Disclaimer, timeframe, summary: see first chapter.

In the Wake of Angels: Part X

They had attacked the nest on a Monday, giving them only two days to prepare for the fight-- or a week and two days, as Bobby had pointed out when they'd told him, though he'd been quickly shot down. There was no guarantee that the demons would show up next week when no vampires came to meet them this time. In fact, Dean was fairly sure they wouldn't.

Tuesday was spent talking strategy, cleaning weapons, and training Jimmy. Although Sam had initially refused to take him again, Jimmy had asked him to step outside for a moment and when they'd come back into the motel room, Sam, though visibly upset, told Dean that he had relented. Dean, who had been conveniently coating bullets in holy water very, very near the door, had still only managed to hear snippets of the conversation, but he thought the gist of it was that Jimmy was a grown man-- nearly a decade older than Sam, in fact-- and that what he did with his own life was of his choosing. And he had been of help in the fight with Marie's nest, even if Dean knew Sam didn't want to admit it; he'd delayed the green-shirted vampire for long enough to allow Sam to get behind him and ultimately, though it had been reckless and stupid, he'd distracted Marie as well. So, it seemed, they were going into Kavanaugh's pub with a full deck. Not that this necessarily meant much.

But come Wednesday morning, Dean knew that Sam had begun to regret his decision. At breakfast, which was microwave burritos eaten wordlessly on the beds, Sam kept throwing glances in Jimmy's direction, his forehead furrowed with worry. Dean, though, had other things on his mind-- had another person on his mind.

He and Castiel hadn't really talked since they had kissed at the gas station three days ago. First there had been the nest, then the drama with Jimmy, and now their minds were on the demons they were about to attack. And while Dean wasn't looking forward to their first post-kiss conversation, he had to admit: without Castiel's constant company, the past few days had been unbearably lonely. He went to bed and woke up in the morning, all the while feeling… sad. Not angry, not terrified, not any of the wartime emotions he'd gotten used to. He was just down, sort of adrift, and whenever he stopped to think about it, the clarity and simplicity of the emotion startled him. Despite all the confusion surrounding the subject, through it all what he wanted and what would make him feel better remained clear: he wanted Castiel. He wanted time and conversation and maybe another kiss. And something inside of Dean warned him that the loneliness would just grow and grow until he got it.

But Dean was a prideful man. He didn't like admitting when he needed someone, and he especially didn't like not knowing why he needed them. His feelings for Castiel weren't… sexual. At least not in the way Dean was used to things being sexual. He didn't want to jump her bones or dance the horizontal mambo with her, or anything like that. Truthfully, he didn't really know what he was feeling. All he knew was that, the first chance he got, he needed to be alone with her. Needed to touch her hand, look her in the eye.

He got his chance late Wednesday morning, when Sam shepherded them all into the Impala and directed Dean to an abandoned field he'd noticed earlier, where a number of tree-stumps provided perfect ledges for targets. He pointed Jimmy towards one cluster of them, empty beer cans and guns in hand, and Dean seized his opportunity, taking Castiel by the hand and pulling her across to the other side of the field

"Dean," she said tonelessly, allowing herself to be led. "What are you doing?"

"We need to talk, Cas," Dean said, keeping his voice low, aware that the field was not big enough to allow them to speak at normal volume without being heard by Sam and Jimmy. "Look, I need to know… what's going on?"

"We're talking."

"Don't be an ass," Dean snapped, although he heard a pleading undertone to his voice that he knew Castiel would pick up on as well. "What's going on with us? Are you mad at me? Are you mad I kissed you?"

"No."

"Then please, I don't know what you're thinking," Dean said, and it was definitely a full-out plea now. "Let me in that head of yours because I need to know if I'm making stuff up or if there's something… between us."

"There is something between us," Castiel assured him, and for a moment Dean's heart soared. Then she went on. "There always has been. Dean, I have always considered you a friend, even before I was fully capable of understanding what that meant. I care for you deeply."

"That's not…" Dean swallowed, blinked and pressed on. "That's not what I mean. Cas. I don't know how this works with you guys but, is there… something else?"

"Is there attraction?"

Caught off guard by the word, Dean nodded.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly. "Dean, I am very, very confused right now. I don't know…" she trailed off, and began again. "I've just barely come to understand what friendship is. And now there's this for me to understand and I'm… not sure. Anna says--"

"Anna?" Dean interrupted. "You talked to Anna about this?" He knew that he should be annoyed, worried, given that he'd slept with Anna before, but instead he found it… endearing.

"I did," Castiel replied. "She said to do what makes me happy."

Dean's heart was pounding; he could feel the rhythm all the way down his limbs. He struggled to keep his voice quiet though he felt it would be drowned out by the sound. "Do I make you happy, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel said, and her voice was so loud and so definite that the 's' became a hiss in her mouth. "I'm not familiar with labels. I don't… completely understand how humans distinguish between types of relationships. But yes, you make me happy, Dean. Do I… make you happy?" She cocked her head to the side.

A sob strangled its way out of Dean's throat. It surprised him; he hadn't realized that it had been waiting there. "Yeah. You make me happy, Cas. You really do." He reached out and took her by the hand again, and she brought up her other one and placed it atop his. Dean closed his eyes, savoring the contact, feeling the warmth of Jeanette's small hands and trying desperately-- desperately-- to feel for Castiel underneath the skin and bone and physical reality.

They stood unmoving, and nothing broke through the moment until across the field, a sudden stream of gunfire erupted. It wasn't until then that Dean retroactively noticed its absence and realized that Sam and Jimmy had been keeping quiet, straining to eavesdrop on the conversation on the other side of the field.

Dean smiled. He really didn't care.

***

So, they were together now. Or something. Sam wasn't sure; he wasn't sure they were sure either. He and Jimmy had been less than subtle in their attempts to listen in-- after all, how could they not notice the absence of gunfire when target practice had been the whole purpose of the little outing? But it didn't matter. Dean was his brother and Sam decided that this gave him eavesdropping privileges.

When he'd snuck a glance across the field and found Dean and Castiel holding hands, though, Sam realized he had better at least put on somewhat of a show. Laughing-- surprised when Jimmy laughed too-- Sam scrambled to set the beer cans up on the tree stumps and began firing on them, pleased when Jimmy hit almost every one. When they'd all been knocked over, they retrieved them, setting them up again. Sam returned to the firing line he'd toed in the dirt to find Dean and Castiel had joined them and were standing, not touching, but with mere inches separating their hands.

"Care to join us?" Sam offered amicably, handing Castiel a gun, knowing Dean would already be armed. And so together the four of them practiced, moving gradually farther back, reducing Jimmy's handicap as the day went on. They spoke infrequently, but it was the most comfortable Sam had felt in a long while. It was almost-- almost-- enough to allow him to forget that in just a few hours they would be walking near-blindly into a pub of demons with a suicidal civilian in tow, not to mention a newly committed Dean (committed Dean? Shouldn't that be some sort of oxymoron?), who might easily prove even more distracted in this battle than in the last.

Because occasionally, there was a twinge inside Sam that urged him to push all that away, and he was feeling one hell of one now. Despite the fact that he had left and Dean had stayed, something in Sam knew that he himself had become the one to embrace the life now, that it was Dean and not him who would drift to sleep at night, half-consciously wondering about a normal existence. But still… he slipped up sometimes, and it just happened. And gun in hand, sending beer cans flying, Sam closed his eyes and opened them again… and for a minute or two he was just a guy, just a twenty-something kid who lived in Middle-of-Nowhere, West Virginia, come out to horse around in an empty field with his slightly crazy friend Jimmy, his big brother Dean, and Dean's new angel of a girlfriend. Sam smiled, and the beer cans continued to fly, each round looking a bit more distorted as they were set back up on the stumps.

But he wasn't a normal guy, of course, and when his watch told him it was getting past four, he reluctantly directed the group back to the car. The last few hours were spent nervously pacing the motel room, and Sam wished desperately that the time would just come for them to leave already. More than once he turned to Jimmy, who was reclining on his bed mindlessly channel surfing. Every time though, he found he had nothing to say. There was just a feeling in his gut-- not a premonition feeling or anything like that, just the urge to shake the man's hand or something. The sad realization that Jimmy didn't care whether or not he walked back out of that pub tonight. The fact that he very easily might not. However weird it had initially been to have Jimmy bunking with them, permanently Castiel-less, Sam had grown used to his presence, especially when Dean was spending more and more time with Cas and less with him. It would be even moreso now.

Dean insisted on driving despite his ankle not being one-hundred percent yet. Sam didn't argue with him, although there was a very brief, very childish moment of jealously when he wondered who would be riding shotgun. But Castiel slid into the backseat next to Jimmy as she had always done, and Sam eased into the passenger side, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated gentility.

Dean blasted the stereo to conversational impossibility level; Sam wondered if he was doing it to avoid Sam's questions, or doing it to energize himself for the coming fight. It could easily have been either, or both. A glance to the backseat showed Jimmy blank-faced as usual, but in Castiel's demeanor there was something different. The tiny curvature flickering on her lips might just have been a smile.

Kavanaugh's was a nondescript brown building with semicircular flags in Irish and American colors draped across its front. The lot was mostly empty, which seemed reasonable for dinnertime on a weekday, and it was relatively close to the highway. Overall it was an underwhelming location for a showdown, although it backed up to a thick patch of woods that seemed moderately more atmospheric.

"Can you tell how many of them there are?" Sam asked Castiel as they walked inside. Frowning, she shook her head.

"Something's blocking me. It's possible I won't be able to enter, either."

"I don't like that," Sam announced flatly.

"Sammy, I haven't like anything for the past year," Dean replied, and Sam knew he was right. Since when did they have the luxury of picking and choosing their fights?

As it turned out, Castiel had no problem entering. She followed Dean inside, trailed by Jimmy and finally Sam. The interior of the pub was equally innocuous; less than two dozen patrons milled about, mostly at tables but some in front of dart boards. Two men were hunched on their stools at the bar. The bartender was middle-aged and looked friendly, calling out to them as they entered. "Gentleman! Lady," he added, tipping his head to Castiel who, surprising Sam, nodded cordially back. "Haven't seen you lot at Kav's before. What'll it be?"

"Three lagers and a water," Dean called confidently back, and for the second time that day an eerie feeling of normalcy washed over Sam. Then, as his nose adjusted to the smell of alcohol and cologne, he began to detect hints of sulfur beneath it.

Dean was ambling over to the bar, already looking like a regular; Castiel trailed behind him, looking more obviously feminine than ever against the uber-masculine backdrop of the room. Dean took a seat, leaving one empty stool between himself and the rightmost of the two men already there. Castiel, then Jimmy, copied him and slid onto their stools, leaving Sam to take the end seat. He perched lightly, scanning the room, marking the exits and boundaries, noticing any place that might be big enough for a demon to be hiding.

"Here ya go," the bartender announced cheerfully, setting their drinks down; he correctly placed the glass of water in front of Castiel.

"Thank you, sir," Dean drawled, and smiled.

"Excuse me." The voice was new and, at the sound of it, Sam stopped glancing about the room and focused his attention. It was coming from the man seated next to Dean, and there was something about it far too smooth and high-brow for a place such as 'Kav's'. "I wonder if you might by any chance be acquainted with my friend Marie."

"Marie," Dean repeated, running the name around in his mouth like he was trying hard to remember its importance. "Marie. Tall lady, red hair? Well endowed?"

The stranger smiled. Without the demon in him, he might have been a friendly-looking man; something in his side-parted brown hair and square jaw reminded Sam of a dentist. "That'll be her."

"Yeah, I've seen her around. Her and her posse."

"Might you know if she'll be keeping our appointment for tonight?"

Again, Dean screwed up his face like he was thinking hard. "You know, I do seem to remember her mentioning something about not being able to make it tonight. Sorry, pal."

"That's a shame," the man replied.

"Yeah. Now I remember real well, actually. She mentioned it right before I cut her head off." The bartender had disappeared into the back room and no one seemed to paying them any mind, but Dean still lowered his voice so that Sam had to strain to hear it.

"As I said. A pity."

"Yeah. Pity. Look, pal," Dean growled, any hint of his previous faked friendliness now completely evaporated. "Let's take this outside, huh? We don't want to hurt any civilians, and you don't want to hurt any potential meatsuits. Right? Right."

The demon dentist grinned, his eyes flipping briefly to black, and suddenly there was a feeling in Sam's stomach like a fist-sized ball of solid ice had dropped in for a visit there. "Potential meatsuits?" he repeated. "You might wanna take another look, friend."

All around the bar, patrons dropped what they were doing and turned their eyes to the bar, staring without blinking at Sam and the group. Even the bartender reappeared, looking considerably less friendly than he had to begin with. Sam cursed under his breath. There were no civilians to be worried about here. Every damn person in that bar was a demon.