A/N - Could not get this whole chapter done due to maximum chaos at work. But I got half of it done! And you know what it means when I can only get half a chapter done: it means both halves inevitably grow into full-size chapters.
The last traces of Calcariel's light trail faded away into the darkness.
Crowley broke the silence with, "Well, that wasn't a melodramatic temper tantrum at all. Wah, I lost, you all stink, I'm going to fling myself into the sun, and my elemental's going to eat your bridge too." He shrugged his shoulders, and looked around. Then he snapped his fingers, said, "Hey! I almost forgot!" and went trotting back down the trail.
Sarah tugged on Dean's sleeve and whispered "The tertials! Could Cas use them?"
Whoa. That was a thought. Could Calcariel's severed tertials could be useful? Maybe? Maybe not?
Who knew— but not if Crowley got them first.
Sarah zipped right past Crowley and started scooping up Calcariel's tertials, while Sam and Dean went limping after her (Sam with his bad knee, Dean with his increasingly sore ankle, and Cas trying to help them both). But Crowley didn't seem to notice what Sarah was doing. In fact he didn't seem headed for the tertials at all. Rather, he'd stopped at the line of boulders and was walking now to the biggest boulder on the end, the one he'd had the sledgehammer hidden behind. Crowley bent over behind that boulder and straightened up a moment later holding some kind of long, rectangular, shallow box.
It had a lid. It was a little hard to see (it was getting pretty dark now), but in the moonlight it seemed that the lid was covered with strange markings.
"This can't be good," whispered Sam. Dean and Cas nodded. Dean groped for his pistol automatically and then he remembered, belatedly, that Crowley still had Dean's pistol. Dammit.
Crowley was prying the lid off the box now.
"You still got your blade?" Dean muttered to Cas, who was close by his side. Cas gave a tiny nod, not taking his eyes off Crowley as he got the lid off. What was in the strange-shaped, shallow box? Some weapon Crowley had had all along? A cursed object? Some demon spell?
Crowley whipped the lid off the box with a dramatic flourish. "Ta-da!" he said. Dean inched closer, and saw that the box seemed full of...
"Cupcakes?" said Cas.
Crowley was holding a Tupperware pan full of cupcakes.
Along with an assortment of tiny whiskey minibar-bottles that were wedged into the sides of the pan.
Crowley explained, "It's to celebrate our year of working together on this case! And to celebrate our victory. Or, to celebrate our failure, if that's what it had come to. Either way I figured we might need a spot of refreshment."
"Our year... of... what?" said Sam, limping a little closer. Sarah was trailing along behind with her hands full of tertials now, both of them peering at Crowley's Tupperware container.
"I'm sorry," said Dean, "Did you say... working together?"
"Yes, don't you remember?" said Crowley. He gestured at the moon; it was rising higher in the sky now, round and full. Crowley said, "Today's the first full moon after the spring equinox! Which means it was one year ago exactly when that whole minotaur thing started, remember? First full moon after the equinox, last year! One year since I joined your team. Well, one lunar year, anyway— close enough."
Crowley plucked a cupcake out of the tray and bit into it with gusto, taking the entire frosting-covered top off in one big bite. He held the pan out to everybody else.
Dean and Sam looked at each other, and looked up at the moon.
First full moon after the spring equinox.
Crowley was right. It had been exactly a year ago (or, a "lunar year" apparently) when Sam and Dean had found the strange mask from Minoa. Which Dean had then idiotically smashed and burned, accidentally activating its ancient minotaur curse. A week later, on the night of the full moon, they'd both had a very disturbing dream of a huge, horned beast stalking through their memories, looking for memories of people that they loved most. That is... looking for targets to kill.
The minotaur had gone after Castiel immediately, of course, and Sam and Dean had had to race down to Crowley, in his basement cell, to beg for help.
Sam pulled Dean away a few steps to whisper, "It was a year ago, but... what is he talking about, about 'joining our team'? He sure as hell didn't join our team." Crowley was waving the pan of cupcakes around now at Castiel and Sarah, who were both shaking their heads uncertainly and making vague, noncommittal excuses, Cas saying, "Perhaps later," and Sarah saying, "I'd love to, but, I'm holding all these feathers."
Sam went on, in as soft a whisper as he could manage, "He was as unhelpful as possible. He made us forget Cas! And then he didn't tell us that Cas needed help! Or who Cas was! Or that we'd forgotten him!"
"Yeah," said Dean, "and Crowley's been a royal bastard since then, too. Sam. The whole time you were gone, Cas was stuck in the ether almost the entire time. Stuck there by himself. And Crowley knew and didn't tell me." Sam gave him a shocked look, and Dean turned to glare at Crowley, adding, "Is he up to something?
Crowley was pointing out something about the cupcake decorations to both Cas and Sarah, who were still awkwardly trying to decline.
They've got to be poisoned cupcakes, thought Dean. Or cursed cupcakes... or... they're minotaur-calling cupcakes or... something! WHAT'S HE UP TO?
"What the hell are you up to, Crowley?" said Dean at last. Sometimes it was easier just to ask.
Crowley blinked at him, cheeks bulging. He'd just taken another huge bite. He swallowed it down with a gulp and said, "I stashed 'em here earlier with the hammer. As soon as I saw where Cas had landed I realized this was where it was gonna go down. Though, I wasn't sure we were actually going to win, of course, but, I figured, if we won they'd be victory cupcakes, but if we lost they could be consolation cupcakes, right? Cupcakes for our last minute of life before the tsunami hit. Fairly good plan, hm? You know," he added, leaning a little toward Dean and dropping his voice to a confidential tone, "I really didn't know if this was going to work out for me. This being-a-good-guy thing, being on your side and helping you guys out and all. Kind of a new thing for me, y'know? Cause I usually work on my own. Bit of an adjustment, psychologically. But, it's worked out pretty well, don't you think? Besties forever, right? Now, I must point out the decorations. Like 'em? I had to practice for ages on the lid there to get the wings right." He grinned, holding out the Tupperware pan once more.
Dean inched closer to peer at the cupcakes uncertainly, too confused to even think straight. There had to be a catch. Sarah took out her phone and flicked her light app on so that they could get a better look.
It turned out all the cupcakes were decorated. With four types of decorations. About a quarter of the cupcakes had a pair of wings drawn on top in the black-and-white icing. One wing was drawn as broken in the middle— broken in a sort of festive cartoony way, complete with jaunty little dashes of red icing for blood drops. Another set of cupcakes had perky red devil horns. A third set were decorated with pairs of uneven yellow blobs that Dean decided must be moose antlers. And the rest just had a clumsily drawn bow-legged stick figure with the words "Not Moose" written below in wobbly icing.
"Oh, they're devil's food, by the way," added Crowley, "Sorry, Cas. I really can't stand angel-food." He added apologetically to Sarah, "And I didn't know you'd joined the gang. Do you have a nickname or something? A totem animal maybe?" He studied her a moment, muttering, "Red cross? Stethoscope? Here, I'll scrape off some of Paper-Airplane's cupcakes and we can make up a new design for you—"
"WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?" Dean roared, his patience suddenly snapping. "What do you mean you've been on our side? You've been messing with us all along! You let get Cas get his wing broken! You let us forget him! You didn't tell me he was stuck in the ether!"
Crowley blinked in surprise, and said, "But... I've been helping you all year! Dean... really? Think, lads." Crowley set down the cupcake-pan on top of the boulder and began ticking things off his fingers. "I decoded the minotaur mask for you. I gave you the spell to save Castiel's life! That was major! And at a bargain basement price. I knew already what Calcariel was doing, you see— because I'd already heard he'd bribed those two demons, and I could see which way the wind was blowing with that, because those particular two demons only knew a few useful things and one of them was how to call magma elementals. I could put two and two together, and I knew we'd need Cas in one piece sooner or later. So I helped you save Castiel from the minotaur. Then later I translated the ingredient you needed for the spell to break your memory-walls! And may I remind you, that was FOR FREE! It was FOR FREE! I never do things for free! Then, let's see, I found Castiel's grace. Also a bargain basement price. Then I saved Castiel's life here—"
"You gave his grace to ZIPHIUS! You let his wing get BROKEN!" hollered Dean, truly furious now. "HE BROKE HIS WING! HE NEARLY DIED!" Cas put a hand on Dean's arm, and Dean had to force himself to settle down, still seething.
"I didn't know Ziphius was going to do that," said Crowley calmly. "I needed an angel's help to find the grace and that was the angel who was available. And in Zion, I was waiting just off to the side. I had a little spy up there, a little sparrow, that was reporting back to me. Didn't you see it fly over to me as soon as Cas's wing broke? To tell me what Ziphius had done to our favorite paper airplane? And the very second I heard what happened to dear little Cas here, I popped in and saved his life, didn't I? Stopped Ziphius from breaking Cas's other wing, didn't I? Then I stopped the bleeding! And I took the hammer! And freed the elemental! And later, Dean, I told you exactly how to get Castiel out of the ether, and if you didn't pay any attention to what I'd said, that's your own fault, now, isn't it? Also I nobly refrained from buying your soul when you were about to sell it for mere pennies on the dollar. Not that it's that much of a soul anyway, but, point is, I could have bought it but instead I took Castiel's rather pathetic counteroffer. Which, if you'll notice, not only gave me another weapon against Calcariel— that feather— but also resulted in protecting you from your own further idiotic deal-making impulses. SO." Crowley looked a little smug. "I've been pulling my weight."
Dean just stared at him for a moment.
"BUT SAM AND CAS NEARLY DIED!" roared Dean. "JUST NOW! You were hanging back watching!"
"Well, it's not like I'm omnipotent, Dean! I couldn't figure out a way to get close! Calcariel's a damn tricky adversary!" Then Crowley added, "And, yes, it was looking a little grim there for our little tandem flying pair here— so, yes, Dean, for a moment there I was thinking maybe we'd both have some extra cupcakes at the end of the evening, and that we'd have to eat them very fast. But, turns out it all worked out."
"You were actually trying to help us?" said Castiel, frowning at him. "All along?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" asked Crowley. He was starting to look a little confused.
"No," said Dean.
Sam asked, "Why on earth would you help us?"
"THINK, my benighted big galoot," said Crowley. "If Calcariel destroyed the world, then where would Hell get all its fresh new souls?" Crowley made an extravagant gesture toward the lights of San Francisco, spreading both arms wide. "Look at all those tasty, tasty souls out there! Who would I do my ten-year deals with if nobody's left alive to deal?" He turned toward Dean, lowering his arms, and said earnestly, "Hell needs Earth, Dean. Gotta have new souls coming in constantly. Lucifer had it all wrong, you know; the longer I run Hell, the more I realize a bountiful annual harvest of fresh souls from Earth is absolutely essential to keep Hell's whole economy ticking smoothly along. So I don't want the Earth destroyed any more than you do! I've been working with you all along! I thought you knew that! Didn't you know that?" He looked back and forth between Sam, Cas, and Dean, and said plaintively, "All year I've been one of the good guys! It was... a whole new thing I was trying! I've been devoted to this enterprise all year - one hundred percent devoted! One hundred percent!"
Dean glared at him, and Crowley added uncertainly, "Well, okay, at least eighty percent. Seventy at a minimum. But, come now, you can't tell me you didn't notice! I'm one of the gang! One of the good guys! Right?"
He paused, gazing at Dean almost woefully.
"Dean," Sam broke in. His voice sounded a little strained, and Dean glanced over to see that Sam was stifling a laugh. Sam said, "Dean, I think maybe this IS Crowley's idea of being a good guy. This was the best he could do."
"LYING to us?" said Dean, appalled. He looked back at Crowley. "Toying with us? Letting us erase Cas out of our minds for SIX MONTHS? Letting Cas NEARLY STARVE? Letting Cas go two months in the ether without telling me he was there? Letting Sam nearly plunge to his death in a forest fire? Letting—"
Crowley said, "Well, look, first off I can't fix everything. And second, you can't expect me to have no fun at all, now, can you? So you had a few glitches. So I might have been not instantly forthcoming with certain pieces of information. But I knew you'd all survive in the end. Or at least I was fairly sure." Another glare from Dean, and Crowley folded a little further, saying, "I was sort of sure. Okay, I wasn't actually sure at all. Anyway, it all worked out. Come on, boys, I did help in the end, didn't I?"
He picked up the plastic bin and waved it around at them. "Cupcake?" he said hopefully.
There was a bit of an awkward pause.
Castiel finally said, "Uh. Okay. I'll have a cupcake. Um... thank you... I guess... for... saving... one of my wings from being broken."
"Anytime," said Crowley cheerfully. "Here, try the wing ones, I decorated those myself."
Cas delicately plucked one of the wing-design cupcakes out of the tray. And then stood staring at it awkwardly, squinting at the broken-wing icing design. Crowley pushed the tray toward Sam, who said, "Um. Okay... thanks," He picked up a moose-antler cupcake and glanced over at Cas uneasily. Neither of them took a bite.
They both knew, as did Dean, that it could be dangerous to eat food offered by demons. There were just way too many old fairy-tales about that sort of thing.
Dean said, when the bin came around to him, "Gee, um, thanks, but, I'm not hungry right now... But thanks... I guess?"
Sarah said, "Hands still full of feathers here," before Crowley even got to her. Apparently she remembered some of the old lore herslef, for as soon as Crowley turned away from her she was frantically mouthing "DON'T EAT IT!" at Sam and Cas.
Crowley looked at Sam and Cas standing there staring uncertainly at their cupcakes, rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh and said, "Oh, come ON. You're not going to eat them, are you. In that case, give 'em back, there's no point in you just wasting them." He grabbed Sam's cupcake back and chucked it on top of all the others, and then plucked Cas's cupcake right out of his hands and took a big bite out of the top half (this seemed to be his standard method of eating a cupcake. Two bites: Top half, then bottom half). He devoured the little frosted wings in one go.
"More cupcakes for me, then," Crowley said around the cupcake bite. "It's been such a fun year. It really has been so nice feeling like part of the gang. You've all made me feel so welcome. But... you know... " He looked down at the tray of cupcakes, his eyes suddenly brightening, and said, "I have to confess, it has just occurred to me, just now, that, in general, I will get more cupcakes, and also more of these little whiskey botlles, if I don't have to share them around. And now the planet's been saved and Calcariel's finally gone... so... look... I hope I'm not hurting your feelings here, any of you, it's been great but, how about we all just go back to being enemies like usual."
He picked up his no-longer-flaming sledgehammer, tucked it under one arm, scooped up Calcariel's silver medallion as well ("Oh hey I'll just take this too, if you guys don't want it, you don't do you, thanks!"). Then he turned on his heel, waved at them all with a peppy, "Cheers lads, till next time!" and began walking briskly back up the trail.
"Wait!" Dean hollered after Crowley, limping a few steps after him. Dean had just remembered something. Something important. He yelled, "If you're not going to give us our cupcakes, AT LEAST GIVE ME BACK MY GUN!"
Crowley didn't even pause. But he nodded, reached in one pocket, and tossed the gun over his shoulder back at them. Everybody cringed as Dean's ivory-handled pistol sailed through the air, but fortunately it landed harmlessly in a clump of grass by the VW.
Crowley kept on walking. He gobbled down the rest of Cas's cupcake in one more bite, balled up its little paper lining and tossed it over his shoulder too. It bounced off the VW's back window and fell to the ground, and Crowley strolled away.
"He's a... litterer?" said Sarah. "The King of Hell took all the cupcakes ... and basically just stole that medallion... and is a litterer. I really should have known."
Dean limped over to the pistol and scooped it up. As he did so, he realized there were flickering lights up ahead. The trees way up toward the main road seemed to be flashing with red and white, and now Dean could hear the distant wails of sirens. Emergency vehicles, obviously; they were assembling around the ruined end of the bridge.
And a vehicle was coming down the road. Its headlights were swinging around the turns, the growl of an engine getting louder. The headlights drew closer, and closer; the lights were nearly at the final turn in the road; and then the headlights reached Crowley, who was just walking around the first turn with his sledgehammer and cupcakes. The vehicle pulled up next to him.
It was a white TV van bristling with antennas.
It paused by Crowley— apparently the people inside were asking him something— and Crowley leaned close to speak with someone inside, chucking another cupcake paper lining over his shoulder as he did so. Soon he was leaning with one elbow casually propped on the van's rearview mirror, and he seemed to be going into a speech. Dean could hear most of it from where he was standing:
"Ah, you're reporters? Why, yes, I did see what happened, I was standing right here the whole time, yes I can give you an interview. Bird? What bird? Oh, that was a seagull... A particularly stupid seagull in my opinion. Not flying very well, was it? Anyway what happened next was I fought off the plesiosaur myself with a sledgehammer that I just happened to be carrying with me. This sledgehammer right here! See, it's still wet from the salt water. Don't want to boast, but, you know how it is, it's during times like this, when you're having to defend the innocent population of your beloved city from a giant plesiosaur, that you find out what stuff you're really made of. So I gathered up all my courage and swung the hammer with all my might and... well, long story short, I did my best for my city, and it was quite a battle— I got flung into a tree, see, see this bruise here? See how my coat got ripped. Anyway I tried my best, I did try, and I think that's when the plesiosaur started to have second thoughts. Also I ended up with a perfect close-up view for the whole bridge destruction as well. And I was standing right by that meteor thing. Some kind of rocket, it looked like. Oh, interview? Really? Me? Little old me? Live national interview? Oh, international? You know... For a suitable price I might be able to give you an exclusive." (There was a little pause here.) "I'm sure we can work something out. Let's see, I think a suitable backdrop for an interview would be if we go back up the road and I stand outlined against the broken cable-stubs in the floodlights, maybe with some helicopters circling over my head, and I can be holding the hammer... let's go try that out and see if I look suitably dramatic. Oh, the cupcakes? Well... they're mine actually but... I might be willing to sell a few. They were for a bake sale. For charity. For my charity."
A door popped open, Crowley got inside, and the TV van maneuvered around in a clumsy five-point turn. They'd never gotten all the way around the turn in the road, and seemed to have not spotted the PT Cruiser or the VW at all. Soon the van disappeared back up the road.
Sarah and Sam were both laughing now. Even Cas had a faint smile on his face.
"Crowley," said Dean, shaking his head. He finally remembered to finish checking his pistol; it seemed undamaged.
"Sam may be right," said Castiel. "This whole year was probably Crowley's best attempt at being good."
Dean snorted. "And man, did he suck at it."
"Well, at least he did save my right wing," said Castiel. "I'm grateful for that much. Though I will say it would have been very much better if he could have saved the left one too." Cas ran one hand over his left wing as he spoke. It was doing a little better now, Dean saw. Still drooping somewhat, but no longer dragging on the ground.
"Cas," said Sam. Cas looked up at him as Sam limped closer.
"Your wing looks amazing! And... you flew, Cas," said Sam. "You flew."
"I did all your exercises," said Cas.
Sam went speechless. He stared at Cas for a long moment, and then reached out one hand and set it, very gently, on the upper edge of the left wing. Finally he took another step closer and folded his long arms around Cas, pulling Cas tight to his chest. Sam tucked his head down, hiding his eyes on Cas's shoulder.
"You heard me," Sam said.
Cas said, his voice muffled into Sam's shoulder, "Every word. Every night."
Sam let out a little gasp at this, and didn't say anything more for a moment.
Turned out Cas's wings had recovered enough now to be able to fold around Sam in a pretty decent two-winged hug.
A little choked sound from Sarah caught Dean's attention. He glanced over and saw she was wiping away tears as she watched Cas and Sam together. In a swell of sudden emotion, Dean hobbled over to give her a hug too.
Sarah gave a weak little laugh and managed to whisper to him, "Apparently every possible combination of people needs a hug."
"Yup," Dean said, squeezing tight. "And hey. By the way. Thanks for holding me back from the railing."
"I don't know if I was trying to hold you back or trying to go over with you, to be honest."
"Well, glad neither of us went over, then." Dean gave her one more squeeze, and stepped back to look at her. He glanced over at Cas and Sam— Sam was gently opening Cas's wing now, exclaiming at how far it opened, quizzing Cas about how sore it was from the flight, and saying things like "probably we should ice it tonight."
Dean said, "I'll bet a hundred bucks that you're going to be asked to consult on some minor-wing-muscle-strain treatments pretty soon." Sarah laughed, nodding, and Dean added, "But first we gotta get going. That TV van won't be the last one. Time to get a move on."
Sarah and Dean both checked the ground for any last tertials (they found none, though Dean did find the crucifix), and turned back up the trail. Sam was gently folding up Cas's sore wing, still chattering about overuse injuries. "We gotta go," Dean told them, coming up between them and giving Sam a squeeze on the shoulder, and Cas a pat on the wing. Dean nodded up toward the commotion by the bridge-end, and added, "Last thing we need's the media and cops all seeing Cas here."
"Yeah, right," said Sam, "Right. Sorry. Just... still adjusting here." They all started walking up toward the van, and Sam said, "Dean, Cas has been doing all my wing exercises."
Dean smiled. "I know. Bet you never thought it would save your own sorry hide, Sam, huh?"
Sam gave a little bark of a laugh, wiping his eyes. He shook his head, "Was just hoping it might help out Cas. Never thought you'd come sailing over to me like that, Cas— you stretched that wing out so damn far, I couldn't believe it when I realized it was you, and then I saw I could probably grab on—"
"Damn good thing you had your eyes open," said Dean. "I'd've had mine squinched shut."
"Heard you calling," Sam said, glancing at Dean.
"What?" said Dean.
"Heard you call my name. I probably would've had my eyes shut, to be honest— I took one look at those jaws down there and didn't ever want to look again. But when I heard you, I kept my eyes open. I was hoping to just see where you were. Didn't expect to see Cas here bombing over toward me, I can tell you that much."
Dean actually staggered to a stop, staring at Sam. "You're serious? Those yells helped?"
Sam nodded.
They'd both straggled to a halt, and Cas and Sarah had to come back and tug them over to the van.
They all clambered into the VW— Dean alone in front, and Sam, Cas and Sarah all in back so that Sarah could try to clean up their scrapes while Dean drove. Dean kept the headlights off at first, using just the moonlight to follow the little road as it bent around Hawk Hill and followed the shoreline north. Soon they were headed well away from San Francisco on the quiet little coastal road, leaving all the flashing lights far behind.
In the back, Cas and Sam were holding the mattress up so that Sarah could crawl under and dig out the medical supplies from the cubbies underneath. "Meg's on top of my med kit," Sarah reported. "Let's see— She doesn't seem to want to come out. I can just edge it out from under her. "
"Jeez," said Dean. "I totally forgot about her."
"I didn't," said Cas, peering under the mattress as Sarah extricated the medical kit. He added, "She judged it best to retreat down here when you sped up in the city, Dean. I thought she'd found a fairly safe place so I left her there. But I wasn't able to check on her after that. Sarah, can you move a little so I can get my wing down there?" Sarah backed out, and Cas turned himself a little so that he could angle the end of his right wing all the way down to one of the furthest cubbies.
Dean was watching in the mirror, and he saw a smile break over Cas's face as Cas said, "Ah. There she is."
He moved his wing a little, and reported, "She's sniffing my feather-tips. She's okay. Still a little worried, I think, but not too worried. I don't think she knows how bad it was. All right, Sarah, let's set the mattress down— she can come out on her own later when she's ready."
Dean had to concentrate on driving after that. He heard Sarah talking about cleaning up scratches, heard her tell Sam to lie down and prop his knee up, heard Cas offering to hand Sarah the various things that she needed. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror one more time and he could just Sam and Sarah faintly illuminated in the moonlight. Sam was lying down, a pillow wedged under his knee now, and Sarah was cleaning and bandaging the abrasions on his wrists. Cas was sitting sideways in his chair, opening some gauze pads for Sarah, his profile silhouetted against the moonlight that was hitting the back window of the van.
Cas and Sarah and Sam were in the van. With Dean.
Calcariel was defeated. The elemental had been freed. Cas had actually flown, successfully, and he'd caught Sam. Cas and Sarah and Sam were here.
Cas and Sarah AND SAM. (And little Meg, as well.) Everybody was here.
Everybody was okay.
Dean had to wipe his eyes. The road kept getting blurry.
They'd only been going for a few minutes more when Dean heard a little buzz from his phone, which was sitting on the floor between the two front seats. Dean picked it up and took a quick glance.
There were a lot of messages. Mostly from Mac.
"Hang on," said Dean. "I gotta check these messages. I'm pulling over for a sec." He had to scroll back to read them all:
7:32pm - New Text from ROGER: "he flew"
7:32pm - New Text from MAC: "HOLY CRAP THE EAGLE FLEW, I'd know that wing pattern anywhere, that was him wasn't it, IS HE OK, ARE YOU OK? Did he land all right? WTF is that monster? Hope you ok"
7:33pm - New Text from MAC: "if u on bridge GET OFFT HE BRDIGE, its biting bridge"
7:39pm - Missed Call from MAC.
7:40pm - New Voicemail from MAC.
7:42pm - New Text from MAC: "Monster still looking around a lot, be careful!"
7:52pm - Missed Call from MAC.
7:53pm - New Voicemail from MAC.
7:56pm - New Text from MAC: "GET THE F OUT OF TEHRE"
7:58pm - New Text from MAC: "HOLY CRAP ARE YOU GUYS OK? IT ATE THE FREAKING BRIDGE. IT DRAGGED THE FLIPPING BRIDGE AWAY. Also there was a meteor. All over news, media flipping out. Media's reporting PT Cruiser and "black van" crossed bridge to north but chopper cameras did not catch where you went. Be careful. Let me know if can help. Check in when you can. Hoping like hell for the best."
8:03pm - New Text from MAC: "Media's really looking for black van and Cruiser now, so be careful. Lot of chaos, you're not top priority, but you need to get out of CA pronto."
8:06pm - New Text from MAC: "A media van just found PT Cruiser parked by bridge north side. They are exploring that road now. CNN interviewing a very strange eyewitness who says no other car came down that road, just the Cruiser. If you are anywhere near there I'd advise, go north fast, cut east to Tahoe, take back roads, meet SLC at Rs place when you can. Holy crap I hope you guys ok."
8:07pm - New Text from ROGER: "he really flew"
Dean passed the phone to Cas, so that Cas could give Mac a reassuring call while Dean zoomed the VW northward (the bit about "they are exploring that road now" didn't sound good at all, and "go north fast" had also sounded like good advice) Cas reached Mac immediately, though Cas's side of the conversation then quickly turned into a repeating loop of reassurances that everybody was ok, and that Cas was very grateful about the tertials: "The tertials worked, thank you so much... yes, I'm okay... yes, everybody's okay... yes, we got Sam back and he's okay too. Yes, the tertials really worked, I can't ever thank you and Roger enough... yes, I'm really okay... yes, everybody's really okay...Yes, we really got Sam back, and he's really okay too. Mac, the tertials worked just wonderfully, I'm so thankful, could you please tell Roger that I'm so grateful—" And so on.
Cas finally managed to bring the conversation to a close with a promise they'd come to Salt Lake soon. (Mac also said he'd give Roger a call to fill him in.) After a little discussion Dean decided to continue following Mac's plan: taking the coastal road north till they were well away from the city, then cutting inland through the winding (poorly lit, poorly traveled) back roads through the hilly wine country, all the way east across California to the Nevada border.
It was only a quarter past eight, but California's northern hills and valleys were vast and the winding roads would be slow. Sarah announced that "as the only uninjured one" she would do most of the driving, but Dean overruled her.
"You were up all last night, I know you were," said Dean, catching her eye on the mirror. "And you gotta check over Sam and Cas anyway. So I'll take first driving shift if you'll fix up my boys here, okay? You're supposed to have all your supplies in your pockets, right, Ms. Medical Team?"
Sam and Sarah both burst into laughter for some reason.
Castiel asked, craning around to look behind him at Sam and Sarah, "Why are you laughing? What's funny about medical supplies?"
Sarah said, "The only thing I had in my pocket was Sam's gun! I just mentioned pockets to try to clue Sam in that I had something important in my pocket. I was worried it would be way too obvious if I got the gun out myself 'cause my hands were moving so slowly. But I thought maybe Sam could get the gun out without Calcariel noticing. And it worked!"
Sam was nodding, and he added, "Though it took me ages to figure it out. Seemed like an hour later I finally thought, Why did she make such a point about what was in her pockets? Sorry, Sarah... Wasn't really thinking too swiftly."
"You might have had a few other things on your mind," said Sarah. "Like falling off the Golden Gate Bridge."
"And being rescued by an angel," said Sam.
Cas said, "I'm sorry about the rough landing." Dean burst out laughing at that and Cas had to ask (again), "Why are you laughing?"
"I don't know, Cas," said Dean, still chucking. "Possibly because there's something just a little amusing about the fact that you would dive headfirst off the Golden Gate Bridge, with an injured wing, and somehow save Sam's life anyway, and even do a friggin' World War I dogfight move right out of an elemental's jaws, and, you know, save the world... and then apologize for a rough landing."
"But I dropped Sam in a scratchy bush," said Cas.
This time everybody laughed. Sam managed to pull one arm free of Sarah's medical attention long enough to reached out to give Cas a pat on the wing. "Best landing of my life, Cas," he said. "And about a million times better than the one I thought I was headed for."
It was one in the morning. Hours later. Dean had finally got them out of California and down the steep slopes of the Sierras. The van was purring along now as they made their way back into the Nevada desert.
Sam and Sarah were both asleep in the back. They'd all had a little food, Sarah had more or less got Sam and Cas cleaned up from all the scratches from their crash-landing, and she'd even got some ice at a fast-food joint and had made a dozen little ziploc bags of ice to put on their various injuries. Sam had fallen asleep with Sarah holding ice bags to his knee, Sarah herself had fallen asleep not long after, and Dean was, right now, holding an ice bag to Cas's folded left wing, which was pressed up against Dean's leg.
"I think the bag's dripping a little on Meg," Cas whispered in Dean's ear. "She keeps twitching." Meg had finally reemerged at around midnight, and was curled up now on a stack of Cas's clothing between the two front seats.
Dean felt Cas pull the damp bag of half-melted ice out of Dean's grasp and heard him set it quietly in the cooler in back. He shifted his left wing a little, flexing it up and down against Dean's leg. Dean ran his hand along the folded edge of the wing. The heat he'd felt earlier was almost gone. Cas said, "It feels a little better now."
"We'll ice it some more later," whispered Dean back. "When we get to a motel. And I'll help you pick all the leaves and twigs out of your feathers." (They hadn't had a chance to do this yet.) "And wash the dirt off the ends."
"I'd appreciate it," said Cas, nudging the wing into Dean's leg. "Dean, you sure you don't want me to take a shift driving?"
"I'm good," said Dean. And he was; even though he was utterly exhausted, he somehow also felt almost bizarrely wide awake. It seemed such a privilege to be driving his little band of people safely through the desert. The bright moon overhead was actually making the drive fairly easy, Dean felt like the little VW had the most precious cargo in the world, and Dean found he wanted to see it through.
Dean added, nodding toward some recently-purchased coffee in the cup holder, "And my coffee's still hot. I'm good. "
"Well... okay," said Cas. "But, you must promise to wake me if you get tired."
"I promise," said Dean, patting his wing.
A moment later Dean heard a odd little squeaking sound. Meg perked up at the noise too. It turned out to be Cas unscrewing the little chin-rest from his movie-chair, the place he usually leaned his head to rest. He got the chin-rest totally off and set it to the side. Dean glanced back at him curiously; Cas had never taken off that chin-rest before.
"What're you doing?"
"Just rearranging," said Cas.
With the chin-rest gone, it turned out Cas had some freedom to shift around a little on the chair. He moved his left wing, too, looking back first so as to maneuver his long feathers without waking Sam or Sarah. He carefully lifted the whole left wing up and over Dean till the bend of the wing settled down on Dean's left shoulder, the long flight feathers stretching back along the wall of the van. Dean slowed the van a little, not sure what Cas was up to with all this "rearranging", till Cas inched a little over to the left side of his chair, leaned his head further forward... and propped his chin on Dean's shoulder.
"Alternate chin-rest, huh?" whispered Dean.
"If you don't mind," whispered Castiel, directly into Dean's ear.
"I don't mind," said Dean, lifting his right hand to embrace the side of Cas's head.
It occurred to him that if Sam woke, Sam might be startled to see this.
Then it occurred to him that maybe Sam wouldn't be startled at all.
Then it occurred to him that he didn't need to worry about it.
They drove on for a while, Dean stroking Cas's hair, running his fingers now and then down the back of Cas's neck.
Cas shifted his head slightly to whisper, into Dean's ear, "I found him for you."
There was such relief in his voice, and such an overwhelming fatigue, that Dean grabbed Cas's head more tightly, pressing it tight to Dean's shoulder. Cas gave a huge ragged sigh and turned his face into the side of Dean's neck.
"You found him," Dean whispered, knotting his fingers into Cas's hair. "You did it. You did it. You incredible angel. Cas, you did it."
"I found him," Cas whispered. Dean turned his head to kiss Cas's cheek, and Cas gave another long, shaky sigh. He stayed there, and Dean felt him relax slowly, his head slowly getting heavier on Dean's shoulder, the feathers at Dean's left shoulder shifting a little as the wing relaxed. Cas was actually in a pretty odd position: one of his hands still on Meg, his left wing hooked around the back of the driver's seat, his right wing folded down around Meg's little nest, and he was also slouched half off of his chair, twisted a little sideways to get his head over to Dean. It didn't actually look at all comfortable, but Cas fell asleep right there, his head on Dean's shoulder.
In the mirror Dean could see Cas's dark hair framed on Dean's shoulder. And, behind Cas in the dark, there were Sarah and Sam, dark shapes under the blankets, stretched out together. They seemed to have their arms wrapped around each other. Dean glanced down to check on Meg too, and saw her blinking up at him sleepily from the nest of clothes that Cas had made for her.
Dean dropped his hand down to give Meg a quick pat. But as soon as he took his hand off Cas's head, Cas's head start to slide off his shoulder. Cas stirred and almost woke.
Dean drove the entire next hour with his right hand lifted up to brace Cas's head. So that Cas could keep sleeping right where he was; and so that Dean could keep feeling the soft puffs of Cas's warm breath on his skin.
A/N - Lot of stray little pieces of info in here that need to be cleared up: Dean's yells being critical, where on earth Meg had gotten to, Sam and Cas needed a moment, and Mac and Roger needed an update! And then... Crowley. Yes, Crowley thought all along, this entire year, all the way back to the events of the Minoan mask, that he was being a "good guy." I loved the idea that this was truly the best he could do! That even when he's being "good" he's still naturally so conniving and manipulative that the others didn't even REALIZE that Crowley was actually on their side. (While Crowley thought it was obvious!)
Another amazing piece of fanart has arrived! This one by Veektrose, titled "I'll find him for you." It should be linked below. :) So beautiful. And it's especially relevant right now given the end of this chapter. That promise of "I'll find him for you" has been terrifically important to Castiel. He wanted to find Sam anyway, of course, just for Sam's sake. But to be able to at last deliver Sam back to Dean alive, after all those months of seeing Dean grieving for Sam's loss - this was something immensely important to Castiel. A tremendous burden has been lifted off his shoulders.
My schedule: is getting really, really desperate the next couple weeks as my workload just doubled due to a coworker leaving. That's why this chapter got so delayed and is why I didn't even have time to reply to your lovely comments! (ahh! so sorry!) I worked the last 7 days straight and I'll be working every day for the next 18 days too. I'll try my best to get the last "official" chapter up by Friday but I might fail! Wish me luck!