Sam told most of the story. Every now and then, Dean would interject details glossed over, or information Sam hadn't been there for and couldn't tell. Dean told of meeting Castiel, and how he had the same doubts originally.

"He showed me his wings. Or, like, some projection of them."

Dean still remembered that night, and that moment. How seeing those wing shadows against the barn and painted sigils was like getting kicked in the balls, then slapped in the face.

Sam talked about the Apocalypse, and Michael, and Lucifer. Dean stared out the car window, watched as the nighttime scenery blurred by. He curled his fingers through Cas's hair when Sam talked about the demon blood and his relationship with Ruby.

Fuck, he was battered. The wounds were mostly healed by now, but the fact that Cas was sleeping to begin with was bad news. There was the instance when Cas time traveled despite it taking every last ounce of his strength, and he fainted in their motel room and stayed in that bed motionless for two days. And when Cas took Sam's hell trauma and was comatose for months.

Granted, Cas wasn't nowhere near as bad now as he'd been those two times, but it was still disconcerting. Angels weren't supposed to sleep.

Cas didn't even sleep for the enjoyment of it. When Dean and Sam called in for the night, Cas stayed up either in a chair, or the space in the bed next to Dean and he knitted, or read, or…stared at the wall or something. Dean didn't know what Cas did in that time; he knew for certain that Cas didn't sleep, though.

"You let Lucifer loose on the world?" John snarled. Dean's head snapped up.

"He didn't meant to," Dean said. "It was an accident. We all got played."

"I can't believe this," John murmured. "Angels are real. Satan is real." He sighed heavily and leaned back against the chair. "Wait. If those are real, then is God real too?"

Dean's eyes flicked to meet Sam's through the rear view mirror. "Yeah," Dean swallowed. "God's real. But he's a bit of a dick. He doesn't care."

Dean thought of poor Castiel, back when he was still so sure with every iota of his being, scourging the universe for his father, to ask for His help. How Castiel had been utterly devastated when they learned the truth. Cas, looking to the sky, angry tears that would never fall pooling in his eyes.

You son of a bitch…I….

"And what role does…he have to play in all this?" John said lowly.

Dean gnawed on his lip. This was so important. Cas was his family, but so was his Dad. Dean wanted them to get along. John already didn't seem to like Cas, and they hadn't even been officially introduced yet.

"He helped us save the world."

They couldn't have put Lucifer back in the Cage without Cas's help; Cas was the one who got rid of Michael long enough for Dean to talk to Sam; a conversation that helped Sam take the reins. Cas had sacrificed himself time and time again to save them, and the world.

Everything Cas had done, good and bad, had been to save the world.

But Dean didn't want to think of those things. All of them made mistakes that year; all of them could have done things differently. Far as Dean was concerned, they were all responsible for Purgatory and the Leviathans. And even if it blew shit in all their faces, Cas opening Purgatory saved the world.

But Dad didn't need to know about those things. There was no reason for Dad to ever know.

"It's true," Sam said. "Cas rebelled against Heaven because he didn't want the world to be destroyed."

"So he's a fallen angel," John said slowly, nearly spelling out each word.

"Yeah," Dean said gruffly. He didn't want to think about that either. "He fell so he could help us save the world."

"Huh," John said. There was a note of something lingering in that one word. John Winchester was never impressed, Dean knew that well enough. John always thought there was room for improvement, or that something could have been done better, faster, cleaner. John Winchester did not get impressed, but sometimes he did come close. Dean thought he heard that in his father's voice.

Dean looked back to Sam. Sam shrugged; something warm bloomed inside Dean's chest though, and he smiled lightly despite himself. Really, there were more reasons for Cas and his Dad to get along than not. Military, no-nonsense guys, with the determination to finish a job once it'd been started.

"You know Dad," Dean said, "Cas was like, a general, in his angel army. Full on boss."

"Really," and now there was genuine interest in his Dad's voice. Dean grinned brighter. If there was one thing that was guaranteed to suck his dad in, it was meeting with other military men. Dean remembered sitting in bars past last call with a book in his lap while Dad shared Vietnam stories with some other veteran.

Maybe it was because sharing war stories was the closest John Winchester could ever get back to his old life, the one he had before demons and vampires and werewolves reared their ugly heads in and knocked him out.

Cas had to be the best of both worlds, surely. Cas revered everything that had to do with humanity, and John enjoyed little more than listening to and sharing his own war stories.

Sam pulled into the parking lot of the motel. The neon vacancy flickered harsh against the nighttime sky. Sam shut the engine off.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Cas has been fighting wars against demons since, like, literal forever." Dean licked his lips. "He was the one who saved me from Hell."

That was the part of the story they hadn't gotten to just yet. Dean's breath rattled inside his chest.

"What?" John snapped. He turned around against the seat, facing Dean. His eyes burned.

Dean winched. Maybe he should have waited until they were actually inside the room to broach this topic. He smiled sheepishly.

"Dean," John said harsh and low; his tone calling for no argument whatsoever. "Why were you in Hell?"

"I had to save Sam," Dean said.

Castiel moaned suddenly, capturing everyone's attention. The last of his grace light finally died away and his eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," Dean said, clearing his burning throat. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Cas mumbled.

"Good," Dean said. He cleared his throat again. John's eyes were piercing into his skin. Dean swallowed. There was no avoiding it. It was just going to need to be done.

"Cas, I want you to meet my dad."

The air inside the motel was thick and warm. Cas's clothes were still saturated in blood, though his coat hung off Dean's arm; and they looked beyond salvageable. Dean wanted Cas to change first, but once Cas had been told of John Winchester's sudden appearance, he refused to listen to anything else.

Right now, Dean and Sam stood awkwardly by the door. John sat down on the far bed. Cas knelt in front of him, studying him. Though Cas's back was facing him, Dean knew the expressions he'd be wearing. The pinched eyebrows, tilted head. John's gaze was locked onto Cas, that angry, studious glare that had become synonymous with Dean's childhood.

Suddenly, Cas reached out and grabbed John's face with his hands. John jerked in surprise and snarled a "What the hell are you—"

"Shh," Cas said, readjusting his grip, pulling John's face forward.

Ten tense seconds ticked by.

Cas released his grip and turned to face Sam and Dean. "He is your father," Cas said.

Dean released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"I thought we had already established that," John said.

"Could angels have done this?" Dean asked, ignoring his dad.

"It's possible," Cas said.

"But…?" Sam asked.

"But, they would not do it without reason. I don't know why any angel would want your father alive again."

Cas looked over his shoulder back to John.

"I don't know why you're staring at me," John said. "I don't know any more than you do."

"You're not feeling ill? Hearing things, seeing things?"

"No," John said impatiently, after a brief pause. His jaw clenched tightly. "I feel no different than I did back before when I was alive."

"What do you remember?"

John groaned. "The hospital. The hellhound—"

"Do you remember Hell?"

"Of course I remember Hell!"

Dean winced. He thought of lightless pits, of hanging upside down, Alastair waving a bloodied blade in front of his face, his tongue against Dean's ear.

"That ain't the kind of thing you just forget," John said quietly. His eyes traveled to Dean. "I've told you everything I know. It's your turn now. Why were you in Hell?"

"Yellow Eyes killed Sam," Dean said. His tongue felt fat in his mouth. Sam shifted beside him, offering a hand of support than Dean brushed away. John's eyes moved to Sam. Cas looked to the ugly carpet. "I made a demon deal to save him. And you know those demons. They always collect."

John was silent for a moment. His jaw clenched. "And you," he said to Cas. "Saved my boy why?"

"God commanded it. At least, that's what I thought at the time."

"You thought," John said dryly.

"The angels needed me to be Michael's vessel for the Apocalypse," Dean said. "That's why they laid siege."

"Why was it you that saved him," John said to Cas, "and not some other 'angel'?"

"I reached Dean first."

And wasn't that scary to think about; that it was just by happenstance Cas was the one to pull Dean from Hell. He could've gotten stuck with Uriel, or Zachariah, or any of the other hundreds of dicks with wings, but instead he got saved by Cas.

Dean didn't want to think about it any other way.

"So the angels wanted the Apocalypse. And you didn't. Why?"

"'Cause Cas is different," Dean said.

John clicked his tongue and went back to eyeing Cas. Cas, who was still coated in blood. "I suppose you are," John said softly.

Dean couldn't help the smile that came to his face. Okay, so things had started off tense, but it looked like they were heading in the right direction.

But Cas really need to shower, or mojo himself clean, because it was painful to look at him. The wounds were healed and gone, but the bright, red blood was just a horrid reminder to Dean of what Cas had endured.

"Great," Dean said, clapping his hands. "We'll answer any other questions you might have. Things are pretty weird for all of us right now, I think. Cas, you wanna mojo yourself clean?"

Cas looked down at himself, peeling the dark jacket away from the once white undershirt. "Oh," he said. "I'm dirty."

Sam smacked his lips. "'Dirty' isn't the word I'd use."

"Can you clean your clothes too, or do you need to borrow some?"

Cas looked back down at himself. "I think I can clean them."

"Good," Dean said.

Cas disappeared into the bathroom. Soon, running water could be heard.

The silence that fell over was suffocating. After a few seconds, John pushed himself up and walked over to Dean. Dean swallowed.

John clapped Dean on his shoulder. "You've done good, boy," he said softly. His eyes glimmered and there was a ghost of a smile across his lips. Dean felt like he'd swallowed a rock.

"Thank you, sir," was all he could make himself say.

"He's a bit of weirdo isn't he?"

"Yeah," Dean licked his lips. "But it's uh, a good weird, you know?"

"I suppose."

"So Dad," Sam said. "The case here is closed. What are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean? I'm staying with you boys."

"You are?" Dean and Sam said simultaneously.

"The Winchester men back together again, huh? Those monsters out there don't stand a hell of a chance, do they?"

"You still want to hunt?" Dean asked.

"What else would I do?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Retire? Buy a condo in Florida." Dean grinned, but it fell once he saw his dad's unamused glare.

"You know the only retirement for hunters is death—and apparently even that's not enough sometimes. We have a job to do Dean. It ain't a pretty job, but someone's gotta do it. And I rather it'd be me than some poor shmuck that has no clue what they're doing. It'll be like old times. Like nothing ever changed."

Dean couldn't help it. The idea was pleasant. Dean, Sam, Cas and Dad, on the road, hunting…it sounded nice. The closest to an apple pie life Dean could ever get. His family all together.

Sam huffed softly. "Sounds great," he said. "Dad, you wanna book an extra room for you? We should all catch a few hours before we hit the road again."

Dean hadn't realized what the time was until Sam mentioned it. He looked over at the clock and saw that it was just after three in the morning. Suddenly his limbs felt full of lead, and it was a struggle just to hold his head up. His eyelids were heavy and dark, fuzzy splotches were spotting his vision. He noticed for the first time to dark, heavy bags underneath Sam's eyes and the rat's nest of his hair. He wondered how bad he looked. It had been a long couple of days, and the bed looked to be the softest, comfiest thing Dean had ever laid eyes on, despite the questionable stains and visible bed springs.

The sound of running water stopped and moments later Cas came out, spotless and fully dressed, minus the tan overcoat Dean still had in his hands. Cas smiled sheepishly and walked over; Dean handed him the coat and Cas took it gingerly, their fingers barely brushing.

"Looking good," Dean grinned.

Cas looked down at the coat and blue light spread from his fingertips, in spider web like patterns, over and under arching the fabric. The light sizzled for few heavy moments, and then it dissipated and the coat was clean as ever. Cas worked his arms through and pulled it on.

"It feels pleasant to be clean," Cas said.

"So, Cas," Sam said suddenly. "I was thinking, Dean and Dad can have this room and you and me can grab another. We all need to catch a few hours before we hit the road again."

"Dad can have his own room if he wants," Dean said.

"The three of you would share this room?" John said. "What about you?" He asked Cas. "Where would you sleep?"

"I don't sleep," Cas said.

John hummed lowly.

"Well, maybe I want a break from sharing with Dean," Sam insisted. "A guy can only take your obnoxious snoring for so many years."

"That's fine with me, Dean," John said. "Your brother and the angel can spend a night together."

"I mean, if you're sure," Dean said, looking between the three of them. He couldn't understand why Dad wouldn't jump on the offer to have his own room. Hell, Dean would've killed to have his own room back when he was a kid, and the only reason he and Sam didn't split us now was just out of a habit. Dean needed someone's snoring as white noise to fall asleep to.

But anxiety also creeped up his spine and neck at the thought of not having Cas right next to him. Ever since they busted out of Purgatory, Cas had sat next to Dean while Dean slept, and he slept better because of it. He probably slept better now than he ever had, and he had to acknowledge that Cas's presence was responsible. Whether Cas used his mojo to lull Dean to sleep and keep his nightmares away, or it was just a deeper part of Dean know someone was up and keeping watch, someone that would protect them at all costs, or a combination of the two…Dean slept good.

He didn't understand why Sam was being so stubborn. Giving Dad his own room was the easiest solution. Dean could still have Sam's snoring and Cas's presence, and Dad wouldn't be bothered by any of it because he wouldn't be there. And after not sleeping for nearly three days, because some people couldn't not get jumped during a hunt and Dean was up every moment looking for their dumb ass, he desperately needed that good sleep that came with Cas.

But if Sam wanted a break, Dean couldn't bunk him with Dad. Dean didn't trust the two of them to be alone and not go for each other's throats after two minutes.

It was just one more night, Dean thought. One more night without Cas; and now that he knew Cas was okay and safe, maybe he could sleep tonight, at least a little. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

Dean swallowed. "That okay with you, Cas?"

"I'll go with Sam if you think that's best."

"It's not about that," Dean said. God, he hated the tone in Cas's voice, like Dean was kicking him out. He was going to say more, that it wasn't personal, but John interrupted.

"Good then. Dean and I will stay here. You two go ahead and book another room. Sam, try and get some sleep. You look like you really need it."

"No shit," Sam said with a small laugh. He bent down and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Okay, Cas, let's go."

Cas looked over at John for a moment; then he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Sleep well, Dean," he said. He knelt down and pulled his own backpack from underneath the bed, and walked towards the door following Sam.

"Yeah, you too," Dean said, and then mentally smacked himself right as the door closed behind Cas.

It was just him and John then. The silence had weight to it. Dean cleared his throat and toed his shoes off. "Well, I'm beat," he said and flopped down onto the bed, the rusty springs squeaking.

He heard John lay down on his own bed. The lights were turned off and it became so dark Dean couldn't see anything.

He shut his eyes and tried to even out his breathing.