It hadn't been easy, salting and burning Jenine, even as she struggled and screamed, first in one guise, then another. Sam winced when the glasses appeared, and he thought he would lose Cas when the scuffed boots appeared. Somehow they managed it, though, and shoveled what remained of her dessicated corpse under the ground.
Finished, Sam brushed sweat away from his eyes, aware that he was probably leaving a streak of dirt in its place. Chest heaving, he turned to the former angel, a tired smile on his face.
"So," he said. "What do you think of your first salt and burn?"
Cas raised flat blue eyes. "It seems unnecessarily loud," he said simply.
Sam laughed, shrugged. "Yeah, well, welcome to the life of a hunter. Come on, let's go get something to drink."
They drove to the first bar they could find, poorly lit and filled with smoke. Sam parked the Impala far from the entrance, and they walked in, side by side. Sam ordered a beer, Castiel a simple Coke.
After the drink they hustled some pool, made some cash to pay for another night at the motel. Drove home in near silence, Jeff Buckley on the radio.
Sam had known that it would be hard, after the Apocalypse. He hadn't been stupid, hadn't assumed that the world would just go back to normal. They'd defeated Babylon, but Death was still stalking the world. And from the way Cas kept looking up at the sky, Sam had the definite impression that a hunt for God was on it's way.
"Did you speak truth?" Castiel had asked him that night, even as they buried the pathetic smears that were all that was left of poor Becky and Chuck. If ever there had been inappropriate vessels for archangels, it had been those two, burned nearly to a crisp. Sam felt a little guilty about that. Becky had been a sweet girl, a dedicated fan and Chuck. . .well, Chuck had been a friend.
They walked inside, quiet and pensive, still trembling from the events. The both avoided the room in which they had laid Dean's body – still breathing, heart still beating, but no sign of waking. Sam knew that they shouldn't hope for him to wake. He'd been an imperfect vessel, after all. It was a miracle that he hadn't imploded like those who came before.
"About God?" Sam nodded. "Yeah. I can't believe that He's just alive and well, watching all of this. I don't know what happened to Him, but. . .yeah. I think He needs help."
Castiel had paused a moment, seemed to take it in. Finally said, in a low voice "I cannot aid in their search. I cannot help anyone."
Sam had put a hand on the angel's shoulder, amazed that he was comforting Cas for once. "You're helping me," he said honestly. "Just by being here. No matter what happens with Dean, I know I'll get through it, this time. Because I have you."
Cas smiled at that, tremulous, teary, but smiling. For that one night he dropped his mask. Almost unvoluntarily, it seemed, his gaze drifted toward Dean's silent room.
"How did you know?" he'd asked. "How did you know that you would make imperfect vessels"
"Because of you," Sam had said honestly. "Because I knew that, somewhere along the road, you'd become my friend. And if I loved you, then obviously Dean loved you, too." Another beat and a pause. Sam squeezed the unresponsive shoulder. "He said yes to save you, you know."
"I know," Cas had said.
And so a day had passed. One day, being careful to stay together, so that even when Jenine did come down the stairs, they could stand her. She was in scuffed boots, of course. Sam clutched Cas' hands, thought it's not him knew that Cas knew it too.
A vetala's power, it turned out, was significantly weakened when that which was most desired laid just next door.
So in the morning they'd loaded up the Impala. Dean laid out in the back, Jenine next to him. Headed to a motel, dropped Dean off, and then driven to the cemetery. Jenine had been extremely complacent about everything, even helping to dig her own grave. She'd lost it, only then, begging not to be sent to Hell, not to be burned, alternating between Dean's voice and Jess's until her bones collapsed in fine ash.
And so back to the motel. Not expecting anything. Not waiting for anything. Death could wait another day, Sam thought. The world could wait another day. It had been a hard week. They'd earned a rest.
So the opened the motel room, not expecting anything. Certainly they did not expect to see a pudgy, blue-eyed, balding midget in a cheap suit.
"Zachariah," Cas said, bowing his head to the other angel, after first glancing toward Dean's still prone body. The angel stood up, spread his hands out, as if in supplication.
"Well," he said, a little laugh in his voice. "You boys did it. You stopped the Apocalypse. You said you were going to do it, and you do. I just came to throw in the towel. We're taking off."
"We?" Same asked, frowning.
"The angels," Zachariah said. "Sure, the big four have already popped off, but we're going to help, too. We all want the same thing, after all."
"Best of luck," Castiel said flatly. "We will pray for you."
"That's all that you wanted?" Sam asked suspiciously. "Just to come and say good-bye?"
"And to apologize," the angel said. "Which we angels probably don't do as often as we should. We really fucked up you boys' lives, and, as it turns out, we didn't even have to."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. He sat down wearily. Probably he should be pissed off. Probably he should be raging at the angel. It's what Dean would have done. But mostly he was just very, very tired, and very, very sad, and wanted it to be over. Wanted it to be just he and Cas on the roads. Saving people, hunting things. The family business.
"Well, look, just saying. . .I'm offering an olive branch here," Zachariah held out a hand. Sam refused to take it. "Fine," Zachariah said. "I'll just leave the olive branch on that bed over there."
Sam thought that he saw the angel smile, as he pointed at the worn comforter on which Dean lay. He might have just imagined it, though, as the man disappeared in a flapping of wings.
"Well," Sam said, standing up. "We'd better get some sleep. Hit the road early tomorrow, find Death before he ganks the rest of the world. Cas? You want first shower?"
Cas, however, had sat down beside Dean, rested his hand on the unconscious man's forehead. Sam made his way to the shower. Clearly the former angel needed a moment.
Before he'd even taken off his shirt, however, before he'd turned the water on, he heard a crashing sound from the room next door, a startled explanation. Honed reflexes kicking into overdrive, he dove back.
"Cas! What is it!"
"Samantha, put the gun down."
Impossibly, it was Dean who spoke, one eye just barely slitted open, staring across the room at his bewildered brother. Cas was pulling himself off the floor, where he had clearly fallen a moment ago.
Sam just smiled, tried to pretend it was nothing. Because really, in three days, he'd dealt with Dean's death three times. Enough was enough.
"Sleeping beauty finally decided to wake up?" he asked.
"Shut up, bitch."
"You shut up, jerk."
Castiel had finally finished standing up. He leaned over, engulfed Dean in a bone-crushing hug. Over the angels' back Dean raised both eyebrows, as though asking 'dude, what's up?' Sam just shrugged his shoulders. Cas released him, stood back.
"Sam and Dean Winchester," he said solemnly, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I love you." If his gaze lingered a little longer on Dean when he said it, nobody said anything.
Dean cleared his throat. "Look," he said. "I know you two are tired, but. . .I'll drive."
Sam smiled. Emotional moments, the surefire way to send Dean from a room. Dean, however, stopped at the door, clapped one hand on the doorframe, and swiveled around. "Don't take too long, bitch." Pause, beat. Dean turned to look Cas in the eye. "Dick," he said. A definite blush rose to his cheeks before he disappeared. A moment later heavy rock metal came blasting from outside, from the Impala no doubt.
Cas turned to Sam, a befuddled look on his face. "Why did Dean just insult me?" he asked.
Sam laughed. "He didn't," he said. "It's his way of saying, love you, too."
Cas didn't respond to that, though Sam was pretty sure that he saw smile curve the edges of the former angels mouth. Sam grabbed the two duffel bags he'd recently thrown on the ground, walked out the door.
One of the headlights was out on the Impala. Inside he could see the shadow of his brother, furiously playing air guitar. Behind him he felt the steady presence of a fallen angel.
It would be good to get back on the road again.
