Warnings: This chapter contains profanity, explicit sex (m/m pairing), some discussion of underage prostitution, and some discussion of homophobia. Also, I'm gonna go full Lemony Snicket here and warn you that this chapter is super long. Over 10,000 words even without the author's note, so get comfy. Bring a snack.
This chapter is set during 5.18: "Point of No Return", and I seriously considered making it as angsty as the episode, but Cas and Dean wouldn't cooperate. They just wanted to kiss and make up.
Many thanks to lillian, pona, and Zitprincess for taking the time to share their thoughts. We are in the home stretch here, people. Four more chapters after this, and maybe an epilogue if I'm feeling generous. Reviews are a great way to make me feel generous. =)
Dean made a list of his conditions to get them straight in his head. Negotiating with angels was like riding an extremely self righteous and condescending bull.
1) Sam stays safe.
Lucifer would have to use the vessel he was already in. Dean wasn't killing his brother. Not for Cas, not for anything.
2) Bobby stays safe and gets his legs back.
3) Cas stays safe and the angels stop hunting him.
And most importantly:
4) Michael takes me back in time to have a talk with Dad.
He read through it once, decided it covered all the important stuff, folded up the motel stationery, and put it in his pocket. Then he drank some whiskey. Not enough to get him drunk, but enough to let him fool himself that he wasn't scared shitless.
He had no illusions about how spectacularly this plan could backfire. That was why he'd sent Sam an email telling him where to find the Impala. There were three envelopes in the glove compartment — one for Sam, one for Bobby, and one for Cas.
But that was all just in case. With any luck, in a few days Dean would reclaim his wheels, burn the letters, and go home to his angel.
The door opened, and Dean grabbed for his gun before he recognized the intruder. Sam just stood there in the doorway, not reacting to the weapon pointed at him at all. He knew his brother would never shoot him.
"How did you find me?" Dean asked, lowering the gun.
There was a rustle of wings behind him, and a gravelly voice said, "I found you."
As always, a thrill of arousal chased through him at the sound of that voice. When he turned and found himself nose to nose with Cas whose wings were spread wide, his blue eyes dark with anger, Dean's breath caught and his jeans suddenly got uncomfortably tight. Cas hadn't glared at him with this much heavenly wrath in a long time, and Dean had forgotten how fucking hot it was. "Cas, I can explain," he said hoarsely.
"Save it," Cas snapped.
When he extended his hand toward Dean, Dean thought, Holy shit, he's actually going to smite me. Then Cas touched his shoulder, and the motel room vanished, replaced by Bobby's living room.
For a moment Dean was wrapped in Cas's wings, their bodies inches apart. He could feel Cas's breath on his face, smelling like thunderstorms again instead of alcohol. "Cas," he tried again, hoping that the intimacy of the moment would soften Cas's anger and make him willing to listen.
But Cas stepped back briskly, his expression now cold and closed off which was so much more terrifying. "I have to go back for Sam," he said. "Don't try to leave. You won't get far." He spread his wings and vanished.
"Fuck," Dean said under his breath. When that didn't seem to do the situation justice, he shouted it at the top of his lungs and kicked the nearest wall.
That was when Bobby rolled into the room. "So they got to you in time," the old hunter said, unphased by Dean's temper tantrum. "You want a drink?"
Dean glared at him. "I'm under house arrest, aren't I?"
"Oh, yeah. You might as well get comfy."
A gust of displaced air sent some loose papers fluttering to the floor as Cas reappeared with Sam in tow.
"Cas," Dean said desperately, "can I please just talk to you?"
"Why?" Cas said. "So you can lie to me again?"
Dean blinked. "What? When did I lie to you?"
"I'm gonna fix this. Just trust me," Cas quoted in a mocking growl.
"I would have fixed it if you hadn't kidnapped me," Dean said, getting angry in self defense.
"By surrendering to Michael?" Sam said, joining the argument without realizing that he had no idea what it was actually about. "By killing yourself?"
Cas gave a harsh, barking laugh. "Yes, I suppose that does solve the dilemma rather neatly," he said.
"I wasn't killing myself," Dean said, ignoring his brother and looking only at Cas. "After the fight Michael will leave and let me go on with my life. He's already promised me that."
"If he wins," Cas said, his cold mask cracking and showing the fear beneath the anger. "And if he loses, you die."
"That's a risk I have to take." Dean took the folded paper out of his pocket and offered it to Cas.
Cas took it warily and unfolded it. He read Dean's conditions of surrender, his eyes widening when he got to the last one. "Dean," he said softly, and then didn't seem to know what to follow it up with.
Sam moved to see the paper, but Cas quickly crumpled it in his hand. "Come with me," he said. He was clearly talking to Dean and no one else.
Dean followed him to the spare room upstairs, the same room where they had made love the night before they failed to kill the Devil. The room where Dean had said I love you for the first time and, miracle of miracles, Cas had said it back.
Cas closed the door and locked it. "This," he said, holding up the crumpled paper, "is the single stupidest plan you have ever come up with. And that is a high bar."
Dean smiled weakly. "I know, but it's the only plan I've got." He met Cas's eyes defiantly. "You asked what I would do for you. Well, there's your answer."
"You would end the world for me?" Cas looked at Dean with something like awe. Or fear.
"Damn right."
"That … I can't let you do that."
Dean laughed. It wasn't completely humorless, but it wasn't happy. "Well, make up your mind, Cas. Do you want out of the closet or not?"
"No. Not like this." Cas looked down, his face flushing with shame. "I'm sorry, Dean. I shouldn't have said the things I did. I was still a little drunk."
"No, you were right." Dean stepped closer and put a hand on Cas's waist. Cas didn't pull away or tense up, so Dean put his other hand on the other hip and pulled Cas into a loose hug. "You deserve better than this," he said. "I don't want us to have to sneak around for the rest of our lives. I want … I want to make you happy."
Cas leaned into Dean, pressing their heads together. "You do make me happy. This, however …" He tossed the paper away from him like it was a poisonous snake. "This does not make me happy. How were you going to make sure that Michael kept his end of the bargain?"
"Payment up front. Every whore knows that."
Cas pulled back sharply and looked Dean in the eye. "Don't. Ever. Call yourself that," he said, an edge of anger in his voice again.
Dean looked down, a lump rising in his throat as always happened when he was confronted with Cas's strange opinions about his value. "That's the only word for it, Cas. Michael gives me what I want, and I let him use my body. And it's not …" He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't see the look on Cas's face when he said the next part. "It's not like it's the first time I've done that." Fake credit cards only lasted so long, and hustling pool wasn't an option when you weren't old enough to get into a bar.
He waited for Cas to push him away, but the angel just said softly, almost soothingly, "I know."
Dean's head jerked up. "You … How do you know? You been poking around in my head again, Cas?"
Cas met Dean's glare with a maddeningly calm gaze, his eyes endless reservoirs of love and forgiveness. "Not your head, Dean. Your soul. When I restored you after your time in Hell, I had to heal the wounds Alistair had inflicted on you or the pain would have driven you insane. But underneath I found the scars of older wounds, and I could tell immediately what had caused them. They are very distinctive marks."
Dean pulled out of Cas's arms, and Cas let him go, sensing his need for space. "So … when you told me my soul was pure, unblemished, that … that was a lie?" Dean wasn't sure why that hurt so much since he'd never really believed it anyway.
But Cas shook his head, looking exasperated. "No, Dean. There are many things that can make a permanent mark on the soul, not just sin. I do not view your scars as blemishes. They are merely another part of you. They made you who you are."
"A whore," Dean spat.
Cas flinched. "No," he repeated doggedly. "A man who has survived terrible things, made difficult choices, and come through literal Hell with his humanity intact. A hero." He stepped into Dean's space again but didn't touch him. "A man I love."
Dean stared into Cas's eyes. He wanted to look away. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't. Cas's forgiveness felt so good, like the dimly remembered warmth of his mother's arms, her lips on his cheek kissing him goodnight for the last time. "I don't deserve you," he said because it was the only thought in his head.
Cas smiled sadly. "No, you don't," he said, and continued before Dean could react, "You deserve much better than me, but that's too bad. You're mine now, and I'm not giving you up."
Dean's mouth twitched in an answering smile. "I can live with that." He closed the gap between them.
The kiss started off tentative, almost shy. There were still many unresolved questions between them. How long could they keep their secret before it began to seriously damage their relationship? Would Dean still go through with his last ditch plan if they couldn't find another way? But then Cas gave a relieved little sigh and opened his mouth, and Dean let himself forget everything except the taste of the angel, the warm, wet slide of their tongues, and the slight give of their lips. They moved back and forth from one mouth to the other until it seemed like there was no distinction. When they started inching blindly toward the bed, neither of them could have said who had the idea first. For the moment they were so perfectly in agreement that they were almost one person.
Then Cas suddenly broke away and doubled up in pain, a strangled cry escaping between his gritted teeth. His hand closed on Dean's arm hard enough to bruise.
"Cas!" Dean almost shouted in alarm. "Cas, what's wrong?"
The pain seemed to subside, and Cas relaxed his death grip on Dean's arm. "Angels," he said shakily.
"Here?" Dean said, his mind already going into battle mode. Warn Bobby and Sam. Get weapons.
But Cas was shaking his head. "No. Far away. There was a … a power surge. It was so strong. It felt …" His brow furrowed as though he was trying to remember something. Then his face abruptly went blank. Dean recognized the look because he got it himself sometimes. It was the soldier-on-a-mission face, putting all personal concerns aside and focusing on what had to be done here and now. He wasn't at all surprised when the next words out of Cas's mouth were, "I have to go."
"You sure?" he said even though he knew it was futile. "It could be a trap. Maybe I should come with you."
"No!" Cas said sharply. "The last thing we need right now is for you to get captured by angels."
That stung a bit, more so because Dean knew Cas was right. He'd already proved that he was willing to surrender if offered the right incentive.
Cas saw the hurt on Dean's face and softened a bit, looking a little more human. "I'll be back soon," he said, touching Dean's cheek reassuringly. "Just stay here. Stay safe."
It was a plea and an order at the same time, and Dean found himself unable to deny either one. He nodded his agreement and kissed Cas one more time, murmuring against his lips, "Be careful."
"I always am," Cas replied. Unlike some people, was implied.
~o0o~
When Dean came downstairs alone, Sam and Bobby gave him identical suspicious looks. "Where's Cas?" Sam asked.
"He picked up something on angel radio. Went to check it out." Dean headed for the fridge, but Sam blocked his way.
"Show me your hands."
Dean knew immediately what he was getting at. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I didn't wish him to the cornfield," he snapped. When Sam didn't budge, Dean grudgingly held up his hands. "See? No blood. Now can I get a fucking beer?"
Sam stepped aside, but Dean felt his brother's glare on the back of his neck as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle. "How can you do this, Dean?" Sam said. He sounded more sad than angry. "How can you give up now?"
Dean threw his beer cap into the sink. It landed with a faint jingle, an oddly cheerful sound in the tense silence. "I'm not giving up," he said.
"No? What would you call it?"
"Making a deal." He turned to look at Sam, and at Bobby too. The old man sat silently in his wheelchair, the wheelchair he'd put himself in rather than let the demon possessing him kill Dean. "I don't want to die," Dean said. "I really don't." He was a little surprised by how true it rang. There was a time when it wouldn't have. "But I can't … I can't keep losing people."
"And you think we can?" Sam shot back. "You think we … You think I can handle losing you? Again? The last time almost killed me, Dean."
Dean closed his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."
"But you're ready to put me through that all over again."
"Because I can't keep living like this!" The beer bottle shattered from the force of Dean's grip, and the tinkling sound of glass hitting the floor mingled with the echoes of his shout. "There are things I need, Sam," he said, quieter but somehow more desperate. "Things that Michael can give me."
Sam frowned, anger momentarily tempered by confusion. "What kind of things?"
Dean shook his head mutely.
"Does this have something to do with the note you gave Cas?"
Dean nodded.
"But you won't tell me what it said."
"I can't. Not won't. Can't."
Sam took a tentative step toward his brother. "Why not?" He was speaking softly now as though Dean was a wounded animal.
Dean opened his mouth with no idea what he was going to say. Because I don't know if you'll still love me once you know what I am? Because I made a promise when I was thirteen and scared and confused and thought Dad was always right?
He was saved from having to figure it out because just then, Cas came back. And the angel wasn't alone.
~o0o~
Sam wasn't really all that surprised. Adam was a Winchester by any other name, and resurrection seemed to run in the family just like green eyes, high cheekbones, and more stubbornness than God gave a mule. So yeah, the fact that Adam was standing in Bobby's living room alive and unscarred two years after getting eaten by a ghoul was only shocking for a minute, and then it started to seem inevitable. And the fact that he was itching to turn himself into Michael's puppet and get the apocalypse over with was … Well, as Cas put it, he was Dean's brother.
"Bite me, Cas," was Dean's response to that.
Cas tilted his head, and for a moment there was something almost mischievous in his expression as though he was seriously considering taking Dean up on the offer. But then he got distracted. "What happened to your hand?" he asked, unceremoniously grabbing Dean's wrist and examining the shallow cut on his palm. It wasn't bleeding much, but it glittered with crumbs of broken glass.
"It's nothing," Dean said, blushing and trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand away. "Broke a bottle. I'll take care of it la—"
But Cas was already passing his fingers over the wound, bathing it in blue light and leaving behind clean new skin.
"Thanks," Dean said meekly.
"My pleasure," Cas replied. He held onto Dean's wrist a moment longer than necessary, and Dean let him.
Sam noticed that Adam was watching Dean and Cas with a puzzled expression, and he knew immediately that the kid was trying to decide if he was imagining the sexual tension between the two. Then Adam obviously decided that whatever was going on with this weird, dysfunctional family, he wanted no part of it. "This has been great," he said. (Sarcasm was apparently in the Winchester genetics too. For a second he sounded just like Dean.) "But I'm gonna go now."
"Yeah. Not so fast," Dean said, shoving him none too gently back onto the couch. "First you're gonna listen to our side of the story."
"Our?" Bobby said dryly. "Twenty minutes ago you were singing the same tune as him."
"Yeah, but I knew what I was getting myself into. He thinks the angels are a bunch of … of angels."
"What else would they be?" Adam said.
"Manipulative, sociopathic dickheads. Not you, Cas," Dean added when Cas opened his mouth to object. "You're different."
Cas conceded the point with a dip of his head. "That does accurately describe most of the angels I know," he said sadly. "Though it's not really their fault. We are designed to obey. Michael and the archangels have twisted that obedience to serve their corrupt cause."
"How is killing the Devil corrupt?" Adam demanded. "That's kind of the exact opposite of corrupt."
"Did they tell you that the battle will probably torch half the planet?" Sam asked, stepping up next to Dean, relieved that they were a united front at least for the moment.
"They said it could get pretty hairy, yeah. But it's the Devil, so we gotta stop him."
"But there's another way."
"Yeah?" Adam said skeptically. "What is it?"
Dean laughed humorlessly. "Well, that's a funny story ..."
"Dean! Not helping," Sam snapped.
"That's what I thought," Adam said, standing up again. "So now that I've heard you out, I'm gonna go save the world if that's all right with you." He turned towards the door and found himself nose to nose with Dean. Or rather, nose to chin since the height difference was about the same as that between Dean and Sam but in the opposite direction.
"You're gonna sit the fuck down," Dean growled. "And if you try to leave again, I will shoot you in the leg."
Fear flickered across Adam's face as he realized Dean was completely serious. He sank back down on the couch with exaggerated slowness as though Dean already had a gun in his hand. Sam felt a little guilty for letting Dean scare the kid, but if that was what it took to keep Adam here, keep him safe, then they would apologize later.
"So basically, I'm a prisoner," Adam said flatly.
"Pretty much," Dean said, backing off a little.
"And what about you, Dean?" Cas asked. "Are you off the edge?"
Dean's mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. "I think you mean off the ledge, Cas, and yeah. I was only gonna do it for you, and you've made it clear you don't want me to, so … so that's the end of it. I won't say yes to Michael."
Sam exchanged a look with Bobby. Bobby's eyebrows had risen until they disappeared under the bill of his trucker cap, and Sam was sure his own expression looked much the same. This was the closest Dean had ever come to publicly acknowledging his feelings for Cas.
Cas gave Dean a searching look. "Is that a promise?" he said, and it sounded like a challenge, a test.
Dean barely hesitated. "Yes. I promise," he said. He met Cas's eyes. "And you know better than anyone that I keep my promises no matter how much it hurts."
Sam wondered what the hell that meant.
Cas nodded, apparently satisfied.
~o0o~
"Jesus!" Dean yelled as Cas drove into him hard enough to scoot them both a half inch farther up the mattress. Cas had soundproofed the spare room with angel mojo so they could be as loud as they wanted.
Cas pulled out almost all the way, and Dean braced himself for another punishing thrust. (Punishing was definitely the word for it. Cas was still a little mad at Dean apparently. Not that Dean minded. He should make Cas mad more often.) But then Cas stilled and looked down at Dean, his expression so stern it was almost funny. "That's not my name," he said, his voice raspy and breathless and somehow all the more commanding for that. "Say my name."
"Cas," Dean panted obediently.
Cas smiled and rewarded him with a thrust directly to his prostate that made his cock jump and spurt pre-come on Cas's stomach. "Again," Cas said, pulling back and withholding Dean's pleasure until Dean gave him what he wanted.
Dean was happy to comply, and after a couple more rounds of that Cas stopped prompting him because Dean was moaning, "Cas, Cas, Cas," in an unbroken chant. He discovered that he could make Cas speed up the rhythm by speeding up the chant.
Cas was soon incoherent, nothing but ohs and uhs and the occasional ngh coming out of his mouth. His hands were planted on the bed, holding him at the right angle, and it was a great angle, but Dean desperately wanted something touching his cock. The occasional brush of Cas's stomach was doing nothing but driving him insane. When he took one hand from Cas's waist and squeezed himself, Cas followed the movement with his eyes but didn't object. In fact, his pupils blew wider, and he gave a deep, utterly wrecked groan.
Dean remembered Cas's reaction when he'd caught Dean jerking off in the shower. "You like this?" he asked. The seductive tone he was going for was spoiled by a breathless squeak on the last word as Cas hit his prostate with the force of a punch, but Dean rallied. "You like watching me touch myself?"
Cas didn't answer with words, but his eyes stayed fixed on Dean's groin. Dean began to move his hand, stroking up and down and twisting his wrist, his movements smooth and practiced. Cas's rhythm stuttered and then slowed to match Dean's strokes. He wasn't thrusting anymore so much as rocking, hypnotized by what Dean was doing.
"I used to do this a lot before we started fucking," Dean said, getting into the dirty talk for real once he'd caught his breath a bit. "I'd touch myself and imagine you touching me. And after our first time, when I thought you'd never touch me again, I'd think about the way you looked that night, the way you moved inside me, the noises you made. And I'd get so hard I couldn't not touch myself."
Cas made a strangled noise halfway between a groan and a whimper. Then he abruptly rocked back on his knees, pulling out of Dean completely. Before Dean could complain, Cas pulled him into a sitting position and encouraged Dean to straddle his lap. Seeing where he was going with this, Dean put his knees on either side of Cas's thighs and sank down on him. Cas worked a hand into the narrow space between their stomachs and began stroking Dean himself. Dean had to work harder in this position, and his legs and back quickly started to ache, but it was totally worth it to have Cas's hand on his cock.
"Love you so fucking much," he mumbled, kissing Cas's neck, his jaw, his mouth. Cas opened to him, wet and sloppy, too distracted by his building orgasm to worry much about technique. Dean slid his tongue in and out of Cas's mouth, imitating the motion of Cas's cock inside him.
When they climaxed seconds apart, they were both trembling from exertion, chilly sweat trickling down their skin to mingle with their warm come. Cas stroked Dean through his orgasm, and Dean clenched around Cas, milking every last drop out of him.
"Holy shit, that was good," Dean said when he remembered how to breathe. "We should fight more often."
"Or we could skip the fighting and just have really good sex," Cas said. His wings draped limply over his shoulders like a feathered cape.
"Or that," Dean agreed. He climbed off Cas and they both collapsed sideways across the bed. Dean rolled them up in blankets that smelled like dust and sex. The piles of books surrounding the bed seemed like the walls of a fortress, creating a sense of safety and privacy. In here they didn't have to censor their every word and movement, resist the instinctive, almost magnetic pull towards each other. In here they could just do what came naturally.
Dean snuggled close to Cas and didn't even care that he'd just thought of it as snuggling. Call a spade a spade. "God, I love that look on you," he said.
"What look?" Cas asked without opening his eyes.
"Fucked out. You look like a giant, milk drunk puppy."
Cas wrinkled his nose at the comparison but apparently didn't have the energy to actually take offense. He trailed his fingers lazily over Dean's skin and Dean felt the clammy stickiness of drying sweat and semen disappear. He felt like he'd just taken a shower except his hair wasn't wet. "Thanks," he murmured into Cas's skin which also felt cleaner than it had a minute before.
"What if I took you back in time?" Cas said with no preamble.
"No," Dean said just as abruptly. He'd already considered that. "The last trip nearly killed you. If I'm not allowed to risk my life over this, then neither are you."
Cas sighed, his chest rising and falling under Dean's head, but didn't argue.
Dean really wanted to fall asleep like this, but responsibilities called, and he'd never learned how to ignore them. "I should go relieve Sam of babysitting duty," he said, making a halfhearted attempt to sit up.
Cas tugged him back down, mumbling, "Five more minutes."
Dean laughed and surrendered. The nest of blankets was very warm, and the rest of the room felt frigid by comparison. He burrowed a little deeper and listened to the steady drumming of Cas's heart.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas said after a while. The vibration of his voice in his ribs tickled Dean's ear.
"I know," Dean said.
"Do you? Because every time we argue, I sense that you think I'm on the verge of leaving you. We can disagree and still love each other."
"I know," Dean said again. "It's just …" Everyone leaves eventually. That's how it's always been. "Shit, Cas, I'm screwed up, okay? I had a screwed up childhood, and I've got abandonment issues. Sue me."
"I understand that, Dean," Cas said with a hint of a smile in his voice. "That's why I'm telling you this. And I will continue to tell you until you believe me. I love you, and I will never leave you by choice. If you want to stay "in the closet" as you put it forever, then I will stay there with you."
"I don't want that," Dean said, and just like when he'd said, I want to live, he was a little surprised by how true it was. "I want to tell Sam. And Bobby too. Hell, even Adam. I want to kiss you in front of everyone and show you that I'm not ashamed of you, of us. But I'm … I'm scared, Cas."
"Of what?" Cas asked, his fingers stroking absentmindedly through Dean's hair.
Dean kept his head down. Conversations like this were always easier without eye contact. "I don't know. Maybe you were right. Maybe that stupid promise is just an excuse. Maybe I just don't want to admit to myself that this is what I am. I'm …" He swallowed and forced the words out. "I'm gay. No two ways about it. 'Cause sure I like women, but I like men better, and I like you better than I've ever liked anyone. And even before I met you, if there'd been some reason why I could never sleep with a woman again, only men for the rest of my life, I would have said, 'Fine. Whatever.' It's like if someone told me I could never eat cake again, but I could have as much pie as I wanted. But if it was the other way around and I could only have cake for the rest of my life, I think I'd go crazy. I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about pie."
He bit his tongue to stop the flow of words. It was like those first two had broken a dam inside him. He hadn't even realized he was thinking all that, but now he was pretty sure he'd been thinking it for years. And now that it was out in the world, even if the world only consisted of Cas at the moment, he felt … better. Free of some subtle, almost imperceptible discomfort. He picked up his head and grinned at Cas. "Whoa. I think I just had an epiphany."
"I think you did," Cas said, smiling back.
"Still not ready to tell Sam."
"I didn't expect so."
"But maybe I'm getting there."
Cas patted Dean's cheek. "Baby steps."
"Fuck you," Dean retorted with no actual annoyance whatsoever.
Cas shifted under him and said regretfully, "I don't think we have time."
"Rain check, then." When Cas frowned in confusion, Dean added, "That means later." He leaned in for a last kiss but was careful to keep it chaste, knowing Cas's above average stamina.
They reluctantly left their warm cocoon and put on their scattered clothes as quickly as possible. The bed was a debauched mess, and Dean made a mental note to wash the sheets. Probably should have done that after the last time, but he'd gotten distracted. Good thing Bobby was too antisocial to have many guests.
As he worked out a plan for getting the sheets from the bedroom to the laundry room without anyone seeing him, and a plausible lie he could tell if he was caught, Dean once again got the feeling that he was covering up a crime. The warm glow of his epiphany faded. Fuck, he really needed to sort his life out. This shit would not be funny anymore when he was forty.
Always assuming he lived that long.
~o0o~
Adam was a model prisoner right up until Dean left the room. (With Cas. Sam hoped they were going to have make up sex because that would put Dean in a good mood which would make him much more helpful.) As soon as Dean and his gun were out of sight, Adam started inching toward the door. He did it subtly, heading through the kitchen as though he was just looking for something to eat. Is lying and sneaking around a genetic trait too? Sam wondered. He waited until Adam had his hand on the knob of the back door before looking up from his book and saying, "Going somewhere?"
Adam jumped and turned, looking more frustrated than guilty. For a moment Sam had the strangest sense of deja vu, like he was replaying a scene from his childhood, except this time he was acting in the role of John Winchester. It was not a comfortable feeling.
"You gonna threaten to shoot me too?" Adam asked with equal parts insolence and actual fear.
"Do I need to?" Sam countered.
Adam glared at him a moment longer. Then the boy's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"There's beer in the fridge," Sam said. "And food if you're hungry. Help yourself."
It was a pitiful peace offering, but Adam accepted it. He fixed himself a sandwich, opened a beer, and sat down across from Sam. "So what was he like?" he asked conversationally. "Our dad?"
Sam blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in Adam's mood. God, the kid was so much like Dean it was scary. "Well, you knew him too," Sam hedged. He never liked talking about his father. His feelings towards the man were confused at best, even more so now he knew about Dean and the fear and shame John had ingrained in his elder son because of something Dean had no choice in.
Adam shook his head. "Not really. He showed up once a year, took me to a ball game, bought me ice cream, and asked how I was doing in school. He was like a cool uncle, not a real dad."
Sam did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he said, "Trust me, it was better that way. He was … Well, he wasn't a bad father exactly. He was trying his best, and I guess he got a few things right, but … With us he wasn't really a dad either. He was more like a drill sergeant, always barking orders and dragging us from one town to the next, wherever the job took him."
"Do you know how full of shit you are?"
Sam looked at Adam blankly, caught off guard again. "What?"
"I had my mom," Adam said flatly. "That was it. And she worked the graveyard shift at the hospital, so I came home to an empty house. I pretty much raised myself. Cooked my own dinner, put myself to bed. So what if Dad was demanding and difficult to get along with? At least he was there."
Before Sam could think of a reply, a gruff voice behind him said, "He really wasn't." Dean came into the room and sat down next to Sam. His body language practically screamed just had sex. His movements were loose and fluid, the tension gone from his shoulders, and there was something peaceful in his expression. Sated was the only word for it. Sam also noticed that he winced slightly when he made contact with the chair, and oh God, that was way more than Sam ever wanted to know about his brother's personal life. "Why don't you tell him the rest of it, Sam?" Dean said, fixing Adam with a half pitying, half mocking stare.
"Dean," Sam said warningly. He wasn't sure what Dean thought this would accomplish, but they had traumatized the kid enough for one day.
Dean turned to look at Sam. "You want him to be part of the family, don't you?" he said. "You do. I know you. You look at him the same way you looked at that stray puppy you brought home when you were eight."
"He's not a puppy, Dean. He's our brother," Sam snapped.
"Exactly. And he deserves the whole truth."
There was a vicious irony to that, and something made Sam think that Dean wasn't unaware of it. "Dean," he tried again. He was going to say, If there's something you want to tell me, just tell me. Don't take it out on the kid.
But before he could get the words out, Dean said, "Fine. I'll tell him." He turned back to Adam who looked a little frightened. Of Dean, or of what he was about to hear, or both, Sam wasn't sure. "See, we grew up the same way you did." Dean's tone was suddenly almost kind. "Cooked our own meals, did our own laundry. But we didn't have a house or even an apartment. We lived in motel rooms and rented cabins in the backwoods. We didn't have any friends except each other because we moved every couple months. And Dad …" Dean's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Dad was gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. He'd leave us a loaded shotgun and some money for emergencies, but sometimes he was gone longer than he planned. Sometimes the money ran out before he got back. Sometimes the food ran out too, and then … Well, I did what I had to do."
Sam closed his eyes. Yes, he remembered all the times Dean had miraculously produced more cash just when things were getting desperate. In the beginning he'd believed the lies about raking leaves and washing cars. After he found a handful of crumpled fifties in Dean's jeans adding up to almost four hundred dollars, he'd stopped asking questions and just prayed that Dean wouldn't get himself killed trying to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.
"But in a way, it was worse when Dad was around," Dean went on, showing Adam no mercy. "He drank too much. He yelled. He never hit us, but my God, the man could bellow loud enough to make your ears ring. And anything could set him off. He flipped out when Sam wanted to go to college. He flipped out when I …"
Sam's eyes flew open and he looked at Dean who wasn't looking at him or Adam but was staring at his own hands. For a moment Sam was sure he was going to say it. He could see Dean teetering on the brink, working up the courage to jump. But then Dean closed his eyes, closed his mouth, and slouched back in the chair. He looked simultaneously like an old man and a little kid. "He wasn't a good father," he finished with a leaden finality. "And staying out of your life was probably the best parenting decision he ever made. I envy you that more than the baseball games."
Adam looked shell shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
In the end it was Dean who broke the heavy silence. "You should get some sleep, Sam," he said. "You look beat. I'll watch the kid."
Sam hesitated, a little nervous about leaving Dean alone with Adam.
Dean guessed what he was thinking and smirked. "I won't shoot him. Promise."
"And you keep your promises," Sam said before he could stop himself.
Dean tensed, sensing immediately where this was going. "Sam—"
"What did you mean, Cas would know that better than anyone? And what did you mean, you were going to surrender for Cas? Because clearly he didn't ask you to do that. He was furious when you left. I've never seen him so angry. Not at you anyway. But then you showed him that paper, and he dragged you off for a private chat, and suddenly you're back on our side."
"I was never off your side," Dean groaned. "How many times do I have to explain this?"
"You haven't explained it once. Not really. What happened to brothers deserve the whole truth?"
Dean put his hands over his face, and for a second Sam thought he was hiding tears, but his voice was steady if slightly muffled when he said, "I can't, Sam. I want to tell you, but I can't."
"Why not?" Sam demanded. Dean had come so close to telling him everything. What had stopped him?
Dean dropped his hands and looked Sam dead in the eye. "Because I'm. Not. Ready," he said. He didn't shout, but he leaned a little closer to Sam with each word, getting in his face. "Because I'm an adult, and I'm entitled to keep a secret if it's not something people need to know." Despite his aggressive posture, Dean didn't seem angry. His eyes were pleading with Sam to understand.
And Sam did. He didn't know how Dean's relationship with Cas figured into the whole Michael situation, but clearly it did somehow, and Dean felt that he couldn't explain his reasons without outing himself and Cas with him (although Sam didn't think angels could be gay or straight since they had no gender). And Dean wasn't ready to do that.
Sam stood up because it freed Dean from the obligation to make eye contact and what Sam was about to say bordered on chick flick territory. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder and looked down at the top of his brother's head. "I could never hate you, you know," he said quietly. "You're my brother. No matter what you tell me or don't tell me, that will never change."
Dean relaxed a little under his touch, and Sam thought he heard a small sigh of relief, but all Dean said was, "Go get some sleep, bitch."
Adam, who was watching the conversation with a kind of confused fascination as though he had turned on the TV in the middle of a really intense soap opera, probably thought it was a rude dismissal of Sam's heartfelt declaration. But Sam knew what Dean really meant. I love you too. Now go away before I get an overdose of feelings and start puking rainbow glitter.
"Jerk," Sam said reflexively, and gave his brother a playful shove.
Dean smiled like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
~o0o~
Dean and Adam sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Adam finished his food slowly, using it as an excuse to keep his eyes down. Dean could tell the kid was scared of him, thought he was a bully at best and a psychopath at worst. And Dean knew he could be both those things on his worst days. Days when memories of Hell and Alistair boiled close to the surface, and he had to find some vamp or ghoul to kill because if he didn't he'd stab the first person who looked at him funny. But he hadn't had one of those days in a long while, not since he started sleeping with Cas, and some small, uncalloused part of him wanted Adam to stop looking at him like that. He wanted to say, I'm just trying to protect you. I'm your big brother. But he knew Adam wouldn't believe it. Not yet. He didn't know Dean.
So instead Dean said, "I know why I was gonna whore myself out to the angels, but what's your grand prize? And don't give me some bullshit about saving the world. I know that look. This is personal. What did they offer you?"
Adam was silent for so long that Dean gave up on getting an answer. But then he said quietly, "My mom. If I play my part, Michael will bring my mom back to life too."
"Ah." It was more of a weary sigh than a word. "Now I know you're a real Winchester. We've all made that deal at least once."
Adam blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you think you're the only one in this family who's died and come back? Dad sold his soul to a demon to bring me back from the dead. Then I sold mine to bring back Sam."
"Then you're a hypocrite for expecting me not to do this. Aren't angels at least better than demons?"
Dean laughed bitterly. "You'd think, but no. See, demons never break a contract. They can't. It's part of their basic nature. But there's no such rule about angels. They are the most untrustworthy sons of bitches in the universe."
"You trust Cas," Adam pointed out.
"Cas is different."
"Why? Because he's screwing you?"
Dean went cold. He felt the blood drain from his face. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, low and dangerous. He didn't actually mean it as a flat out denial. He meant, Cas isn't just screwing me. He's loving me. He's saving me. He's making me feel safe and whole and human for the first time in I don't know how long.
But Adam didn't know Dean like Sam did. He couldn't hear the words beneath the words. "I think I do," he said, his eyes glittering with the triumph of a victim who finally has the bully at his mercy for a change. "I saw the way you look at him. If you're not fucking him, then you wish you were."
"Shut. Up," Dean ground out between his teeth.
And again Adam missed the signals that Sam would have picked up on at once. The way Dean's hands clenched, the way he hunched his shoulders like a bull about to charge. Adam didn't realize how close he was to the thin line between pissed-off-but-still-somewhat-reasonable Dean and I'm-going-to-show-you-the-color-of-your-own-insides Dean. So he kept pushing. "I mean, I never paid much attention in Sunday school, but I'm pretty sure that's at least two different kinds of wrong. Would Michael even want you to be his vessel if he knew how perverted you are?"
Dean hauled Adam out of his seat and slammed him against the wall so fast the boy had no time to fight back. Once he processed what was happening, Adam began to thrash and kick, but he had half Dean's strength and none of Dean's training. The effortlessness with which Dean held him added a generous layer of insult to the injury.
"I'm gonna say this once," Dean growled, bringing his mouth close to Adam's ear. "You may be my brother, but you are not Sam, and you haven't earned the right" — he emphasized the word by shaking Adam so hard his teeth rattled — "to judge me. You bring up my relationship with Cas again, and I'll make you wish you were still dead. Do you understand?"
"Dean! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Dean ignored Bobby and repeated louder, "Do you understand?"
"Y-yes," Adam stammered, his whole body gone stiff with terror.
Dean let him go so abruptly that Adam slumped forward without Dean's grip to hold him up. Without another word, Dean turned, brushed past Bobby without looking at him, and made it all the way to the bathroom before he started shaking.
He locked the door, braced himself on the edge of the sink, and took deep, gulping breaths, fighting the urge to be sick or scream or both. He hadn't felt that kind of blinding, all consuming rage in a while, and he knew that if Adam had had just a little more fight in him, it wouldn't have ended with a few bruises and a threat.
There was a soft knock on the door, and a gravelly voice said, "Dean?"
He considered telling Cas to go away. He wasn't sure if the angel actually would. He wasn't even sure if he wanted him to.
"Dean, I can teleport you know. I'm only asking you to open the door as a courtesy."
Well, that answered one question. He unlocked the door and opened it an inch. Cas pushed it open the rest of the way, then closed it again behind him. The bathroom was small, more of a washroom really, just big enough for a toilet, a sink, and one person. One of Cas's wings passed through the sink. But Dean didn't feel crowded or trapped. That answered the other question. Of course he wanted Cas here. He always wanted Cas here.
"What happened?" Cas asked. "Bobby says you attacked Adam." It wasn't an accusation. Cas was just informing Dean of what had been said so that Dean could either confirm or deny it.
Dean nodded and sat down on the toilet lid. "He knows about us. He figured it out just from watching us."
"So you intimidated him into keeping it a secret?"
"No. I …" But that was exactly what he'd done even if it hadn't been his intention. He'd just wanted to stop Adam from twisting it into something it wasn't, but he'd probably scared the kid so bad that Adam really would never mention it again. And so Dean's secret was safe, and Adam was inducted into the Winchester legacy of lies. "He said things," Dean defended himself feebly. "He said it was wrong and perverted, and it was like I could hear my dad yelling at me again, and I … I lost my temper, Cas. I'm sorry."
Cas crouched down so he wasn't looming over Dean. "I'm not the one you owe an apology to," he said, his soul gazing stare piercing Dean but still giving no indication that it was disappointed by what it saw.
Dean nodded, looking away before he drowned in those eyes. "I know. But I don't think he'd believe me right now."
"Probably not," Cas agreed. "Give him some time. You know, Dean, it's possible he didn't really believe the things he said. You, um … You haven't been very nice to him."
Dean snorted at Cas's polite phrasing. "You can say it. I've been a dick."
"You've been a dick," Cas amended. "Perhaps he just wanted to lash out at you, find some way to hurt you."
"Maybe." Dean couldn't remember now if Adam had seemed genuinely disgusted. His memory was clouded by the red haze of anger. "And if he really thinks those things?"
"Then he is the one who is wrong."
Cas said it so simply and with such perfect certainty that Dean couldn't help but smile. He rested his head against the angel's and closed his eyes. He felt Cas take his hands and only realized they were still shaking when Cas squeezed gently and they stopped.
"I thought …" Dean said, still looking into the darkness behind his eyelids, "I thought I was almost ready. I thought I just needed a little more time, but now … I don't even really care what Adam thinks of me, and still when he said those things … If Sam or Bobby said those things to me, I couldn't take it."
"I highly doubt that they will."
"But you don't know. That's the scary part, Cas. You never know how people will react. I've known a few people who liked me perfectly well until they found out I slept with guys, and then they turned on me like I was a … a baby killing devil worshiper or something. You never know until you tell them, and then you can't take it back, and you just have to live with the consequences. I can't … I can't lose my family, Cas. I'm sorry."
Cas let go of one of Dean's hands and cupped his cheek. "You don't ever have to apologize for being afraid, Dean. I know how important your family is to you. I would never ask you to give that up for me."
"You're important to me too." Not more or less but equally, and that was what was tearing Dean apart. He needed both, and he couldn't figure out how to have both except in this weird limbo.
"I know that," Cas said. "And I told you I'm not going anywhere."
"But it's hurting you." Dean lifted his head and opened his eyes. "And don't tell me you were drunk when you said that because I know all about drunk, and believe me, that's when the truth comes out. All the things you think but don't say because it's not polite or it's embarrassing or it's too personal. You said the secrets and the lies were hurting you. You said you felt like my loyalty to my dad meant more to me than my love for you."
Cas winced. "I think I actually said worse than that, and I'm sorry, Dean."
"I don't want an apology, Cas. I want the truth. Do you really think you can keep doing this forever, or are you just trying to convince yourself you can because you want to be with me and I'm too screwed up to get my shit together?"
Cas stared at Dean for a long moment, and Dean knew from his expression that he hadn't actually thought about it until now. Finally he said very quietly, "I don't know."
Dean sighed. "Well, at least that was honest."
"Not very helpful though," Cas said, looking down at the slightly grimy tile floor.
"But honest," Dean insisted. "Honesty is the basis of a healthy relationship, and yes, I know that sounds like a bad joke when I'm the one saying it."
Cas's mouth quirked in a slightly bitter smile. "What about you, Dean?" he asked, raising his head again to meet Dean's eyes. "How long do you think you can keep up this charade before it destroys you?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know."
Cas laughed, a short huffing sound that was one part amusement and two parts frustration. "Well, this has been a productive conversation."
"It really has," Dean said with no trace of sarcasm.
Cas frowned at him, confused.
Dean ticked off points on his fingers. "We've established that we have to come out eventually or it's going to drive us both insane. We've established that my promise to my dad is irrelevant and the real reason I don't want to tell Sam is that I'm scared he'll hate me."
"He could never hate you," Cas interrupted.
"Yeah, he said the same thing. Like, less than an hour ago."
"But you don't believe him?"
"Oh, I believe that he thinks he could never hate me. But like I said, I won't really know until it's all out in the open and there's no going back. And," — Dean held up a third finger — "we've established that we don't know how much time we have before one of us cracks, so the sooner I work up the courage to jump off that high dive the better. See? That's three things we figured out that we didn't know before. Very productive conversation."
Cas tilted his head and gave Dean a searching look. "You really don't mind breaking your promise?"
Dean thought about it. Really thought about it for the first time. He'd been tempted to break it many times even before Cas came into the picture, but something always held him back. He'd told himself it was that your-word-is-your-bond thing that Dad had drilled into him. Once you broke one promise, you'd break others, and soon your promises would be worthless, just empty words. But he'd broken a promise once before, hadn't he? He'd promised to kill his brother if it looked like Sam was going dark side, but when the moment came, he couldn't do it. And that had literally been the end of the world, or at least the beginning of the end, but still he didn't regret it. Not for a second. He'd do it again because some promises weren't worth the pain they caused. If everyone kept every stupid promise they ever made, most people would die with a lot of regrets.
"I was a kid," Dean said finally. "I was scared and confused and I just wanted … I just wanted him to stop yelling. I would have done anything to make the yelling stop. That's not a real promise. That's blackmail."
To his credit, Cas did not say I told you so.
~o0o~
Three hours later Dean and Sam were in Van Nuys. This should have been impossible given the distance between South Dakota and California, but they had an angel on their side. Unfortunately there were at least six other angels between them and the room where Adam was being held.
"For the record, I really hate this plan," Dean said. He had his back turned and his eyes tightly closed while Sam carved an Enochian banishing sigil into Cas's chest with a pocket knife. Cas had asked Dean to do it, and Dean had tried, but at Cas's first stifled cry of pain, he'd lost his nerve and handed the blade to Sam. If Sam found it odd that Dean, who had never been squeamish about blood and who routinely cut himself when blood was required for a ritual, couldn't even watch Cas getting cut, he didn't say anything.
"So do I," Cas said, and Dean could hear him wince slightly between words. "But I have a better chance of surviving this than either of you."
The plan, if it could even be called that since it had been concocted in about five minutes and had more holes than a sieve, was for Cas to hide the sigil under his shirt, draw as many angels as he could in close, then activate the sigil and blow them away. Of course that would also transport him away and weaken him enough that he wouldn't be able to fly for a while, so Dean and Sam would have to take care of any remaining angels on their own and rescue Adam who might not want to be rescued. But none of that was bothering Dean half as much as the fact that Cas was bleeding and in pain and about to risk his life to fix Dean's mistakes. If he hadn't lost his temper and scared Adam, then maybe Adam wouldn't have tipped off the angels to get away, and none of this would be necessary.
"Okay. That should do it," Sam said.
Dean heard the whispery sound of fabric as Cas buttoned up his shirt, but still he didn't turn around. He knew that if he looked at Cas right now, he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to kiss the angel breathless just because it might be his last chance. And if it turned out Sam wasn't okay with it, and then Cas d— didn't come back, that might actually kill Dean. He wasn't sure if he'd kill himself or just find a way to get himself killed, but losing both of them at the same time would break something inside him that would never heal.
Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder, but Cas didn't force him to turn or circle around him. Maybe he knew why Dean wasn't looking, or maybe he didn't trust himself either. "Call me when you land," Dean said. He wished he had a code with Cas like he did with Sam, some way of saying I love you without needing to actually say it.
"Of course," Cas said. His hand moved to rest on the back of Dean's neck. It was an almost parental gesture, something Bobby might have done, except Bobby's touch wouldn't have sent shivers down Dean's spine and made his skin tingle like there was an electric current running through every nerve. He was acutely aware of how soft Cas's hands were, no scars or callouses. He knew that was because of angel healing powers and not because Cas had never been in a fight, but it still made Cas seem vulnerable, innocent. "Be careful," Cas said.
Dean snorted. "Have you met me?"
"Yes," Cas said matter-of-factly. "That's why I'm telling you. Be careful."
Dean nodded, unintentionally rubbing his neck against Cas's hand. "I'll try," he said.
He could hear the slight smirk in Cas's voice when the angel said, "Well, at least that was honest."
The hand fell away, and Dean instantly wanted it back. Wanted it so badly that for a moment he thought he might actually cry like he had when he was three and his mother took away his favorite blanket because it needed to be washed. But he got himself under control and turned in time to see Cas's trench coat disappear through the door of the abandoned factory.
Sam was giving him a strange look. It was puzzled and almost … pitying.
"What?" Dean said, making a conscious effort not to snap. He'd already alienated one brother today. He didn't want to collect the full set.
Sam shook his head. "Sometimes I really don't get you, man."
"What's there to get?" Dean said flippantly. "I ain't exactly complicated."
"Yes, you are," Sam said, and he said it fondly, the same way he automatically contradicted Dean whenever Dean claimed not to be smart. "You are a fucking onion." When Dean gave him a what-the-fuck-does-that-mean look, he clarified, "Layers."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously quoting Shrek at me right now?"
"Are you admitting to having watched Shrek?"
"Everyone's watched Shrek. It's got Eddie Murphy in it. He's hilarious."
Sam smiled. "Like I said. Layers."
The familiar banter actually soothed Dean's nerves. They'd been having arguments like this since Sam learned to talk. Arguing wasn't even the right word for it. They were only disagreeing to keep the conversation going, to keep hearing each other's voices. But then Sam's tone turned serious, and he said, "Did you mean what you said before about Dad?"
Dean's insides squirmed uncomfortably, urging him to run away, but he was trying out this whole emotional honesty thing, and it was actually going good so far. He'd talked to Cas about all kinds of shit that he'd never said out loud before, and he always felt better for it. So maybe it would work with Sam too. Maybe if he talked to Sam about other things, he could gradually work his way up to what he really needed to say. "Yeah, I did," he said, keeping his eyes on the door Cas had disappeared through. Watching for an attack, he told himself. Gotta stay on guard. Avoiding eye contact is just a bonus.
"It's just that I've never heard you talk like that before," Sam said, and Dean knew without looking that he was wrinkling his nose like he always did when he was puzzling through something, be it a confusing case or the thorny, booby trapped labyrinth of Dean's emotions. "I've said those things, but you always defended Dad, said he was doing his best."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe he was. Doesn't change the fact that he screwed us up pretty bad. Even Adam. None of us will ever have a normal life. Especially me."
Sam turned his head so sharply that Dean saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. "Why especially you? What makes you more screwed up than me?"
Dean laughed. "Seriously, Sam? You came so close to normal you could touch it. What you had with Jessica … I've never had that, never even wanted it." Until now.
"There are a lot of ways to be normal, Dean," Sam said. "Just because you don't want a wife and kids … That doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."
Dean glanced sideways at his brother. Had he meant that the way it sounded, or was Dean just hearing what he wanted to hear? Before he could think of an answer, pain shot through him, radiating out from his shoulder. For a second he thought he'd actually been shot.
"Dean!" Sam shouted in alarm as Dean collapsed with an incoherent cry of agony.
"Fuck," Dean choked, clutching his shoulder. "Burns." It felt like a white hot brand was being pressed to his skin.
"Let me see," Sam said, pushing Dean's hand away and peeling back the sleeve of his t-shirt. The handprint scar was livid red and puffy like it had been two years ago when it was fresh. Sam touched it gently, and Dean flinched, but it was a reflex. The touch didn't make it hurt any more than it already did, and it didn't give him that violated feeling he'd gotten from Sophia. Apparently he had no problem with Sam touching his soul which was … Well, duh, for one thing, and also not something he wanted to think about too much. "Sorry," Sam said, assuming from Dean's reaction that the touch had hurt.
"It's okay," Dean said. The pain was already fading. Dean poked at the scar himself. It was a little warmer than the rest of his skin but not fever hot. He tried to sense some difference, something that would tell him if Cas was … But he'd never really noticed how it felt except when Cas touched it. Then it felt like eating pie and having an orgasm at the same time, except not as weird as that sounded. It felt like his every want and need was being satisfied without him having to do anything at all, like he had nothing to worry about because he was taken care of in every possible way. But right now it just felt like a scar. Not painful, not pleasurable, not anything. And he had no idea what that meant.
"I think …" Sam said slowly.
Dean closed his eyes and willed Sam not to say it.
"I think we're up."
God bless his emotionally literate brother. Or somebody bless him anyway, somebody who cared.
As they drew the angel blades they'd brought with them and headed inside, Dean sent a silent prayer to the only being in the universe he had ever prayed to. Cas, don't be dead. Please, please, baby, don't be dead.