Cas was back at the scene of the murder. By now, the yellow police tape had been removed, and the house cleared of any signs of trauma. In fact, it was kind of peaceful, in a way. And quiet. If you could allow yourself to forget that two people were brutally killed there.
The silence accentuated the sound of Cas's shoes as he walked. He'd been here more than once since he'd visited James's head, and every time he paced the house as if it held some clue he'd somehow overlooked even though he knew it didn't. It was simply a house now haunted by the knowledge that these people had died. Because of Cas. Someone wanted to find him. Someone wanted to find Dean.
Cas felt the uncomfortable itch return as his mind drifted back to the book he'd caught Sam reading the other day. He'd picked it up, surprised at the contents, finding it amusing at first. He'd never seen his species from a human's point of view, and he was interested in understanding it, even if most of what he found was rather simplistic. What he didn't expect, though, was the insight he gleaned into their current situation. Or rather, the theory. His hypotheses was half baked at best, but the idea, though disturbing, wouldn't leave him. It's just, the Demons didn't make sense. And something deep down told him he would be a fool to dismiss this possibility. So he was here to get to the truth. Still, he hoped to God he was wrong.
Cas worked out the thought with each step, trying to make it smaller under his feet. But the knowledge that demons had been looking for him through Dean had been at the forefront of his mind for days. He wasn't hiding. If the demons really were looking for him, they were doing a poor job of it, because Cas knew, coming here was just as good as offering himself on a platter. But he'd come here anyway, multiple times, in hopes that he could draw them out and find out the truth. Without involving Dean. But tonight was different and he knew it. If he was right, they would come.
Cas continued making his round through the house and was a bit surprised no one had come to clear it out yet, but then again, it had been an active crime scene for weeks. He walked over to a glossy picture frame and held it up to his eyes, peering at a picture of a smiling couple and a younger version of James. His aunt and uncle, Cas concluded, and wondered, for the first time, why James wasn't raised by his parents. He wondered if he'd lost them, too. And suddenly, he felt keenly aware of just how alone James was in the world and how Cas was at least partly responsible. It made him start to feel sick, because, despite knowing he had nothing to do with Dean's upbringing, he couldn't help but imagine him in a similar situation as he looked at James's small face. Dean had been thrust into this life too soon. Lost both of his parents. One to death and one to the despair of it.
There had been a time when Cas would have had little understanding about losing an emotional bond like that. It wasn't as if he'd experienced a normal family dynamic as a "young angel." In fact, Cas wasn't even sure if he'd really ever been young. But being on earth had introduced him to the phenomena of childhood and innocence. He'd felt it with Hercules and he'd seen it in James. And somehow, he'd learned, without anyone telling him, that innocence was meant to be nurtured, at least in youth. But the world was also cruel, and monsters preyed on little children and Dean and Sam had learned how to hold a gun before their arms were long enough to reach down the length of the barrel.
Dean wasn't a child, anymore. But Cas thought he could see some of the ancient ache he held inside when it came to being cared for. Which is why he thought he understood why Dean had gotten upset with him for checking up on him the other day. The bigger question, though, was why Cas had done it in the first place. It was one thing to ask Dean in passing how he was doing. It had been an entirely different dynamic, though, he realized, to sit Dean down and admit to noticing his feelings. It was intimate and personal. And if Dean had been upset about that, he wondered just how angry he would be if he ever realized how privy Cas was to Dean's emotions. Cas had crossed a line, and he knew it.
But, for some reason, he was more reckless with Dean. He let himself slide into actions that lacked the discipline of an angel and smacked more of someone functioning through a lens of emotional response.
He'd fallen from heaven for Dean, and he still had trouble dissecting the meaning of that. And yet, when, one drunk night, Dean had told him about his future experience Zachariah had sent him to where the Croatoan virus had demolished the world, he hadn't been at all surprised to hear that he had stayed by Dean's side to the end. He had however, been quite a bit more skeptical about the orgies Dean reluctantly admitted to Cas being part of. But then again, Dean was drunk. He might have been joking with him. He'd been told he sometimes misinterpreted Dean's jokes.
But, when it came down to it, Cas realized he would stay with Dean for as long as the hunter would let him. Actually, he was glad to be with Sam, too. But the connection was different, Cas admitted to himself, even if he didn't fully understand why that would be.
But the thought faded away as he thought of Sam's book. He would stay with Dean, provided he wasn't putting him in danger. But he had brought danger to their doorstep, and he continued to do it, so Cas wondered why he was even thinking about what he would do next, because the very potent reality was that there would most likely not be a "next" after tonight. This was potentially a suicide mission. And part of him wished he could have properly said goodbye to Dean instead of whispering it to the other side of Dean's door like a prayer. But he couldn't risk Dean following him.
And he set that regret aside, pulling out his angel blade and dragging the tip of it across his thumb, pulling a red stream of steady blood free. He crouched down to the wooden floorboards of the kitchen, painting a slow symbol across the glossy finish. Then, quietly, he placed the palm of his hand on the sigil, closing his eyes.
He felt the energetic connection immediately as a wave of energy washed over him. And he lifted his hand, wiping red marks on the outside of Dean's jeans he was wearing. He exhaled. It was done. There was no turning back now.
With that realization, Cas raised his weapon as he heard a sound near the door. That was fast, Cas thought, making his way towards it. But when he walked around the corner, he was met with surprise, because in front of him, jaw tight and looking angry, was Dean.