In My Head, There Remains So Much Left To Be Said

Dean sped down the highway, knowing, logically, that no matter how fast he went, he wasn't going to get to Cas today, maybe not even tomorrow. But he charged on, stopping only to gas up and grab whatever food came in a cellophane wrapper. The miles ticked by and Sam's words rang in his head.

Bring him home.

Somehow, his brother had worked his magic and fixed whatever it was that kept Cas back at that godforsaken compound where he grew up. Dean gripped the wheel tighter and pressed down on the accelerator. Just thinking about the things those people had done to Cas made his blood boil and his anger spike. He called them his family but they were supposed to love him, protect him. But family don't end in blood and maybe now Cas would understand that.

Dean had spent years wishing his father could be different. Wishing he loved him and Sammy enough to stop drinking, stop beating on them, stop losing all their money gambling or whoring or drinking. Dean went without food more often than not just to make sure there was enough for Sam. He did whatever odd jobs the motels they lived in would give him, paying him a little cash under the table, taking pity on the abandoned kids in the room down the hall.

But he knew what it meant to love family. He knew because he loved Sammy with everything he had and would do anything for that kid. Family wasn't the father who gave him a black eye and split lip for talking back. Family was the times Dean stayed behind with Sam alone so his brother didn't have to move to yet another school just because his Dad had gotten fired again and couldn't find work now that everyone in town knew to look beyond the handsome, charming facade that was John Winchester. Family wasn't the man who left him and his brother. Family was the man who took them in when he didn't have to.

And now Sam had grown up into a good man despite their father. He liked to think he had a part to play in that. His whip-smart, smart-mouthed, fun-loving brother never had to know the feeling of a leather belt because he took it instead. Dean took it every time and he'd do it again without thinking twice.

So yeah, Dean understood what Cas meant about responsibility to family, but he also understood that sometimes you had to walk the fuck away and never look back, or that same family would kill you. In Cas's case, maybe literally.

He drove hard, laying down the miles with focused concentration, keeping the music on the heavy side of rock. The scenery offered no distractions, just miles and miles of tarmac.

The certified letter his brother had asked him to deliver to Cas burned a hole in his shirt pocket. It called out to him, promising answers in a whispered temptation. It wanted to be opened, but it was for Cas. So he felt the outline of its corner with his fingers and pressed down on the accelerator, going just a little faster, pushing a little closer.

This is what would bring Cas home.

Tell him I sent you. Tell him I have a court date but it's in two weeks and they have to be there in person. Tell him this will work but he has to be in South Dakota, here, in person.

Sam didn't want to call a courier service, too worried that the compound would never let the letter be delivered. If it got there at all was a risk and then if Ishim opened it… He didn't know what would happen but Sam implied it wouldn't work out so great for Cas. But Dean would never stop until he got to Castiel himself. If there was any chance that what was locked away in the sealed letter could fix whatever the fuck had broken, it would take a legion of demons to keep him away.

The Impala held steady as he sped over sand-covered highways, snow drifting down like a blanket. He drove into the night, exhausted and bleary-eyed. When he couldn't take anymore, he slept. Normally, he'd get a motel room off the highway or find some little inn and rest up as much as he could, but Dean didn't want to waste a single second, so he climbed into the backseat, bundled in the blankets he'd thrown in the trunk, and passed out. Patently unwilling to stop for longer than it would take to restore what energy he needed to keep from driving off the road. He slept for a few blissful hours, able to fall asleep fast and sleep hard.

He woke a few hours later and drove in the dead of night, the roads empty. No one was around so he pushed the accelerator, willing to pay whatever speeding ticket he might get if there were police out this time of night. He drove straight across 90, zipped through Chicago, and skirted the US side of the border along the lakes.

As the sun came up, Dean's eyes began to water and his vision doubled. The caffeine he'd downed after his last stop had pushed him forward another hour but his body was failing him. He pulled off the highway and parked along a back road, peeing in the woods and then tucking himself into the back seat again. His breath was visible around him, but the blankets cocooned him enough to stay warm.

He wrapped his arms around himself and snuggled into the backseat, too small for a man his size, but he was warm and safe, which was more than it seemed Cas had by Sam's urgency. Dean's gut ached, there was a hole in his center and nothing filled it, not food, not whiskey, not even the friends and family that he thought had been enough for him before… Before Cas walked into his fucking life and ripped the rug out from under him, leaving him sobbing dry tears by the side of the road, driving into the night on nothing but faith and hope.

When he woke, it was morning and a new day. He felt more rested than he'd expected and after a good yawn and stretch, he was back out on the highway, singing along with a local radio station that played top 40 songs he'd never admit to liking, but that kept him awake.

When he saw the "Welcome to Massachusetts" sign, his heart started pounding hard enough to make him worry he was having a panic attack. He had to stop and catch his breath before he could even consider how close he was.

Today. He would see Cas today.

He pulled off at the next exit and stretched his legs. His ass was now permanently indented in the driver's seat if it hadn't already been and Dean absently wondered what sciatica felt like and if that's what the killer pain in his back was. But he didn't care. He had driven too fast, slept too little, and eaten nothing but crap for almost two days, but he was almost there.

Dean stepped into the restroom of the gas station and splashed water over his face. He pulled a toothbrush and razor from his small travel bag and tried to make himself look like a reasonable approximation of a human being. Not the shadow of himself he'd become. Not the hollow-eyed fanatic who had just driven like a banshee to get here. The man in the mirror looked back at him, and he didn't look half bad.

He grabbed coffee, orange juice, and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich from the small deli in the gas station and hopped back in the car. He slipped Air Supply's Greatest Hits into the tape player. No one was here to know and the songs were made to be sung along to.

He zoomed up 91 until it was time to exit and follow the directions Sam gave him instead of the GPS. He wound his way through the back roads of Massachusettes off the highway for almost an hour. The roads became less and less reliable and he even drove over a crumbling wooden bridge with his heart in his throat and a prayer on his lips. Eventually, he pulled up a long dirt road that wound its way through the trees until he was stopped a short distance from a large white house by a man with an AK47 in his hands.

Holy fucking shit, where the fuck was he?

Dean rolled his window down and cracked the charming smile that usually got him whatever he wanted, the letter in his pocket urging him on.

A thin man dressed in black fatigues and a tight gray shirt with oily hair and dirty nails leaned down to look in the car. "What's your business?"

"I'm here to see Castiel Novak." Dean's voice didn't even shake. He'd have been proud of himself if he wasn't worried about getting kidnapped and smuggled in a sex trafficking ring.

"I didn't ask who you were here to see. I asked what your business was." The man scowled, his eyes blue, but dull and cloudy, nothing like Cas'.

Dean scrunched his brows, not quite sure what the difference was. But he wasn't about to argue semantics with the man holding the assault rifle. "Um, I'm his thesis partner from Seminary. His phone isn't working and I live just up in Vermont, so I drove down."

"Plates say South Dakota, not Vermont." The man scowled, not missing a beat.

"Oh, uh, yeah, it's my Dad's."

The man pulled a walkie-talkie out of his belt and stepped back so Dean couldn't hear him. He wiped his hands on his thighs and looked around. The dirt road continued up to the large house with a wrap-around porch. It snaked further back where Dean saw a barn and another house before disappearing into the woods. In the other direction, there was a clothesline and another small building. Dean was almost afraid to think about what it could be used for. A few other men with guns milled around. He felt like he'd walked into a movie, another world. He had no sense of how big this place was or how many people lived here. This could be the whole rodeo or the tip of the iceberg.

Cas had said he grew up in a cult, but it hadn't been real for Dean until now.

The thin man walked back and leaned almost inside Dean's car. "Alright, you can park right there and go into the house. Someone will go fetch Castiel for you. Don't go nowhere else, just the house. Understand?"

"Sure, yeah, no problem. Thanks." Dean shifted into drive and pulled up where the man had indicated and parked. He made sure all the windows were up and doors locked before he got out of the car. Something he'd never worried about before.

He walked up the steps of the wrap around porch, the old wood creaking but in good repair and freshly painted. Someone had put planters with winter cabbage on the sides of the door and the welcome mat was cleaner than the one at Bobby and Jody's house. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to try and stop them from shaking.

Just focus on seeing Cas, don't think about the fucking assault riffles or insanity of the situation. Just remember, you're here for Cas. That's all that matters.

An older man, thin with wiry gray hair, opened the door before Dean had a chance to knock. "So you're a friend of Castiel's?" The man raised an eyebrow and looked Dean over as if he was seeing through to his very soul in judgment. His clothes matched his skin and hair, shades of grey giving him a stern look. He scowled and studied Dean. "I see you met Enoch. I'm Ishim."