Thanks so much Jenjoremy for the beta magic and Gredelina1 for all the help and support.
Chapter Twelve
Sam was lying in bed, listening to the sounds of Bobby's old house—the creak and groan of the walls and the stuttering of pipes. Dean was still asleep in the other bed, snoring lightly, but Sam hadn't been able to sleep long. The nightmares were too bad.
It wasn't just Hell and the Cage tormenting him, though they made their presence known, it was what he had done when he was soulless that haunted him the most. He had hurt and killed so many people. He had been so beyond human, worse even than when he was on demon blood. At least when he'd been on the blood, he'd thought he was doing the right thing. Without a soul he had no such belief. He had hunted because it was something to do. Not because he cared for the people he was saving or working with—the Campbells were nothing more than a means to an end to him. The monsters were the only ones he cared about. He transported all his memories of Lucifer and Michael onto them and made sure they died bloody. He had remembered Hell, too, what there was of it. Sam estimated that at least a month passed on earth before Cas came for him. That was ten years of torture for his soulless self to want to avenge, not because of fear or hatred, he couldn't feel any of that, but because of a sense of self-preservation. That was the only thing his soulless self could feel: the need to preserve himself. It was why he'd been bound on course to kill Bobby—because he didn't want to end up a drooling mess.
Sam was glad that Cas had apparently overstated the risks of the memories returning, or perhaps Sam had just gotten lucky. Whichever it was, Sam was just relived that he was still walking and talking and useful. Alastair's death notwithstanding, it would have been an awful waste to get this far into changing things only to fail. Though, perhaps he wouldn't have failed. Perhaps the pain of the memories would have left him a wreck in this body, too, the body of his younger self. In that case, he wouldn't have been able to kill Lilith, which still would have been a win as far as he was concerned. He'd once wanted to go out an old man in his bed with Jess beside him and maybe a couple grandchildren. Now he'd be satisfied to go out fighting and saving someone. The world definitely counted.
Dean snuffled in the bed beside his, and Sam knew he would be waking soon. He could stay and pretend to 'wake' when Dean did, but he didn't want to lie. If Dean asked, he'd tell him about the nightmares, but he wouldn't volunteer the information.
He threw back the bedclothes and swung himself round to sit on the edge of the bed. His head swam for a moment at the change in elevation and he took a second to let it settle before he got to his feet and dressed quickly and quietly.
The kitchen wasn't empty when he got downstairs. Cas was standing in the library with a book open in his hands but a slightly vague look on his face. Sam recognized it as the expression of someone tuned into angel radio. He left Cas to his voices and went into the kitchen to start the coffee.
He was just filling the coffee maker with water when he heard heavy tread coming up behind him and then Cas's dry voice. "Good morning, Sam."
Sam smiled slightly as he poured the water into the machine and set it to working. "Hey, Cas."
Cas peered at him a little too close for comfort, as if assessing him. "You did not sleep well."
"Yeah, I know."
"I wanted to help."
Sam turned and leaned back against the counter. "That's okay, Cas. You can't always fix things for us."
"I could have helped, but Dean wouldn't let me."
"Okay," Sam said slowly. "I'm a little lost here. What happened?"
"You were having a nightmare," Cas said. "I came upstairs to help you, to put you into a dreamless sleep, but Dean was already awake. He said, and I quote, 'touch him now and I'll pluck you like a chicken'."
Sam laughed softly. He could clearly imagine the conversation. Dean would be pissed and Cas annoyed at the futile threat, and meanwhile he would have been moaning and groaning his way through a nightmare.
"Sorry, Cas. It's just Dean being Dean. He can't help so he gets angry. It's how he works. He didn't mean it."
"He doesn't trust me," Cas stated.
Sam knew he was right so he didn't attempt to reassure him. The truth was Dean didn't trust Cas yet. He had no reason to other than Sam's testimony and that wasn't exactly going to convince anyone of anything at the moment. He would in time. In the future they would return to, if everything went the way they wanted, Dean and Cas would be brothers. They just had to get back to that point.
"What were the angels chatting about earlier?" Sam asked to change the subject.
"They are searching for Uriel," Cas said with a grim smile . "His absence has been noted and the demons are the accused, much as they were last time."
"Will they find him?"
Cas shook his head. "We were in a very remote area when I killed him. Angels can sense each other by their grace, but when I stabbed Uriel with the angel blade, I destroyed his grace. He is just a dead vessel now. The only way he will be found is by happenstance."
"Good. I feel kinda bad for the guy he was possessing, but…"
"Do not feel bad. He was not a nice person. His consent to being a vessel was the best thing he could have done for his family. He was not like Jimmy."
Sam hadn't thought about Jimmy Novak in a long time. He realized the events that led to him meeting the man were approaching and he wondered if it would happen again. Would this time's version of Cas find out about the master plan and try to warn them? He hoped not, for Jimmy's sake and his family's. It had ended badly for them all.
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs and Dean walked into the room, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. His eyes were bleary and tired, probably from his night of broken sleep thanks to Sam.
"Hey," Sam said with a smile. He turned and picked up a mug from the shelf. He filled it with coffee and handed it to Dean.
Dean took it with a nod of thanks and then turned his eyes on Cas. "I need to talk to my brother alone. Go stand outside with your hands over your ears or whatever."
"Dean…" Sam started as he saw Cas's eyes narrow. "You don't need to do that. He's on our side. Hell, he is our side."
"No," Dean corrected, "he's on your side. You and him have this whole back from the future thing going on, and I get it, but I don't trust him and he doesn't trust me. Maybe in the future we do have something different, but right now he's just the guy that comes and drops shit on our laps occasionally."
Sam opened his mouth to protest again but Cas spoke over him. "It's fine, Sam," he said stiffly. "I will stay close enough to sense another angel's approach, but I will not listen to your conversation."
He disappeared with a faint rustling sound and Sam glared at Dean. "You didn't need to do that. He isn't the one that drops crap on our lap. He's the one that's trying to help us to fix it. The Cas of this time is a dick."
"Honestly, Sam, I can't tell the difference. Seems like the same man to me."
Sam poured himself coffee, not bothering to add cream or sugar, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp in an attempt to rub away the tension. "So, what did you want to talk about that Cas couldn't be here for?"
"Your nightmares for one. I woke up last night to find you moaning and Cas standing at the end of the bed watching you."
"He was going to help," Sam said quickly. "He wasn't just being a creeper." He smiled slightly. "You've trained him out of that habit in our time."
"Help you how? 'Cause I've been out for months now and not once has Castiel done anything for my… How do you know he can help?"
Sam knew exactly what Dean had stopped himself from saying: his nightmares. Sam knew he was having them; he had known about them the first time, too. Dean would toss and turn and sweat would bead on his brow, and Sam knew it was Hell that was hurting him. He had thought the nightmares were about what he had suffered there at first, but when Dean told him the full story of Hell, he understood it was the things he had done that haunted him the most.
"He hasn't helped your nightmares because he's not that person," Sam said. "The Castiel you've been dealing with is still a dick. For him, a human's nightmares are no more important than a pimple on an ant's butt. He just doesn't get it. But this Cas, our Cas… he understands. He's been on our side for years now. Hell, he fell for us, Dean. He went against Heaven and fell, and he lived practically human for a year. That's who he is. The real Cas, the one who brought me back here, he cares. If you'd let him, he'd help you, too."
"I don't need help," Dean said quickly, raising his hands. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"Sure you don't."
"I don't," Dean said firmly. "Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about, not really. I want to know what you were dreaming about."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Your own hell not enough for you? You want to hear about mine, too?"
"It was Hell then." Dean sighed.
"Actually, not completely," Sam said. "It was something else, but it's not important. You once told me there were no words to explain Hell, and it's the same for me. There aren't words to tell you how it felt then or how it still feels now. It's not that I don't want to talk about it. It's that I can't." He shook his head. "It doesn't help anyway."
Dean stared into his eyes, making Sam feel like he was seeing right into him, through flesh and blood and bone, to the mangled and ruined soul that was the cause of so much pain.
"And it doesn't matter," Sam went on. "If things work out this time, I'll never need to go to Hell and it won't be a problem. I only wish it could be the same for you. That was what I wanted, you know? I wanted Cas to take me back further, before Cold Oak, so I could stop you from making the deal."
"You what?" Dean said angrily.
Sam ignored him and went on. "But it wouldn't work. Cas said that there was no way of changing your basic nature to save me, so it would have happened anyway. I just…" He ducked his head. "I did try to save you from it, Dean, I wanted to."
"I know," Dean said. "Hell, I know just how hard you tried." He frowned. "But how would that have helped anyway? Lilith would still have started cracking seals once the idea occurred to her, wouldn't she? It's not like me going to Hell helped her other than to get me out of the way, and I'm not arrogant enough to believe I'm anything more than an slight annoyance to her."
"No," Sam agreed quickly. He couldn't tell Dean the truth. He didn't need to know about the first seal. His Hell had already done enough damage to him; there was no reason to add more guilt. "It wouldn't have made a difference to anyone but us."
Dean nodded. "Okay. Good. I mean it sucks that I had to go to the pit, but Cas was right. You couldn't have stopped me from making that deal, so it would have just meant more boring reruns for you."
Sam gave him a small smile. "I promise you, Dean, these reruns are anything but boring. In a way, it's incredible that I am able to change these things. It's freeing in a way nothing has ever been before, but at the same time, it's frustrating as all hell, because I can't change enough. People still die."
Dean looked thoughtful then he leaned across the table and braced a hand on Sam's shoulder. "People are always going to die, Sam. There's nothing we can do about that. We save as many as we can while we can. That's the best we can hope for. Now, chick flick moment over with, what's the deal with Voldemort?"
Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, you're not going to like it, but we're going to need Cas for this one."
"Why?" Dean asked acidly.
"Because I can pick a pocket, but Cas is the only who can render someone unconscious without drawing too much attention."
"What's your Fagin act—which is no better than mine by the way—got to do with it?"
"It's a long story," Sam said, hearing footsteps on the stairs. "And Bobby's on his way so I'll wait for him before I explain."
The ride to Sioux City only took an hour with Dean's driving. Sam enjoyed being back in the car with the music playing and Dean singing along to his favorite songs, and he was a little disappointed when they passed through the city limits and Sam directed him to the hotel the acts had been staying in last time.
Bobby had chosen to stay home while they took the hunt, saying there were things they needed to do. Cas had not opted to make the journey with them, which probably accounted for Dean's good mood, but when they pulled up outside the hotel, he was standing on the sidewalk waiting for them. He had possibly been there for the entire time it had taken them to drive from Bobby's. He smiled slightly as Sam and Dean climbed out of the Impala. Sam returned it while Dean turned away and opened the trunk to collect their duffels. He tossed Sam his and the corner of a book caught Sam in the stomach and he huffed. He was still a little tender from being tossed around the cot in the throes of withdrawal. Cas frowned and took a step forward but stopped when Sam shook his head slightly.
"Find the place all right, Cas?" he asked, merely for something to say.
"You gave me the address," Cas replied, possibly wondering why Sam was asking such an obvious question given his presence.
Sam laughed. "Yeah, I did."
Dean walked away from them both and pushed open the heavy doors to the hotel. It was a nice place, nicer than their usual lodgings. The walls were paneled dark wood and the floor was carpeted a deep red. There were actual flowers on the counter, and it was marble topped rather than Formica.
"Looks pricey," Dean murmured.
"We'll only be here one night," Sam reminded him.
Dean nodded and walked toward the counter with a beaming smile in place for the pretty young woman staffing the desk. "Hi there, Marion," he said, glancing at the nameplate behind the registry book. "We need a double room for the night."
Marion looked at them each in turn; Sam, still holding his duffel in front of him, Cas standing beside him staring vaguely at the flowers obviously not paying attention to anything but the voices in his head, and then back to Dean. "Just a double?"
"Yeah, don't worry about Rain Man here," he said, slapping Cas's chest harder than was necessary. "We have to get him back to the center before eleven. Just wanted him to see the magician show next door."
"Ahhhh," she said, sympathetic smile falling on Cas. "You have a good time."
Cas ignored her as completely as he had Dean's slap. She looked confused.
"He's a little…" Dean twirled a finger beside his ear.
"He's fine," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Do you have a double?"
"Uh, sure," she said. She looked at her computer for a moment then nodded and turned to a rack of old-fashioned keys on hooks behind her. She picked one and handed it to Dean. "Room twenty-four. It's on the second floor." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's where we put the magician guests, too. You might see them in the halls in their outfits. I thought your buddy might like that."
"He's our brother," Sam said stiffly, a remark for Dean more than her.
"Oh… Sorry," she said.
Sam turned away and tugged on Cas's arm, thinking this would be a real good time for Cas to ignore the voices and pay attention to the world around him. Cas looked at him and perhaps he saw the plea in Sam's eye, because he said, "Do you have accommodations?"
"Yeah, Cas. Dean booked us in."
They had to wait for an elderly couple to exit the elevator before they could enter, and Cas remained tuned into real events for the wait, thanks perhaps to Sam asking him if he had seen a magician before, a question born of the fact Marion was still paying attention to them.
"No, Sam," Cas replied. "I have seen infinite majesty that could perhaps be called magic by lesser beings, but I've never visited a magician show."
Dean snorted and they filed into the elevator.
When they got onto the second floor, they saw it was similarly decorated to the lobby except the walls were half paneled and half red-flocked wallpaper. Dean whistled between his teeth as he unlocked the door and let them in. Sam dropped his duffel down onto the first of the queen-size beds and Dean strolled into the bathroom while Cas stood beside the window and looked outside.
"Hell, Sammy," Dean called from the bathroom. "Doesn't matter when we wrap this case up, we're staying here at least a night. This place has a tub so big even you'd fit in it."
"Sure, Dean," Sam replied in a tired voice.
Dean came out again and fixed his eyes on Sam. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'm fine." He could feel Cas's eyes on him, too, but he didn't meet them. "Okay. We should probably get a head start on this."
Dean stared at him for a moment longer, concerned, and then he shook his head and sat on the edge of his bed. "It's the cards, right?"
Sam nodded. "The guy, Charlie, has a pack of enchanted tarot cards. He's going to slip Patrick—the first victim—one today, if he hasn't already, so when Jay does the Table of Death trick, it'll kill Patrick instead of Jay."
"So we have to get the card from Patrick and get it back to Charlie somehow?"
"Yeah, and that's where Cas comes in. I don't know much about Patrick other than that he was a dick who liked to steal from other acts, but the Charlie we came up against was shifty. We can't just hand him the card in an envelope disguised as a valentine. Cas is going to need to use him mojo to knock him out."
"You've given this a lot of thought," Cas observed.
"You have no idea," Dean said with a short laugh. "Sammy's pro at angsting over old cases. Who we could have saved if we'd been there sooner. What we could have stopped if we'd known more. This back from the future thing has to be like a dream come true for him half the time."
Sam scowled at Dean and Cas said, "I don't believe that is true."
Dean shrugged and got to his feet again. He turned his back on Cas and Sam, indicating an end to their conversation.
Cas shouldn't care that Dean was being… well, Dean, but he did. He understood Sam's fears now, why the young hunter was worried that he would return to a Dean who was different with him. After all, he was living in the past with that same thing. There was no trust between them, no bond. Dean didn't trust him and that was unlikely to change just because Sam explained the future to him. It was not his purpose to improve his or Sam's relationship with Dean through this trip to the past though, so he tried not to dwell on it. He was here for greater reasons and they were what mattered.
He was concerned about Sam though. His nightmares were draining him. He was exhausted and frustrated today because he was tired, and that wasn't a good way to go into a hunt. There was nothing Cas could do about that since Dean refused to let him help.
The first phase of the plan went smoothly enough. Cas followed Sam's instructions to the room that was being used by the intended victim and found the tarot card in his suit pocket. He returned to the room Sam and Dean were occupying to find Sam pacing back and forth, chewing his thumbnail, and Dean lying back on the bed saying, "Sam, he's an angel. It's not like he'll let himself get caught and… speak of the angel. Did you get it?"
Sam whirled around to face him and Cas nodded. "I have retrieved the card."
Sam reached for it but Dean shouted a wordless cry of protest and jumped from the bed. "Are you kidding me?"
Sam frowned. "What's wrong?"
"It's a cursed card, Sam! What if that Jay guy decides to give the trick a practice run and you get speared?"
"Then Cas would heal me."
Dean heaved a breath that Cas thought was supposed to be calming but when he spoke his tone hadn't softened at all. "Is that how we live in the future? Running into burning buildings and getting ourselves shot to hell because we've got a magic Band-Aid running with us?"
"No," Sam answered quickly. "I was just saying that it would be okay now."
"I am not always with you in the future," Cas said, thinking of all the things he had missed, all the times the Winchesters had been hurt and he had not been able to help them because he was away trying to defy Heaven's will or with Crowley. "There are also times I cannot heal."
Dean turned his glare on him. "Well, that's just awesome. You're basically saying you're about as useful in the future are you are here."
"Dean!" Sam snapped. "I was kidding, and Cas helps us plenty, then and now, so quit with the attitude."
Dean made a face but didn't speak. Sam cast him an annoyed glance and then looked at his watch.
"Okay. We don't want to get the card to Charlie too early because he might find it. We need to wait for Jay to start his show and then Cas can get it to him. Remember, Dean, we're just audience members. No drawing attention to ourselves or fist pumping when everything goes to hell."
"You say that like I'm not a professional," Dean griped.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Remember the Harlem job?"
Dean looked confused. "Uh, no."
"Oh," Sam said awkwardly. "Well, one day you will and you'll understand why I'm saying this now."
Dean shrugged. "Okay then. How long do we have and what are we going to do until then? Because I saw a sweet looking bar next door and I was thinking that maybe a few drinks would be a better icebreaker between me and our resident time-travelling angel than what we already tried. "
"Yeah, we've got a couple hours," Sam said. "And maybe we can get an ID on Charlie while we're there."
"You gave him a description already," Dean said. "You think he's not up to finding him?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "I told him it was a guy in his late-sixties with short grey hair and a bowtie."
"And?"
"And… come see for yourself."
The Winchesters grabbed wallets from jackets and stowed weapons in pockets and boots, then set out. Cas marveled over the men he was with and their lack of discomfort in knowing that, even to go out for a drink, they needed to be armed at all times. It was such a part of them now, ingrained in them since childhood, that it seemed natural. Cas occasionally wondered how long Sam had been at Stanford before he stopped carrying a weapon on him at all times or if indeed he had ever stopped.
The bar was different than the ones Sam and Dean usually frequented. There was no pool table, no dartboard, and the music was soft and tasteful rather than brash and annoying. Sam seemed impressed by the place as he looked around and smiled slightly. He and Cas took a table and while Dean went to the bar. Sam toyed with the folded napkin on the table and looked around the room, looking uncomfortable. Cas was going to ask what was troubling him when he spoke up.
"Cas, I'm sorry about Dean. I know he's being a dick. If you want, when we've taken care of this magician, you can take a break for a while. Go back to our time and chill for or just get away from us."
Cas shook his head. "Dean is just being himself of this time. I understand that. And there is no place more important for me to be than in this time with you. You are doing great things here, Sam, and I need to be here to support you."
"Thanks, Cas," Sam said. "But, you know, I'm not the only one doing great things, if you can call them that. You're doing plenty. You took out Uriel, which I could never have done, and saved Anna from the angels and demons. That's more than…" He shook his head. "It's something special."
Cas didn't feel that he was doing anything great. While it was true he had killed Uriel and given Anna her grace, there was no greatness in taking a life—even of a betrayer—and forcing unwanted grace upon Anna again. Sam seemed to be the one taking the weight of it all, and Cas wished he could do more. Though Sam himself probably thought his suffering since their return to this time was deserved and just punishment for what he had done before, Cas knew it wasn't true. It wasn't what Dean would want. The real Dean, the Dean of their time, was trusting Cas to take care of Sam, and there was so little he could do to help him.
Dean came back to their table at that moment, grumbling about over the top prices and gripping three bottles of beer in his hands. He handed one to Sam and then set one down roughly in front of Cas.
"Make these last," he said. "Because it doesn't look like this is a place that's going to let me hustle and we're almost out of cash now. Actually," he leveled a gaze at Cas, "you can help with that. When you're shoving the card on Charlie Manson, grab his wallet, will you?"
"You want me to steal from him?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "I know it's committing a sin or breaking a commandment or whatever, but we're running low on funds and I just wasted what little money we have on buying you a beer."
Cas didn't actually care about the sin of stealing, he was just clarifying what Dean wanted him to do, but he nodded nonetheless and said, "I will take what I can."
"Heads up, guys," Sam said suddenly. "They're here."
Cas looked to where Sam's gaze was fixed and saw three men. One was taller than the others with groomed grey hair. He wore a peach satin shirt and black bowtie. To his right stood a man wearing a more somber black bowtie and dinner jacket. On the other side was a man dressed more casually in a striped vest and shirt underneath a beige jacket. They came into the room, nodding and smiling at acquaintances, and took seats at the bar.
"Which one?" Dean breathed.
"To the left," Sam replied. "Peach shirt is Jay. Sweater-vest is Vernon. Charlie's in black."
"See him, Cas?" Dean asked. "That's the one you've got to do the switcheroo with."
Cas didn't know what a switcheroo was but he understood enough. "I see."
Sam glanced at him, and Cas thought there was something he wanted to say, but then he looked down at his beer and stayed silent. If Dean hadn't been there, he would have said it, Cas was sure, and he suddenly resented the older Winchester for his presence.
Dean and Sam discussed the bar and hotel and their usual haunts while Cas sat in silence, listening to the conversation between the three men at the bar. There was no sign that Jay or Vernon knew what Charlie was planning. The conversation seemed to be centered around the desire to stop Jay from doing the Table of Death trick that he had planned. Cas assumed Charlie was just playing a part, though, because he surely wanted Jay to do it.
Eventually, Jay moved from the bar and said, "It's all set up. I have to do it now," then walked away from his friends.
"He's going to kill his damned self," Vernon murmured.
"Perhaps not," Charlie answered, following Jay out of the bar.
Vernon downed the last of his drink and then followed.
"Showtime," Sam said. "We better get to the theatre. Cas, you clear on everything?"
Cas nodded. "I will wait for the appointed time and then act."
Sam nodded, satisfied, and then he and Dean exited the bar leaving Cas alone. Cas didn't want to draw attention to himself, so he walked through the door marked as restrooms and then shielded himself from view. Not being seen was imperative to this mission. He found the theatre by following Sam and Dean's signature sparks of self. They were standing outside the theatre with a few other people, not the crowd Cas would have expected for this kind of event. The doors were still locked, but that wasn't a problem for Cas.
When he was inside the theatre, he saw the room was prepared for the show. Small candles in red glass pots sat lit on each table along with small bowls of nuts. The stage was curtained, but Cas could see something bulging the red velvet—The Table of Death, he presumed. A middle-aged man was just fumbling with the locks at the doors and a moment later, the group that had been waiting outside spilled in, Sam and Dean among them.
Cas heard voices behind the curtains and a moment later he stood among them, unseen but very much present. Vernon was straightening Jay's tie and Charlie was fumbling with something in his pocket, the rest of the tarot Cards perhaps. Cas would need to take them from him along with his wallet when he was incapacitated.
Cas stood back as the pre-show preparations finished and Charlie took the stage to introduce Jay. Cas heard the applause and tried to imagine Sam and Dean joining in. The thought made him smile. Jay walked out on stage and announced his first trick. Cas moved so he could see through the crack in the curtain as Jay lay on the table and Charlie cuffed him down. A timer started counting down with clicks for each second as Charlie slipped behind the curtain again.
Vernon was muttering under his breath, a prayer for his friend's safety, and Cas smiled to hear it even as he repositioned himself behind Charlie. He reached up two fingers and pressed them to his temple and Charlie collapsed back. Cas stepped out of his way and Charlie hit the floor with a thump. He was barely aware of Vernon's cry of shock or him dropping to his knees beside his fallen friend as Cas was already bending over to reach into his pocket and slip the tarot card in while removing the others—understanding as he did what a switcheroo was.
He moved back with thirty seconds to spare, and he watched as Vernon ordered the middle-aged man that had opened the theatre to call an ambulance and futilely tried to rouse his friend. The seconds ticked down, and internally Cas willed it to work—for the card to do its business and end this life rather than an innocent's.
The last second ticked away and there was the sound of the swords falling into place in front of the curtain and a sick squelching sound as the wounds appeared on Charlie's chest. Vernon yelled and Jay ripped back the curtain, paling with shock as he saw his friend's fate. Cas slipped back as other people raced forward, drawn to the sound of Vernon's pain and the spectacle. He saw two familiar faces at the rear of the crowd and he smiled as they nodded at each other.
Cas cast a glance over Charlie's form, searching for any sign of life in the man, but there was none. It had worked.
Despite what had happened, Dean insisted on staying at the hotel that night, citing the fact no one would suspect them of having anything to do with what everyone was calling a freak death. Sam agreed without too much argument. Cas made himself scarce, following the path of Charlie's corpse to the morgue, while they each showered and prepared for bed. When he returned, Sam was lying stretched out on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head and Dean was examining the mini-bar.
"Hello, Sam," Cas said, knowing he would receive a more cordial response from him when announcing his return.
Sam looked up but didn't change position. "Hey, Cas."
Dean pulled a miniature bottle from the fridge and unscrewed the cap. "Charlie all gone?" he asked.
"Yes, his body has been deposited in the morgue. I understand from what Jay said that he and Vernon would take care of his funeral as he had no family."
"Not really surprising," Sam said. "Seeing as he's a couple centuries old."
"He is?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, he… I guess I didn't tell you that part, huh?"
"No, Sam," Dean said bitterly. "You didn't."
Sam didn't look concerned. "It's hard to remember it all. I guess I forgot what you didn't know."
Dean grumbled but didn't articulate his thoughts more than that.
"We need to deal with these," Cas said, holding up the pack of tarot cards. "We cannot allow them to fall into another's hands."
Dean shrugged. "Burn 'em?"
"As you wish," Cas replied. He shook the cards out on his palm and focused his gaze. Fire broke out and swallowed the cards, licking over his palms but leaving no heat or wound.
"What the hell?" Dean shouted.
Cas ignored him, fixing his gaze and focusing intently on the cards until they had been burned to curls of ash, then he fisted his hand and ground the curls to dust. "It is done." He shook the ashes into the wastepaper basket in the corner.
"Nice work," Sam said lazily.
Cas nodded and wiped his ashy palm on his coat, bumping against something in his pocket as he did. He reached inside and pulled out a pristine pack of tarot cards. "Oh."
Dean laughed. "Can't get the angel pyros these days, Sammy."
Sam sat up. "It's okay, Cas. Don't worry about it. We'll get a curse box for them."
Cas nodded. "That would probably be for the best." He stowed the cards back in his pocket and patted them. "I will keep them until we have procured a box."
Sam nodded. "Thanks."
"So," Dean said, "It's sleep time for us now, and we're not having you watching us again, because that's creepy as all hell, so you need to flap off and find a place to roost for the night."
Cas frowned at him. "I do not roost."
"Well, whatever it is you do at night, you're not doing it here. Go see a friend or something."
"All my friends are dead or here," Cas said, looking pointedly at Sam. He understood the message Dean was trying to impart though. He was supposed to leave them to rest alone. There was something he wanted to do first though. He looked at Sam. "Would you like me to help you have a peaceful night?"
Sam nodded gratefully. "That'd be awesome."
"Are you comfortable?"
Sam shifted on the bed until his head was on the pillow and he crooked an arm under his face.
Cas ignored Dean's shout of "What the hell are you doing?" and pressed a hand to Sam's brow, sending him to a dreamless sleep. Sam's eyes fell closed and his breaths became soft sighs.
"What was that?" Dean asked again.
"That was me helping," Cas said. "Sam will have a peaceful night now."
"Great," Dean said bitterly. "He'll also have a chilly one. Don't you know Sam gets cold at night? And since you didn't make him get under the damn covers before knocking him out, I'll have to sort things out."
"I can lift him and cover him up," Cas offered.
"Don't touch him again!" Dean growled, stomping over to his own bed and pulling off the bedspread. He laid it over Sam gently and tucked it around his feet and then turned his glare on Cas again. "Think you know Sam, do you?"
"I do know, Sam," Cas said. "I have had years of his company, and we've—"
"I've had a lifetime of it!" Dean snarled. "And maybe you two have this whole history that I'm just now living, but the point is you don't know him, not really. You two work your mission, save the world, but remember the one who knows Sam and no amount of bouncing through the past is going to change that. Understand?"
Cas stared into Dean's eyes. "I am not trying to replace you, Dean."
"Good, 'cause you can't."
"But I do know Sam. And he's not the only one I know." He fixed Dean with a piercing stare. "I know you, too."
That said, he shielded himself from view and moved to the corner. He would not leave the Winchesters that night. He would stay, and if Dean's dreams became troubled he would soothe them, too. Because cantankerous and abrasive as Dean may be in this time, he was Cas's friend, and that didn't change no matter what time they were in.
So… Dean's struggling a little with Cas' presence while Sam is finally able to relish the bond with his brother again. Never let it be said I make things simple for the characters. Hope the hunt was interesting–even though it was canon. I tried not to dwell on the similarities and keep it to the characters.
I'm going to do something I've never done before now, and that's ask what the deal is with the reviews. Over two-hundred of you read the last chapter but only four of you reviewed. Is there something I am doing wrong with this story? I am not asking this for a bunch of ass-kissing reviews; I'd be happy if you'd just PM me and tell me what the problem is. It's too late to fix it with this story as I've finished writing it now, but it could maybe help me make the next one better.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx