A/N: This fic is complete and it was written during this year's midseason hiatus (before season 11 resumed in January). Chapters will get released over the next few days though as I go over everything one last time before publishing.
Huge massive thank you to my incredible betas for this fic: Madiholmes and Zeryx. They get all the hugs.
And now without any further ado, happy reading!
Eyes bloodshot and glazed, Dean wiped a trembling hand over his face as he looked out of the top-floor window of The Lake Shore House Inn, a modest two-story New England colonial. The thunderstorm was raging outside. Dean's eyes focused on the Inn's wooden sign swinging wildly back and forth under the pelt of rain and wind.
His eyes drifted to the window frame. Clean and white, its wooden sill solid without any silt or grit. With surreal detachment, Dean estimated the place had been renovated within the past year or two.
And the curtains...
The curtains were an old and well-worn floral print, faded after years of laundering. The towels in the bathroom were frayed but soft. The comforters and quilts were at least a decade old but still warm and clean. Dean stood beside the window table. He'd noticed earlier its edge had been carved: initials made by an inexperienced hand. Clearly a bored child, possibly decades ago, sitting at the table, digging into the soft wood while no one was looking. It had triggered memories of him and his brother, ten and six, carving their initials against the back of the bench seat...
He wished the Impala could be here, parked in the driveway. Just the sight of her would be a reassurance - a reminder that Sam belonged in that passenger seat and Dean could promise her he was going to get the kid's ass right back to her, come hell or high water.
Bad phrasing.
He flinched when Castiel placed a gentle hand against his upper arm; the same place his scar used to be.
"I am ready," Cas said solemnly.
Dean blinked and turned around. He was still wearing his suit from when he'd encountered Amara. It had been a little over six hours since the skies had stormed over and descended upon them; since she had vanished him back to the bright sunlit playground. He didn't know what had happened to her.
He didn't care if he ever did.
Not now.
Dean coughed and rubbed his eyes for the hundredth time, pushing and wiping the water away.
"You know exactly where the portal is now?" he gritted out.
"Yes," Cas replied firmly.
Dean sniffed and nodded. He stepped over to the bed and took his suit jacket off, numbly staring at several brand new mismatched outdoor clothes, basic survival gear, and the entire contents of the Impala's trunk in preparation Cas had collected and laid out on the mattress.
After the suit jacket came the tie, his hands - hell, his whole body - trembling.
They were two miles from the Appalachian Trail: Monson, Maine. It was the closest town with the kind of decent supplies and lodgings they would need... and there was no doubt they would need them.
Thunder rolled overhead as Dean laced up a pair of hiking boots. He tucked his suit pant cuffs inside them. He covered his rumpled dress shirt with a dark green wool sweater with giant white snowflakes stitched onto it and zipped up a heavy fleece-lined bright red rain jacket. The yellow and purple faux fur-lined hat was the last touch. Dean shoved it on before he turned to stand front and center before his friend. He looked ridiculous and he couldn't have cared less.
Castiel picked up the rest of their gear as though it was light as a feather and stared at his friend. Dean swallowed and nodded, eyes haunted but full of resolve. Castiel nodded back. Dean closed his eyes before he felt the angel's fingers touch the center of his forehead.
The rain hit Dean's face full force before he even opened his eyes. He threw the hood over his head as he took in his surroundings. The forest under the storm was loud and alive but dark as pitch, the heavy clouds and tree cover blocking out any semblance of moonlight. Dean could make out the sounds of the angel rummaging around inside their bags. The beam of a flashlight appeared and Dean walked over to take it.
Dean squinted as he angled the flashlight's beam around the small clearing, trying to recognize where they were. This was supposed to be exactly where Dean had landed topside four years prior when he'd gotten out of purgatory. He recognized nothing, but he trusted Castiel right now better than his own recall.
"Are you ready?" Cas rasped and Dean turned, surprised to find the angel still on the ground.
"You okay?" Dean murmured roughly, concerned, as he ducked down to help his friend up from the forest floor. Castiel was panting but nodded as Dean braced him.
"It's been awhile since I've done this." He pointed to a spot on the ground about four feet away. "That's where we need to be," Cas said.
Dean shone his light at it. Wet leaves, twigs, stones, and mud. He took a deep breath and glanced at Cas.
"Catch your breath," he said softly and Cas nodded apologetically.
Sam had been in the cage with Lucifer for about thirteen hours. Dean refused to do the calculations on how long that was in hell time.
The angel turned to their pack of supplies as he regained his strength. Dean squeezed his shoulder before moving to inspect the area more closely, circling around in place, carefully listening and watching for even the slightest hint or signal that anyone or anything could be watching them.
Rain lapped down on leaves and trees, small animals skittered through brush, cicadas were screaming, the wind howled through and shook huge swathes of branches and leaves overhead. The whole forest canopy moved in slow powerful waves hundreds of feet above. Dean's senses could detect nothing more.
"The portal," Dean murmured, "it's not reacting to me."
"Dean," Castiel whispered, suddenly behind him. Dean gave a start and turned around to see Cas folding the demon-killing knife inside his trench coat.
"It will react to me," Castiel said, his voice firm and unwavering, his eyes vivid blue gazing into Dean; into his soul. Dean found himself calmly entranced as the angel's eyes slowly began to light from within.
"Okay," Dean said deeply, squaring himself, ready.
Castiel's eyes shone the brilliant, searing blue of an angel's grace just before he tore into Dean's chest to grip his soul and rip it out. Dean let out a strangled scream and clutched onto his angel, gasping in devastated agony. The brutally raw pain was so overwhelming, Dean didn't notice the gaping maw of blue and white flashing energy erupting from the ground below their feet. The flashes and electricity of the portal shot through and blinded Dean as it swallowed his soul and sent him through.
The angel threw Dean's limp, utterly vacant body away to land on the forest floor, arms and legs splayed out and growing cold, and followed Dean's soul through the portal.