Sam has driven enough cars in his life to know when one is awesome, and he revels in the anti-lock brakes and the lack of stick shift. He also starts privately racing his brother, because— come on, they'd last filled the Impala in Oklahoma and Don's Outback gets at least twice the miles to the gallon. So he should be overtaking his brother any minute now.
"So." Amelia takes a deep breath. She'd claimed shotgun, and quite literally: there's a sawed-off in her lap. "Vampire?"
"Yeah." Sam tells them as much as he knows of the Benny story; tries to strike the delicate balance between 'don't blindly trust the guy, keep an eye out' and 'Dean does tend to have good judgment, try not to pick a fight, and don't run away.' Then he has to follow up with the Purgatory story, fractured though his knowledge is. And then a brief description of how angels and demon work and "Angels need permission to possess you but then they can do whatever the hell they want, including die, and the vessel dies to, so once you get down to it there's barely a difference."
"Okay," Don says. "I'm still not convinced I ain't hallucinating, or that you ain't, because— do you know a guy named Carver Edland?"
Sam valiantly resists the urge to slam his head against the horn. Instead, he limits himself to a loud groan, trying not to think about anything he'd done in those three years that he really hadn't planned on sharing. Being a whiny brat about dad, the whole vision thing (visioncrapfreak), the codependency that perhaps they're only now getting over and oh god what if he'd seen the fans—
But Don is still looking at him expectantly. Probably waiting for a confirmation that he'd just had a little too much to drink; perhaps a bit proud that he'd worked out the game they were playing. Waiting for his prize, waiting for Sam to laugh and yell 'punk'd'.
"Carver Edland is really Chuck," Sam says. "He's sort— well, was— sort of a prophet of the Lord."
"Proph—Lo—Was?"
Shrug. "Another prophet woke up, but luckily this one doesn't get a running narrative of our lives. Cas says Chuck must be dead." Which is too bad. He likes his privacy, but he also did like the guy. Hopes he didn't go out too painfully, since Raphael had probably stopped defending him.
Don is chuckling, though, and Sam isn't sure if this (laughter in the face of death) makes him uncomfortable or not.
"I get what you saw in him then, Amie. If he's still as good in bed a he was then."
Sam turns to scowl at him. "I'm even better with guns now," he says.
Don stops laughing.
Wait.
Back up.
"So you believe me?" Sam asks.
Don waves a hand. "Weird shit has happened today. I just saw your friend disappear and reappear and—I think you're crazy, but I'm gonna go with it for now."
"Okay." Amelia picks at a sticker on the side of the gun. "Back up. Those ridiculous books that Don read a few years ago—"
"Don't ever read them," Sam says firmly. Must be Madison that Don's thinking of, right? Because as impromptu sex goes, that was especially— and he hasn't thought about Madison in so long. Maybe he should feel bad about that.
"I'm sorry about, you know." Don shifts around awkwardly in the back seat. "Jess and your parents and wait— didn't Dean go to Hell?"
Amelia is tapping away on Sam's smartphone; he's explaining how Castiel had pulled him out when he realizes.
"What are you doing?"
She smirks. "Reading about the Supernatural books on Wikipedia."
"Hey, don't—"
"Don't worry, you're portrayed quite flatteringly. Except, was there really a racist truck?"
Sam does not dignify that with a response, but instead turns to answer Don's "Wait, so is Castiel Dean's guardian angel?" And he starts to laugh, but then he stops. Considers.
"Sometimes I think so," he admits. "And sometimes, I think Dean is his."
Amelia flicks the page down with her thumb. "You mentioned Jess," she says. "You never told me she died."
Sam is going to have permanent muscle damage from all this shrugging he's been doing lately. "Didn't want you to think I was too traumatized and pathetic. Anyway. It was a long time ago." And he launches into the story of the apocalypse, surreptitiously passing them a bottle of holy water just to make extra certain that they weren't demons fishing for information, and conveniently leaving out the part with Ruby and the blood— and that's not a lie, so much as an omission. And he'll tell them— at least, he'll tell Amelia— someday. Probably. If they're still talking after the next twenty four hours. There's so much he wants to say to her, and probably a fair bit of her mind that she wants to give him, but he can't. Not with Don in the backseat, not after she got her life back together. They're over, they've been over for months, he doesn't have the obligation— hell, he probably doesn't have the rightto talk to her, but— he's halfway through glossing over the time he spent soulless when I USED TO WONDER WHAT FRIENDSHIP COULD BE, UNTIL YOU SHARED ALL ITS MAGIC WITH ME starts blasting from his phone.
"What did you do?" Sam asks.
She shakes it a couple times. "Um, it says Dean is calling."
He grabs it from her, hits answer, and puts his brother on speaker. "Don't touch my phone!" he yells.
"I didn't touch your phone," Dean yells back, voice distorted. In the background, there's a muffled "Technically—" and a "Shut up, Cas."
"Well, I didn't set the ringtone to My Little Pony. How old are you, anyway?"
There's a brief pause, then "Beats me. Okay, so I'm getting gas—"
"HA!"
"What? Anyway, we were gonna head to the tattoo parlor on—" and that's when a turn makes the phone fall off the dashboard. Amelia tells Sam that she's got it, please try not to crash, and then it's a couple minutes before she's able to work it out from the crack between the seat and whatever that little thing in between them is supposed to be. By the time it's free, an argument seems to have broken out on the other end.
"So it's called Club Tattoo—"
"—No Regrets has better ratings on Yelp," Cas says.
"As long as they have an autoclave it doesn't matter— just get the directions."
"Um, 'write your review in the—'"
"No, no, to Club Tattoo, dumbass. We need somewhere that takes drop-ins."
Pause. Sam has to bite down hard on his lip and think about the serious situation that they're in to keep from laughing.
"This is quite sensitive to touch."
"Oh, for— give me that."
"You're driving, Dean."
There is a scuffle, then Benny's distinct voice echoes through the car. "This is hilarious. March through Purg'tory, they're all grim determination and 'I'm-not-leaving'. Now—"
"Yes, nice," Sam says. "Can you just tell me where the hell I'm going?"
"Just as soon as your brother an' his boyfrien' finish comparin' cust'mer reviews. Wings has been drawing some symbols that should hide us from gods, too, so I hope you're prepared to get inked."
"Yes, fine." Although that hadn't featured on Sam's plan for the day. "Where—"
Castiel comes back on, says they should look for a place called University Drive. Sam can barely hear his brother start to object, and then the line goes dead.
"Did he say boyfriend?" Amelia is squinting at him.
"Benny thinks he's funny." Sam gives her the phone. "Read the directions and then change my ringtone."
"Right," she says. "Right. Okay. I'll humor you."
"Amelia—"
"You want me to get a tattoo?"
Sam grits his teeth. "You saw Artemis battling Fenrir—"
She rubs her eyes, cuts him off. "Do you want Rock of Ages, Cousin Kevin, the TARDIS noise—"
"Are you in the shop?"
"No, I'm in your music. The Buffy theme, Bon Jovi—"
"No," he says quickly. "Just— pick something."
She puts the phone down, tells him where to turn.
"I don't suppose," Don says, "that I can call my sister, tell her we're—" but he stops at Sam's expression. "Yeah. Christ. She's going to freak. And Amie's dad—"
Sam is about to offer— he isn't sure what, maybe a consolation, maybe a 'we can stop somewhere and you can shoot her an email or something', maybe one of Dean's infamous cross-that-bridges, he hasn't decided yet, when they're interrupted by the sound of wings.
Sam doesn't flinch this time, but Don makes up for it, yelling something rude and diving towards one of the doors. Realizes that they're moving, and contents himself to pressing up against the window.
"What's up, Cas?" (And maybe Sam is trying too hard to look totally cool with this.)
"Dean's phone is out of battery. The vampire was playing Fruit Ninja." Castiel looks around. "Hello."
Sam mentally updates his checklist: it's not okay to use an iPhone to store music, it is okay to use one to download games.
"So, um, what'd you want to say?"
"That you're missing the exit."
Sam jerks the Outback around, and Castiel vanishes again. But he's back before Amelia can finish 'what the fuck'ing at him.
"I don't know why Dean insisted on my coming if he was only going to yell," the angel says, somewhere between confused and annoyed.
Sam sighs. "Dean is a confusing person. Don't put up with the shit, Cas. Repeat after me: 'Dean, go fuck yourself.'"
Pause.
"That sounds like an acrobatic feat." This is said in the most serious of voices. "He'd have to bend his—"
Amelia makes a choking sound, and then she's howling with laughter. And maybe it's just tension release, maybe she genuinely thinks the angel is that funny— either way, Castiel looks pleased with himself for a moment— and then he disappears again.
"I think," Don says, staring at the empty seat next to him, "I think I believe you a little more now. That or I've lost my last marble."
"Oh, good." And he can't help the paranoia— they're still unprotected, still sans anti-possession. "Here." Sam reaches around to give Don a bottle. "Have some more water."
Dean really hopes that the No Regrets Tattoo Parlor lives up to its name.
"Hey, Benny." He points to the image of a massive dragon, breathing fire on a naked woman. "Think I should get that tattooed on my ass?"
"Only if you pierce the tip of your dick as well."
"Well, that quarter centimeter is all I need to reach double digits, so—"
Sam interrupts them, rotating the image Cas had drawn in the car. "You sure this is going to work?" he asks quietly.
He gets Cas-frown number seven. "If anything can keep a god from finding us, it's that."
"And you couldn't just put that on our ribs because—"
"You don't have enough ribs."
Dean rubs his chest, a little uncomfortable— as he always is— with the idea that there are things written on his bones. He wonders what the doctors ever made of Bobby's x-rays.
"Hey, Cas, what about your bones?" he asks. "I mean, they're looking for angels. What if they get one of the other ones to try and start dicking with you?"
A few meters away, Amelia gestures to the place on her stomach that she want the tattoo to go. (Nowhere visible, Sam had said. That lesson they'd learned from the Trans.) She's biting her lip, but she sort of shrugs when Dean looks over.
"The angels…" Cas stops. Opens his mouth for a second. "The angels aren't… yes, that's probably a good idea."
Dean glances around, then grab the trench coat sleeve and pulls him outside. The whispering is getting to him. "I mean it can't hurt to have them off your ass, right? If they're really out for blood?"
Fuck, it's hot. It should not be this hot in December anywhere. They should make that illegal. Add another to the list of his beefs with God.
"Yes." Cas nods. "That should work. I'll…" he stops, studying a spot over Dean's shoulder.
"Cas?" Dean's forehead wrinkles. Flashing back to the other times this has happened, hope that his vessel or something isn't breaking down. Worries that he's getting tired, that he's falling— he snaps his fingers in front of his friend's face. "Cas?"
"It won't work," the angel says.
"But just a second ago—"
"I was wrong."
This makes no sense. The impulse decision changes, the— what exactly— "Cas," Dean says. "Why won't it work?"
He gets a blink and a headtilt. A passerby gives them a weird look, but that's nothing new. "I… I don't know. I just— I can't, Dean." (Dean. I said no.)
The hair on the back of his neck rises and there is definitely, definitely something wrong. "Cas. Cas, you said it would work. There's something not—" he grabs one clenched fists, curls his own fingers around until the other's fingers are lying flat. "If it doesn't work, you can just wipe 'em off, right?" He takes Cas's palm and presses it against the beige, as though he can will Cas to mojo designs on his ribs. "Please."
He's getting a headshake, but it's a slightly bewildered one. "I—"
"Hey. Look at me."
Ridiculously blue eyes meet his. And then Cas swallows (another human motion), takes a deep breath. And there's a soft flash of light, a wince—
And then Cas is collapsing, grabbing his head, falling into a ball on the ground.
"No— no— no—"
And Dean's done it he's pushed it too far he's encouraged him to do something and this is the end and he flashes back to mental hospitals and dropped tablets and avoiding conflict and talk of monkeys. Because he's sitting on the sidewalk, eyes closed. "No— no— no—"
"Cas." Dean drops down next to him, grabs him by the shoulders. "Castiel. What's going on?"
Those eyes, opening again. "They made me forget," he says, voice hard. "They made me forget again."
And he's falling, falling, sinking. "Forget what?" Dean manages. And he can't stop the nightmares flooding his head— Sam in the cage, him in hell, tearing, blood, screaming, worse, his, other peoples', Alastair's voice crooning in his ear.
"They—" he stops, gasps again, and it's almost as though his head is hurting. (Sam'sbrokenwall). And Cas seems to know what he's thinking, because he's trying again— "Heaven, they called me back to heaven—" (NobodybreaksupgoingofftobiblecampreeducatingIserve heavennotmanandIcertainlydon'tserveyou) "—they told me— I told them—" and then he's dry heaving again, memories repressed by heaven flooding back to him. "Naomi—"
It takes him until a wincing Sam is telling him it's his turn for ink to gather bits and pieces of the story— control, erased memories, trip to heaven. And Cas is getting over the initial pain, the panic, and now he's just fury, hard edges and voice telling Dean to go back inside and get his stupid tattoos.
Dean does. Looks back several times. But at least the inside is air conditioned.
"Your friend okay?" asks the guy wielding the machine.
"Yeah," Dean says, having no idea. But Cas is then in there, standing next to him. Eyes darting from person to person. Looks for even longer at a woman in a corner, eyes flickering from her to Dean and back again.
Dean shift a little as they put on the tracing paper. Demon? he mouths. Gets a slight nod in response. And he hopes that the angel isn't going to go smiting anyone right now because he'd like to finish having his skin permanently altered, a ring of symbols around his shoulder. Close to where his handprint used to be. And it's been— well, for him, it's been forty-seven odd years since his last tattoo. It's less than that, but somehow still more— he isn't quite sure how Hell fits in his timeline anymore. There are moments he remembers— the first time he picked up the knife, how best to use different tools, the faces of his victims who would sometimes come back to haunt his dreams. And then there were the first thirty years, of pain and regrowth, and as he's spent more time on earth the sense of time has slipped away. Sometimes he wakes up and it's all there; he's seventy-four years old in a thirty-four year old body and every moment is painful. But other days, he's in his thirties, and there is a smudge in his memory that's the color of hell.
How old are you, Sam had asked him earlier.
He doesn't know.
Either way, the tat is more painful than it really has a right to be. But at least gods can't get their peep on.
He also doesn't remember it taking this long. They're only permanently putting some lines on his body— that should take half an hour, tops.
He forks over some cash when they're done, glances again at the demon woman. She's sitting next to the autoclave, hasn't moved since they entered.
She meets his gaze, eyes flashing black. Then she smiles, taps the side of her nose, and walks out the back door.
Nobody seems to notice.
"We should follow her," Dean sighs.
By the time they get outside, Sam, bless his soul, seems to already have the situation under control. He's got her pinned to the side of the building, is muttering an exorcism under his breath. Dean frowns as he watches the black smoke go screaming away.
"Why didn't you kill her?"
Sam gives him face #it would leave a bad impression to stab a woman outside the No Regrets tattoo parlor in Tempe, Arizona.
Don watches it go. "I always thought there'd be more smoke."
Everyone turn to stare at him.
"Oh, yeah." Sam gives Dean face #don't kill the messenger. "Don here is a fan of Chuck."
Well. Isn't that splendid. Then again, it'll save them time with some of the explanation of the basics. "Well," Dean says, "those are a few years out of date."
"So I've been told."
Then Cas is telling them that they need to get moving, and he's storming back towards the Impala. Dean fears for his headlights.
"We should find a place to bunk up," Benny says, looking at the sky. "Gettin' dark. Also, if we're staying in A-Z, you're buying me sunglasses."
"Yeah." Dean shoves his hand in his pockets. "Should we pull off at the next hotel exit?"
"Only if there's a bar nearby," says Amelia. She's still staring at the newly-exorcised woman, who is rubbing her eyes, somewhat confused, and backing rather quickly away from their group. "I think I need a drink."
Crash.
One of the street lights shatters, reminding Dean of the furious angel. He runs after him.
Castiel is standing next to the car. He doesn't have his arms crossed, he's not glaring, sulking— his anger is only visible in the lines around his eyes. And Dean tries not to be terrified.
"Cas. Cas, you—" of course he's not alright. "Is there anything you want me to do?"
Then he's on the receiving end of the Blank Face of Fury. "I want—" the angel starts. Then stops, yanking open the car door and sitting down. Dean notes Benny climb into the Outback, presumably trying to avoid the potential celestial meltdown, so with no other passengers to collect Dean gets into the Impala's driver's seat and starts it up.
"You want?"
But all he gets is closed eyes and a grimace. "I want. Angels don't want. Free will. I fought a war— I lost everything for that idea. And then I find out they've just been— ordering me around since I got back. Pulling me out, making me forget, I—"
Dean knows he can't do anything to help this. Keeps his eyes on the road. "You chose, though, Cas. To put those marks on your bones. You disobeyed."
A snort. "Does it matter? Was that my choice? Or did I just go with your opinion instead?" he shakes his head. Lightning flickers in the distance. Coming from nowhere— but Dean can see the shadows of wings for a second against the seat of the car. Across his face, it seems, because there's a weird sensation, a smell, and then it's gone.
"Well if you argue that," Dean says, "then nobody has free will. I mean, I didn't choose to start hunting. My parents didn't choose to fall in love. I'm the result of freakin' angel breeding. Hell, I've been raised from the dead enough times that I'm startin' to wonder if I got the Mark of Cain. What I do, I do 'cause of other people. For other people." He considers this for a moment. "I mean, even' me telling Zachariah to fuck off all those time, I did that 'cause of who I was and my friends an' family and what I believed. If I'd been raised somethin' different— religious, maybe, or to respect authority, or if I didn't have you to beat the shit out of me when I fucked up, then maybe I woulda."
Cas smiles a little. "It was, perhaps, a mistake in angel breeding for you to end up so stubborn."
But Dean is on a roll now. "So's near as I figure, maybe we don't have total free will in the purest sense, but we got what you can take. I guess we're all the result of influence, really, and then we just gotta choose… I don't know. Guess we gotta figure out what's right and wrong and then do that. And wanting things— that's not so bad either. Helps, to some extent. I mean, I want demons dead, I want a double cheeseburger, and I want you and Sammy safe— so that influences a lot of what I do, you know? I've decided that those things are right."
"I dislike wanting things," the angel says. A glance over shows Dean that he's being stared at— and that isn't anything new, but it's different, somehow. And he knows, he understands what that means. And maybe that's why he looks away again. He's Dean Winchester, and he doesn't know how to do anything but want.
"You want something bad enough," he says after a minute, "sometime it's better for everyone if you just… take it."
And doesn't that just hang in the air.
"You're a very unusual person," Cas says finally.
Dean smiles a little. "I'm really not."
The hotel is called the Eight-Pointed Star. Don asks if it's some sort of secret wiccan hang-out; Sam tells me that wiccans are more about the pentagons.
"You don't have a room for six, by any chance?" Dean asks the man at the desk. The idea of splitting up again makes him a little uneasy.
The guy types away. "We got the party room with four queens, if y'all aren't too squeamish."
Dean considers. "Party, you said?"
"Oh yeah. Comes with a minibar. You have to pay extra for that, of course."
"That sounds fantastic." Dean slaps a credit card down on the counter. It's on the top floor, but they can deal with that just the once.
The guy's face light up when he sees the bandage on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, is that a new tat?" And he should have worn his coat, but it's a million freaking degrees out and it hurts.
"Yeah."
"I have a tattoo, too." The guy shakes up his own sleeve to show the eight-point star on his wrist. "It's not 'cause of the hotel— I started working here after. I mean, I have their freakin' star tattooed on my arm; they couldn't not hire me."
"Sweet deal, man," Dean says. "Hey, Sam, next job change, I should look for a hotel called uh—" he cranes his neck around to see what he can see of the design through the bandage. Benny tells him that he's really not funny and then they're schlepping up to the ninth floor.
In the elevator, Amelia leans against the wall. Closes her eyes. "When I went to work this morning," she said, "I was planning on digging a cyst out of a goldie."
Benny holds up his hand, a mockery of a toast. "Welcome to the life."
"Next time, how about you don't give me a ride home?"
Sam grimaces. "Yeah well."
And Dean thinks that next time, Sam won't talk to her at all. Won't move in with her, won't sleep with her, won't… won't move in, play house, whatever. Because they always, always bring everybody down. But Dean also knows that you can't change the past. And knows that piece of Sam will always be with Amelia, just as he left a piece of himself with Ben Braeden, in Hell, in Purgatory, with their dad and Bobby. Christ. They're both in pieces, aren't they?
The room is pretty impressive, as far as hotel rooms go. Doesn't top the Elysian or that honeymoon suite, of course— but Elysian Fields had featured a group of carnivorous pagans and Dean doesn't want to think about what went down in that honeymoon suite ever again. This one has a large star on the wall, surrounded by a circle. And as artwork goes, it's a little weird. But there are four beds, and numerous pillows. And—
"Sammy, check out the bathroom."
Sam looks around. "Okay. Now I'm suspicious."
"Nope." Dean reenters the main room. "Nope, nope. Unless something tries to eat us, we're so not poking our noses into anything." He flops dramatically down onto one of the beds. Benny takes another, and Dean tries not to notice Sam and Amelia sneaking awkward glances at each other as it's awkwardly assumed that she's going to bunk up with Don.
"Where are you going to sleep?" she asks Cas. Cas has been silent since they showed up— and Dean isn't sure what he can do for him, but figures if something really was off about this place, he'd pick up on it. He'll talk to him later.
"I'll probably just sit," Cas says, turning around one of the wooden chairs. There's no kitchen unit here, which sucks, but Dean figures they can just order a pizza or something. Isn't really up for bringing the whole crew to a diner. Speaking of which— he pulls out his wallet, starts leafing through.
"Should probably make a pool run soon," he says. "If we're going to keep paying for things in cash."
"Oh, right." Don points. "You guys make money through credit card scams and such, right?"
Amelia turns. "What?"
"Chill." Dean leans back on his bed, closes his eyes. "It's not like they pay us for what we actually do. Anyway, we get more of it from, um."
"Hustling pool," she says, sounding decidedly unimpressed.
"Anyone who falls for that doesn't deserve their money," Dean says. Then Cas asks him if this is one of those moral things that he decided, and Dean says that yes, it is. Right, wrong. And then he leaves Sam to try and convince Amelia that they really are morally righteous and shit. Dean figures he's got the monopoly on that, what with being the Righteous Man and all, but whatever.
"If you're worried about it," he says, "you can always pay for the pizza yourself."
Sam frowns. "What pizza?"
Oh. Yeah. He hadn't exactly told them of that plan. "The pizza that we're going to order because I really don't want to have to actually leave this room."
Pause.
"Fair enough," Don says, and picks up the phone.
Sam tucks his phone under his ear and begins typing away on his laptop.
"Yeah— Garth. Hey. Is Kevin there?"
There's a pause. "Sam. Hey. This isn't 'zactly the best— no, you have to stab it seven times, idjit— time, we've got a bit of a—"
There's a crashing sound. And then a voice that sounds a lot like Mrs. Tran belting out an exorcism. Sam drums his fingers on his knee as he waits.
"I thought you were trying to keep them safe," he says, "not taking them hunting."
"It found us," Garth says. "Anyway. So what can I do for you, amigo?"
"Can you give Kevin the phone?"
"No problemo." (Sam assumes that they're not all that far away, then, if Garth has taken to speaking Spanglish.) There's a scuffle, and then a—
"Hello?"
Sam leans back on the bed, adjusts the phone again. "Kevin, hey."
"Hi, Sam."
("Is that the prophet?" Benny asks. "Ask him who I should bet on for the Packers game."
"The Seahawks," says Don.
"They aren't playing the Seahawks."
"That doesn't mean that the Seahawks won't win."
"Oh my god," Amelia says. "Get over that one, already."
"Never," says Don.
"Fucking cheeseheads," says Dean.
"Everybody shut up," says Sam.)
"So is there any word from heaven?" he asks.
There's a sigh on the other end. "Nope," Kevin says. "Heaven's been quiet. Why?"
"They were— messing with Castiel. Thought you might know something 'bout why."
He gets a laugh. "The angels don't talk to me, man. I don't know what kind of prophet you're used to, but all I do is read those tablets. No chance you got any more of those?"
Ha. "Nope. Word of God not present or an issue right now."
"Well, I'll let you know if we find one. I gotta go, though. Hotel security is going to be on us in T-minus-two."
Click.
Sam looks up. "I think we need to get Kevin away from Garth."
Cas's eyebrows scrunch. "You think he is unsafe?"
"No, I think he's starting to speak fake-Bobbyish."
Dean rubs his face. "I tried to tell him to stop that."
"Yeah and then you had a touching moment where you gave him the hat back— anyway, it's not like he needs our permission. Someone had to—"
"Yes. Yes, I'm aware." And now his brother is sitting up, checking his watch. "Doesn't mean I have to— I don't know." He waves a hand. "You know, we should really stop being on a volunteer basis. Demons run rampant, it wouldn't be too hard to prove to like, HomeSec that they're real. Then there can be some sort of hunter agency that gets us into places and pays salaries." Pause. "Except if government folk knew of demon deals…"
"Who's to say they don't?" Benny asks.
Dean groans. "When's the pizza supposed to get here?"
Sam goes to bed full of pizza and perhaps a little bit of alcohol. It had been a long four days. And he's definitely not thinking about Amelia lying next to Don just a few feet away— he's exhausted and he buries his face in his pillow. Counts the breaths of the others and figures that if anyone tries to kill him in his sleep, Castiel will let them know. And then there's a woman, tall, with dark red hair. She's pretty much gorgeous; lines of her body somehow soft and hard at the same time. She is weaving through stacks of books in what looks like some sort of college library. Doesn't make a sound, despite the laws of physics in regard to army boots and tile floors.
"Enki!" She looks around one of the rooms before marching up the escalator. "Oi! Enki?"
There's a response, muffled by the shelves— but after a couple more minutes, she finds a man surrounded by books and typing away on a MacBook. "Morning," Enki says cheerfully. "Would you care for some bottled water?"
She laughs. "Is that yours, now, then?"
"Might as well be. There's pretty much no difference between that and the old rivers. Well, less urine, but a little urine never hurt anybody."
The woman laughs again— she has a nice laugh— and drops into the seat across from him. "These humans would probably disagree. They're so clean. I smelled forty different types of soap this morning."
Enki raises an eyebrow. "And is that all you were smelling? You've been gone for two weeks."
She shrugs. "Just been seeing what's changed." Pause. "Wars are fought by robots and children, and they've invented a pill that keeps women from getting pregnant. Wish we'd thought of that one— you could have used it."
"Inanna." But he looks kind of amused, too.
She waves a hand. "I jest. But they also have things they call cock rings, and pay-per-view porn, and weapons that can fire hundreds of lethal scraps of metal in seconds. And something called 'purple nurples'."
Enki closes the laptop. "As always, your interests are focused."
Inanna looks offended. "Please. You've seen the internet, and those phone things. They can build things higher and more colorful than the Gate, they can freeze moments in time and look at them later, and they say 'can we talk about' before proceeding to not talk about whatever they wanted to talk about even though nobody has actually denied their requests. They have knives that can kill demons and everybody knows about something minutes after it happened."
"So I take it you've been having fun? You already speak like a native."
She shrugs. Leans back in her chair. "There's other stuff, too. Less good stuff. American congress and North Korea, for a start. And I don't want to look at the Homeland. But that's not the point. There's so much here that we don't know, that we never dreamed of."
Enki is shaking his head. "I have a feeling that I know where this is going."
"And I come back and find out that now we're in bed with Zeus?"
"Oh, come now. You know that we are limited in our options; you know about Odin."
"Screw him. Look." She takes a deep breath. "I don't want to go back to our old world. It was fun, sure, but it's over. And you know that Enlil and Zeus are just waiting for the right moment to stab each other in the back— literally, metaphorically and euphemistically."
Enki's lips twitch again. "Enlil, and the rest— they're family. Incestuous, imperfect family, but the only one that we'll know."
Inanna stands. Begins leafing through one of the books— a gnostic gospel— with what is clearly forced calm. "Family? My sister murdered me and hung my corpse on the wall. And everyone else—"
"Said you were arrogant. Too ambitious. And I assume that that hasn't changed, given your reason for being here."
Arms that are at the same time delicate and muscular cross, and she pulls them a little closer to her body. "Ambition isn't a bad thing here, anymore. Kids are praised for it. They're lied to and told they can be anything. Some of them grow up to be everything. Tell me honestly that you're okay with this. That you trust Enlil and Zeus."
"This isn't a matter of trust." He's standing too, now.
"I trust you," she says. "You are the closest thing I have to a— father. You're the only one on this godsforsaken earth that I trust. Even when I hate you, you've always given good counsel. Can you trust me? Enki— you told me once that I have the power to destroy what cannot be destroyed. Your Gallas found the angel within hours. You think that together, we cannot save this plane?"
Enki takes a deep breath, rubs his palms down his face. "You think this is wise?"
"It might not be wise, but I think— I feel it is right. We cannot let Enlil and Zeus hold the Mes."
She gets a look of amusement. "Well, you always were good at stealing them." Then Enki nods, briefly. "I'll stand with you."
"Shut up." But she's more relaxed now, her smile comes more easily. "Want to go see Italy with me? I hear they have awesome pizza. Have you tried pizza yet?"
"Someday," says Enki, "you're going to ask for too much."
She looks at him. "And I trust that you'll tell me when that happens. Now c'mon, Enk. You've been in the libraries too long. You need to learn about condoms. This way, you won't impregnate all your limbs."
They disappear and then there are just images flashing past— the curve of Amelia's breast, angel wings and hellfire. Lucifer's voice drawls in his ear. "Sammy?" he saying. "Sammy, it's time to get up." And then Lucifer turns and he's Chuck and he's saying that he saw Sam having sex and that he should probably be more careful and then something attacks him with a pillow. "Come on! Up and at 'em! We're all gonna have to wash our freaking tats before we get outta here."
Sam sits up. Looks around for Castiel. "What is the Me?"
Dean wants to bang his head against the wall. "So, what, you're not even going to try and figure out what's causing this?"
Sam takes a couple steps back, crosses his arms. "Of course I want to try, of course I'm curious. It just doesn't have to be a bad thing, Dean! It could help us!"
"Right." Dean looks at Benny, Cas, and the Richardsons, hoping one of them would back him up— but they're pointedly not looking at them. "Right. Except, when has shit like this ever ended well?"
"Oh. Let's think." Sam makes a show of raising his hand, tapping on his fingers. "There was that time I saved the family living in our old house, and— right! Really, I think it was only a couple day ago that I reminded you that— what was it? Oh. Right. I saved Castiel and killed Alastair. I'd count that as a benefit."
"Killing Alastair wasn't your job, Sam!" But he'll never understand that, never understand any of the— and Christ, he's glad Cas is alive, but—
"Oh. I'm sorry. He was— what did he say? He's your father? Or did he just like it when you called him 'Daddy'—?"
And then Dean sees white (white white light of hell and pain and that voice) and he's lunging forward, his fist making a solid connection with Sam's face. "Don't you ever—" (Because he's forgotten, he's forgotten, he doesn't, can't remember, all those things, years and years of—)
At least Sam has the decency to look ashamed of himself. As he tries to stop the bleeding in his nose. "Sorry. That was— I'm sorry—"
Dean doesn't want to hear it. "Have you forgotten what you were doing then, Sammy? Because I'm pretty damn sure it was Ruby— but you can't be blamed for that, because her new body was hot and you became best pals while I—" and from the flicker of Sam's eyes, the way he looks at Amelia and away— guess he'd failed to mention that. But Dean can't let himself feel bad. Nope. Not at all.
"While you were torturing souls? Oh, right. That was so awful for you, wasn't it. Because last time I checked, you—"
"—You have no idea what the fuck you're—"
"—And you got Castiel out of the deal—"
"—Shaking up with a married woman—"
"—Like you weren't playing house with Lisa— and then, what happened to them? Oh, right, you got Castiel to mind-rape—"
"—Don't you dare—"
"Sorry, am I interrupting a moment?"
Dead silence. And Dean is still seeing red, seeing hatred, seeing fury, and he's got Ruby's knife out and is lunging— but Crowley is swaying out of the way, looking mildly amused. "Ah, Castiel. How's the mojo feeling?"
Cas's sword slips out of his sleeve, and Dean will never, ever quite understand where that thing goes. "Fine."
"Oh, good. Look! Newbies!" Crowley waves. "A vampire, then? That one yours, Moose?"
Sam raises a hand. "Exorcizamus te—"
Crowley rolls his eyes. "Are we really going to be so boring?"
"What do you want," Cas says. Voice low, threatening— doesn't go up at the end, isn't really a question. And Dean can't help it if he thinks it's a little bit hot. Timing.
Crowley tilts his head. "I just thought I'd let you know— I'm done with your little angel friend, so you can come and pick him up now." Grins at their blank faces. "Oh, you didn't know, did you? Heaven is really falling apart."
More blank faces.
"Samandriel, idiots. We've been chatting for the last few weeks. I was planning on killing him myself, but then I thought— why mess up the carpet when I know that Heaven has such excellent rehabilitation services for traitors? You can confirm that, right, Castiel?"
Dean tries to remember which one Samandri— wait. "Alfie?" And that's a punch to the gut, because he has no patience for mot angels, but Alfie— too much heart was always Castiel's problem. And how could— yes, it's just another thing to add to his guilt list.
Crowley folds a piece of paper into an airplane and throws it at Cas's head. "Have fun. Don't worry, it's not a trap; I'm sure Heaven will welcome you back with open arms when you bring little Samandriel back." He frowns at their defensive stances. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. Or even attack you, because this is a new suit. God knows I should. But see, I still haven't fully paid Cas here back, and I can't decide what would be funnier— Dean's reaction if I killed Castiel first, or Castiel's reaction if I killed Dean first. It's a shame I can't have both."
He still looks too smug— how the hell is he standing in their hotel room— and Dean swallows. Looks over at Cas for a signal— fight or flight— but Crowley is already sighing.
"I miss Bobby Singer. He was more fun than you lot. Oh well." He nods. "Have fun with the Cult of Dionysus. Until next time. Chao."
It's over in about three minutes, and they're reeling.
"I'm going to kill him," Dean says. "I swear to God, or whoever is running— I don't care. I'm going to kill him."
Sam frowns. "Get in line."
"So that was the demon you teamed up with?" Benny asks. "I think I like him."
Dean snorts. "Yeah, he's a real charmer." Then, at Don's disbelieving look, "it's a complicated relationship."
Cas is stowing his sword and unfolding the paper. "We need to go."
Dean stares in disbelief. "You think we need to go to the place where he's keeping an angel and then retrieve him and it's totally not a trap?"
He receives face #I am an angel of the lord and I've already thought of your argument. "We aren't going anywhere," Cas says. "I will go, get Samandriel, bring him back to heaven, and then I'll call you and meet up with you again."
This would probably be easier to discuss rationally if he and Sam hadn't just been yelling at each other.
"Hold up. Are you insane? There are at least thirty things wrong with that plan. Starting with, Crowley's little vendetta against you. And then there's the part where it's a trap. And then there's the you-going-back-to-heaven part which I thought was a— I mean, these are the—" he turns to Benny and Sam. "Come on guys, help me out here."
Benny shrugs. "I'd rather he go than all of us; I'm in no mood to be captured."
"Sam?"
But he can see it on his brother's face— and no no no this isn't happening Cas isn't leaving them not again. Except, except, free will, and he'd originally planned on going back to heaven, and Cas can make his own decisions, and he can fight, he's tough, and he knows what he's doing, he'd been in heaven for a couple minutes just a couple of days ago, this isn't different, and Dean can't order him to do anything. Because that's what they had decided, right? Free will, free choice, and he— okay. Okay. He can do this like a mature adult—
He turns back to the angel. "Be careful," he says shortly. "Don't you dare—" Do anything stupid and reckless because you're playing the martyr.
Cas tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. Smiles a little. An I'll be fine, Dean. Take care of yourself. And Dean swallows, nods, turns away. Then back because he doesn't want Cas to think he's— and they make eye contact for a second before there's the sound of wings and he vanishes.
And he's not going to worry he's not going to worry.
"Erm." Amelia raises her hand. "What was that about the cult of Dionysus?"
Dean grabs his pack. "Come on. We gotta get the hell out of Dodge."
"Yeah." Sam starts getting his own stuff together. "Where to?"
Dean flips him a newspaper and decides that all is forgiven because there's other shit to do. "Page three."
Rustling, then— "Um… 'Utah Cult Leader arrested for public nudity?'"
"No, next to that."
"…'Biblical Miracle: Utah Water Tower Filled With Wine?' Really, Dean?"
Dean shrugs. "Hey, if nothing else, we can have a good drink."
Benny clears his throat, glancing between the Wincheters and the Richardsons. "I thought we were trying to keep these ones here safe?"
Dean's already halfway out the door. "It's an entire town drunk, and I haven't actually killed anything in a few days. How bad can it be?"
After all, godly politics are not the family business.
"I'm takin' the Outback," Benny says. "Alone. Need some freakin' peace'n quiet."
Sam tosses him the keys, and despite the situation, Dean tries to hide a smile. Tries to be happy that Sam isn't trying to off him, accuse him of running off, at least this week. But Benny won't— he's pretty sure of that. Benny won't leave them right now, for better or for worse.
Don and Amelia are stowed in the back of the Impala, and Dean needs to figure out what to do about them. He doesn't really have an opinion so far; Don seems amusing enough, but whatever Sam had seen in Amelia seems to be hidden.
Then again, he doesn't really blame them for being pretty quiet. What with what their lives have turned into in the last day or so.
"Come back soon," the tattooed desk man says cheerfully.
Then they're in the Impala, and Sam says "I'm sorry. About, you know—" and Dean tells him that nope, it's all fine.
It's been twenty minutes since Cas left and they're heading North.
The car is silent for a few minutes. Then—
"Shouldn't he be back by now?"
"Dean." Sam closes his eyes. "It's been half an hour."
"Yeah. Pop over to where Alfie is, grab him, take him to heaven, pop back. Coulda done it in five minutes. Something's wrong."
"Oh my god." It's a long-suffering sigh that fills the car. "Castiel can take care of himself. You know that, or you wouldn't have let—"
"I don't let Cas do anything," Dean cuts in. "He can make his own decisions."
Sam flings up his hands. "That's what I've been saying! He's fine, Dean. He checked out Heaven the other day, didn't he?"
Yes but Dean had been scared shitless then, too. Plus he'd barely been gone fifteen minutes.
"Just to clarify," Don says, "Heaven is real, angels are real, but Heaven isn't a good place and angels are—"
"Dicks," says Dean. "Well, most of them. Um, Alf— Samandriel, he seemed alright."
"Balthazar is okay," Sam says. "I mean, besides that parallel world thing. And the encouraging-me-to-kill-Bobby thing. And the Titan— you know, never mind. Balthazar is as well."
Dean pulls onto the highway. Takes a deep breath. "Balthazar is dead, Sam."
Silence.
"What?"
How have they not talked about this? But then, Dean had just assumed that the angels were intentionally on the DL all of the last couple years— "Balthazar is dead. Pretty soon after we last saw him. Cas, um. Cas killed him."
More silence.
"Tell me," Sam says tightly, "that you didn't know about this at the time and conveniently neglect to tell me."
"I didn't know about that at the time and not tell you," Dean says. "I, um. Cas told me. In Purgatory." When he was trying to convince Dean to leave him behind. And he's not that worried about it— it's not like Dean hadn't sort of assumed that Balthazar was dead, and he'd never liked him, and he knew. Knew what Cas had done and knew and he'd already forgiven him for that, in that year he was gone, because he'd move the trench coat from car to car and he'd missed him and it had hurt so fucking much. So, whatever. He might be going back to hell for that when he died, but it was like he'd told Cas earlier. Right and wrong. And what Cas had done was wrong, but there was so much he had done that was right, too.
It's a lot easier to forgive other people than yourself.
"Right," Sam says. "Right. So." He turns. "'Melia, can you go online and see if you can find anything else out about this Jesus tower?"
"Watchtower," Don says.
Dean grins. "Good one." Pause. "Sam, we still got our utilities badges?"
His name is Brandon Nickle, and he seems more than willing to take them around the tower. He barely glanced at their ID.
"Some Public Utilities people already came," he says, leading Dean and Don up the stairs.
"Just expanding our official report," Dean says. "And I'll admit, I wanted to see it for myself."
Nickle chuckles. "You wouldn't be the first. Man, if I hadn't turned on my faucet— thought for a moment it was blood. But nope. Just red wine. Pretty good red wine too."
"What kind?" Don asks. Dean looks at him, a little surprised— although he hadn't considered it. Valid question, he figures.
"There's some experts looking into that," Nickle says. "I think they think it's some kind of Merlot or Amoretto." They stop. "Here ya go, Guys." Pause. "Not sure what you think you're gonna find though. There's nothing on the security tape, and there's nobody in town with enough money to buy several hundred gallons of the stuff."
Dean grunts. "Bet there's a lot of happy people, though." Then again, it might make all this easier to investigate. He loves cases that involve drunk people.
He gets a laugh. "Sure, well enough. I mean, whole town' gonna reek somethin' awful soon if we don't get showers."
Chirp.
literally no demons, vamps here— everything quiet.
B
He notices the first sign of weirdness when he looks up.
"Did somebody change their logo?" he asks, pointing to a snake-and-ivy symbol on the wall. He isn't sure why, but that— doesn't seem like something that should be in a water tower. Then again, this is Utah.
Nickle looks at it, shrugs a little. "I dunno, I never noticed it. So I guess it's been there for awhile." Then he grin. "Maybe it's the evil wine's doing. I mean, people are already blaming it for that kid…"
"Yeah," Dean says, wedging his phone more securely under his ear as he fumbles for car keys. "Blind, deaf and dumb. Full-on Tommy."
Sam sighs. "Everyone nearby has checked out. Most suspicious thing they have here is a book club."
"Hey, last book club—"
"I remember."
"Alright. Well, you two go talk to the kid. Me and Don are gonna hear what the locals are saying." One of the things that he doesn't like about the iPhone is that he can't hang up with his chin. There's something about hitting the 'end call' button that just feels so unnecessary.
They get in the car. Don frowns. "Um, does that mean 'go to a bar'?"
"Hell, yes." Dean check the time. Seven hours since they left Flagstaff. That's nearly eight since Cas left. He takes a deep breath.
"What do Sam and Amelia have?" Don asks.
"A book club."
Don's frown gets, if possible, even frown-ier. "Sounds highly suspicious."
"Right?" Dean sighs. Then— "Why would people go to a bar? There's not going to be anyone in the bar. They get unlimited alcohol at home. I were them, I'd be bottling it and selling it later. And trying to keep my kids away."
"I dunno. I could go for something a little stronger than Merlot right now."
"Sorry." Dean attempts to wiggle out of his bad parallel parking job. (If any word of this gets back to Sammy, he's going to claim possession. After all, his new tattoos are barely forming scabs; maybe they aren't entirely effective.) (And that thought is distinctly uncomforting.) "I guess this is all a little—"
"You think? Nah." Pause. "It' not any crazier than this last year, really."
"Why'd you go?" Dean asks. "Seems like you had it alright with Amelia."
And he's curious, really. Knows that he couldn't have stayed with Liza and maybe it's the same reason— Don's studying the window, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to line up words.
"I needed— you ever wake up and feel like your life's too small…? I guess not with your lives. Anyway. In retrospect, the military wasn' the best way to go to fix that. And I do love Amelia. And Amelia loves me. She also loves Sam." Don shrugs. "I don't know, now. Right now I'm thinkin' about surviving this god-war thing."
"Fair enough." Dean pauses at a red light and pulls a bag of M&Ms out from under the seat. "L'chaim."
Chirp
He looks at the phone again.
No underground— gonna go check out the sewers.
B.
Don looks over his shoulder. "He gonna need backup?"
"He'd have said if he did."
"Fair enough."
Dean decides that he likes Don.
Sam and Amelia are led to the upper corner of the hospital.
"Nobody knows who his parents are," the nurse says. "Just one of those kids on the street, you know? I saw him around some, too. Name of Lewis, or so he said. Then, yesterday—" she cracks the door in question, then opens it slowly. "Yesterday he just shows up like this. Some man brought him in. Not a relation."
The boy is sitting on a hospital bed— exactly the same as the ones Sam had been on, and he wonders if it's a requirement to be a hospital of any reasonable standing. He's surrounded by various games; a rubix cube with textured instead of colored squares, a wooden triangle with pegs in it. Right now, though, he's clutching a fuzzy blanket. His eyes are closed.
"His eyes still react to light," the nurse says. "Nothing here makes sense."
Have you given him a pinball machine?
Amelia is approaching him slowly. Stand next to the bed for a moment, then reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder.
"Nobody is coming for him?" she asks. Her face is pinched. Then— "I didn't see any of this in the papers, either."
"It's been pretty quiet."
"It's despicable," Amelia says. "If he was a skinny white kid there'd be people lining up to—" she stops when Lewis turns his head towards her. Everyone goes quiet. And she reaches out, slowly. Takes his hand, sways it side to side in the mockery of a 'hello'. Then places it against her face, and Sam loves her just that much more.
Lewis feels her face, her hair for a moment before reaching out. Hand crawling across the bed and picking up the rubix cube. He reaches for Amelia again, pulls her hand down to the cube. Together, they spin the pieces.
"Wow," the nurse says softly. "He hasn't reacted to anyone…"
'Melia has a way with strays, Sam thinks.
And then he remembers that he shouldn't love her anymore, so he tries to stop.
But the nurse won't let them stay long.
"What?" Amelia asks, looking at him as they leave.
Sam shrugs. "Nothing. I just— missed you."
She's silent a moment. "You're the one that left me, Sam."
He flashes back to Dean, disapproving of that same decision. Road to hell, intentions.
"Is it really pathetic," Amelia says, punching the elevator button, "that all these ghosts and gods are real and I spend a lot of my time worryin' about that— and at the same time I'm also caught up in our freaking soap opera?"
He figures he should take offense to this. They hit the lobby, smile and wave at the person at the desk before they go out onto the sidewalk. "I'm not a soap opera."
"Oh, come on. Husband dies, get hot mysterious new boyfriend, husband's alive, hot mysterious boyfriend saved the world a few times over?"
Sam snorts. "Please. That's just my life."
Amelia stops in the middle of the sidewalk, only halfway down the block. Turns to face him. "Sam," she says seriously. "I have something to tell you."
Dramatic pause.
"I'm pregnant. With octuplets. And half of them are yours."
Sam processes that sentence for a second, and then he's laughing, and she is too, and he feels like he's going to fall over because he's laughing so hard and their lives are a little ridiculous. "Forget a book series," Sam says. "We should be a TV show."
Then he remembers that time everything was just a TV show and—
Ugh.
He wonders what happened in that world. Were the people there even real? Did it all juts fall apart after they left, or did Gen think he went insane? Did she think at all? Did her husband come back after they all just—
He can't overthink angel tricks. Can't think about them— all those fake memories he'll never get back. His fake life as Sam Wesson or that Titanic universe. There he had remembered his entire past, but now he only knows the last couple days. The only real days. He can't remember Ellen and Bobby's wedding, or what Jo had been doing, or what had happened in Carthage—
"Sam." Amelia frowns. "Sam, you in there? You didn't drink too much of that tap water did you?"
He laughs again. It's such a weird feeling— he can't remember how long he's been doing the whole 'brooding and pensive' routine.
Dean and Don are already at the hotel when they get back, and Sam might have to give Don a nickname (unless Don is a nickname— he's pretty sure it's short for Donald, so he'll have to give him another nickname) because this whole short d-n name thing is going to get old fast. Dean is flicking through one of the binders, explaining the organizational system.
Amelia looks between them for a second, then storms up to the table. "Hands," she barks.
Don looks up, face entirely innocent. "Eh?"
"Hands," she says again. "C'mon."
There is some guilty shuffling, and then four hands are offered.
"Hah!" She points, triumphant, to colored spots. "I knew it." Turns to Sam. "They've got a secret M&M stash. They've been holding out on us."
Dean groans, then chucks her the mostly empty bag. "So did you take Tommy to play pinball?"
Sam sits down on one of the beds. "No, but I did refrain from making that joke."
His brother rolls his eyes, then hands him the phone. A picture of a snake and some ivy. "You recognize this?"
"Nope."
Wrong answer— because that expression means "five points to Dean." Or maybe "ha-ha-ha-ha." Something along the lines of "I know something you don't know and am very pleased about it," in any case.
"It's associated with Dionysus. Greek god of wine. He did the water-wine thing first— that's part of why the Christians said Jesus did because if he couldn't do something that Dionysus could do—"
Sam is still reeling from the fact that his brother seemed to have done some research of his own free will.
"By the way, I hope everyone is okay with burgers. Benny said he'd pick some up."
The body snatchers have gotten his brother. "What's with the wanting to stay in, Dean? We get all sorts of info from people in diners, and the food is usually better." People to flirt with, whatever.
Dean gestures to the binders. "Can't exactly bring these."
Ah-ha. "Cas is probably fine," Sam says. He gets a scowl for his wonderful intuition.
"I never—"
Yeah, Dean is really freaking obvious. "But if we went to a diner and Cas showed up injured, it would be hard to explain that." He nods. "That makes sense. I don't want bacon on my burger."
Careful, Dean, or your face will freeze like that. "Anyway, it looks like they're trying to wake him— Dionysus— up. Apparently the water-wine is like a pre-alarm clock thing. Remember what Crowley said?"
Amelia looks at the picture in the binder. "Or Crowley is just playing a joke, and wants you to think that they're trying to raise Dionysus to distract you."
"Or," Sam realizes, "Crowley told us so that we would think that Crowley wanted us to think that he was pulling one over us so that we'll think that Dionysus is not waking up and then we'll let it happen."
"Or," says Amelia, "Crowley wants us to think that he wants us to—"
"Oh my god," Don says. "Stop."
"If anyone says something-ception, so help me—" but no one says it, and so Dean pulls open another page. "The kid fits the whole waking-up thing though. The Greek prophets tended to be blind so they could see what the gods saw. And then there's that boy, right. They take his eyesight, his hearing, whatever, so that Dionysus can see and hear when he wakes up."
Amelia narrows her eyes. "You mean someone did that to him? All the gods that are awake did this to a child?"
"There's no sign of it happening anywhere else," says Don from the computer. "But all the other gods woke up on their own, right?"
Sam tries to process away all the information, tries to figure out— "okay so how do we get his senses back? I mean, would stopping the ritual basically smash the mirror?"
Dean shrugs. "I dunno, but—"
"The ritual," Amelia says. "When and where and how do we stop it?"
Before anyone can admit their ignorance, the door flies open. "HEYYYYY, SEXAH LADAY." They all turn to stare in disbelief as Benny struts in, wearing sunglasses and— "Op, op op op op."
Sam take a moment to appreciate that this really does seem to be his life.
Dean reaches for the bag in Benny's hand. "Feed me, Seymour."
"Rude." The vampire makes a point of giving everyone else their food first. "You know, this is my first time getting drunk since Purgatory?"
At least he's happier than drunk-Cas was. Although just as helpful.
"I didn't find anything more demonic than a book club," he's saying. Takes the sunglasses off, which is probably good, since it's dark, and only douchebags wear sunglasses after dark.
Dean and Sam look at each other.
"Think we should go check that out?" Sam asks, because earlier they'd talked to some woman called Maia who was too wholesome to be real, and who even goes to book clubs anymore anyway? "I mean, they meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And Wednesday was when people first started reporting the wine, and Thursday is—"
"Just go see if there's anything weird," Dean says. "Maybe all they're doing is discussing Fifty Shades. Or reenacting?" His eyes widen. "Oh my god what if they're—"
Amelia holds up a hand. "Stop."
It's a statement on his life that Sam hopes that the book club is evil. Because otherwise they'd have no idea where to start looking next.
"Scout, report." Dean put Sam on speaker phone.
"Um… doesn't seem too sketch. They're all drinking wine, but everyone is around here so— Maia, that's the organizer, just put her glass down on… an altar."
Pause.
"And now they're holding hands and— okay, I think those are human bones. You might want to get down here."
Pause.
"Yeah that book is definitely not Fifty Shades…"
Dean grimaces. They're parked only a couple blocks away, but—
He tosses a couple handguns into the back seat. Checks that Benny is reasonably sober. "Ready to motor?"
Don is tapping out a rhythm on the Taurus. "Do we actually have to kill them?"
"Better them than you."
They catch up with Sam, and then make quite a dramatic entrance indeed into the house. There are maybe seven women inside, all middle-aged, none of them sporting black eyes or horns, gathered around a coffee table. It would all look relatively normal if it wasn't for the ancient books and chanting and Dean isn't sure what body part that was.
There are a few moments of confusion, and then that Maia woman launches into the typical villain monologue.
"Dionysus will wake," she says. They're weird words, coming from what looks like a soccer mom— but that figures. Anyone on the street could be a member of the Cult of Dionysus (or some other evil book club.) Dean learned that long ago. He sort of wishes that they'd just stuck with their phallic processions and drinking games. Instead of actually trying to raise their patron god. "He shall protect us," she continues. "He'll protect us if we're the ones to wake him—"
Benny looks at Dean and shrugs. "Utah, man."
Then Amelia has shoved Maia against the wall. Her hand is shaking, but she holds the gun fairly steady and aimed at the noggin. "Lewis," she says. "How do we fix Lewis?"
Maia head-butts her, and Dean is about to shoot, but Amelia has slammed the gun into the side of her head and Maia falls. Another one moves up behind her but Sam is there, and even though Dean generally objects to the beating up of human women, he hope an exception can be made when they're trying to raise an ancient Greek god.
It doesn't take much, though. With their leader knocked out the other six don't quite seem to know what to do, and so Dean lowers his gun and grabs a bunch of important looking books off the coffee table.
"Got any more of these?" he asks.
Deep breath. Then one of them— "Upstairs, in the closet. Please—"
Benny takes off.
"Don't go raising gods," Sam is saying. "What's going down right now, it seems like they're mostly going to kill people."
"We know," says another one. Hispanic woman— Dean wonders how she came into this. At least that Maia's last name sounded Greek. But maybe Dean is just being racist. "The gods are rising. We thought—" she hesitates. Shakes her head. "What do you know." Then, at Amelia, "These men, how can you blindly follow—"
Amelia rolls her eyes.
Benny comes back, a few books tucked under one arm. "Let's scram."
"Yeah." Sam takes a few of the books that are shoved at him. "Gotta figure out how to give a kid his life back."
And Dean is now over one hundred percent certain that any chance they had at staying off the godly radar is now gone for good.
He hopes no one else liked Dionysus either.
"You did good," Sam says quietly.
Amelia shrugs. "I pistol-whipped a woman. I'm not exactly thrilled."
Sam knows how that goes. Looks to his brother. "Shouldn't we be leaving Dodge right about now?"
Dean stops his pacing up and down the little hall of their room. Bathroom to closet and back again. "We should go look for Cas."
This again. "It hasn't even been a day, Dean."
"But—"
"And do you plan on dying, to get into heaven?"
"We have be—"
"We don't even know if he's in trouble!" And yeah he's got no patience. "Let's face it. When do we not get the Convenient Phone Call from the Dark Side whenever someone gets captured? Crowley wanted you, too, and if the angels wanted him to spy on us then they probably want something from us so if they had him—"
Dean turns on the sink, but it's only water that comes out. Sam figures that that means that Lewis is okay too, but Dean only seems disappointed at the lack of free alcohol.
"He might—"
And Sam never hears what other tragedy may have befallen Castiel, because there's a flutter of wings and a "Hello."
Dean turns on the angel. One second to see his general uninjured state and then "Well, it's about time!"
The elder Winchester then storms out of the room.
"And that," Sam says, "is my brother in a nutshell."
Dean leans against the outside of the hotel. Doesn't react in any way to Cas's appearance next to him for a few minutes, because he's not mad at him for leaving or for coming back, he's just pissed off in general and he doesn't trust himself not to start yelling.
And look at him, all trying to control his reactions. (Four for you, Dean Winchester, you go Dean Winchester.)
"How was heaven?" he manages finally.
There's a pause. "Samandriel is returned."
It's not an answer and Dean doesn't push it. "You know, you guys have ridiculous names." Then, at the blank look— "Samandriel? I mean, Michael, Raphael, sure, but—"
"Balthazar called him Sammy."
That's probably a punch in the gut for both of them. At least Dean doesn't have to carry the memories of— stabbing him. At least that's one thing Dean can say for himself. He's never tried to kill a family member. Not like Sam and Bobby or Cas and— but it's not much better, is it? Because he's torn souls apart and put them back together again only to—
"Stop."
"What?"
Cas is giving him face #don't play stupid. "It was Hell, Dean. You—"
Dean laughs. It's a twisted, broken sound. "Forty years, Cas. That's longer than I've been on earth. Hell, the first ten years of my life, those don't count, do they? I wasn't me yet, so that's twice as long—"
"I'm older." And Dean is about to no shit Sherlock him when the angel continues. "Thousands upon thousands of years, and yet somehow the last five have been the most important."
"Cas—"
But the angel just shakes his head. "Angels— they aren't as emotionless as you accuse them of being. We laugh, we miss. I was sad when Anael— Anna— fell. I was concerned for Gabriel. We cared, we loved, we— we didn't lust in the way that you do, but you did meet Gabriel."
Yes. Yes, they certainly met Gabriel.
"But we wanted nothing on our own. It was always part of someone's plan. And then Anna tore out her grace because she wished for the real thing. Gabriel created false women. And everything changed."
Dean's mouth has gone dry. "Cas—"
But Cas doesn't seem to be paying attention. He's studying the church across the street as though he still expects it to give him answers, as though the psalm quoted on the front— The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want… he restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Weren't those the days.
"He restoreth my soul," Castiel murmers. "He put me back on the ground at Stull, I walked whole from the river. Perhaps I am merely what he made me, but that can't make sense."
Dean is pretty sure this is the part where he doesn't say anything, because he's never been good with Cas's religious crises. His only god when he was young had been his father— real and tangible. He knew what John had wanted. He knew what would happen if he disobeyed him. Demons were bad, vampires were bad, saving people was good even if the people themselves were not. Right and wrong, like he'd told Cas earlier, and he'd stick by that. And along the way, there were things that fell in the middle— Lenore, angels, Sam and Cas— but he'd take those as he went, he'd decide what half of the spectrum they belonged on and then what to do about it.
Maybe he isn't so different from an angel after all.
"It can't make sense because he's not answering his voice mail, or it can't make sense because you don't think you deserve to be saved?" Dean's mouth twitches a little.
"It can't make sense," Cas repeats— "Because I want—" and he's facing Dean now, and he's not very far away, and so when he presses Dean against the slated hotel wall and kisses him, it barely seems like he's moved at all. And then Dean stops wondering about it because he's very okay with this course of action. But before he can attempt to express this, the angel is pulling away. Staring at the spot just over his head. (And he's clearly around humans too much if he's learned to avoid eye contact.) "It can't make sense because there is no reason, no reason, that they would make me want you. I want—"
There are many responses Dean could have to that. He could be a rational human being and suggest that that was all just Cas, that he did have feelings of his own; he could be a good human being and say that there was no reason at all and thus they shouldn't fall into this because it'll kill them both; he could make a bad joke or say that maybe God wanted to give him something good as sort of an apology; he could sit out here for hours and attempt to psychoanalyze angels and God and Heaven and the entire nature of desire. But he is Dean Winchester, and in the end, he will always avoid those conversations at all possible. So he just grabs Cas's shirtfront and pulls him forward again.
And then Castiel has one hand on his chest, holding him still, as though Dean is really going to try and go anywhere, and the other on his shoulder where I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition and they've both come a hell of a long way since then and it doesn't matter, nothing matters, because he's just Dean and Cas is just Cas and he wants and Cas wants and want want and that's Cas's teeth on his lower lip, just a little, and for someone who claims to be a virgin he's ridiculously good at this, but he's been watching people forever, must know how it works. And so Dean opens his mouth, lets their tongues slip together, and reaches out, for something. Anything. Finds the angel's hips and pulls him closer. And everything is warm.
Until Cas rolls his hips, just a little, like he can't stop. And then everything is burning.
"I want," he repeats, like a broken record, and Dean just shakes his head. Flashes back to their conversation in the car.
"If you want something bad enough," he says, "sometimes you should just—"
And then it's all over and if Cas gave him room to move, he'd be falling, falling. But he can't he doesn't he doesn't want to so he just clings tighter as they burn.
Benny cracks open the door— "to make sure that they're both still alive, it's uncannily quiet," and closes it just as quickly.
"They okay?" Don asks.
Benny looks slowly from him, then at Sam, his eyebrows raised a little. "They seem to be working out their issues."
And a few states away, Inanna loads the last box into a minivan.
"Thank you," she says to the man helping her. When she reaches out a hand to shake, Ben Franklin is wrapped around her finger.
The man gapes. "Not a problem," he says finally. "Have fun with your redecorating."
A/N: "The Me" in the context of Sumerian mythology is pronounced "may".