hell—”

Then abruptly, Dean was standing in his dark living room, alone.

~

“Anything yet?”

Sam lifted his gaze above the laptop screen and glared at nothing.

“For the millionth time, no.”

Castiel hummed.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back at the screen. “Why don't you take a crack at it?”

“Like I said, I feel like you would have a better understanding as to what sort of password he would use, being his brother and everything.”

Sam twisted in his seat, clinging desperately to his last shred of patience. “Yeah but you guys have a profound bond or whatever—oh don't give me that look!”

“Look? What look?”

“That! That right there! That look!”

“What look?”

“You squint your eyes and tilt your head like a damned bird or something—”

“Excuse me. I am not a bird. I mean, I suppose it's better than being called a fish, but—”

Sam moaned loudly and hit his head a few times on the table. Meanwhile, there was a knock at the door.

“Got it,” Bobby said, walking past the two bickering beings. He opened the door and found Garth grinning at him.

“Oh thank God you're here,” Bobby said. “They're driving me crazy.”

“Who is?”

“Sam and Cas. C'mon.”

Grinning again, Garth entered the room where Cas and Sam were situated. “Hey guys!”

Cas took the computer off the table abruptly.

Sam was mid-typing and barked out at Castiel indignantly, brow furrowed, “Hey!”

Castiel ignored him, instead unceremoniously shoving the laptop into Garth’s hands. Garth, not expecting it, nearly dropped it. Sam sighed and rubbed at his face.

“Oh, uh, hi Cas, how're—”

“We've been trying to get into Dean's blog but we don't know the password,” Castiel said desperately. “It's saying we have one more try before it locks us out permanently! Permanently Garth, permanently.”

Garth chuckled. “Alright, buddy, relax. I won't let Dean's account go kaput.”

“I never knew Dean was so tech savvy,” Sam grumbled, sounding injured off to the side. “I couldn't even hack the damn thing. He has it totally on lock down, like it's NORAD or something.”

“Sam—what's Dean's birthday?”

Sam looked at the werewolf like he was crazy. “That's like, password protection 101, you never use your birthday—”

“Trust me—what's his birthday?”

Sam muttered, “You had better not blow our only chance at this…” Then, louder, “January 24th.”

“Year?”

“1979.”

Garth typed something in. Then he grinned and flipped the laptop around. “Bingo!”

Sam tossed his hands into the air. “Oh what the fuck?” He then pushed himself to his feet and walked over to Garth.

“What did you do?” Castiel asked.

Garth handed off the laptop to Sam as he spoke. “It was easy—BustyAsians97914210!”

Sam gaped at him. “You're joking, right?”

“How did you figure it out?” Castiel asked.

Garth crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well, seeing as he's mentioned how much he likes busty Asian women several times—”

Castiel cocked his head curiously, while Sam furrowed his brow and looked disgusted. “Gross.”

“—and the fact that he has his profile running on lock down like it's part of the CIA and no one actually knows who he really is, he has the ability to use an easier password. To people who know him it would be easy, but people who know him didn't know he had the blog. So, no one would get his password because they don't know his birthday, and people who would be able to figure it out didn't know he was the man behind that blog.” Garth put his arms to his side and grinned. “It's actually kinda ingenious, really.”

Sam, utterly frustrated, groaned and sat back down, putting his head down on the table and wrapping his arms around it. Garth came over and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“I thought it'd be something complicated,” Sam said.

“Exactly. Like I said, ingenious!”

“So, why are we hacking into his blog?”

Sam sat up then and began typing. “Asking for help.”

“Oh?”

“We came into possession of a book,” Bobby chimed in, “but it's written in some sort of code.”

Sam smirked sardonically. “Or at least we hope it's a code. Truthfully it just looks like the rantings of a woman who was severely mentally ill.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure,” Bobby said, going to get it for him. “It's a bunch of gibberish though.”

Castiel gasped when Dean's voice was suddenly in his head. Cas! I need an extraction. I'll be at my apartment—don't ask questions, just be there!

“I have to leave,” Castiel said abruptly, and before anyone could have any sort of reaction, or even blink, they angel disappeared.

~

The apartment was dark, empty. Cas looked around himself. “Dean?”

With the familiar static-like sensation Castiel felt anytime powerful magic was used, Dean was suddenly standing in the living room. The man looked battered, but he was standing. The second his green eyes focused on Cas, he looked absolutely relieved.

“Cas!”

They walked over to each other, hugging one another fiercely. Feeling his own relief, Castiel tried to extract himself from the complicated and frankly unexpected emotions and thoughts pouring out of Dean. Profound loneliness. Not wanting to be alone on a fundamental level; wanting the type of life that was more than just one night stands, a life where he could wake up next to someone in the morning and have them stay. Wanting love, wanting a future. Stability, safety. It was so suddenly intense Castiel nearly gasped at it.

It was in that exact moment Castiel learned how easily Dean was able to mask his true emotions, how he could hide his emotional turmoil from the outside world. It was bewildering, heartbreaking, and the finesse of which Dean outwardly hid his emotions told how often he did this. It was like second nature to him. Castiel wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to Dean where he could shove his emotions in a corner so easily.

Dean pulled himself back and smiled at Cas, still holding onto his arms. “C'mon. We need to leave, they're going to be looking for me any second now.”

Castiel looked worried. To Dean it was worry over demons; to Castiel it was profound worry over Dean's emotional health. “Of course.”

With the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay; I wanted Rowena to stay dead for longer, but it didn't fit with the timeline I had in my head. There was a lot of writing and deleting, writing and deleting, angst over this not being canon with how long it takes for Rowena to regenerate herself, writing and deleting, telling myself that I'm a hack writer who has no worth as an author, more writing and deleting. Finally just reminded myself *this entire story isn't canon* and that I needed to get over myself. So, here we are.

Chapter 54

Notes:

Will edit later.

Sam wanted to be angry with Castiel for leaving abruptly, but he absolutely could not, not when the angel stood there now with his brother. Sam was on his feet immediately, trying to hold back tears.

“Dean?!”

Dean smiled fondly. “Heya, Sammy.”

“Dean!”

The much taller man practically tackled his brother. Dean closed his eyes, smiling. He allowed the intense hug to go on a moment before he extracted himself, patting Sam on the back. He simply beamed, choosing to not bring attention to how misty-eyed Sam looked.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam said, and then cleared his throat, trying to get a grip. “What happened? Who got you? Where did you go? How did you escape?”

“Are you alright?” Garth jumped in seeing the state Dean's face was in.

Dean held out his hand. “I'll answer all that in a minute, but we should leave. Like, now. Like, yesterday probably.”

Sam looked slightly panicked. “What? Why?”

Dean turned to Bobby. “You're pretty infamous in the hunting community, right?”

Garth snorted. “That's an understatement. Most people call him Papa Bobby.”

Bobby screwed up his face. “What? No they don't.”

“Well they don't to your face.”

“Why not?”

Garth laughed. “Uh, we don't wanna be shot in the face?”

Bobby opened his mouth to reply but Dean cut him off by snapping his fingers several times. “Hey guys, focus, I—wait, why is my blog open?”

Dean rushed over to the laptop, looking pissed. Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean picked up the machine and started scrolling. He muttered to himself, “What is this? I didn't write this—”

“Dean,” Castiel snapped, and the younger man slowly looked at him, rubbernecking to keep one eye on the monitor. “You just said focus, and it sounded like you had something important to say?”

“Important,” Dean said, shutting the laptop and holding it at his side. “Right. There's gonna be demons swarming us in like, five seconds, so we should leave.”

Garth looked panicked. “What?! Why?! Oh man, that's bad.”

“I know,” Dean replied seriously. “And I'm sure word's gotten around that we're working with Bobby, so after they check out my apartment it wouldn't surprise me if they hit this place up next.”

“Balls,” Bobby said.

Dean pointed at him. “Exactly. So, any idea where we could go? The more random the better.”

Suddenly everyone stood in a hotel room. Sam was the only one who remained balanced from the sudden location switch—even so, he rounded on Castiel, nostrils flared a little.

“Dude! Come on! You gotta give us warning before you do that.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said sheepishly.

Garth looked around himself. “Where are we?”

“A motel in Carmen, Oklahoma.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

Castiel smirked. “Exactly.”

“I'm with Sam,” Bobby snapped. “There were some things I shoulda grabbed, like that book—”

Castiel reached into his coat and pulled out The Book of the Damned. “You mean this one?”

Bobby blinked. “Well, yeah. But also practical stuff, like fresh underwear—”

“C'mon, Bobby,” Dean said. “You can get at least four days out of a pair and after that we can just buy some new ones.”

Bobby looked disgusted. “The hell are you talking about, boy?”

Sam, looking mortified, explained. “Dad told us if we're ever in a situation where we can't change, you can wear them front and back, then inside out front and back.”

Bobby paused. Then he looked horrified. “The fuck?”

Dean cracked up. “Wait wait wait—that's not an army thing?”

“No that ain't an army thing!”

Sam joined in the laughter. “We never questioned it! We just always assumed it was one of those crazy things dad said that held over from his military days!”

Bobby shook his head. “Neither of you actually did that, have you?”

“No,” Sam sputtered out, still laughing.

Dean turned red and scratched the back of his neck. “What? Psh, no. Never.”

Sam looked disgusted and stopped laughing. “Dude gross!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “A guy runs out of laundry detergent one time—”

Sam cracked up again. “You couldn't buy more in four days?!”

Dean blinked at him. Then, “A guy gets too busy to do laundry one time—”

Sam outright giggled. “For four days?!”

Dean threw his hands up in the air. “A man gets too broke to afford detergent and is allergic to the cheap stuff one time and it becomes a national scandal—”

Sam laughed.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Alright, as much as I'm enjoying the Dumb and Dumber skit…” He looked worried at Dean. “You alright, kid? What happened?”

Everyone grew serious and looked at Dean. He walked them through everything, from being surprised in his bathroom the previous week, to Azazel finding out about the book via his dreams (he left out the whole kissing an angel thing. He didn't want to think about how at least two demons now knew he had a crush on the guy), to Rowena dying and coming back to life. When he was done, everyone was looking pretty overwhelmed.

“So what about you guys?” Dean said. “I know Abaddon was super pissed we got to the bookstore before she did. Have you looked at it? What's it say?”

“It's basically gibberish,” Castiel said, handing the book off to Dean who immediately opened it and began to skim it over. “That's why we needed to use your blog—Sam had the idea of reaching out for help deciphering it there.”

Dean lifted his head, looking slightly worried. “You left out what exactly we need a code decipher for, right?”

“Of course.”

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, “Of course.” Then, speaking at a normal volume, he took one of the pages and flipped it back and forth. “What is this book made from? The pages feel weird—”

“Human skin.”

Dean dropped the book immediately and lifted up one leg, looking absolutely horrified.

“Oh gross!” Sam protested.

“And you let us touch that?!” Bobby snapped, rubbing his hands against the front of his shirt.

“I need hand sanitizer,” Dean said, slowly putting his leg down but looking at the book like it might bite him. “Better yet, anyone have acid? I don't need hands anymore, they're overrated.”

“Who's skin?” Sam asked tentatively, still sounding horrified.

“Unknown,” Castiel said.

“Next time clue us in on the fact we're holding something made out of people parts, okay?” Sam said with a visible shudder.

“Alright,” the angel replied, utterly nonpulssed.

Dean walked off, muttering how he needed to wash his hands for awhile. He didn't get far; before he got to the bathroom, Ruby was suddenly standing in front of him. He took one look at her and rammed her backwards until she hit the wall, holding her there.

“Dean!” Sam barked immediately, going over to the pair.

“Wait,” Ruby said to Dean desperately, “I'm here to help you!”

“Like Hell you are!” Dean snapped even as Sam tugged at his shoulder to release her.

“A demon,” Castiel said, his eyes glowing, and he advanced on her.

Sam threw out his hand as Cas hurried over. “W-wait, Cas, don't smite her—”

“Why not?” Dean continued to growl, holding her in place. “You act like she's the only remaining girl in the world out there for you, and she's not even a girl.”

Ruby smirked. “You're right, I'm a lady.”

Dean looked murderous. Sam jumped in quickly.

“Because she's on our side—”

“Really? ‘Cause she seemed awfully chummy with Azazel.”

Ruby glared up at Dean. “Ever hear of a double-agent, dumbass?”

“I don't believe you for a second.”

“Dean,” Sam tried urgently, still not letting go of his shoulder, but he was ignored.

“What can I do to get you to trust me?” Ruby asked Dean, dark eyes serious and imploring.

“Nothing,” he snarled.

“Dean!” Sam begged.

“Even if I explain to you why Azazel needs you in Hell?”

The room froze. Dean froze because he hadn't mentioned that part of his time as a prisoner. He didn't want to mention anything until he not only wrapped his head around the entire situation, but also found out what they were talking about, him going to Hell via Hellhounds and-or Abaddon, and being handed over to someone named Alistair.

“You're one of the seals, Dean,” Ruby continued. “There are two seals that absolutely have to happen in order for Lucifer to be freed—one is the missing one. The one I'm assuming is in that book you dingbats stole.” She glared and it was a smug look. “The other is getting The Righteous Man to spill blood in Hell.”

Dean screwed up his face, trying to get the goosebumps breaking out all over his body to stop. “What're you talking about?”

“You're the Righteous Man, Dean. The foretold one. The true vessel of the archangel Michael.”

Dean released her and took a step back. Ruby pushed herself off the wall and stood tall.

“We need to break you in Hell, get you to torture someone there and spill blood. The act of The Righteous Man going against his very being, the very makeup of his soul, is one of the only seals that needs to be broken for sure.” She smiled, and it wasn't exactly friendly. “You're the key, Dean.”

Sam was looking at her, horrified. Everyone else didn't look much better.

“And now that you know that, you can avoid that outcome.”

“With your help, I assume?” Dean breathed out, a horrible knot forming in his stomach.

Ruby smiled, and this time it shifted into a tender look. “You're welcome.”

Chapter 55

For a few moments Dean stayed rooted in place, stunned. He quickly put two and two together and spun around, taking a few paces forward and advancing menacingly towards Cas.

“You knew?”

“Dean—”

“This entire time you knew I was Michael's vessel, didn't you?!”

Castiel's face crumpled. “Dean—”

“That's why when you were talking about everything that day, the day that Sam knocked Bobby and I unconscious and left, you explained most everything to me about how it was a good thing that Heaven didn't know Sam had demon blood because they would probably kill him on sight, because it's one thing for him to be Lucifer's vessel and partake in the apocalypse—”

“Dean—”

“—but it was an entirely other thing to be part demon—”

“Dean—”

“—and you brushed through the whole Lucifer and Michael have to fight, which Heaven wants, but from watching Sam and I over the years you didn't want to have Sammy go through that—”

“Dean—”

Dean started yelling. “And you looked at me before you explained any of that, and you had me sit down. You looked at me straight in my fucking eyes and said, ‘Dean, you might want to sit for this’, and it was because you fucking knew I'm Michael's vessel and I'm expected to fight my own damn brother to the death!”

“Dean, I'm sorry—”

“Sorry? Sorry?! You chickened out and left out the whole, I'm expected to kill my little brother and all you can say is you're sorry?!”

“Think about my position!” Castiel said, desperation in his voice. “I was made to protect you! I was made—for you! Then I find out that your mother wanted me to protect your brother, who I come to find out is an abomination?! So not only did I leave Heaven, for you because I don't want you to fight Sam, but then I found out Sam is my sworn enemy by nature, and I swore to Mary I would protect him?!”

“This is better than a soap opera,” Ruby said.

Dean rounded on her. “Oh screw you—”

“Dean, I knew too,” Sam blurted out.

Dean rounded on him. “What?!”

“Cas told me like, four days ago, shortly after you were kidnapped—”

Dean paused. “Oh. But you were gonna tell me, right?”

Sam looked away.

Dean turned red and took a step forward. “Right, Sam?”

Sam looked at his feet. “I knew before Cas told me.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air and turned his back on everyone. “Oh what the fuck—”

“Azazel told me about the entire thing when he kidnapped me from the restaurant.”

Cas looked startled, and then angry. “But when I told you in the truck the other day, you seemed so genuinely surprised—”

Sam threw him a resting bitch face. “Yeah well I lied, okay? It's really easy for me to lie with a straight face, between studying to become a lawyer and you know, being part demon.”

Castiel looked hurt. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because I didn't want anyone to know I knew! Hell, I didn't want anyone to know until I figured out how to fix this—”

“Fix this? Sam, there is no fixing this; Lucifer and Michael are predestined to fight each other—”

“There has to be something we can do!” Sam cut in. “There is always something we can do, right?”

Castiel didn't reply.

Sam looked around at everyone, clearly desperate. “Right?”

Castiel turned his head away.

Without saying another word, Dean walked to the door and threw it open. Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean. Dean, wait.”

But Dean didn't wait. He walked out. Sam hurried after him. Easily catching up, Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder.

“C'mon, don't do this—”

Dean tried to sucker punch Sam but Sam was too quick, jerking back. That only seemed to piss off Dean further and he whipped around, stomping away again.

“Please—”

Dean turned back around and walked up to Sam so their boots were touching. Sam swallowed thickly but stood firm.

“Fuck. Off.”

Dean turned around again and hurried away, fists clenched at his sides. Sam waited. When Dean didn't come back he tossed his arms out to the side, frustrated, and called out, “Dean, where are you going?”

“I d'no,” Dean called over his shoulder, “Hopefully I find a quarry that I can fling myself into.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don't be dramatic.”

Dean raised his middle finger.

“If you kill yourself that's what Azazel wants!”

Dean waved his middle finger around.

“Dean! C'mon, do you really think now is a good time to go wandering off by yourself?”

Dean put his arm down but kept walking. Sighing, Sam walked back to the motel with his head bowed. Everyone looked at him. He shrugged one shoulder.

“He's not listening to me.”

Castiel tisked and rolled his eyes. He squeezed through Bobby, Sam, and Ruby, and hurried out the door. It didn't take long for him to catch up after sprinting after Dean. The angel fell into step with him; they walked side by side in silence.

“Might I walk with you?” Castiel said after roughly a block away in an attempt to break the tension.

“Go ahead. You do whatever you want it seems, so it's not like I can stop you.”

Cas stopped walking and grabbed Dean's shoulder. “Dean—”

Dean spun and punched Castiel's cheek. Castiel turned his head with the punch to lessen the blow on Dean's hand. Dean quickly turned back around, cradled his hand a second, and made a face in pain. Sucking in a deep breath then he turned back around.

Castiel nodded. “Is your hand alright?”

“It's fine,” he gritted out.

“I wouldn't recommend doing that again.”

“Noted.”

“Now that's out of the way, may we talk?”

Dean stuck his nose in the air. “No, no we may not.”

Dean started to walk away again. With a sigh, Cas lunged forward and gently tugged on his arm. Dean stopped and turned around. Castiel was alarmed when he saw tears standing in the hunters eyes.

“Just what the fuck, man?” Dean said, his voice squeaking slightly. He entwined his fingers and put his hands on the back of his head. “What’m I supposed to do? A few months ago I thought my biggest problems were some online trolls and the fact that I had to cover for my coworkers who were too immature to make it to work on time. Now?”

Dean looked off to the side and ran a hand slowly down his face. Then he put his hands on his hips. He narrowed his eyes at Castiel.

“My entire existence, my entire reality, keeps on getting flipped on its head. Wendigo and angels, then Creature from the Black Lagoon, almost dying several times over…Now my own damn brother that I've known for twenty two years is a frigging demon? And I'm the host of the angel that's supposed to fight Lucifer to their death while he's wearing my brother?”

Dean palmed tears off his cheeks and shook his head, looking off to the side. He sniffed. “It's a lot, man. It's a lot.”

“I know,” Castiel replied softly, “and I'm sorry.”

Dean looked at him. “Yeah well, sorry just isn't going to cut it. Not now. Not after—” his throat clenched and he looked away, trying to keep it together and not completely have a breakdown. “—everything.”

“If it's any consolation, I think you're doing remarkably well, all things considered.”

Dean looked at him. He looked at this creature, this celestial being that was crammed into some poor sap named Jimmy Novak, and he couldn't believe the dorky, shy-but-trying-to-be-reassuring, bashful look he had on his face. It was, simply, adorable. There was no other word to describe it. And like that, with that dorky shy look that made Dean want to fold the guy up and stick him in his pocket for safe keeping because he was too damn precious for this world, Dean's anger started to subside. After a moment the tiniest smile flickered over Dean's mouth. He smirked.

“Believe it or not, it actually does, Cas, it really does.”

When they walked back to the room, they found everyone waiting anxiously for their return. Ruby was the first to speak, arms crossed, her eyebrow cocked.

“Your man-tantrum done?”

Dean decided he wasn't even going to humor that quip. Instead he just snorted in disbelief and shook his head.

“So. What are we doing now?” Bobby asked.

“First things first,” Dean said, stifling a yawn.
As he spoke he stretched until his back cracked. “I don't know about you guys, but I've been strung up by my wrists for four days, been kept sleep-deprived, so for as hungry as I am from not eating that entire time, I'm pretty sure my tiredness is winning that battle.”

Everyone looked at Dean as he flopped belly-first onto the only bed in the room.

“Let me sleep. Anyone even thinks of waking me up before I'm good and ready, imma kill them,” he said, voice muffled from being smashed against the mattress. He opened one eye. “Oh, and there had better be bacon and eggs waiting for me when I wake up.”

Before anyone even had the chance to reply or make any sort of comment, Dean fell fast asleep.

Chapter 56

Summary:

Will edit later.

Dean was mildly surprised, but also deeply thankful, when he woke up around noon the following day and there was indeed bacon and eggs waiting for him. He didn't even care it had gone cold; a quick zap in the microwave fixed that. He devoured the toast as well; Sam tried to insist Dean should stick to water, but after Dean argued all he had had for four days was water, they made a compromise; Dean glared as he pounded down some Gatorade and then switched over to a beer.

With sustenance out of the way, Dean hopped onto his blog. He kept getting distracted; Ruby was still there. After a point she got the hint she was very unwelcome, so her and Sam had slipped outside. Dean hated how in his peripheral vision he kept seeing them, all smiles and laughing through the open curtains. The final straw was when their voices grew hushed; the sudden change in their loudness caused Dean to turn his head just in time to see them kiss. He slammed his computer shut and lurched to his feet.

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Dean stalked over and roughly drew the curtains closed. Bobby, sitting in a chair with a beer, snorted and shook his head. Dean glared at him but didn't say anything. Instead he walked back to the laptop and opened it. After a moment he said,

“Alright, I found someone who might be able to help us.” Dean twisted in his seat. “They want to meet in a public spot; Cas, do you think it's safe if we do that?”

“It should be,” the angel replied. “I doubt there are any demons who know about your blog.”

Dean grinned at him. “Hey! Good job not using air quotes. I feel like Castiel from even a few weeks ago would've put air quotes around the word ‘blog’. You're learning!”

“Thank you Dean,” Castiel said carefully, “though…I can't tell if you're mocking me or not.”

Dean's smile softened. “Naw Cas, being genuine.”

Casti colored slightly. “Oh. Well, thank you then.”

“Sure. Besides, even if they were watching my blog I'm switching over to private messages now to set up a time and place. And I have my email and PMs locked up tighter than a puckered butthole, so it's a non-issue.”

As Castiel tilted his head, Bobby lumbered to his feet and walked over. Using the hand that held his current beer bottle, he pointed at Cas. “I know he's teaching you how to talk more human, but don't pick up his weirder things, like what he just said.”

Dean smiled, the look he got when he thought he was being particularly cheeky. “What? What's wrong with what I just said?”

Bobby gave a hefty eye roll and sat back down.

The day was uneventful. Boring, even. Dean found himself mindlessly scrolling the news, feelers out for any cases they might work in the meantime. At one point Ruby tried to be nice.

“Lookit you, researching cases? Aren't you a boy scout?”

Dean stopped and didn't even bother turning around in his chair. He held back what he wanted to say (and only because Sam was in the room), instead settling on, “Why don't you mind your own business?”

Ruby frowned and walked around the table. Her bottom lip jutted out a little bit. She asked seriously, “What can I do to get you to trust me?”

Dean finally lifted his eyes to look at her. He answered flatly, “Nothing.”

“Dean, c'mon,” Sam said exasperatedly to the side where he sat on the bed.

Dean forced a smile. “Don't you have somewhere to be Ruby? Things to do, people to torture?”

“Dean,” Sam snapped.

Dean just continued to smile. “Sorry, I just find it hard to trust a full fledged demon who I don't know from a hair on my ass, especially when I saw her being all cuddly with Azazel. Call me crazy.”

“I do not cuddle Azazel.”

“Figure of speech,” Dean said, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. “Yeesh, you're as bad as that one,” he tacked on, jerking his head towards Cas (who immediately looked affronted).

Dean's laptop chimed; now fully ignoring Ruby, he pulled up his email.

“Alright guys, I have a time frame and a place to meet this Charlie person.” He twisted in his seat. “Cas—if I give you a location you can get us there, right?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Everyone good with an hour from now?” When there was a smattering of agreement, Dean looked at Ruby and smiled. “Not you.”

“What?” she snapped.

“Dean—” Sam immediately tried to argue, but Dean talked over him, turning to Bobby.

“You can't come either.”

“The hell I can't!” the older man snapped immediately.

“Look,” Dean placated everyone, “this Charlie guy seems really skittish. They know I have a brother—now, I don't have to tell them about Cas, he can just show up—”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean noticed.

“—what?”

Sam, lips puckered, shook his head. “Nothing. Continue.”

Dean glared a second, muttering under his breath, “Damn straight continue…”, then louder, “As I was saying I feel like the more people we tack on the more likely this person is gonna spook and take off. I don't want to show up with a damn entourage.” Dean turned to Ruby and gave a thin-lipped smile. “Plus, you wanna earn my trust? If we come back and you've done something to Bobby, well, I'll kill you with my own two hands.”

Ruby snorted. “I'd like to see you try.”

Sam, looking at the end of his rope, scrubbed his face. “Ruby. Utterly unhelpful.”

She sighed. “I just wish you all would relax and believe me when I say I'm on your side.”

“Well,” Dean said with a genuine smile on his face then, “protect Bobby while we're gone and don't possess him or otherwise harm him and I'll start doing just that.”

Ruby smiled back, looking relieved.

~

“Where is he?” Castiel asked.

Sam, Dean, and Cas all looked around. People milled about. Dean was trying to relax. He was surprised with himself and how uneasy he felt. An irrational fear made him think there was a demon around every corner. Then again, he figured it wasn't exactly irrational.

“We in the right exhibit?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean removed a piece of paper from his back pocket. He glanced at it and then held it up.

“Says right here—Gallery 262, Art Institute of Chicago, Nighthawks painting by Edward Hopper.” He gestured to the painting in front of them.

Sam glanced at his watch and the back at the painting. “He's fifteen minutes late.”

Suddenly everyone caught someone standing in their peripheral vision. They figured it was a patron just admiring artwork, but then they spoke.

“What do you hear, Starbuck?”

Dean snapped his head right in disbelief and in a whisper replied with, “Nothing but the rain, sir.”

A shorter woman (compared to the three men) with firey red hair stood before them. She turned to Dean and gave a small, shy smile. Respectful of their surroundings, she spoke at a whisper.

“I personally like Star Trek better, and honestly I liked the Battlestar from the 70’s better, but I know you like BSG so thought I'd use something you'd be familiar with.”

The three men looked stunned. Sam spoke first, his forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “Charlie?”

“That's my name, don't wear it out.”

“Oh,” Dean said with a blink of his eyes, looking her up and down. “You're a girl.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Woman, but yes, I am of the female persuasion.”

Dean felt himself turn slightly red. “Sorry, woman, y-yeah—”

Smirking, Sam saved his brother from his floundering and stuck out his hand. “At least he didn't call you ‘chick’. I'm Sam, by the way.”

Charlie shook his hand. “Hi. I'm Charlie. Although you probably figured that out by now…” She cleared her throat and looked at Cas. “And you are?”

“Castiel,” he replied.

Charlie blinked. “Wow. Quite the name there.”

“Well yes, seeing as I'm a—”

Dean stomped on his foot. Hard. Castiel gaped at him.

“Dean!”

Several people around them glared, and one even shushed them. Looking deeply embarrassed, Castiel muttered an apology to everyone. He then glared at Dean, hissing quietly, “Dean!”

Dean shrugged, looking only mildly apologetic with a chagrin smile.

Charlie took a step back. “O-oh. You're not—you're not—”

“Rod?” Dean said. “I am. Rod’s an alias.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, looking relieved. “I mean, that makes sense.”

Castiel glanced around them. “Perhaps we should finish this elsewhere, where we could speak more freely, or at least not at a whisper.”

“Sure,” Charlie agreed, still looking a bit anxious as she gripped the strap of her messenger bag. “Millennium Park is right here; lots of people milling around so our conversation would largely be lost on passerbys.”

“Perfect,” Dean agreed.

Cordially, Castiel held out his arm and said, “Lead the way.”

So she did.

Notes:

I evidently can't write a fanfic without Charlie. 😂

Chapter 57

“Well this is cool.”

Dean pushed off the winding metal bridge that expanded across a large swath of the park. He hurried his pace to catch up with the other three.

“Sorry I was late,” Charlie was saying as Dean fell back in line with them. “I thought it was you but I wasn't sure, and then I got scared and almost backed out because this isn't usually the sort of work I do—”

“What sort of work do you do?” Dean asked.

“Oh, I have a eight-to-five like every other poor sap in the free world, but my big employer doesn't know I'm slowly and methodically siphoning his money elsewhere.” She looked at them all and tacked on quickly, “Good places, mind you. Nonprofits, nature conservation, LGBTQIA+ causes, stuff like that. I do similar cyber manipulation for hire too as an extra source of income. So, when I saw this gig, I was curious and had to jump on it. Saying no wasn't an option.”

“Well didn't we luck out?” Dean said, and Charlie gave a nervous laugh.

“You sound like a modern-day Robin Hood,” Sam smiled at her.

Charlie turned a little red. “Well, I d'no about all that….” After a somewhat awkward pause, she gestured to a concession stand off the side. “You guys hungry? I am.”

Even though he had just eaten not that long ago, Dean got himself a hot dog. Everyone else also ordered, except Castiel, who politely said he wasn't hungry. After the food was made and given to them, they picked one of the many round tables scattered about and sat down.

“So,” Charlie said before taking a bite of her burger, “you needed me to try to crack a code? But like a book code?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a little bit of hesitation, flipping open his own duffle bag, “you see, and I don't know if it would work or not, but I was theorizing that maybe if we were to take the text and run it through some sort of algorithm, it might make some sort of sense?” He pulled out the book, frowning. “Because right now we can't make heads or tails of this, it just a bunch of garblty gook that seems to mean absolutely nothing.”

“May I?” Charlie said, holding out her hand.

Sam started to hand it to her but then pulled it back, eyebrows raised. “Do you have hand sanitizer on you?”

Charlie glanced off to the side. “Uh, yeah…why?”

Dean, already with just a bite left, wiped his hands on a napkin and spoke around the ball of meat stuffed in his cheek. “Yaknow, maybe she should eat first.”

Charlie looked confused.

“The pages are made of human flesh,” Castiel blurted out.

The woman went pale. “Oh. Oh God.” Looking sick, she shoved her food away. “Yeah, I'm no longer hungry.”

Dean rubber necked and then leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice. “Jeez Cas, say that a little bit louder, why don't you? I don't think the head of the FBI heard you.”

Castiel began looking around. “What? Is he here? Where—”

“Please forgive my socially inept friend,” Sam said, earning a slight glare from the angel. “Please, take a look.”

Charlie, with a lot of hesitation, reached out for the book. Clearly not even wanting to touch it, she braced herself and opened it. Her look of disgust slowly morphed into intrigue as she got the courage to touch a page, and then another, and then she was flipping through it as though it were a normal book. Her eyes widened.

“Wow, you weren't kidding,” Charlie said. “This is absolutely insane.”

“So, do you think you can help us?”

Charlie lifted her head and looked at them seriously. When she spoke it was through lips that barely moved. Her tone took on terrified urgency.

“I don't know but we have to leave. Now.”

Dean's brow furrowed. “Leave? Wha—”

“I was hired by a family, the Styne family,” Charlie said, speaking frantically, “to get this book. They gave me an outlandish story about how a very powerful demon had called on them to help them get this book.” Now Charlie looked near tears. “I thought—I—I—I didn't belive it, I thought it was probably some mentally ill person who was into Satanism and I'd get this book, translate it for them, and I'd be on my merry way—”

“Why would you agree to something like that?” Castiel cut in, sounding both annoyed and horrified.

“When someone offers you thirty-eight million dollars, well, you kinda jump at the opportunity.”

Castiel rolled his eyes heavily. “Oh for f—”

Dean raised his eyebrows but his brother jumped in, cutting off the angel.

“And you believed them that they'd pay you that?!” Sammy balked.

“They already put a mil in my bank account to prove they weren't bullshitting me!” Charlie sounded absolutely petrified now, tears threatening to spill over. “Guys, you don't understand. They said—they said if I didn't deliver or follow through they'd kill me—”

Sam moaned and threw himself back against his chair, scrubbing his hands up and down his face.

“I believed that part, this is the dark web I'm talking about after all, but—but I thought the book was just a book and when they said they were dealing with demons they didn't—they didn't mean actual demons, but now I'm looking at this book and it's made from skin and—”

Dean reached over and gently put his hand on top of hers. “Charlie. I need you to calm down. Everything is going to be alright—”

“No!” she squeaked and retractd her hand. “They said one of them would be here to make sure I didn't goof up—”

The three men looked around, paranoid.

“Guys don't look!” she squealed.

Everyone looked at her.

“What do they look like?” Castiel asked.

“I don't—I don't know, I wasn't told that—”

“Of course you weren't,” Dean said bitterly.

“Cas, get us out of here,” Sam said through pursed lips.

“I'm not about to make four people disappear into thin air!”

“What?” Charlie said, sounding like a squeaky mouse.

“Demons exist, so do angels,” Dean said quickly. He nodded at Cas. “He's one of ‘em.”

“O-oh.” Charlie squeezed her eyes shut tightly then. “I'd like to wake up now. I'd like to wake up now. I'd like to wake up now. I'd—”

“Charlie!” Dean snapped.

She peeked with one eye. Her shoulders slumped. “Crap.”

“We need to extract ourselves from the park to somewhere with less people so we can disappear unnoticed,” Castiel said.

“Less people?” Sam said. “Cas—we're in the middle of the third largest city in the country, smack dab in the middle of one of its main tourist attractions! There's not going to be anywhere less populated!”

“If we disappear behind a corner it would at least be more inconspicuous,” Castiel said.

“Look,” Dean said, getting to his feet, “I feel like the proverbial walls are closing in. Less talking about it and more being about it. Let's go.”

Charlie quickly scooped up the book and held it to her chest tightly after slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder. Sam grabbed his bag as well; Castiel walked to Charlie and as the quartet began to rush away, he told her gently, “Charlie, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise.” To prove his point he made his eyes glow for a second when she looked at him.

“O-okay.”

Sam and Dean darted their eyes around as discreetly as possible while Castiel blatantly turned his head side-to side, looking for anyone following them. Charlie was too freaked out to do anything but stare straight ahead and follow their lead. By the time they got close to the Cloud Gate sculpture (also lovingly known as The Bean), they noticed they definitely were being followed.

“There's a man with short brown hair, wearing a dress shirt, black vest and slacks,” Castiel said out of the side of his mouth, no longer looking around, instead staring ahead intensely with his chin tucked. “He's following up.”

“I'm gonna barf—” Charlie said.

“We'll be fine,” Sam said as they all quickened their pace, doing their best to weave in and out of the crowd. Dean accidentally bumped into someone, and he apologized when she gave him a dirty look and said, “Hey!”

Charlie looked behind her, and the second she did the man broke into a run, coming straight for them. Her eyes went huge.

“No we won't—run!”

The four broke into a run. The crowd started to shout as the man started outright throwing people out of the way while Sam, Dean, Cas and Charlie did their best to dodge everyone. It wasn't long before they had caused a large disturbance in their quad of the park they were in.

“How is he so fast?!” Charlie said fearfully, looking over her shoulder as she ran.

Castiel pointed ahead. “Under The Bean!”

Dean looked behind himself. He then looked ahead and pushed someone out of the way. “We're not gonna make it!”

“Yes we are,” Castiel said. He then grabbed Charlie, easily scooping her into his arms.

“Hey!” she protested with a yelp.

“Hey!” Dean barked when, to his utter embarrassment Sam did the same thing with him.

With Charlie and Dean in their arms, Castiel and Sam ran with inhuman speed. People were now screaming, diving out the pathway. As soon as Castiel and Sam were under the mirrored sculpture, Castiel reached out and touched Sam's shoulder. With the loud sound of wings echoing, the four disappeared.

Seconds later, Eldon Styne barreled under the structure. He looked around, barely even winded. When he saw nothing more than his reflection, he emerged out the other side and looked around. They were gone. Bellowing in anger he spun around and punched The Bean; it dented easily and spider web like cracks cascaded out from the impact. Glaring around the now silent crowd he stalked off, knowing no one would dare mess with him.

Notes:

I had soooo much fun writing this, I hope you like it!

Chapter 58

Notes:

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED FOR THIS CHAPTER, due to a somewhat graphic description of a dead baby that might be upsetting for some audiences.

“We will now be coming to you live from Millennium Park. Abby?”

The camera feed switched over to a woman holding a microphone. Behind her was huge scaffolding with a black tarp draped over it.

“Thanks Patty and good evening. I'm standing here at The Bean which is going to be closed for at least three months while repairs are made after what is being called a random act of vandalism, which occurred shortly before four PM this afternoon. The incident happened after what onlookers describe as a short but intense chase through the park.”

The camera feed switched again, going to a previously recorded interview of a teenage boy, probably 17 or 18, wearing a white t-shirt with curly brown hair.

“Yeah it was crazy,” he said. “This dude started chasing four people, and, I d'no, at first I thought it was like, a performance piece or for TikTok or something because the guy, the chaser, was dressed kinda funny with a vest and slacks, and one of the guys he was chasing was wearing a long trench coat, and it's so hot today it didn't make sense why they'd be dressed like that—”

The feed switched back to the live reporter. “It's unknown at this time what sparked this incident or why the man was chasing the small group of people. The man who damaged the sculpture is being described as a Caucasian male with short brown hair; the people he was chasing are reported as three Caucasian men spanning from their early twenties to mid-thirties, and a Caucasian woman with long red hair. If you know the whereabouts of any of them you're being asked to contact the non-emergency CPD.

This is Abby Parkerson, live from Millennium Park—

Dean switched off the TV and looked disgusted. “So much for being discreet.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned to Dean, palms outstretched. “Please, Dean, tell me what I was supposed to do?”

“Alright, enough,” Sam snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes as he sprawled out in an armchair. “I don't think I can stand you two bickering right now.”

Dean looked concerned. “You okay?”

Sam opened his eyes and smiled. “Yeah, just…tired. Getting a headache.”

Bobby looked nervous. “Like a headache headache, or—”

Sam smiled, and he did in fact look tired. “Relax, Bobby, I'm fine.”

“Who's the girl?”

Charlie screamed and jumped as Ruby suddenly appeared. As Ruby raised her eyebrows, unimpressed, Charlie put a hand to her chest.

“Are you an angel?”

“HA!” Ruby said and literally slapped her knee.

Dean got to his feet and rushed over before Ruby could say anything else. “It's complicated. Ruby, this is Charlie. Charlie, Ruby.”

“Pleasure,” Ruby replied with a smirk and held out her hand; when Charlie reached out to shake, Dean slapped her hand away.

“No touching.”

Before Charlie could ask he squeezed in between the two and walked over to the table where the book sat, opened to a random page.

“So, Ruby,” Dean said, sounding utterly unimpressed, “What'd you find out about the Styne’s?”

Ruby put a hand on her hip, glaring. “Hi, Dean. You're welcome for keeping Bobby safe while you were gone, galavanting across Chicago and creating a scene.”

Dean glared. Ruby put her arm down, deciding to drop the subject of their prime time news-worthy escapades.

“Anyway, they're bad news.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

“Yeah. I'm sure y’all have at least heard of, if not seen, Frankenstein?”

Bobby paled slightly, lips parting with surprise. “No.”

“Yeah, only they spell it S-T-Y-N-E. Mary Shelly was friends with the family and spent a few nights at Castle Frankenstein. Mary stumbled upon the Frankenstein family secret, how they made themselves stronger and live longer via body modifications and black magic. Horrified, Mary wrote the novel Frankenstein as a way of going public—you know, since Instagram didn't exist back then. Mary's endeavors into book publishing forced the Frankenstein family underground and they eventually renamed themselves the Styne Family.”

“And why didn't you warn us Azazel hired them to find the book?” Dean snapped accusingly.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Above my paygrade?”

Dean glared.

“Ruby,” Sam said gently off to the side. He pinched the bridge of his nose again.

Ruby tisked. “Fine. Honestly? The truth is that I'm kinda Sammy's—”

“Sam's,” Dean snapped.

Ruby made a face at him. “Fine, Sam's handler. Unless it pertains to him specifically, I'm not usually involved.”

“Right,” Dean said, clearly not believing her.

She threw her hands into the air. “Oh come on!”

“You honestly expect me to believe—” Dean said, walking over to her.

“Dean,” Sam tried impatiently, rubbing his temples.

Dean ignored him. “That your boss doesn't know you're right here, right now?”

“W-wait, boss?” Charlie asked.

“Guys,” Sam said, still rubbing his head and now closing his eyes.

“He doesn't!” Ruby said in exasperation. She moaned. “When will you believe me I'm a double-agent!?”

“Well, seeing as you're a demon, never!”

“Guys,” Sam said a little louder.

“Demon?” Charlie said, eyes wide. She slowly grabbed her messenger bag, eyes wide. “Okay, well, it's been fun guys but I'm just—I'm just gonna leave now—”

Castiel walked to the door and crossed his arms. Charlie turned back around. “Okay, or not.”

“It's for your own protection,” Castiel told her gently.

“It doesn't make sense,” Dean said louder, starting to shout now. “The hell do you get out of helping us?!”

“Uh, my life?” Ruby snapped snottily back. “Not everyone wants Lucifer walking around, okay, and I'm one of them!”

Charlie looked like she was going to faint. “L-Lucifer? “ She turned back around. “On second thought, yeah, I'm outta here. Cas, move!”

“I will not,” he said strictly while Dean and Ruby continued to go at it.

“Isn't having the big bad back like a wet dream of all demons?”

“Oh yeah, because licking the balls of a egomaniacal psychopath who kills his minions indiscriminately for kicks sounds like a great way to live!”

“Enough,” Sam growled, shutting his eyes.

“What, you're telling me you're scared?”

“Castiel, please move,” Charlie said firmly, ignoring the argument.

He looked at her sympathetically. “Charlie, I'm afraid I can't do that—”

“Yes I'm scared!” Ruby shouted, throwing her arms out to the sides. “Of course I'm scared! Anyone who isn't is a fool!”

“Castiel, please,” Charlie begged.

“Enough,” Sam said, a little louder, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

“Then why the fuck are you freeing him in the first place?!” Dean demanded.

“Weren't you listening, idiot? I'm not—”

“I really think it's safer if you stayed with me,” Castiel implored off to the side, “with us—”

“God!” Ruby ranted, shouting now, “this is EXACTLY why I HATE dealing with humans—”

Charlie whimpered, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Castiel, please, I'm scared, I'm so scared—”

“ENOUGH!” Sam screamed, jumping to his feet.

As soon as he did, tinnitus rang loudly in his ears and searing pain shot through his head. He screamed again and clutched his head. His world was swept away in a vision.

He saw himself, standing, head bowed, longer hair than he currently had concealing his face. It was dark. He couldn't tell where he was, just that it was night. The front of him was covered in blood. In his arms was a small baby; it was bloody, its umbilical cord still attached. It wasn't the state that Sam saw himself in, nor the shocking image of the seemingly dead baby that dropped him to his knees and made him nearly vomit as the vision began to fade. No. It was the emotion behind it.

Grief. It was all-encompassing and utterly hopeless. The sadness was unlike anything he had ever felt, a deep fount he wasn't even aware humans could experience. He felt emotionally eviscerated, torn in a way he knew was irreparable. Then, as the future Sam he was looking at lifted his head, and he saw his eyes were deep orange and glowing, the grief became wrapped up in blinding, inhumane, utterly engulfing, homicidal rage, and he did throw up.

Everyone looked at him, horrified, as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Sammy?!”

As he started to pitch forward, Dean and Ruby rushed forward and grabbed him, pulling him away before he collapsed in his own mess. As blood dripped out of Sam's one nostril, Dean roughly shoved Ruby back; with an undignified ‘oof!’ she fell onto her backside, catching herself. The demon glared daggers at him but he didn't care. Dean said his brother's name over and over again but this time, the young man didn't wake up.

Chapter 59

Dean entered the room, looking at his feet as he quietly shut the door behind him. When he lifted his head, he found everyone staring at him expectantly, expressions fraught with various amounts of anxiety.

“He’s okay,” Dean said quietly. “He’s awake now.”

The room collectively let out a sigh of relief. When Sam had collapsed and wouldn’t wake up, they broke into the adjoining room and carried him into that bed. It was getting late by that point, and they didn’t know how long he would be out for; there was only one bed to the hotel room Castiel had transported them into randomly, so if someone wanted to actually sleep they needed somewhere to put the unconscious Sam.

Dean scowled at Ruby. “He wants to talk to you.”

Ruby looked relieved. Without a word she rushed to the door that joined the two rooms and went in. Dean immediately went to the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, cracking it, and taking deep gulps.

“Is Sam alright?” Charlie asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. I mean no. I mean, kinda?”

Charlie frowned but didn’t press the issue further.

“He say anything?” Bobby asked.

Dean sat in the armchair and ran a hand through his hair. “No.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Dean continued angrily, “He said what he saw was really awful and he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a vision.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking annoyed, and took another swig. “Must’ve.”

An uneasy silence befell the room. Shortly thereafter, they could hear Sam and Ruby’s raised voices. It escalated rather quickly until it was clear they were having an argument of some sort. The words were mostly muffled but they sounded angry. The occasional sentence came through:

“Don’t be ridiculous!” “You’re overreacting!” “You wouldn’t do that!” came from Ruby.

“Not doing it.” “Not taking chances.” “Enough I said!” stemmed from Sam.

Then a final, “Fine, screw you!” came from Ruby and–

Silence.

Everyone watched one another. After a point, Dean got to his feet and went to the door. He knocked.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah,” came the flat reply through the door.

“Oh. I uh, I didn’t know if you were still there.”

Sam threw open the door, surprising Dean. Resting Bitch Face was out in full force. “Where would I have gone?”

“Er, I d’no.”

Sam didn’t reply, but he also didn’t close the door.

“Uh. Can I come in?”

Looking annoyed, Sam huffed and stepped aside, holding out his arm. Dean walked through the threshold and Sam shut the door behind him.

“Uh,” the older man said when his little brother went to the bed, holding his head in his hands. “Is everything alright?”

“No, Dean, it’s not. In fact, everything is so unbelievably fucked seven ways to Sunday it’s not even funny.”

“Uh. Wanna talk about it?”

Sam raised his head and glared. “No, I don’t Dean.”

Dean paused. “You sure? I mean, it might make you feel better–”

Sam flat out laughed. “Since when do you care? And since when do you give two shits about Ruby?”

Dean glanced off to the side. “I mean, I don’t–”

“Leave.”

“Now hold on,” Dean snapped. “I care in a roundabout way, in the way that you’re my brother, and while I may not like Ruby, or even agree with your relationship–”

Sam moaned.

“--that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to be happy or that I don’t want what’s best for you. And I guess if what makes you happy right now is Ruby, then–well then I guess I just have to begrudgingly suck it up and–”

“You’re never going to be okay with her!” Sam said in exasperation.

“You’re right, I probably won’t.”

“Why?” he snapped. “Why Dean, why?”

“Oh come on, you know why.”

“Why? Is it because she’s a demon?”

“Yeah. How many times do I have to tell you that–”

“Well so am I!”

Dean said with a roll of his eyes, “We’ve been over this ad nauseum. You’re only half demon, and you were raised human, so you got morals and stuff, and–”

“She’s pregnant!”

Dean slammed his mouth shut so hard his teeth clacked together. He blinked.

“And it’s mine.”

Dean felt woozy. He literally had to shake his head. Dean had to wait a few seconds before his brain came back online. “Sammy–”

“No, Dean, I don’t want to hear it.” Sam began to pace around angrily. “I don’t want to hear about some crazy conspiracy theory about how either she’s not really pregnant, or how if she is it’s not even mine, or–or–I don’t know, that she did this to trap me or get me on her side unequivocally–”

“Yes,” Dean cut in, trying his best not to shout, “all of that! It’s obvious that’s what’s going on–”

Sam turned on him. “But it’s not!”

Dean tossed his hands into the air. Then, “Also, what the fuck, Sam?! Why in the hell didn’t you wrap it up?”

“Oh come on, don’t act like you’ve never raw dogged it.”

“I haven’t, actually, thank you very much. I’m not stupid!”

“Oh, so I’m stupid now?”

Dean got up in Sam’s face, seething. It was taking all of his might to not utterly lose it. Out of respect for the situation, he was keeping his voice down. “You knocked up a fucking demon, Samuel! Yeah, I’d call that stupid–”

Sam shoved Dean, hard.

Dean pointed at Sam. “Get rid of it.”

Sam blinked. “What?”

Dean continued to point, speaking seriously, eyebrows raised. “Get rid of it or I will. And you wouldn’t like how I would get rid of it, because you’d be down a girlfriend then, too.”

Before Sam could have any sort of reaction, Dean barreled out of the main door and slammed it behind himself. He didn’t look back, and he didn’t stop walking until he was out in the parking lot. Absolutely fuming, Dean said out loud,

“Cas, I need you.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean stopped walking and turned around. Castiel was there. When the angel saw how upset Dean was, he cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

Dean looked at him. He blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he broke into somewhat unhinged laughter. Castiel slowly frowned, looking concerned. Dean shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. For a moment, as it began to drizzle, he looked down at the dark pavement.

“I d'no if I'm cut out for this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything. I'm worried about Sam, I'm worried about the world, I—” Dean lifted his head, running both hands through his hair. “I'm supposed to be a nobody mechanic in Lawrence with a deadbeat dad and a dorky little music blog nobody knows about, not the host of the archangel Michael who's supposed to save the world.”

“Dean,” Castiel said seriously, stepping into Dean's personal space. “Let me tell you a story. There once was an angel who was made, and he was different from the rest, from the color of his wings to how he spoke and conducted himself. God made this angel more resilient than the other angels, and they respected him immensely.

“He was one of the original angels made, watching the first things wriggle out of the ocean that would become mammals and eventually humans. Yet he wasn't an archangel. He didn't understand why he was different from the rest, why he was given so much power, so much privilege, and yet left out of the order of archangels. He didn't understand why he had to report to other angles for certain things.

“Even though these things never sat right with this angel, even though he didn't understand his lot in life, he never questioned it. He never questioned God's plan, because it wouldn't change anything. Until one day, everything changed. The angel's world shifted, he was shown things that didn't make sense, things that scared the angel. A brethren had gotten a hold of something magical, something that he wasn't supposed to have. It showed the future—not just one future, but the infinite outcomes of every single different universe that exists in existence.

“He realized while he was still the same angel, he was more. Yes, he still had to stumble through life within the confines of being a powerful angel who had seen things he was never meant to. But he was given a choice, a choice he was never supposed to have. He could continue forward doing exactly as he was told and nothing more, or he could try to make the best out of a predestined life, changing things for the better.”

Dean swallowed thickly several times. “But what if those choices I make that are outside of what's predestined to happen are wrong? What if—what if people get hurt, people get dead, people that I love, and it's—it's all my fault?”

It had begun to rain harder, the raindrops collecting in clumps on the angel's dark eyelashes. He smiled softly, tenderly. “That's going to happen anyway, Dean. Life is fickle and fleeting. It's better to have tried than to not try at all.”

An overwhelming urge to close the small space between them and kiss Castiel overcame Dean. Instead he swallowed several more times, blinking rainwater out of his own eyes. “What did you see, Cas?”

Castiel threw Dean a mischievous look, smirking. “Ah, so you know the angel I spoke of was me?”

Dean couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, duh.” Then, more seriously, at a whisper, “What did you see, Cas?”

A dark look shadowed over the angel's face. He turned his head, unable to look at Dean. “I saw many things, few of which are good.” He looked at the reluctant hunter then out of the corner of his eye. “I find it hard to swallow that out of thousands of realities, they all end the same way.” Castiel turned his head and looked at Dean straight on. “I have to at least try to inject happiness, because if I don't and it all ends terribly, what's the point?”

Dean's eyes fell to the angel's lips. When he lifted his gaze, he found Castiel looking back at Dean's own lips. They both caught each other's gaze then and held it, impossibly blue boring into impossibly green. Dean absentmindedly licked his lips, and when he spoke his voice quivered.

“So—so you never told me. Why are your wings different?”

Castiel swallowed thickly and looked away shamefully. “I'm unsure. The conclusion I have reached over my many years is that I'm marked. It's a physical reminder to everyone that I'm different.” Then, quietly. “I wish my wings were white like everyone else's.”

“I think your wings are perfect, Cas.”

Castiel looked at Dean. Shock turned into tender fondness. “You've never seen my wings, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah I—I know. But I bet they're amazing.”

Dean left off the like you his brain wanted him to add. Castiel gave a small smile, one that seemed to say he knew what Dean meant. Castiel didn't draw attention to it, instead smiling sweetly.

“Come, Dean. Let's get you out of the rain.”

Notes:

You might think you know what's going on with Ruby and that the vision Sam had is pretty straight forward with it's foreboding, but you're probably wrong. 😈

Also I meant to have the wing conversation between Cas and Dean like, twenty chapters ago but I COMPLETELY FORGOT. This is the problem I'm running into writing this on a whim with no outline; there are certain key points I want to include (one of which I keep forgetting about and I'm trying to figure out how to wiggle it in in a way that makes sense!) but I keep forgetting them. 😅 This story has taken me on lots of twists and turns I wasn't even expecting.

I really hope you are enjoying it. I literally don't know what I'm doing, just writing a bit stream-of-consciousness (kinda, I mean plot-wise, obviously the format of this story isn't). Please leave me comments, don't be shy, especially if you've made it this far! This story still has MANY chapters to come, it's gonna be a behemoth, so I appreciate y'all sticking with it. I just hope it's not too terrible and I've kept your interest.

Chapter 60

The following day, you could have lit a match to make the room explode with how much electric tension there was between Dean and Sam. Charlie, Bobby, Sam, and Dean all ate their breakfast in silence. Dean and Sam even both sat in the same position, legs kicked out, slouched down in their seats, stabbing at their food with their forks like it had insulted their dead mother. Charlie kept glancing around. At one point she opened her mouth, but Bobby silently shook his head; she went back to eating her breakfast burrito in silence, trying to ignore how Cas was just sitting there, doing nothing.

“So what's the plan?” Dean finally said when everyone's take out boxes were empty. “We're not going to just stay holed up in this place, hiding forever, are we?”

“No,” Castiel said. “We should probably keep moving.”

“What's it matter?” Charlie said, an edge of hopelessness to her words. “Ruby seems to be able to track Sam easily.”

“Well,” Dean said patronizingly, glaring at Sam, “if Ruby really is on our side, her not giving up our location as we move around will prove that, won't it?”

Sam puckered his lips and glared back.

“Although,” Dean said loudly, louder than what was needed, “I'd like to point out that Ruby is going to be the one to kill me. You know, when they send me to Hell to break one of the last seals?”

Sam looked caught off guard. “What?”

“What's wrong, Sammy? Your girlfriend forgot to tell you she's supposed to kill your brother?”

The younger man looked bewildered. “That—no. She would've told me. She—”

Dean got to his feet. “The conversation went something like, Azazel (Dean changed his voice to show he was imitating the demon): ‘You haven't killed Dean yet because he's annoying, right Ruby?’, and then Ruby goes (he changed his voice into a breathy, high, falsetto): ‘No, but I want to,’ then Azazel goes, ‘You'll have your chance’, and then that bitch Abaddon started pouting and went (he switched his voice to another female, this one even higher-pitched and bratty like a child): ‘Why does she get to have all the fun?!’.”

Sam looked deeply disturbed.

Dean laughed bitterly. “Oh don't look so worried Sam! Azazel assured Abaddon that she'd get to have her fun—oh but, after Ruby kills me, of course. Ruby is still supposed to kill me.”

Dean slammed both hands down on the table, causing everyone to jump and look up at him fearfully. “So Sammy, what's it gonna be when the time comes, huh? You going to pick your brother, or your whore?”

Sam immediately looked angry. He opened his mouth to say something but Dean turned around. So, Sam talked at his back.

“Dean, don't be ridiculous, you know how that'd go down.”

Dean looked back at the group, specifically his brother, hand on the doorknob. He shook his head after a moment, muttered something about needing fresh air, and then left. Bobby and Charlie looked at Sam while Castiel looked at the closed door. After a moment, Castiel got to his feet and rushed out of the door after Dean.

Dean was already across the parking lot by the time Cas caught up with the hunter. The angel fell into pace with Dean but didn't say anything for a long time. Dean just kept walking, one foot in front of the other. It wasn't until they were a good distance away did Dean finally speak.

“Did you know Sammy and I have another brother, Cas?”

Castiel looked surprised. “Admittedly I did not.”

“Well, half-brother. Part of why dad thinks mom slept with Azazel was to get revenge for something that happened twelve years ago. He got into a pretty bad motorcycle accident and he had an affair with this nurse he met during his stay at the hospital. He accidently knocked her up. For years he led this double-life. He'd lie and say he was going hunting for the weekend with friends. Sometimes he said it was a fishing trip. He said he got promoted at work and was required to do a bunch of off-site training. This went on for years, man.”

Castiel remained respectfully silent.

“Dad gave Adam—our half-brother—the type of life Sammy and I only wished we had. Adam got birthday parties and baseball games. Sammy and I got second-hand clothes and bruises.”

Castiel looked at Dean with sympathy.

“I don't know if Kate Milligan—Adam's mom—ever knew about us during that time. I don't know if they spun it as they were divorced so dad only went over there to see Adam for visitation rights or something…All I know is that mom eventually found out and she made dad pick us, or them.”

Dean stopped walking. For a long time he didn't say anything else, he just stared off in the distance. Finally Dean said,

“I don't understand why dad picked us when he was never happy with us.”

“Sam isn't your father, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “He would pick you over Ruby and never regret that decision.”

Dean finally looked at Castiel, eyes squinted against the sunlight. He wanted to tell Castiel how he used to think that, but now that someone was walking around with his child growing inside her he really didn't know anymore. Yet, even though the situation was beyond messed up, Dean knew it wasn't his place to tell anyone that Ruby was pregnant—he knew that was up to Sam. So instead Dean just shook his head.

“What can I do to make you feel better Dean?”

Dean said the first thing that popped into his head. “We blow this popsicle stand and I get reunited with Baby.”

Castiel smirked. “I do believe we can make that happen.”

~

“So let me get this straight,” Charlie said, moving some hair out of her face as it whipped around thanks to Baby's open windows. “Sam is a demon-human hybrid that's the vessel of Lucifer, who is currently trapped in a cage, but a demon named Azazel is trying to spring him free to start the Apocalypse…why?”

Sam shrugged, twisting in his seat to look back at Charlie as he spoke. “Not sure? I mean, demons follow Lucifer, and Lucifer hates God and his creation, so I guess his followers are on board with the Apocalypse because Lucifer just wants to destroy what God created?”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” Charlie replied. “But if everyone is dead isn't that no fun for demons? You know, no possessions, no making pacts for souls…”

Sam shrugged again. “I mean, not all demons are behind what Azazel is doing—like Ruby.”

Dean squeezed the steering wheel so tightly everyone heard the leather groan in his hands. He also accelerated. The older Winchester made it a point to stare straight ahead and not acknowledge what Sam had said.

“Anyway,” Charlie said awkwardly, “then Dean is the vessel of Michael, who is supposed to stop the Apocalypse if Lucifer gets out of his cage, but in order for the cage to be opened Dean has to ‘spills blood in Hell’, because he's the Righteous Man, so having someone so holy spill blood in Hell willingly is so blasphemous and corrupt it would break one of the seals?”

Everyone in the car gave some sort of affirmation.

“And there's one other seal that has to be broken, but no one knows what that is, but purportedly it's in this book I was hired to crack?”

Another wave of affirmation.

“But I'm now being hunted down by The Styne Family, who was hired by Azazel to get the book?”

A final round of agreement.

Charlie stared out of the window. She muttered quietly, “Dear Lord.”

“There is one final thing,” Castiel, who was wedged between Charlie and Bobby in the back, said.

Dean looked at him in the rear-view mirror. “Oh?”

“I left my post in Heaven because I was supposed to be the one to make sure the Apocalypse actually occurs because God has gone missing and the angels think God wouldn't be able to ignore something as big as the Apocalypse happening.”

Dean quickly checked his rear view mirror to make sure there was no one behind him. When he saw there wasn't, he slammed on the brakes. Everyone jerked forward as Baby screeched to a stop. Not believing his ears, Dean turned in his seat, face a mixture of bewildered anger. “What?!”

Castiel slowly raised both hands in the air, shaking them awkwardly. “Surprise…?”

Chapter 61

Hey guys,

This isn't a chapter update, and I know this isn't the type of update you guys were hoping for, but I didn't want to just randomly ghost. I know how frustrating that is...

I've mentioned it before but I have a full time job, family, etc., and as much as I like doing this I simply don't have the time. I'll be deleting my AO3 account in a week. So, if you want, be sure to download my stories and stuff because they won't be here soon.

As for this story specifically, I feel like I owe you all where I was going with this. So, first of all, I've been trying to figure out how to reveal that John has been secretly training as a hunter. I was going to have the big reveal be where he kills The Stynes, saving Charlie because screw Charlie dying. Charlie was going to crack the book with Sam. They'd find outside what each seal was... But they'd also discover that if Sam said yes at any point to Lucifer, he would be released from his cage regardless. Which was going to be part of why Azazel wanted Sam on their side to begin with; he was breaking seals as a backup plan if Sam refused to invite Lucifer in.

Castiel was going to have been shown different realities via Gabriel. Remember in their last season, where Chuck shows Sam what's in store if Team Free Will lives via that pocket watch? I was going to have it where Gabriel somehow got ahold of the pocket watch and Castiel came upon that fact. In attempt to get Castiel on his side and not snitch on him that he has it, he shows Castiel a bunch of different outcomes, most of which would be similar to Main Universe, aka the TV show. So, Cas would be working towards a ending where he doesn't get sucked into The Empty and Dean doesn't die.

Now, Ruby. I was going to have it where she really is pregnant with Sam's kid. She was going to carry it almost to term... The showdown of Lucifer's Cage being opened would have played out similarly to the show, only a fight would have broken out. Abaddon (? Or was it Lilith, I was going to have to check this) was going to decide she didn't want to sacrifice herself as a seal. Something would have happened where Abaddon (or Lilith, whatever) would have tried to kill Ruby, thinking that she could be a stand in for the sacrifice. I was going to have Dean jump in front of whatever would have killed Ruby (gunshot or something?), and he was going to die. But Ruby would have been mortally wounded, which was going to have her go into premature labor, this fulfilling Sam's dream—the baby wasn't going to make it. Losing his brother (the Hell hounds were going to come and take Dean to Hell), Ruby, and his baby all in one fell swoop was going to break Sam—I was going to have Sam say yes to Lucifer (because remember, that bypassed the seals).

Now, I hadn't worked out where Castiel was going to be in all this. I was thinking of maybe making him be captured by Naomi??? Regardless he would have escaped and gone to Hell to save Dean.

From there I really don't know. I kind of thought that'd be end game; Sam being Lucifer and Cas saving Dean from Hell. I was starting to think I'd start a sequel, but honestly the thought of that overwhelmed me and made me realize this entire AO3 thing just isn't sustainable. So, sorry.

Anyway. Wanted to say thanks to all my readership. Be well, be safe, and be kind.

Xoxo,

Sarah