Chapter 5

The lake was calm, surface smooth as glass. Dean sat at the end of the pier, a fishing rod in his hands and a cooler of beer next to him. It was a calm and peaceful day. He looked at the bobber, but he wasn't worried about actually catching anything. It was the peace he wanted, not the kill.

Until the line tugged and something enormous hidden under the calm surface jerked the pole hard. Unable to let go, Dean fell into the water with a yell and was dragged under by whatever had the pole. He couldn't let go of it. He looked back up towards the surface, towards the light, and it was racing away from him as he drowned.

Hundreds of rotting hands grabbed him and dragged him down, down. Away from the light, away from anything that cared about him, dragged him back to where he belonged.

We'll bring you home soon, naughty boy. Did you really think you could escape your fate forever? Escape my blade forever? Not a chance...

Dean screamed in pain and terror, but it wasn't water that flooded his lungs. It was black smoke, thick and viscous as it forced itself down his throat. He was dead, worse than dead; he was violated, invaded.

Possessed.

Dean tried to struggle, but he couldn't move, and his lungs were burning with the lack of oxygen. He had nothing left to give anymore. What was the point?

The hands that grabbed him drew back. The handprint glowed so hotly and fierce the light could be seen from under his jacket until everything was overtaken with white, blinding light.

Dean was lying on his back on a stiff metal bench, and everything hurt. His brain felt like it was floating around in a pool of lava-a cotton ball quickly dissolving in a puddle of heat and pain. When the pounding started behind his eyes, he panicked and touched his nose. There wasn't any blood.

Oh good, it wasn't Cas playing the stereo too loud in the upstairs apartment. It was just a Godzilla-sized hangover that was about to crush him under a colossal, scaly foot. Great.

"Sunovabitch," he murmured.

Dean sat up slowly, rolling stiff shoulders and trying to work out the crick in his neck. When he tried to open his eyes, his hand flew up to block out the bright-ass fluorescent overhead. His throat was dry and sandy-feeling. After weakly coughing a few times, he put his head in his hands and groaned. "Shit, what happened?"

Footsteps echoed from down a hallway, and Dean managed to see he was in a tiny jail cell. Klaxon horns went off in his head. He literally couldn't remember anything after his run-in with Ruby.

"Ah, I see you're awake," came a female voice. Dean caught sight of a Sheriff standing outside of the cell's bars. She had brown hair pulled into a ponytail under her stiff-brimmed hat. She wore a brown uniform, and her hands were on her hips and an annoyed expression on her face.

"Good morning, Agent Forge," she said, disapproval in her voice. "What's an FBI agent doing getting smashed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota?"

Agent…? Oh, must have had one of the FBI IDs on me. Dean tried to speak, immediately regretted it, and held up a finger as he swallowed down the bile rising up his throat. He burped a little acidic cloud of tequila fumes and grimaced.

"Just passing through, Sheriff," he said. Anything he tried to remember from the previous day was a fuzzy blank. "Um...what happened last night?"

She snorted. "You sat at Rocky's Bar all night, and at closing time, you took one step off the barstool and fell flat on your face. Considering the amount of whiskey Rocky said you downed, I expected you to be dead when I arrived. Instead, you were snoring. Since you were nice enough not to puke everywhere or punch anybody, I'd figured I'd save you the ambulance ride and just let you sleep it off."

"Are you sure I'm not dead?" Dean groaned, pressing his palms to his closed eyes. "God, I feel like it." He looked at her with red, bleary eyes. "Could I borrow your service revolver for a second?"

The Sheriff huffed. "Think you're real funny, huh? Look, your partner is here to pick you up."

"My partner?"

"Yeah, in a black muscle car. I didn't know the FBI rode in style these days-I'm a bit jealous. Now shift it; I want my cell back."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, sorry, Sheriff...?"

"Mills," she said as she pulled out the ring of keys and selected the one to open his door. "You're fortunate you didn't need medical attention," she reiterated. "Keep the partying out of my town, Agent Forge. I don't want to see you here again."

Dean shuffled out of the jail cell and blinked like an owl at noon. She led him down the hall, through the processing area, with a few other officers talking to civilians or working at their desks. Sure enough, as they exited the front doors, Sam (in his civilian clothes) was standing in front of the Impala where it was parked at the curb.

"Thank you, Sheriff Mills," Sam said, waving to her.

Dean begrudgingly climbed into the passenger side and rummaged around in the glove box for a pair of black-framed sunglasses. Once on, he sighed in relief as the shades helped his sensitive eyes take in the early morning sunshine. While in the open glove box, he dug out the massive bottle of ibuprofen and dry swallowed several.

When Sam slid in behind the wheel, Dean's mouth opened then closed. Confused, he patted his jeans and pulled out Baby's key from his pocket, and gasped. "Oh, god, Sam, don't tell me you hotwired her!" He leaned over to check the panel under the steering column was still intact.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Bobby has a spare key; calm down."

Placing a hand over his heart, Dean said, "Whew, okay," and sunk back into the seat.

"Sorry, man, the diner was all out of your patented 'greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray' hangover cure."

Dean gagged a little and flipped Sam his middle finger. "Eugh. God, I hate you."

Sam held out their old Thermos, and -though the same age as Sam, dinged and a little rough from years of rolling around the footwells -Dean knew it held black gold inside. "Do you?"

"Yes," Dean said, greedily grabbing the Thermos and forgoing the cup lid to sip the coffee directly. "Immensely."

Sam shrugged and drove the Impala away from the police station. He stopped at Dunkin Donuts and picked up an assorted dozen for their breakfast as they left town. The box sat on the seat between them, and they ate carefully with napkins. Nothing was worse than sugary fingerprints on leather. Dean shuddered.

After several minutes the synapses in Dean's brain started firing like usual, and he realized they weren't heading to Bobby's. They were leaving Sioux Falls in the opposite direction. He just grunted at Sam.

"Got a case," Sam explained, swallowing the last bite of a powdered donut. "You remember an old hunter named Travis? Worked a few cases with Dad back in the day?"

Dean pushed his shades up so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. The headache was still there-he'd been hoping the meds would work quicker. "Uh...yeah, sounds familiar. What'd he want?"

"Wants us to look into a guy named Jack Montgomery in Carthage, Missouri." His brother huffed in annoyance. "Said we'd 'know it when we saw it.'"

"That's delightfully vague," Dean muttered sarcastically. He sipped his coffee, but curiosity roused him to ask, "How'd you find me?"

"Since you weren't answering any texts or voicemails, I figured I'd check there and the hospital first before I panicked. But Dean, what happened last night? You overdo it sometimes but not enough to end up in the drunk tank."

"I dunno." Dean glanced sideways at Sam before he slowly admitted, "I blacked out."

"Jesus, Dean, are you sure you're okay?"

He waved away his brother's concern. "Things just got away from me, but I'm fine. Actually, I'm surprised you're here."

Sam looked a little guilty but still asked what he meant.

"You and Ruby have things locked down. Don't need me cramping your style," Dean grunted. "Didn't think you'd risk hanging around because of Cas, either."

"I'm not going to leave you for Ruby, Dean," Sam sounded hurt. "Especially since we don't know what's going on. One of them is right, and the other is wrong. We'll just have to figure out which ourselves."

Dean realized it was the closest he was going to get on a truce about Cas.

"Alright, nerd, whatever." Dean finished his coffee, clearing up that foggy, cotton-stuffed feeling pervading his brain. Looking out of the passenger seat window was surreal, but he knew better than trying and driving in his barely functional condition. Being in the passenger seat was a rarity. While he hated not being in control of the car, he was also realistic (for the most part).

Sometimes someone else had to take the wheel.

The miles passed, and the sun rose higher in the sky. Dean racked his brain, trying to remember the previous night. As bits and pieces floated by, he was starting to see the whole picture. He'd gone to the bar to get drunk. Just enough to take the edge off about Cas and Ruby and everything else. There were a few college co-eds from the University of Sioux Falls that he tried to flirt with, but his dick wasn't with the program. Unable to stop flaking out on them, they eventually got annoyed and left.

Dean remembered drinking whiskey like water for hours. No matter how much he drank, he wasn't getting buzzed. Hell, he'd even gotten some tequila, and that barely made him pause.

First, he wasn't sleeping. Now he couldn't get a buzz. Was Cas supercharging his liver or something? Whatever the reason, he remembered trying to leave Rocky's at closing time, and then everything went dark. Had all the alcohol hit at once?

Holy shit, did I almost drink myself into a coma?

Hours later, when Sam stopped to stretch his legs and refill the gas tank, Dean mainly felt human once more. He sat in the car for a moment after Sam left to hit up the bathroom. Surprised, he realized he hadn't seen Cas since yesterday. Dean hadn't heard his raspy voice or noticed his form hovering around. Feels a little lonely, a secret part of Dean declared.

Cas had only been around a few days, yet the silence was now more troubling than his appearance. Did that spell really take it out of him that badly?

Dean cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Cas, you wanna get your feathery ass out here?"

"My ass doesn't have feathers," was the gruff reply, and Dean automatically grinned to himself. With Castiel sitting in the back seat, Dean was more relieved than he wanted to admit about the hallucinangel's return.

"Uh...hadn't seen you in a while. I just wanted to make sure you didn't curl up and die in my brain somewhere," Dean said with an awkward chuckle.

Castiel contemplated him for a moment. "I would have returned sooner, but the alcohol you were heavily imbibing was interfering."

Dean snapped his fingers. "Ah! So, you are supercharging my liver, huh?"

"Why were you drinking so heavily?" Castiel asked.

Lucifer's right hand...killed half the angels in Heaven...Ruby's words came back full force, and Dean whipped around, suddenly unable to look at Cas. He didn't want to believe that demon bitch, but...well, some part of him considered her suspicions valid. He was apprehensive; he hadn't felt since their first meeting in Bobby's junkyard.

Might be best to get Cas on the bench 'til we figure this out. What if he hurts someone...what if I hurt someone?

"Dean?" He didn't like how much concern was packed into his name. "What happened?"

Castiel leaned forward, and Dean unconsciously leaned away. Even out of the corner of his eye, he saw the confused head-tilt. "Dean?"

"Nothing happened, Cas," Dean said, trying to keep himself as casual as possible. He ran his fingers over the dinged-up shell of the Thermos. "Listen, we're heading out on a hunt. So you might have to stay clear until we get this thing settled."

Missing the subtle dismissal by a mile, Castiel said, "You and your brother's safety is my priority. I strongly urge you both to return and hunker down in the panic room. Or make Sam, at least."

Dean scoffed. "That's not going to happen."

"Dean," Castiel said deliberately. "I hid you two from Heaven's angels, but Hell needs you back on the rack. If demons get the drop on Sam, they can use him as a bargaining chip. That room is demon-proof. Until Lilith is dealt with, you both have targets on your backs."

Dean ran a hand around his mouth. "Even if I left him hogtied in the panic room, Sam would escape and take off for parts unknown just to prove he could. I'd rather keep an eye on him myself, especially with Ruby skulking around; can't do that if he's a thousand miles away."

"It's too great a risk," Castiel argued.

"Monsters don't take a day off, so neither do we." Dean frowned. "We're a package deal, Cas. Take it or leave it."

Castiel clenched his jaw. "Then I'll endeavor to protect you both as best I can."

Dean kept his tone light and joking, though the bruise to his ego gave his words an edge. "I'm not exactly Lois Lane here, Cas. Don't need you to Superman it up all the time, you know?"

Castiel squinted at him. "I don't know that reference, Dean, so no, I don't know."

Dean sighed. "Sam and I have been doing this our whole lives. You don't need to fight our battles for us. Not to say that you doing your BAMF thing isn't awesome," Dean said, unable to sound unimpressed. "Because it was, those demons had no idea what hit 'em. Just...you know…we can handle ourselves."

"There's a bigger picture here. Failure to watch Sam's back is what prompted you to make the deal in the first place," Castiel pointed out.

Dean whipped around, his glare meeting Castiel's severe gaze. "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings and halos. Not dicks," he snapped.

"You're wrong. Angels are warriors of God. Even though I'm a Fallen, the mission comes first." Castiel sat up and looked away from Dean. "Thank you for reminding me of that."

Castiel was always serious, but his tone had a whole new level of icy professionalism that Dean immediately hated.

With a rustle of his non-existent coat, he was gone.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face angrily and swore under his breath. It doesn't matter. Sam and I can figure out what to do about the angel riding shotgun after this hunt.

There was a grassy area behind the gas station that had a few weather-stained picnic tables. In one corner of the parking lot, a small food truck serving barbecue had a line of customers. Dean plopped down at a table and waited for Sam to return with lunches for them. The ability to stretch their legs (especially Sam's) was unfortunately negated because it was still summer. The air was hot and sticky with humidity, though his hangover shades helped with the brightness.

Dean was ravenous-just before he tore into his pulled pork sandwich, Sam presented to him a dirty ashtray, probably stolen from another table. There were even some cigarette butts in it.

"See? I remembered," Sam said pleasantly.

Dean growled. "Dude, those butts are gonna end up in your Goldilocks if you don't cut it out."

The smell of the ashes made Dean's nose twitch, but Sam shrugged and left the ashtray near Dean's take-out container out of pure pettiness. Dean was distracted from his sandwich because he saw black transparent things when he glanced up at Sam.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times rapidly, but they weren't going away. Sam watched him for a moment, then finally asked, "What's up?"

"Dunno," his brother mumbled. "Allergies, maybe?" The black wisps were still there. "Ugh, what the hell."

"Need me to drive?"

"Dude, I said there was something in my eye, not that I'm blind." Dean scarfed down his food with his usual gusto before heading to the bathroom. Hanging his shades from his shirt collar, he splashed some water on his face. The cool water helped to loosen the tendrils of the hangover from his mind. His eyes were red, but he didn't see anything strange when he looked in the mirror.

In fact, he didn't see the ghostly wisps at all. "Finally," he sighed in relief.

Since the heat and humidity were awful for noon on a summer day, the Impala's AC was cranking and offered a reprieve when Dean slid into the driver's seat. He shoved his hangover glasses back into the glove box, ready for next time. Sam scanned a road map, working out the best way to get to the address Travis had provided.

Dean had to shut his eyes again, hard. No luck. The black wisps were back, and they seemed to be coming from Sam's skin itself. They gently rose like fog on a lake before the morning sun burned it away.

"Dean?" Sam asked, oblivious. "You okay?"

He shook his head. Is Cas doing this? Making me see shit because he's pissed?

Castiel said he was affecting how he perceived reality, but Dean had not actually questioned it. He took a deep breath and peeked back up at Sam.

They were still there, but Dean plastered on a casual grin for Sam. "Yeah, man. Never better. Let's uh, go see what's going on with our man Jack."

The plan was to drop their stuff, clean up, and grab food for the inevitable stakeout at the guy's house to see what the hell Travis was talking about. The motel was stereotypical with two doubles and a slightly larger-than-average kitchenette table, a nice change for Sam's spine.

Sam dropped Dean off to get food because Dean was exhausted-the last of the hangover was stubbornly hanging on, and he felt utterly disgusting. He dropped his bag and kicked off his boots, determined to take a shower before Sam got back. Just after he pulled off his flannel and t-shirt, Dean froze.

Oh, shit.

He didn't know Cas was riding shotgun when he took a shower at Bobby's a few days ago. This was going to be the first shower knowing Cas was in his head...Oh fuck.

Dean could feel the blush. It's a shower, for god's sake. It's not like I'm filming a Casa Erotica movie! "Ok," Dean said aloud, trying to psyche himself up as he stared at the bathroom door.

What if Ruby was right, and it's an opportunity to catch me off guard? Would he Final Destination me or something? He licked his lips and swallowed. Or, shit, what if he pops into the shower or something, and I get a boner?

Each option was equally terrifying. I can't take that chance. No way.

"Ok, the shower's not happening. That's fine. Some dry shampoo, clean clothes, extra deodorant; no one will know."

He changed in record time and then sat on his bed, watching cartoons until Sam returned with food and directions to the Montgomery's place.

Jack Montgomery was a typical white-collared guy with a cellphone on his belt, a big house in the suburbs, and a nice car in the driveway. He was also mind-numbingly dull.

After a few hours into their stake-out, Dean had to question if he was their guy. Until they watched him tear into a picked-over chicken carcass and a pound of raw hamburger in a kind of feeding frenzy.

The old hunter Travis was at their motel room, down a hand and happy for their assistance. Over beers, he explained that Jack was a Rugaru, the son of one he'd killed in 1978. When the rugaru turned thirty, the change began, from a mild-mannered husband to a human flesh (or long pig)-eating monster. If he took a single bite, he'd be changed forever.

They split up; Dean and Travis created the gas tank flamethrowers needed to kill the rugaru. Sam was supposed to follow him and make sure the guy didn't turn. He returned a few hours later, having researched stories of rugarus who never took the bite. Never became monsters. Sam wanted to talk to Jack in person, lay all the cards on the table, and then let the man decide his fate.

Sam was taking the case way more personally than Dean thought possible. He advocated for a chance to save Jack's life like he was advocating for his own.

Dean hated the fact that he saw both points. The idea that Cas might make him do something terrible, that he could be harboring evil unknowingly, made him pause when Travis tried to push him to pick sides. Usually, he'd be on Travis's side without question, especially when the old hunter asked if either of them had been 'hadn't eaten in days' hungry.

Dean nodded immediately but managed a proud smirk when Sam shook his head. Travis had made his point about the depth of the rugaru's hunger. But Dean couldn't bring himself to shut down Sam's idea, either.

Dean was still a hunter, but he wasn't the same person from before his trip to Hell. He saw the other side of the tracks, whether he wanted it or not.

Like his brother, Dean wasn't exactly normal anymore.

As they drove to Jack's place that afternoon to try and talk to him, Dean sighed. Something was up with Sam; he was acting differently. Squirrely almost-he couldn't put his finger on it any specific thing. And those weird black misty things, mostly transparent by now, still rose like black smoke from his skin-

"HOLY SHIT!" Dean grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car across the two-lane country back road.

"Dean, what the-!" Sam was slammed into the door by the force of Dean whipping the car over. They cut off an oncoming car that had to jack its brakes not to T-bone them. The sound of screeching brake pads and the smell of burnt rubber filled the air. He pulled into the overgrown parking lot of an abandoned storefront.

Dean shoved the Impala into park and launched himself out of the car so fast it still moved slightly. He staggered backward as Sam jumped out and stared at him over the roof of the car. "You almost fucking killed us, Dean!"

"CHRISTO!" Dean yelled. They both froze.

"Are you nuts?" Sam shouted, coming around the front of the car. "I'm not possessed!"

That didn't stop Dean from taking several steps back from Sam, eyes wide and darting all over him. Sam looked at himself, then at his brother. "Dean, what?"

"What the fuck happened to you, Sam?" Dean demanded. When Sam gave him a bewildered shrug, Dean pointed at his arms. "I can see it on your skin. You've got some sort of-I dunno-demonic presence in you!"

Sam's face paled.

Dean was talking a mile a minute, barely stopping for breath. "I think it's cause of Cas or something. I could see the demon's faces at the diner. I could tell it was Ruby because of her true face. I, I..you have the same thing! Why do you have the same thing?!"

"Dean, calm down, I can explain," Sam approached slowly and tried to lay a calming hand on his brother's shoulder, but Dean sidestepped him.

"Don't use your witness-calming voice on me! Explain what?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked away from Dean's wide eyes. He had to take several deep breaths to work himself up to his revelation. Dean almost made a crack about him being pregnant when Sam quietly confessed, "I have demon blood in me, Dean."

He'd been pacing next to the car. At his brother's words, Dean promptly collapsed onto the overgrown ground. He just stared at Sam, not blinking for a moment. Being pregnant would have been less of a bombshell, Dean decided.

Sam bit his lip, trying to stay calm but close to tears. Dean could tell from how his shoulders bunched up and how his face scrunched to keep it together. He spoke hesitantly. "Azazel's Special Children were all fed some of his blood when we were babies. I found out at Cold Oak. And no, I don't know why he did it."

After a couple of false starts, Dean asked softly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam pushed his hair back from his face. "You made the deal, then Lilith was chasing our asses. It just never came up." Sam's lip trembled. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I...How was I supposed to tell you that?"

"This isn't hiding a shitty grade on a report card!"

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm so tired of being the family freak, Dean. The family fuck-up," Sam said bitterly.

"Sam, did you not hear the fact that I'm supposed to START the countdown to Judgement Day?" Dean got to his feet and dragged a hand over his face, getting rid of the wetness at the corners of his eyes. "I think I've stolen your trophy as the family fuck-up!"

"You had an angel save you, Dean! Clearly, you're worth saving."

"Cas didn't save me because I deserved it," Dean snapped. "He saved the Righteous Man, who I happened to be. Big difference."

Dean turned from Sam and took several deep breaths. "If it weren't for the Apocalypse, I'd still be in Hell. And now I have an angel in my head, and who knows what he's capable of doing! Because as you keep reminding me, he came from Hell too."

Sam came around to stand in front of Dean. His eyes were pleading, yet he spoke earnestly. "Fate's dealt us both shitty hands, so let's figure out how to make the best of it."

Dean put a hand over his eyes for a moment as he tried to gather himself. "Know what? It doesn't matter if it's demon blood or a rogue angel, or even destiny. We'll figure this out together," he agreed.

Sam watched the cars pass by on the road. He studied the twin black stripes burned into the road surface from their near collision. He thumbed at the road and shook his head. "You couldn't have just asked me? You had to kamikaze us across the road like Evil Knieval?"

"Dude, I can see black smoke coming off you! Excuse me for being a bit concerned." Dean paused, forehead scrunched in thought. "Though, if Yellow-Eyes gave you the blood years ago, I should have seen it the first time I saw you after Hell, right? Why did I just start seeing it?"

Sam studied him. "When did you-?"

"At the gas station." Dean took a couple of steps as he thought, then shrugged. "Maybe I'm just getting sensitive to this stuff?"

Sam, thin-lipped, motioned towards the car. "We should go talk to Jack before we lose our daylight."

Dean looked at his brother, at the wisps, and shook his head. A real cursed duo, weren't they?

Despite their best efforts to try and forewarn him, Jack attempted to hunt a young woman in her apartment that night. When Sam and Dean tried to save her, he'd doubled back to his house and walked right into the trap Travis had set.

Travis's truck was out front when they got back to Jack's house, but the family car was missing from the driveway. Flamethrowers drawn, they snuck inside and walked right into a crime scene. Travis was reduced to a trail of blood and a pile of remains behind the couch. The entire living room stank like blood and gasoline, and Jack's wife was in the wind.

"Sunovabtich," Dean muttered before a gray-red blur launched him through the air. Dean cracked his head on the edge of the coffee table in the living room, momentarily stunned. Jack now had wormy, mottled skin and sharp teeth, thanks to the finished transformation. Blood covered his mouth and hands as he whirled on Sam.

"Dean!" Sam trained his flamethrower at Jack. When he flicked the lighter to create the flame for the flamethrower, the damned thing only gave off sparks.

Jack jostled the flamethrower aside and shoved Sam to the floor with a heavy thud. Dean's eyes swam as Sam tried to fight off Jack, the rugaru's gnashing teeth creeping too close to Sam's neck. Sam jabbed his knee up into Jack's crotch and head-butt the rugaru off of him. He flipped over and tried to army crawl to the gasoline tank. Jack grabbed Sam's legs and hauled him across the floor and away from his prize.

Dean groaned and tried to force himself up, but he saw two of everything. The rugaru had Sam on his back again and, despite his attempts to hold it off, those bloodstained teeth were a scant inch from Sam's jugular. Sam's arms shook with exhaustion-Jack was about to get the upper hand.

Appearing like a Reaper, the black-clad angel strode up to the rugaru, grabbed the flamethrower as he went, and swung the metal tank like a bat into Jack's face. The force of the blow knocked him off of Sam but also into the wall behind him. The drywall cracked, and plaster fell on them. Jack howled in pain and anger; his nose was broken, and he spat out a few teeth.

Sam barely had time to catch a breath before Castiel hauled him to his feet and shoved the flamethrower back into his hands. Dean let out a whistle to catch his brother's attention, and he chucked his Zippo across the room. Just as Jack was about to lunge forward and rip out Sam's throat, he caught the Zippo and swung around.

"I'm so sorry, Jack." He apologized before he burned the rugaru alive.

Once Jack stopped screaming, Sam ran back to Dean's side. The long, bloody gash on his forehead healed up in front of Sam. Dean was awake now-his hands shook as he patted Sam down. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm fine. Come on." He helped Dean to his feet, and they fled the house of horrors.

Dean drove for a long time before either tried to break the silence. Not even music was playing in the background because he couldn't be bothered to pick a tape.

"You and Travis were right," Sam proclaimed. His eyes wouldn't move from his hands lying listlessly in his lap. "He couldn't stop the evil in him."

"We aren't Jack," Dean said quickly. "Nothing's more stubborn than a Winchester. You and me," Dean waved between them. "We decide. There's no fate but what we make for ourselves."

After looking out of the window, at the highway before them and the yellow-tinged lights that passed overhead, Sam narrowed his eyes. "Dean, how are you handling things?"

That was surprising. He chuckled, the cocky facade automatically slipping into place. "Dude, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You've never almost given yourself alcohol poisoning. If an angel told me I was supposed to end the world, fine would be the furthest thing I'd be."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek not to laugh hysterically. Sam can never know his role in this mess.

"Speaking of angels, Cas saved your ass," Dean pointed out. "Again." He was unsure if he was trying to convince Sam or himself of Cas's motivation.

On cue, Castiel reappeared in the back seat. Seeing Dean glance behind him, Sam grabbed his brother and turned towards the angel.

"Thank you for your help, Castiel."

"Of course, Sam. As I told Dean, you and your brother's safety is my top priority." He paused for a few seconds, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, "It's just Cas."

"Both of us? Really?" When Cas nodded, Sam seemed to thaw a little. He chuckled and smiled gratefully. "That's good to hear, Cas."

A ghost of a knowing smirk passed over Cas's lips before he tilted his head towards Dean. "Your brother's right, though. If we work together, we can remake our destinies."

Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah, a destiny that hinges on a box that can't be opened…."

Dean saw the gears start to turn in his brother's head. "Whatcha thinking, Sam?"

"Just something I need to look up when we get some internet again. It's probably nothing."

Sam released Dean's shoulder. He leaned against the car door and used his balled-up flannel as a makeshift pillow against the glass. Soon, Sam was snoring under Cas's watchful gaze.

Since Cas was still in the back seat, Dean spoke quietly. "Thanks for saving Sam's life."

Cas's eyes cut to him. They were no less imposing when they were reflected from the rearview mirror. "I almost didn't," he admitted. "If you were unconscious another second, he wouldn't be alive. Seems that I can't manifest unless you're conscious."

"Makes sense. Guess that's why I'm not sleeping much anymore."

"If I was able to use you like a normal vessel, I could have gotten to him sooner," Cas said.

A chill settled in Dean's stomach at those words. "What, like jumped in the driver's seat?"

"Once I get a little stronger...we could practice such a maneuver for emergencies."

Dean said nothing. The idea of not being able to control his own body terrified him. There was no way he could do that, especially with Cas still being the big question mark he was at the moment.

Cas looked away. "It's just a suggestion," he said quietly before he vanished.

* ** If you can guess what Dean's alias is from, you get an extra point to spend at the gift shop! (Hints: Yes, it's a band person-T. Forge; not what Dean listens but my personal fav!)