The videotape stopped and Cas stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the now black screen. Dread roiled through his gut and he shivered, suddenly cold. Krissy, Aiden, and Josephine were just children, and Adam had killed them without mercy. And that wasn't even the worst of it; his eyes were drawn to the panic room where the small bodies lay piled together. Toddlers and infants who had suffered terrible tragedy, who were given a second chance at family by the three teens were now gone, murdered in cold blood.
A loud crash made his head whip around; Dean had thrown the nearby lamp against the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces. His face was screwed up in agony, eyes wild as he flipped over the table and tore the leg off. Blood trickled down his hands as splinters pierced the skin. Dean began to scream, unbearable pain clear on his face as he swung the leg like a club and smashed hole after hole in the wall. Cas couldn't stand it. He couldn't bear to see Dean like this because he knew exactly what was going through his hunters mind: Dean thought this was his fault.
Cas moved swiftly across the room. Dean was still screaming, swinging the broken table leg like if he broke the wall he could put the broken bodies around the room back together again. Cas reached out with gentle hands and grabbed his hunter by the wrists. Dean stopped swinging, but his mouth was still open in a scream, his eyes vacant.
"Dean," Cas said his name, voice breaking, clutching at his face, trying desperately to make that terrible scream stop.
"Cas, get him out of here," said Sam behind him. He didn't need to be told twice; he started walking, guiding Dean out of the blood stained living room. They made it the the front door when Dean swayed and fell. Cas swore and caught him before he could hit the ground.
"Dean?" Cas shouted, turning him over to look at his face. His eyes were shut; he was completely out. He heard footsteps and Sam burst into the entryway, eyes immediately finding his brother. The taller man bent down and checked his pulse.
"Did he hit his head?" Sam lifted one of Dean's closed lids to look at his eye.
"No," he answered shakily, "I caught him."
"Okay," replied Sam quietly. He reached down and dug in his brother's jacket pocket until he found the keys to the Impala. He turned to face the fallen angel, speaking urgently. "Listen to me, Cas, you need to get to the nearest hotel and check in. Dean is going to be in shock when he wakes up, and he doesn't need to wake up here. He probably won't be out for more than twenty minutes or so, so you need to hurry."
Cas nodded, listening to Sam talk about treating shock, taking the keys when they were pressed into his palm, still warm from Sam's body heat. "What about you and Crowley?"
Sam ran a hand through his shaggy hair and took a deep breath, sadness prominent in his hazel eyes. "We've gotta deal with the bodies," he said quietly. "We can steal a car and make it back to the hotel when it's done. We'll all head back to the bunker tomorrow."
In unison they reached down. Sam took his brother's legs and Cas took his arms. Together they lifted him and carried him to the Impala, laying him gently in the back seat. When the door was firmly closed, Cas turned to address his friend.
"Sam, Adam isn't done. He said he was going to take everyone you ever loved. Charlie, Garth, you need to call them and warn them."
Sam paled and pulled out his phone. "I'll tell them to head for the bunker. They'll be safe with us."
He turned on his heel and walked to the trunk, unlocking it, Cas close behind him. The hunter pulled out two gallons of gasoline and some hex bags. He wordlessly handed two of them to the former angel, slipping one into his own pocket and holding another for Crowley.
Cas hesitated, loathe to leave his friend, but Sam put a giant hand on his shoulder. "Go. We'll be fine. Take Dean's phone and call me if you need anything. Salt the windows and to doors. Keep a salt rifle and some holy water with you. Make sure you put those hex bags in your pockets. He won't be able to find you."
Cas covered the hunters hand with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Be safe, Sam."
He nodded, eyes soft. "Yeah, Cas. You too."
Sam picked up the gas cans in one enormous hand and headed into the house, his shoulders squared, using his free hand to punch numbers into his cellphone as he went.
Cas walked to the drivers side of the car, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. He started the car and adjusted the rear view mirror so he could see Dean is the back seat before taking off down the road to the hotel they had passed on the way into town. He didn't look back at the house full of bodies shrinking in the distance.
Sam and Crowley labored side by side, flinging dirt out of the grave they were digging. The bodies lay in a row next to the trench, wrapped and roped in bed sheets they had retrieved from the linen closet. When the final shovelful was added to the pile, Sam clambered out of the hole, all long limbs and rippling muscle, and reached for Crowley's hand, pulling his friend from the ground. Together they lowered the bodies one by one into the hole and doused them in salt and gasoline.
They stood quiet for a moment, wondering if they should say something, but really there was nothing they could say. Everything they cold think of seemed shallow and superficial. Words didn't really cover it. After a moment, Sam bowed his head. Crowley wasn't sure if he was praying or thinking, but he stood quiet, allowing the hunter time. It wouldn't have surprised the former demon if he was praying, even after all that had happened. That was just the kind of person that Sam Winchester was; good to the core and full to the brim with faith. And no matter how bent that faith might be, it was never broken.
When Sam was done, Crowley lit a book of matches, holding it at eye level for a second before tossing it into the hole. The gas caught and the flames jumped up in the grave, licking at the grass around the edges, consuming the bodies in the raging inferno. Sam and Crowley stood and watched somberly as the remains burned to ash. As soon as the fire died down, they shoveled the dirt over the ashes, covering them.
They sat side by side as the sun set behind the wooden privacy fence. Crowley idly pulled up handfuls of grass and watched them blow away in the wind while Sam tried to call Garth again. He had gotten a hold of Charlie on the first try. Following his instructions, she had made a hex bag and departed for the bunker. Kevin had been his next call; the prophet had listened with quiet horror to what had happened and assured Sam that he wouldn't leave the safety of their home.
Kevin had also reported that Joshua had begun thrashing in his sleep and had to be strapped down to the bed to prevent injury to himself. They had no idea what that was about, and there was no point in researching it. The Men of Letters had never dealt with anything like this before. They would just have to hope he woke soon. No more angels had followed the beacon to the bunker. They either didn't want their help or were too far out of range to feel it. Maybe Joshua would have answers for them. Maybe he could help them send the angels home.
His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill beeping of his cell phone. He flipped it open before the first ring was over. "Garth?"
"Sam!" Garth's voice sounded through the earpiece. Sam closed his eyes, letting relief flood through him at the sound of his friend alive.
"Garth, it's good to hear your voice man," said Sam.
"You too, buddy. But that's not really why I called. You wanna explain why a demon just tried to kill me? I'm guessn' that since you've been calling me for an hour you know something about it."
Sam's blood ran cold. "Are you hurt? Where is it now?"
"He's been Garthed. He's out of commission, at least for a while. Busted into the warehouse I've been researching in and started monologuing about his evil plans, blah blah blah. Let him back me into a corner and dropped him through the trapdoor in the floor. It's demon proof down there, but this was no ordinary demon, so I'm guessing it won't hold him forever."
Sam was astonished. "Yeah, Garth. He's a Knight of Hell. But we can explain all that later. Point is, he's after everyone we care about, and to hurt us he is going for you. You gotta get to the bunker where we live. It is safe there. We can explain everything when you get there. Make a hex bag and go."
"Hold up," said Garth, "So, you're saying that you guys care about me?"
Sam felt his ears heating up. "Well yeah, Garth, of course we do."
"I take back what I said before," he said, "That was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. You're getting a hug when I get there."
Sam smiled fondly and relayed the bunkers coordinates to Garth, making him promise to call and check in hourly on the way to Kansas. They said their goodbyes and hung up.
"Completely off his rocker that one," said Crowley, "but he's clever, I'll give him that. Not many survive an encounter with a Knight of Hell and come out unscathed."
"He said he'd been doing research," mused Sam. "I wonder what he meant."
"Dunno. Guess we'll find out soon enough," said Crowley.
Sam stood and stretched before offering a hand to his friend to help him up. Crowley grinned at him and reached up, letting Sam help him to his feet. Before he could stand all the way up, he doubled over, violent coughs wracking his body. Blood sprayed the grass, wet and thick. Sam automatically reached out and threw an arm around his shoulders, steadying the former demon, keeping him from falling.
"Hey, just breathe, breathe through it," said Sam soothingly. He knew exactly how this felt, and no words would make it better, but he would be there for his friend the only way he could. The coughs kept coming, wracking Crowley's body with violent spasms so strong he could barely stand.
When is was over, he leaned against Sam for support for a moment before he stood tall. It must hurt, but Crowley would not let the pain of the burden he was carrying double him over. He began walking, tall and proud and Sam was impressed by his strength. The former demon picked up the last full gas can and began dousing the house with it. Sam took his cue and began helping. There was no other way they could get rid of the evidence inside; burning it was the only option.
Sam lit the matchbook and threw it onto the porch, watching the hungry flames spread and begin to consume the frame of the house. Together, the two of them walked away to steal a car. They left the videotape of the murders inside the house to burn.
Cas paced back and forth across the hotel room nervously, eyes fixed on Dean. The hunter was layng spread out across the lumpy hotel mattress, eyes still closed. Cas had made it to the hotel, checked in, and carried Dean inside; he had yet to stir.
The angel's pacing got faster and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Sam had said Dean should only be out for twenty minutes, and is had been over half an hour. Surely he should be awake by now. And what frame of mind Dean would be in when he woke up? How could he ever even begin to convince him it wasn't his fault, that this red mark didn't belong in his ledger? His pacing got faster and faster until he couldn't take it anymore. He whipped the cellphone out of his pocket and began to dial Sam when a gasp sounded behind him. He spun around to see Dean feebly trying to move, gasping for air, hand reaching out. Cas was across the room in a flash, grasping his hunters outstretched hand tightly, bending down to look him in the face.
"Dean," he kept his voice low and soothing, speaking like one would to a wounded animal.
The hunter didn't answer, he just took fast, gasping breaths and started to shake all over, teeth chattering, hands fisted in Cas' jacket. Sam had told him about this when he had told him how to treat shock. Cas tried to move and collect what he needed, but Dean wouldn't let go or his shirt.
"Stay, Cas," he choked out. His heart twisted up at the words. The angel bent down and brushed his lips softly against his hunters forehead.
"I'll be right back," he whispered before gently pulling away and walking across the pulled the threadbare comforter off the opposite bed and crawled onto the mattress with Dean. He wrapped him in the blanket and moved, sitting with his back against the headboard, laying Dean's head in his lap so he could look into his eyes. The green orbs were hazy and unfocused, freckles standing out wildly against his too pale skin.
Dean wasn't talking and Cas' heart was breaking every second his hunter was like this, so he did what Sam said he should. He talked about nothing in particular, rambled so Dean would have something to focus on. It went on so long he didn't even realize his words had changed, slipping into Enochian.
"Cas," Dean spoke, his voice shaking. The fallen angel stopped and looked into his face. It was still bloodless. His eyes were bleary, and they shone with unshed tears. His eyes squeezed shut and a sparkling droplet spilled over, clinging to his long lashes before rolling down the side of his face onto the pillow. "I… I want my Mom."
His voice broke on the last word and the tears fell freely, body shuddering with silent sobs. Castiel's heart broke because his Dean, for all his bravado, was just a scared, soft boy. Tears of his own welled up, but did not spill over. He couldn't give Dean his mother, but he could do one thing. Something he learned watching over Mary Winchester when Dean was just a baby.
He ran his fingers through sandy hair, caressing the side of his face, and sang softly.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad,"
His voice rolled out deep and gravely and surprisingly pleasant. Deans eyes flew open and his eyes focused for the first time since had passed out. Emerald green locked on sky blue as Cas sang.
"Take a sad song, and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better." Cas continued, running his fingers all over Dean's face, tracing his freckles as the tears fell faster down his hunters cheeks faster. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening.
"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better."
Cas bent down and pressed his lips to Dean's forehead like he could press the words he was singing into his skin. He changed the lyrics, trying to make Dean understand without words that it wasn't his fault.
"And anytime you feel the pain, Hey Dean, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders,"
He moved his lips down, kissing the lids of each eye in turn as he continued his song.
"For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder."
He moved lower, brushing Dean's lips gently with his own, singing the na na na's softly into his skin. Before he could continue, Dean was kissing him. It wasn't rough, or sexual. It wasn't about getting off. It was slow and sweet and timid. Cas kissed him back, Dean's head in his lap, running his fingers across his skin lightly.
Dean broke the kiss and turned his head away. "Where's Sam?" he asked softly, eyes sweeping the room.
"He and Crowley stayed behind to clean up.." he couldn't stand to say bodies, so he changed it, "the evidence."
Dean shuddered again and it was obvious he was remembering the sight at the house. Blood everywhere, broken bodies. Cas remembered Dean swinging the table leg and the wall and gently took his hands, checking them over for injury. There were long splinters sticking in all directions and his hands were covered in dried blood. Cas eased himself up and this time Dean let him. He crossed to the table with the first aid kit and the mini bar full of whiskey. He took one of the small, plastic bottles along with the kit and crossed back to the bed, taking his hunters hands again.
He began to gently pluck the splinters from Dean's callused hands. Some of them had cut deeply into the skin and made his hands bleed when he removed them. His hunter wouldn't look him in the eye the entire time Cas was at work. He uncapped the bottle of whiskey and poured it over his hand. Dean hissed and flinched at the burn as Cas patted them dry and wrapped them in gauze.
When he was finished, he set his tools aside and took Dean's face in his hands, making him look him in the eye.
"Dean," he said softly, "It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to save them."
He jerked away and put his head in his hands, pulling at his hair.
"You don't get it, Cas! Everyone around me dies!There is never anything I can do to save them."
Dean's face was flushed, his eyes red rimmed and he gestured wildly as he exploded.
"I am tired of burying friends and I am tired of losing people I love. They were just kids and they are dead because of me. I am tired of it. Why did it have to be us? Why do we have to deal with this shit over and over again? Why can't we catch a fucking break just one time? Why do we have to be some kind of heroes, huh, why is that our job? We didn't ask for this. And what if," his voice broke, "what if it is you next time? Your blood on my hands. I just can't. I can't lose you Cas. I won't. Not you too."
Cas stepped forward and pulled his hunter into his arms. "I am not going anywhere, Dean. I'm right here. We're fine. Sam and Crowley and Kevin are fine. We're okay."
Dean's arms wrapped tightly around Cas' waist holding him back. "All I know is that half of the planet is always out to get us. And you, me, Sam, Kev, and Crowley, we're all we've got. I'm not losing any of you. We're a family."
Cas kissed his forehead. "Yeah, we are Dean… Are you going to be okay?"
Deans eyes darkened. "No. But I mean, the life we live, what's one more nightmare? I'll be okay eventually."
Cas' heart squeezed, but he knew this was as good as it was going to get. Dean was tough. He'd be okay.
Dean took a deep, stealing breath. "Cas, about what you did earlier. When I was freaking out. I just wanted to say,"
The hunter was cut off by knock at the door. Cas crossed the room and grabbed a rifle. He rested the barrel against the back of the door, finger on the trigger as he opened it. It was Sam and Crowley.
Cas let them in; they reeked of gasoline and sweat, but he was glad to see them none the less. Sam dropped what he was carrying and crossed to his brother in three long strides before pulling him into his arms. They held each other like that for a few seconds, eyes screwed shut. Sam whispered something to Dean and they squeezed a little tighter before letting go.
"Charlie and Garth are on their way to the bunker. Adam attacked Garth, but he managed to escape."
Dean looked relieved that Garth was unharmed and listen to his brother.
"They'll be there soon. We ought to get going."
Dean looked at them in disdain. "Like hell you're getting into my baby like that. Go wash up, Sasquatch."
Sam rolled his eyes but obliged, grabbing the duffel Cas had carried in for him of the floor and headed off to the bathroom. Crowley sat in one of the rickety chairs by the mini bar and downed one of the small bottles of whiskey in one gulp, grimacing.
"Always told Bobby that swill like that'll burn a hole in your soul. Guess I got a soul now, so I ought not drink it." He uncapped another and downed it too. "Oh well, too late now."
Dean grinned a small lopsided smile. It wasn't much- just a twitch of the lips- but it was something, and Cas was pleased. Dean was going to be okay.
After Sam and Crowley had taken turns showering, they loaded up the Impala. Sam offered to sit the back, knowing that Cas wanted to be near Dean. They closed the doors and the car rumbled to life underneath them. Dean rummaged through his box of cassette tapes until he found the one he was looking for. It was battered and had obviously been listened to frequently.
Dean took advantage of Crowley having a coughing fit in the back and Sam soothing him to lean in and whisper to his angel. "Just listen and you'll get it. It is what I was trying to say earlier. About what you did for me." He leaned back to the drivers side, unwilling for the others to overhear him and shoved the tape in the deck.
The familiar strains of Hey Jude filled the car as they rumbled down the highway. Dean took his hand and Cas understood what his hunter was trying to say. It was written in the music swelling around them, in the strokes of his thumb over the skin of his hand, and in the sideways glances he sneaked as he drove down the road. He was saying thank you. Thank you for being there, for knowing what I needed. Cas squeezed his hand and smiled. Sam and Crowley watched out the window the whole way back, but Cas thought there was more beautiful scenery inside the car. He didn't take his eyes off Dean once the whole way home.