The Angel Express sucked way more than usual. For a split second, it felt like Sam had left all his internal organs back in the diner parking lot, leaving him a shell of flimsy bones and brittle skin, before everything slammed back into place with a lurch, buckling his knees and sending him heaving to the ground. Nausea rolled through him like a tidal wave, and—crap—he did not look forward to seeing that egg white omelet again.
He had no clue how his lunch stayed down, but it certainly wasn't through sheer force of personality, because he gave up as soon as his knees hit the dirt.
Some dozen or so heaves later, his hearing and vision cleared enough for him to recognize that the diner parking lot wasn't made of dry gravel and dust, so he must be somewhere new. He recognized Dean swearing weakly from somewhere behind him. He squeezed his eyes closed to cool them, before turning to his brother, who had stayed on his feet thanks only to Cas' presence at his elbow.
"Shit." Dean pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, grabbing for Cas' sleeve and only sort of catching it as he stumbled. Cas was too busy looking completely unimpressed with Sunshine to offer any pity.
Sam fought back shivers even though he was sweating, and swallowed away the bile in his throat. He considered just collapsing and taking a nap, but instead he pushed himself to his feet and blinked away the spots that bloomed in front of his eyes.
Pissed off and defensive, Dean snapped, "You okay?"
"No," Sam said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "What happened?"
"Freaking angels, man! Who taught you to drive?!"
It took Sunshine a second to realize he was talking to her, and then she just looked confused. "It wasn't that bad."
"Not that bad? Not that—That was awful. What are you, new at this? It's like not all my bits made it."
"It was a difficult transition. It's normal to feel some discomfort."
"Some discomfort? You're the one fixing me if it turns out all my blood's running the wrong direction now."
"Where are we?" Sam asked.
"Your circulatory system is fine. Your increase in blood pressure and heart rate are probably due to your over-excitement."
Sam looked around for the first time, squinting against the sun to see rows of cars with dented trunks and rusted doors and missing wheels. Rolled down windows and raised hoods. Gaping holes from scavenged engine parts. It smelled of grease and metal, dust and the South Dakota wind.
The Singer salvage yard.
Sam's heart sank. Given his queasiness, it hurt way more than usual.
He turned to throw a panicked look at Dean, but Dean was still hiding his own stress with righteous indignation, getting in Sunshine's face as much as his wobbly legs and unfocused eyes would let him. In his place was Cas, looking straight at Sam with a pained look, like he wanted to reach out a comforting hand. The same way he'd steadied Dean. Sam looked away.
He was not ready for this.
He'd been putting it off for weeks. Bobby'd been weird. Distant and edgy. On the road, Sam had been ready to call him, all "you can't hide that something's wrong," and "what can I do to help?" He'd guessed at reasons, but none of them really ate at him, none of them couldn't be fixed with some explaining and reassurance. It'd be okay.
But then the truth came out, and—and it was so much worse than anything. God, how do you make that better? What do you even say to that? Patricide? Patricide?! Just thinking it made him swell with something glowing like affection that, yes, of course that would count as patricide, and a split second later, that glow turned to ugly, tar-like bile because—God.
Bobby should have been more weird, really. Should have thrown Sam out. Shouted something. Said something.
He was not ready for this.
"Bobby's?" he asked.
Dean exploded. "Bobby's?! Are you kidding me? All that to get to Bobby's? That's like a milk run."
Leave it to Dean to completely miss connecting the dots that this was the last place Sam wanted to be. Leave it to Dean to fight with his new bestie within fifteen minutes.
"Okay. New rule," Dean said. "Cas handles all teleportation from now on."
"What are we doing here?" Sam asked.
"We need to make some preparations before our rescue attempt," Sunshine said, slipping out of her discussion with Dean. "This place is relatively secure, has many of the materials we'll need, and you'll be able to rest here in comfort. We'll leave tomorrow morning."
"So..." He scratched at the back of his head, squinted towards the house, and tried not to look as anxious as he felt. "One night?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Yeah. Yeah, okay." He could do that. He could. He just had to suck it up. Be strong. Face his mistakes.
Maybe he could spend the evening in the salvage yard. Sleep in a car.
When he glanced back, Dean's irritation had fallen away, replaced with dawning realization and pity that almost matched Cas'. He didn't deserve pity. And now Dean was going to worry again.
Sunshine tilted her head and blinked at him, but other than that, she didn't ask for clarification.
"Um. Okay!" With the most terrible of all grin and bear it smiles, Dean straightened and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "We gonna get our rescue on, or we gonna stand around, watching Sam puke?"
Sam glared, and Dean's smile grew more genuine.
"Jerk."
Dean slapped him on the back, pinching into his shoulder to haul him towards the house, determination in every step. "Don't feel bad, Sammy. Remember the last time you threw up on the way to Bobby's? That was way more embarrassing."
"I was twelve! Will you stop talking about it already?"
"Alright. We can talk about the time before that. Or the time before that. You puked a lot."
"God, Dean."
Dean pulled ahead, taking the steps two at a time with Sunshine at his elbow, while Sam hung back with Cas, who may have been trying for comforting and supporting by being a steady presence at his side. Sam decided it was too awkward to think about. They waited a good long time before Bobby answered their knock and shuffled around on the other side of the door, flicking locks and muttering "hold your damn horses." All of Sam's muscles tensed at the sound of his voice.
Bobby cracked the door open to let his eyes sweep over them and raise his eyebrows at Dean. Sam wasn't sure if it was better to have his heart caught in his throat, or sinking to the pit of his stomach when Bobby gave no response at all to his presence.
"Brought a new friend?"
Dean shrugged. "Still up for debate."
Bobby rolled his eyes and snarked, "Well, by all means, bring everyone to my house. I'll bake cookies."
"Well, it is the friendliest place on earth. It's all the angels can talk about. Now they all want to hang out here. Feel the love."
"You're not funny."
"Sure, I am."
Bobby snorted and turned to Sunshine with an appraising eye. "This new one an angel?"
"Yes," she said.
Bobby didn't look happy, but he swung the door wide, turned around, and walked off, not caring if they followed him into the house or not, but shouting over his shoulder. "So what? This visit defensive or offensive?"
Dean and the angels followed, disappearing into the dim house, and Sam lost track of the conversation as he fell behind, closing the door behind him and taking his time locking it. He caught up to them in the kitchen, but hovered in the doorway. The room was too small with too many people, especially with the walls closing in like they were. Bobby shifted something sizzling around in a skillet with a spatula, his back turned to everyone. "So you need something to break angel wards."
"Spray paint won't do it?" Dean asked. He leaned against the counter next to the refrigerator, watching the back of Bobby's head.
"If the wards were made in spray paint, that'd do it. But you're not dealing with slap dash demons who threw something together ten minutes ago. You're dealing with humans, who sound organized, and are working for angels. They're not the kinda folks to throw up some graffiti and feel satisfied. Gotta be prepared for something more impressive." He turned to look over his shoulder, giving the angels a pointed look. "Or so I'm guessing."
"The wards in the prison they're using are thousands of years old. They're carved into stone and have several layers of magical protection." Strangely enough, this information came from Cas.
"There's a thousand year old, angel-proof prison?" Dean asked.
"Yes," Cas said. Like that was obvious.
"Those that built it abandoned it some time ago," Sunshine said. "It hasn't been used for centuries."
"At least, not in any way that concerned heaven," Cas clarified, getting an eye roll from Dean.
"It seems Raphael has found a use for it again."
Cas sighed. "It will be a difficult rescue. Angels have never breached it."
Sam blinked. "Wait. What?" He only realized he'd spoken when everyone turned to him.
"No member of the host has ever set foot inside the prison," Cas repeated.
"But we're going to?" Dean asked.
Cas gave him a look like Told you.
"But for some perspective," Sunshine said, "no one has made the attempt in a very long time. And on the last attempt they lacked the benefit of...modern destructive techniques. I have faith we'll succeed."
Oh. "So...dynamite?" Sam asked. That sounded like a bad idea.
Dean's face lit up. "Awesome." And just like that, he was back to mooning over Sunshine. Idiot. They were going to die.
Bobby snapped off the burner and turned from the stove with his skillet, scraping some of its contents onto a plate and revealing stir fried vegetables with strips of chicken. Weird. It smelled delicious, which was also bizarre. Completely unconcerned with their bone headed plan, he asked, "You boys want any?"
Dean eyed the vegetables, then said, "Nah. We just ate. And Sam's delicate stomach is acting up again."
Sam nearly snapped something about how he had a stomach of steel and a gag reflex of iron, as demonstrated by the sheer volume of demon blood he'd drank, but that probably wasn't the best argument, and then Dean might brag about his own gag reflex, and Sam really didn't want to know.
"Jerk," he said.
"Bitch," Dean responded.
"Watch your language," Bobby snapped. He gestured at Sunshine with his spatula. "There's a lady present."
She gave him an indulgent half smile, then plucked a steaming snap pea from the skillet.
Bobby huffed and took a seat, his beard hiding most of his blush.
Just. What?
Sam hoped his confused look wasn't as obvious as Dean's. Cas didn't seem to be paying attention, his head cocked to one side and his eyes focused on the far wall like he was listening to something only he could hear. Maybe he was secretly on a conference call with heaven. Sunshine chewed the snap pea, all contemplation and building approval.
Bobby got a first bite nearly to his mouth before stopping and pinning Sam with a withering look. "You gonna get in here or you gonna lurk all day?"
He might throw up again. He might go do that just to have an excuse to hide in the bathroom. Instead, he shuffled from where he'd stood with his shoulder hidden by the door frame, stepping inside enough to lean against the other side of the wall, crossing his arms tight over his chest to make himself look smaller.
Bobby narrowed his eyes at him, then shook his head and went back to his meal. "I've got some tools that will cut through stone. You might not need to go blowing yourselves up and bringing the place down on top of you."
"Suck all the fun out of it, why don't you?"
"There will be other obstacles as well," Sunshine said. "Magical defenses you'll need to bring down."
"We'll need scarabs," Cas said.
"And indigo."
"Coriander."
"Poppies."
"Red silk."
They both vanished.
Sam blinked.
"Okay. That's even more unnerving when there's two of them," Dean said, pushing off the counter to turn and stick his head in the fridge. "We need to make a beer run. And...what the hell is this?" He pulled back holding a resealable bag.
"It's flax seed. Idjit. You can't read labels now?"
"Why do you have flax seed?"
"For my diet," Bobby grumbled, prodding at the stir fry on his plate.
"You're on a diet?"
Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "For my blood pressure?" He said it like this was something they were supposed to know about.
And the guilt just got worse. Sam hadn't considered that Bobby might have normal, civilian, human, old guy health problems. He hadn't even asked how he was doing. Too wrapped up in his own issues again.
"It was your angel's idea."
Dean looked completely baffled. "Cas cares about your blood pressure?"
"Yes." Bobby held out the word like that was also obvious, and Dean sucked, and he was losing his patience.
Dean gave in immediately and squinted down at the bag. "What do you do with it?"
"Eat it? Damned if I know. This is all new to me."
"You can put it in your oatmeal," Sam said. "Or on...salads and...yogurt." He forced himself to stop talking. Bobby looked up at him, and Sam searched for the anger in his face, the hesitancy, the distrust. He didn't find it. Instead he found that its absence was not at all relieving.
Cas popped in front of Dean, said, "I need your blood," then grabbed the hand that wasn't holding the flax seed, pricked one of his fingers with a pin, caught a few drops in a bowl, and disappeared before Dean could even start swearing. With Cas gone, he shouted, "You're welcome," at the ceiling and stuck is finger in his mouth to suck on it, turning back into the fridge to hunt for beer that might be hidden behind the milk or something imported that he'd dismissed on first inspection. He came out a second later, inspecting a bottle.
The quiet of the kitchen weighed on Sam, a pressure building, tightening the muscles in his shoulders. He drew up his courage, forced himself forward, and made his way cautiously to the table, taking a seat across from Bobby. "How—How is your blood pressure?"
"It's fine," Bobby grouched.
"Did you go to a doctor?"
"I don't need to. They'll just tell me what I already know."
"But they could, I don't know, give you some pills or something?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. It was hard to tell if his grumpiness was "you tried to kill me" grumpy or "Hi, my name's Bobby Singer" grumpy. And not being able to tell was making Sam dizzy.
"We just...We—you know—care about you." He winced.
Bobby sighed. "Look, kid. The angel says it's getting better, so it's getting better. I'm fine. You can stop all your fussy worrying." Then he went back to his meal.
Stop his worrying? But. Wasn't this the point when Bobby should at least say something scathing? "Since when do you care about my good health?" or "Are we seriously talking about blood pressure instead of your crazy time?"
He traded bewildered looks with Dean, then they turned back to Bobby and Sam said, "Christo," at the same time Dean said, "Cas said that?"
"God, Dean, stop with the jealous crap for like five seconds."
"Who's jealous?"
"I'm not possessed," Bobby snapped, standing up with his mostly empty plate and dropping it next to the sink. "If you're staying here, you can do dishes." Then he marched out of the room.
They watched him leave.
"Well," Dean said. "That could have gone worse." He grinned and slapped Sam's shoulder.
"Does he seem really off to you?"
Before Dean could answer, Cas popped up next to them, unarmed this time and making no move to gather ingredients from the kitchen cabinets or steal anyone's fingernails or anything.
"How's your shopping list going?" Dean asked.
"We had an ethical dilemma over how to procure a bone from a whale, but we decided to steal one from a museum in Canada. Sunshine is getting it now."
"Aww. Look at you, being a friend to whales."
"Yes. They do many beautiful things."
"So if there was a sea monster attacking a whale, would you fight it off?"
Weirdly enough, Cas considered this and gave a serious answer. "If I was aware it was happening. And I wasn't needed elsewhere. Yes, I would defend the whale."
"What if it was a whale versus a giant squid, whose side would you be on?"
"Their disagreements don't concern me. But squid are very rude."
"Huh."
Cas turned, pouring concern into his look until Sam wanted to squirm. "How are you, Sam?"
"Uh... You know."
Cas lowered his eyes, and Sam could breathe although he had the feeling he'd disappointed Castiel. "Of course."
"But something weird's going on with Bobby."
"No kidding," Dean said. "Flax seed? It's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers."
"Should we holy water and silver him?"
"Can you see anything wrong with him, Cas?"
Cas stared off in the direction Bobby had disappeared, maybe looking through the layers of walls to watch the guy putter about in the library. "Bobby is exactly as he is supposed to be." Which wasn't really an answer. Cas could mean, "God has a plan, and it involves Bobby being eaten by a shape shifter, and so far so good."
Cas turned back to them. "You're suspicious because Bobby's taking care of his health."
"Yeah. I know you told him a while ago that he was going to have problems if he kept up with his chili diet, but didn't he tell you to fuck off?"
"Yes." He frowned at the skillet next to the sink. "He did."
"So why's he listening to you now?"
"It's...unexpected."
Sam shifted, then asked as pointed of a question as he could and still hope to get a straight answer. "Should we be worried?"
"No." Cas straightened, shaking off whatever was weighing on him. "You'll need to recite a spell over the sigils before you break them. I can teach it to you now."
"I have to do dishes first," Sam said.
"Then I will dry and teach you while you wash."
Dean shot them a thumbs up and settled into one of the kitchen chairs with his beer. "Multitasking."
Dean woke slowly as a murmur from the kitchen washed over him. "—must be so alone." Under the blanket, he was almost warm. With the way he had curled on his stomach, one arm wedged in the gap between two couch cushions, face half buried in a squishy pillow, he was almost comfortable. If he moved it would get colder and less comfortable, and he'd never be able to find this position again. He could sink back to sleep right now and everything would be fine.
"Why aren't the Winchesters helping you?"
"This isn't their battle. It's mine."
A pause. And maybe this was just a dream. Maybe he'd sink back into sleep and let this slip from his memory before it made sense.
Then Cas—and it was Cas talking—continued and Dean found himself rising out of sleep to lean into the words, naturally straining to hear the rumble of his voice. "They've already saved the world once, and their involvement would put them in danger. I'm keeping them safe. I'm doing this for them."
Another pause, and then she responded. Sunshine. Her voice low and blending with the quiet of the night, more curious than angry. "No. That's what you'll tell them, because it's convenient, and they'll believe it, because it's true. But it's only half the truth. Why aren't you telling them everything?...Why aren't you telling me?"
Cas let out an exasperated huff. "There's too much to tell."
"Try."
This pause was longer, and when he spoke his voice was low as the deepest confession. "He was raking leaves."
That wasn't an answer, but Dean felt alertness creep into his skin, prickle uneasily down his spine.
"Sam's last request at the end of the apocalypse was that he make the most of the life he'd fought so hard for. He retired. He was done hunting. When I went to him...he was happy. I couldn't rip him away from the life he'd made. I wouldn't. I couldn't ask him to go against Sam's wishes. I couldn't ask that much of him."
"He would have said yes."
"That's why I didn't ask."
There was no warmth to be found in the blanket. Dean forced himself to keep quiet, to stay still, hiding from the angels or from the squeezing guilt and distress in his stomach.
"What's stopping you from asking now?"
"It's too late."
"Then what will you do?"
"I will help you on your rescue mission. Then I will return home and continue looking for the weapons of heaven."
"They aren't powerful enough."
Cas didn't answer.
"Castiel?" A footstep. Closer to him or away from him, Dean couldn't tell. "You know this."
Cas sighed.
"What will you do?" she repeated. A bite, something afraid, lingered under her tone.
"What I must."
Dean held his breath and the angels in the kitchen did as well until Sunshine breathed a horrified, "No."
Cas shuffled. A hand through his hair or his hands in his pockets or any number of guilty gestures.
"You're that desperate."
"It's that desperate."
Another pause and Sunshine's voice changed to a command, shaking off whatever pity had been in her tone. "No. You will join ranks with me, and we will defeat Raphael together."
Cas had nothing to say to that.
Dean cracked one eye open, the kitchen blurring through his eyelashes. Cas had slumped back against the counter, tired and raw. Sunshine tilted her head and stepped close until their edges glowed in a single teal silhouette from the microwave clock, until she shielded him completely from the dim pool of orange from the outdoor lights over the salvage yard. Her voice lowered almost beyond hearing, and Dean strained to listen.
"Cas," she said, raising her hand to cup his cheek.
Dean froze, his eyes wide and his muscles seizing.
"You are never alone." She guided him down to rest his forehead against hers. Heat rushed through Dean's cheeks. Cas' fingers twitched where they hung at his sides.
She spoke so, so softly, but Dean heard every word. "I've had a jacket draped over my shoulders when I was too weak to mend my clothes. I've had a bandage plastered to my cheek when I was too weak to mend my skin. I've been protected and cherished in ways I never thought possible. I've laughed, and our laughter can move mountains. I've been kissed in the rain, and I've had the curve of my spine traced while I pretended to sleep. I was dragged forward when I would rather die, and now I've found you and I'm glad, because now I can drag you. Now I can show you that you are loved too deeply to throw it all away."
He sighed, almost in defeat, then closed his eyes and sunk into her touch.
For a moment they stood there, breathing each other's air, his mouth pulled into a frown. Then she hummed a laugh on an exhale without opening her eyes. "Stubborn. You're thinking how we're not the same at all and I can never know how you feel. You're not going to listen to me at all."
His face softened into a sad smile. "I'm envious."
"Then act. It's all yours for the taking."
He reached up to cover her hand with his own.
Then she straightened, and it was like they'd never stood so close. "Check the perimeter."
He nodded and vanished, and Dean snapped his eyes closed, feigning sleep like his life depended on it.
He tried not to listen to her footsteps or the shuffle of her clothes.
"Dean."
Of course. He peeked to find Sunshine bent over him, far too close, wide eyes sparkling in the dark. She thread her fingers through his hair and murmured, "Go to sleep."
He wanted to be annoyed about this, annoyed at her. He wanted to shove her away and snap at her for the confusion in his gut and her closeness with his friend. He didn't want to slip into the soothing comfort of her hand. But he was half asleep, and his shoulders relaxed as his eyes eased closed again.
Her voice came quiet and warm, washing over him with the cadence of a spell, so warm it took him a moment to parse a hidden tune and even longer to recognize the words as something other than Enochian. Say your prayers, little one. Don't forget, my son, to include everyone. Tuck you in, warm within. Keep you free from sin, till the sandman he comes.
Had his eyes been open, he would have rolled them. As it was, he could just mumble, "This idn't a lullaby."
"It is if you fall asleep to it." And she pressed two fingers to his forehead.