About a month later, Dean aroused from his restless sleep when the phone rang loudly. He turned on the bedside lamp and stared at the screen with his weary eyes. Unknown number. He glanced at the clock and noticed that it was 2.38 am. Who could be calling him at this time?
His first thought was Oh shit! Crowley's still alive. It could be Kevin or Garth.
How could he be so moronic to forget that Crowley's still out there, alive and kicking and probably ready to unleash the wrath of Hell? He picked up the phone hurriedly.
"Hello."
There was only a ragged breathing noise.
"Hello. Who's there?"
No answer. The invisible dagger sticking out of his chest just twisted.
Could this be…? No, it can't. It's impossible.
But even so, Dean couldn't help the flicker of hope that was ignited in him. Maybe he's a delusional fool but hope's all he has got. Can you blame him for holding on?
"Cas?" he whispered, fearing that if he spoke any louder, the person on the other end would disconnect.
All he heard in return was a whimper.
"Cas? Is that you?" he forced his voice out despite it breaking.
"Dean. Will you help me? Please."
Castiel sounded so raw and torn apart. Dean had never heard him sound like that before. He sounded so vulnerable. He sounded so… human.
"Yeah… Yeah of course, Cas. I will."
Dean sucked in a shuddering breath before his lungs collapsed and felt a sense of certainty flood his mind. Now, he could finally help Castiel. He had a task at hand. He had to save his best friend.
"Where are you? Tell me where you are, I'll come get you."
Dean could hear Castiel asking someone where he is and could hear a faint voice mumbling something he couldn't make out. Then, Castiel directed his attention back to Dean and informed of his whereabouts. He also started babbling about borrowing a lady's phone and calling Dean and how he'd have to return it and he'd wait in the bus stop until Dean arrived. Dean put down the phone and quickly pulled into a pair of jeans before grabbing his car keys. He thought of waking Sam up and letting him know that he'd be gone because it would take Dean at least ten hours to get there and another ten to return home provided that he doesn't stop at all. But then again, if Sam knew, he'd want to tag along. And he was in no condition to be trapped in a car that long. He needed rest. Lots and lots of rest. So, Dean wrote a note explaining where he was going and left some cash for Sam to order Chinese food or pizza for himself. He placed it on Sam's bedside table. Sam usually wakes up at the slightest rustle of footsteps. But that was when he was in his best form. Lately, he sleeps like a log. Not that Dean's complaining. In fact, he's relieved to see Sam rest well.
With that, he drove away into the night with an old map by his side. Considering that their lives have always been on the road, he knew how to get to any state by now but he would need directions to get to the specific location that Castiel mentioned which was a small bus stop opposite of Walmart in a small town. As he stared straight ahead at the dark, quite desolate highway, he was overwhelmed by the concoction of emotions he felt. He was excited and relieved and scared and nervous and angry. The gloom of the night had its way of provoking and harassing Dean. It unsettled him with the vulnerability it dragged in. In the dark, he felt open. Like someone ripped open his ribcage to display his true self to the world. He felt too much. He hated it but he couldn't stop himself. The silence wasn't helping either. Usually he had Sam next to him. Even if Sam were asleep, his soft snores would keep Dean company. Driving alone, there was only ear-splitting silence that floated around him. He purposely turned on the radio loudly to replace the feeling of nothingness and drove on.
When he finally neared the bus stop, he could feel his heart thumping away. He was scared. He didn't know what to expect. He turned the radio off and took a deep breath. He halted the car in front of the bus stop before peering out. The first thing he noticed was that Castiel had beard. The second thing was his unruly, dirty state. This Castiel looked like the Castiel he found in Purgatory. Dean in the confines of his mind views Castiel in different facets. Like the many chapters of a book. Like the sides of a diamond. Because how else is he supposed to forgive Castiel if he looks at him the same way he did when Castiel broke Sam? Or when he declared himself the new God? Or when he let out the Leviathans? Or when he left even after Dean told him that he needed him? So, that is Dean's coping mechanism. He separates the good, the bad and the ugly. Right now, he's trying to hold on to the good side of Castiel. The one that rebelled against Heaven for him, the one that threw a Molotov at Michael in a futile attempt to save Sam.
Castiel opened the passenger side door and bent down to look at Dean as though he was asking for permission to enter the car. He must have been aware of his soiled clothes and he knew how precious the Impala was to Dean.
"Get in." Dean said quietly.
Castiel sat down gingerly and adjusted himself before closing the door.
"Thank you," he answered just as quietly and avoided looking at Dean.
Dean was about to drive back when he saw the Walmart and remembered how hungry and worn out he was. So, he told Castiel to sit in the car while he gets them something to eat. He would have brought Castiel along but he looked like a hobo and Dean didn't think he'd want to tag along anyway. He shut his door, stretched his body and already walked a few steps around the car when something in him rang like a siren. He quickly walked over to the passenger's side and opened the door and waited. Castiel just stared back at him. He was clueless.
"I don't need you running away again. So you're coming with me."
"Dean… I wouldn't."
"I don't trust you. So come on, get out."
"Dean…"
"Let's go, Cas. Stop wasting my time."
"I'm famished. The last I ate was four days ago when a human offered me food in kindness. I've been walking ever since. I'm tired, Dean. Can I just sit in here? I promise I won't go anywhere."
Hearing that felt like someone pulled the dagger out from Dean's chest and stabbed him repeatedly at the same spot. Castiel who prided himself on being the angel of the Lord, the warrior of Heaven, the celestial being that raised Dean from hell and could smite any number of demons effortlessly is now sitting in Dean's Impala, jaded and almost pleading Dean to let him rest. Dean opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. So, he cleared his throat and tried again.
"Okay… I'll be back real quick. Get you some grub."
He then shut the door and sort of jogged across the street to the convenience store. There, he got all the necessary items to cook a proper meal when he reaches back home. He also bought eight chicken sandwiches -two for Dean and six for Cas for him to last the next ten hour drive- and two slices of apple pie –one for each. The look on Castiel's face when he passed the sandwich made Dean feel very guilty. He should have looked for Castiel. He shouldn't have assumed that he was dead. Dean did to Cas the same thing that Sam did to Dean when he was in Purgatory. He gave up on him. He watched Castiel take huge bites of the sandwiches although they didn't taste that good. The food was edible. Enough for Dean to kick start the engine and continue the long journey ahead. Castiel -after swallowing four of the sandwiches and his slice of pie- dozed off with his head resting on the window. Dean didn't turn on the radio this time because he no longer felt alone. The silence was no longer deafening. He could hear the slow, deep breaths and soft snores as Castiel slept. Dean wondered how many days Castiel went on without resting because he didn't move a muscle since he fell asleep. Not even when Dean stopped the car in the petrol station to refill the tank. Not even when he accidentally shut the door a little too loud when he climbed back into the car. Not that Dean would complain. He was relieved to see Cas rest well.
