One Night Only Part Five

The moment the girl vanished under the fog, I knew she was gone.

Gone, and by my hand as surely as I'd killed Amy Pond.

Sometimes, you don't have to stick the knife in and do the twisting to be the one to blame.

I'd brought Denny out here and now I'd killed her.

Still, I ran to the spot where I'd last seen her writhing, some part of my dumb ass mind thinking there was still hope.

I let off two shots of my weapon into the night as I dived forwards, not really caring if they hit anything or not. I was angry, not just at myself, but at God, Chuck, whoever the hell he was for letting this happen.

"Denny!" My words and breath were wasted.

I leaned low, feeling under the mist for her body, blood, anything, but all I felt was wet grass and pebbles.

Behind me, I heard the thudding of feet and whirled around, trigger finger itching to gank something.

It was Sam.

"Dean, she's gone. We have to get out of here before our friend decides to fire up that rig and finish us."

"I'm not leaving her, dammit! I'm sick of leaving people behind!" As the bark left my lips, I knew deep down that I had no choice. There was nothing, no one left to save.

"Dean! We can't help Denny, but we can still save Vickers. C'mon man, we're running out of time!" Sam looked at me with that frustrated, constipated look of his and it brought me partially to my senses.

Then, behind us, the semi fired up again, soot puffing effortlessly from its twin stacks.

"Guess it's time to shag ass," I admitted, but all the while my mind was screaming that I hadn't done enough. I hadn't searched enough.

I took one last look over my shoulder at the fog hovering over the ground where I'd last seen Denny. And I promised myself that when everything was over, I'd come back and look for what was left of her. Maybe I could at least give her a decent burial. Hell knows, after one of Crowley's mutts has chowed on you, there isn't a whole lot left to bury, trust me, I've felt the flesh tearing off my bones.

I know.

The rig revved again and I looked up as I reached the Impala, expecting it to be too late.

The demon driver was going to ram his semi up our asses and there wasn't squat we could do about it.

I gaped as I saw what was really happening.

The truck, complete with trailer full of souls was reversing down the lane at full pelt.

When something good and unexpected happens, I don't question it. I jumped behind the Chevy's wheel and turned the ignition as Sam joined me.

"I don't get it." Sam frowned as he watched the rig blur into the night fog. "He had us, he had us all in the palm of his hand to just crush, and he's leaving?"

"He might be leaving," I grumbled, hitting the gas. "But he sure as hell ain't getting away. We've got twelve minutes to ventilate his thick demonic skull or else, Sammy, so get reading that ritual and fast."

The car slewed and skidded as I took a corner too quickly, but I didn't let off the pedal. This thing's butt was mine, and I intended to be collecting my winnings from Crowley before the night was over.

Sam was a little more reserved. "Dean, I don't like this. It has to be a trick. Why would he back off now?"

I didn't have the answer, so I shrugged. "I'm trying to think it's because God is on our side," I quipped. "But somehow I doubt that's the real reason."

"We're heading back out on the coastal road," Sam noted with a frown as we passed a small and very hard to see sign. He pondered a second, and then turned to face Vickers. "Is there anything out this way except the old lighthouse?" He asked the priest.

"No…not that I'm aware of," the padre seemed to think about it. "No, just the lighthouse," he confirmed.

I glanced at him through the rearview and saw his face turn grim. "Padre, does someone still live out here?"

Vickers nodded, his features pained. "Daniel Wayne and his ten-year-old son, Simon. The place got a little ramshackle for awhile, but Daniel has been restoring it to its former glory. Did you know it used to be home to the town's radio station?"

"No, but I coulda guessed," I mumbled, thinking once again back to Carpenter's movie The Fog. That was a moot point right now though.

For reason or reasons unknown, the trucker had given up on Vickers and moved onto his next victims.

And one of them was a kid.

The rig vanished around a corner in front of me and I floored the gas to try and catch up. I couldn't let a kid die, not on Christmas Eve.

I felt the Impala's wheel sway a little in my grasp and knew that I was going too fast, but I didn't slow.

The truck should have been visible again now, but it wasn't. It was like it had simply ceased to exist.

"He's gone," Sam stated the obvious.

"No he's not." I pointed to our left and realized we had almost overshot our mark. The semi has veered off the road and onto a section of grass that sat adjacent the lighthouse.

None of us had actually thought to look up in the blanket of grey around us, but if we had, we'd have spotted the beam from the tower reaching out through the gloom.

I quickly slammed my foot on the brake and jerked the wheel in the direction of the now static truck. The Impala groaned but complied, and within about five seconds, my baby was parked literally next to a rig from Hell.

"What…what's happening?" Vickers looked terrified on the back seat, and I wished that there was something I could have said to console him, but really, there wasn't. It was all or bust now.

And the way our luck was going, bust was definitely on the cards.

"We have to go inside. Daniel and his son are in danger," Sam tried to explain with a little more finesse than I could. "I'm not saying its safe here, but you'd be better off to stay in the car and wait this out…"

Vickers winced. "You mean I'm still a target, and if that thing still chooses to, it could come out here and…"

"Tear you a new one? Pretty much, yeah." I'm not so articulate, I know, but sometimes it's best to be blunt. "Don't worry, though, Padre, we're really gonna try and not let that happen."

I looked at the Chevy's clock. No more time for small talk.

Sam saw the direction of my gaze and nodded. We both re-filled our shotguns, stuffing the remaining spare shells in our pockets, and from the corner of my eye, I swear I saw Sammy say a silent prayer.

I shoved open the Impala door and she creaked a doleful goodbye to me as usual. I smiled at how much I took the old girl for granted, then set off for the lighthouse door at full speed with Sam hot on my heels.

Ominously, the door hung slightly ajar as we reached it, and I was tempted to shout out Wayne's name, but then that would be giving the enemy the head's up we had arrived.

Who was I kidding? The freak would know we were here anyway.

I nodded for Sam to cover me and as he nodded back, I kicked the door wide.

Inside the lighthouse was pitch black.

No lights, no sign of life at all.

I glanced around using my small penlight to illuminate the scene.

There was a room to my right that appeared empty, then just a large spiral iron staircase that led into a black abyss that was the upper storeys.

I looked up through the steps as Sam joined me. "One hell of a stairway to heaven huh?" I mumbled.

Sam smirked, getting the irony of my song title description. "For us, it's more likely to be a highway to hell," he quipped back sombrely.

"Let's find out, Sasquatch." I took the steps two at a time until I reached the first level. It was slightly brighter here as shafts of light filtered through the damaged floor from the giant reflector above.

A mist still covered the floor itself, hovering about twelve inches high.

Not high enough, though, to hide yet another body.

I grimaced, realizing we were once again too late. "Poor sonofabitch didn't stand a chance," I sighed, my eyes darting to and fro for signs of the perp.

Sam kneeled and resting his shotgun on his knee, rolled the corpse over.

The body was shredded, just like the others, hair, flesh, bone entrails all spewing out of a torn up, bloodied cadaver.

This must be Daniel Wayne, but what of his son, Simon?

I felt my stomach pancake as I envisaged a kid as mangled as the body before us, and without giving it a second thought, I started up the stairs again, my shotgun shaking slightly in my hand as rage coursed through me.

I didn't get chance to get to the next level before someone cried out.

And it was too high pitched a scream to be an adult.

"Simon!" I yelled the boy's name. "Simon, I'm coming on up, don't you dare get your ass killed!" I come out with the most stupid sentences when under pressure, what can I say? But the sentiment remains solid, however idiotic the phrase.

I could hear Sam's huge frame pounding up the stairs behind me, but would we, could we make a difference now?

I reached the next storey first – I was directly below the actual light room now and the fog was somehow heavier here. I twisted my light onto a wider beam and glanced around, but there was nothing.

The scream came again and I spun around, still brandishing my sawed off.

There was a door to the outside, I could feel the draught from it now. It was swinging wildly, and I had no way of knowing if it led to a sheer drop, or to some kind of walkway.

I headed for it anyway, because the kid was somewhere out there.

The open door led onto an iron walkway that should have gone all the way around the top of the tower. Now though, through age and corrosion, parts were missing.

A special scaffolding had been constructed to make repairs, and this hung below where I was standing.

A guttural growl erupted behind me, and I took in a breath as I turned.

Usually, you can't see hellhounds, but tonight they must have been feeling pretty friggin' special because two mutts the size of donkeys were eyeing me up, their scarlet orbs wide and hungry looking.

I swallowed, but there was no time for fear.

The kid…

I sensed Sam at my side and dared to glance at him. He was leaning forwards over the rusty railings, totally ignoring the hellhounds stare.

"Dean! Down below!"

Sam's face told me whatever he was seeing was bad, and I quickly risked taking my gaze from the still snarling creatures to take a look.

The kid, Simon was hanging precariously from the scaffolding beneath us – but he hadn't just fallen there, he'd been skewered by one of the metal poles. The broken shaft had sliced straight through him and he was now dangling from it, only the strength of his flesh keeping him from falling.

Maybe the fear of the hellhounds had actually driven him to risk jumping?

Anyway, I've seen some sights in my time as a hunter, but I wanted to gag at the scene beneath me.

What was worse, I now realized why the hounds were simply watching.

They were guarding the kid, effectively staving off any rescue attempt until he gave in and died and they reaped his soul.

I had no doubt that if Sam or me moved to try and climb down, the dribbling hounds would pounce.

It was the kind of mental torture Crowley, and obviously his trucker friend, loved.

I passed my shotgun to Sam, took off my jacket and then flipped the "dogs" the bird. "Y'know what?" I growled back at them. "Screw you, 'cause tonight you so don't get this kid's soul."

I moved to haul my butt over the fragile handrail and found myself staring into the kid's eyes. He was still awake, his lips moving, but no sound coming from his throat.

I read his lips anyway, repeating the words over and over in my head.

Help me…

As I made my move, I heard the hellhounds frenziedly barking, and I knew they were diving right for me.

I heard the double blast of Sam's shotgun trying to protect me, but the rock salt did little to repel these beasts. They howled, even more outraged.

Unable to stop myself, I mechanically whirled back to protect my brother. And as I turned, I saw the lead creature pounce, hurling its nubile frame onto Sam.

Sam dropped his weapon and grabbed the thing by the throat, barely holding it off. I could see its scathing talons grazing his skin as it lashed out, and I felt helpless.

The second hound made a beeline for me, and I accepted that my skin would be flayed from my bones as it once had before by its fangs.

"Down!"

The hellhound seemed to stop in mid-flight, dropping to the iron walkway like a stone. It whimpered, tail tucked between its legs, and then it ran, vanishing like a wraith into the fog that still ebbed around us.

I took a breath and looked over to Sam.

The other hound attacking him had disappeared too.

"What the…"

I was about to utter every curse and expletive known to man, either out of thankfulness I was still alive, or because I was as confused as hell.

Sam stopped me simply with his gaze.

My eyes locked with his and then I followed his stare, suddenly remembering the voice that had commanded the hellhounds off us.

Standing a few feet away from me and Sam and almost completely veiled by the mist was the trucker.

He didn't say anything at first, but his steely blue eyes looked at us like he was the one seeing ghosts.

I blinked, appraising the plaid-shirted being who wore a bandana over his face.

Why had Crowley's little helper stopped us from being hound chow?

"I hope you're not expecting thanks for calling off Crowley's four-legged-freaks," I growled. "'Cause you're going back to Hell right along with them."

The trucker stepped closer until the beam from the lens above us illuminated his form. With a hand, he pulled down the bandana, finally allowing me and Sam to see his face.

"I would not expect anything less. In fact, I'd welcome it. However, I won't be going back to Hell."

The gruff voice, the parched lips, the bitter look of a man that had seen and done far too much.

I opened my mouth, but words failed me and I just stood there, gaping.

Eventually, I cleared my throat and managed his name. The name of someone I never thought I would see again.

"Cas…"

"You can't be here," I heard Sam say. "We watched you…I mean…"

"You watched my mortal vessel explode." Cas agreed. "Yes, but God had other plans for my spirit, my essence."

"God," I choked out. "Then how come your ass is here working for Crowley all over again?"

Cas looked sad and his eyes dropped to the mist at his feet. "Because I betrayed God. I sinned by defying his most sacred commandments, and I must be punished for that."

"You're an angel, for crying out loud," I spat angrily. "What would God get outta sending your ass to Hell?"

"The same thing he got from sending Lucifer's," Cas countered. "Fallen angels must pay dearly, and there can be no greater sentence than to be forced into the pit. Forced to do the bidding of the very thing we were created to fight."

I looked at Sam and we both nodded.

"Can't argue with you there," Sam agreed. "Hell is well…hell."

"So Chuck gets his rocks off by turning you into Crowley's bitch? Man, that sucks. This whole night sucks."

"You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally. I…apparently, did not."

I couldn't help but smile at his way with words, forgetting just for a second why we were here. "It's good to see you, dude."

Cas frowned, and it wasn't until then I realized how strange he looked without that long overcoat of his.

"I wish it was good to see you too," he said softly. "But I am bound to do Crowley's bidding now. I have no choice. No free will. It was all I could do to back off at the church. I have tried fighting it, but it's no use."

I realized what he was saying.

He had been sent to collect all the town's souls for this year, and even though it was against everything he stood for, he had not choice to comply with Crowley's orders.

Worse still, I had a very bad feeling that this was the reason Sammy and me had been brought to St Anthony's Cove in the first place.

Chuck and Crowley were playing one big game here, and we were the pawns.

"There are only four minutes left until midnight, Dean," Cas sighed. "And I must finish my task whether I wish to or not."

I looked over the railing at the bleeding kid, almost invisible in the amassing fog. "I can't let you touch him, you know that, don't you?" My eyes pleaded with the fallen angel. "Cas, fight it, dammit. Don't let that stuffed up little jerk of a demon beat you. You're still an angel at heart. You've backed off once tonight. You can do it again."

Cas clenched his fists, his mind and body battling some inner conflict. "I cannot," he said through gritted teeth. "I need you to stop me, Dean."

So this was it.

I'd killed Amy because of the things she would do if I left her alone.

I had snuffed out the life of someone who had once saved Sam.

And now, now Sam had to return that act and take down Cas, because no matter what he'd done, I just didn't have the jewels to kill Castiel any more than Sam had been able to kill Amy.

Cas's blue eyes looked longingly to my brother. "Finish it, Sam. Let my immortal soul be at peace instead of eternal torment."

Sam swallowed hard and pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket. He shook his head, and despite the things Cas had done in Crowley's name, I knew he didn't want to do what he had to. "I'm sorry," he said to the angel.

Then slowly, carefully, Sam began to recite the Latin on the page before him.

"Well done for getting this far, lads." Crowley appeared between us and Cas. He had a long black trench coat on that made it look like he'd just been to a funeral. "I can't just stand around and let my boy accept your little ritual without a fight, though."

He turned to Cas. "Castiel, have you forgotten you work for me now? Go get the boy's soul, it's what I pay you for…well, not technically pay, but then, you shouldn't have been a bad lad in heaven now, should you?"

The demon grinned, and I could see Cas trying to fight whatever hold Crowley had on him, but it was no use.

"Faster Sam, dammit!" I looked at my watch. No wonder Crowley had made an appearance to spur Cas on. One minute left until midnight.

One minute, win or lose.

Cas moved a few steps towards us, but I could see he was still fighting his destiny, fighting to save the night from anymore deaths.

"Why is it I always have to do my own work around here?" Crowley gestured with his hand and instantly I heard the growl of the hellhounds as they bounded towards us from nowhere.

Sam talked faster and faster, his voice reaching out across the night and cutting through the fog, through the spell that held Castiel to this mortal world.

The hellhounds made a gigantic leap.

And behind me I heard the sound of a cuckoo clock on the lighthouse wall begin to chime midnight.

From somewhere Crowley's unmistakable cry of "Bollocks!" filled the air.

And on the second chime of the clock, Sam finished the ritual and there was an explosion of light that seemed to suck in the fog around us like an oversized vacuum cleaner.

The mist was swallowed into the void in front of us along with both hellhounds and several pieces of scaffolding.

Everything happened so quickly I just had time to see Cas nod to me before he too was enveloped by the shroud and everything imploded.

Two seconds later, I found myself on my ass on the iron walkway with Sam crumpled at my side.

"That sucked," I growled, not having time to really think of anything more suitable to describe the carnage.

"At least Crowley's gone," Sam noted as he scrambled to his feet and then helped me up. "Think he got sucked into whatever that was too?"

"We're not that lucky," I groused.

The clock chimed again and it brought me to my senses.

"The kid, Sammy!" Before my brother could respond, I'd dived over the iron rail and was climbing down the scaffolding with little regard for my own safety.

Simon's eyes were closed now, and he hung limp.

Maybe Crowley had been busy taking one last soul while everything else had been going down?

No, I refused to believe that.

"Not on Christmas Eve," I kept whispering. "Not tonight of all nights…"

Once I found a safe perch at the same level as the kid, I quickly took stock of the situation and how best to lift him from the metal pole. I knew as soon as I pulled him free he was likely to start bleeding even more profusely.

Crowley you bastard, you're not taking one more soul tonight, not one…my mind was screaming profanities at the demon, but deep down I wasn't so sure it wasn't already too late.

I leaned over, testing Simon's weight before gently lifting him upwards, effectively having to pull the pole back through him and out.

I expected him to groan, to yelp, heck, even just his eyelids to flutter, but there was no indication he was alive. And truth be told, I didn't have it in me to actually feel for a pulse.

He's alive, he has to be. Christmas, remember? The voice in my head was keeping me going, keeping me focused, but I wasn't sure it was my own. You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally…

As Simon came free of the shaft of metal, I felt spatters of his blood spray on my face. I ignored it, and reaching up, passed his prone body to Sam.

Sam took him carefully, his strength tugging Simon over the railing and out of sight.

And the clock chimed again.

How many gongs left until today was in fact tomorrow and St Anthony's Cove was free?

I clambered back up the scaffolding, my hands slipping on moisture that had formed on its cold surface.

As I reached the rail, I hauled my butt over and landed softly next to Sam and the kid.

To his credit, my brother was working on Simon as good as any E.M.T. He'd torn of a segment of his shirt to try and staunch the flow of blood, but even as I looked at him, he was shaking his head.

"It's no use, Dean, He's gone."

My eyes focused on Simon's lifeless body, his skin a sickly grey, his shirt ragged and bloody.

And this was Christmas?

You must not lose your faith, Dean. God looks after those who have it unconditionally…

"No!" I cried out like a father who was losing his son. "No, I won't let this happen. Not here, not now!"

I began pounding on the kid's chest, wanting, willing him to breath. There had to be a reason for all the lives I'd taken, a point to all the things I'd done over the years, or what had it all been for?

"Dean, he's gone…"

I ignored my brother's pleas and kept working. I wasn't sure if I had faith in God, or in heaven, or any of those things, but I knew in my heart the kid didn't deserve to die on a foggy night in December just because some jackass of a relative made a screwed up deal with a demon.

"C'mon, c'mon," I growled.

The cuckoo clock hooted its final chime of the night, ending Crowley's reign and bringing in Christmas morning.

And as it did, Simon finally groaned like I'd expected him to earlier, sucking down one huge breath before settling into a ragged rhythm.

I collapsed back onto my butt and took down a long breath of my own.

For one night only, maybe, just maybe I'd had faith.

Sam glanced at me and smiled. His expression saying a thousand things words alone couldn't. Then, he scooped up little Simon and made a mad dash for the Impala.

I gathered myself and followed, hoping that somewhere in town there was some kind of medical facility.

As we made it to the car, I noted that along with Cas and the hellhounds, the semi had also vanished.

Did that mean the souls it had carried were now free?

Maybe I'd never know. For now, it didn't matter.

I cranked the Impala's engine as Sam climbed onto the back seat with Simon, and as his "Gigantor" feet left the gravel I hit the gas, spinning a one-eighty before my brother had even had chance to close the door.

It was Christmas, and the only gift I could give this day was life.

I didn't intend to let Simon down.

….

Seagrass Motel

Christmas Morning

After dropping the kid off at the local medical center, Sam and I didn't get much chance to sleep – at least not properly. We dropped Vickers off back at the church to find his dog safe and sound, we gave old "Norman" a bit of a send off out back, pretty much finished off any beers and bourbon we had stashed in his honour, and then just dozed for an hour or so until daybreak.

How the heck do you celebrate a whacked out Christmas like that anyways?

I called the medical center a couple of times about Simon, and it looked like he was going to make it. He had no parents left alive, but his grandma from Pennsylvania was already on her way, so things were looking up for him at least.

As I shut off my cell after the last call, I looked around at Sam who had dropped to sleep in the chair. His head was all crooked, and he'd probably have one hell of a neck ache when he woke, but he looked pretty peaceful considering what we'd been through.

By his side on the table was the tiny Christmas tree he'd magicked up the night before out of his bag.

Right now, there was a parcel sitting next to it, crudely wrapped in festive foil paper – a parcel that was twice the size of the actual tree.

I smiled to myself. Sammy always did like to have his Christmas, no matter where we ended up out on the road.

Nosy, I sauntered on over to the gift and checked for a tag. There wasn't one, but as I hadn't put it there, the parcel had to be for me, right?

I set down the mug of coffee I had in my hand and began to pull away the ribbon and paper to reveal what was within.

I stopped halfway, unable to unwrap the thing any further.

Sam wouldn't be so damn crass, would he?

I felt angry, hurt even, that he'd do this. After everything we'd been through, after he knew how I felt…

Inside the parcel, carefully washed and ironed was Cas's old overcoat. It had been folded so painstakingly it looked like a professional cleaner had been around the thing.

But Sam hadn't time for that after the previous night, so what was this, a well planned and pretty thoughtless joke?

No way, Sam wasn't like that.

I tossed down the parcel, unable to touch it, and was about to shake my brother awake to explain himself, but there was an abrupt knock at the motel room door.

Who the heck would call on us this time of year?

Leviathan! My mind warned. You dared to stick your ass in a motel for the holidays instead of laying low, you dared to use the Impala, and this is where it's gotten you. Way to go Winchesters!

I pulled my Colt and keeping it out of sight, opened the door.

I have to be honest, I'd expected many things, from Bobby to a full-on whacked out Leviathan, teeth ready to tear me a new one.

What I hadn't expected was Castiel, stark butt naked standing outside a grimy motel door in St Anthony's Cove.

The angel looked at me with those baby blues apologetically, like a rugrat that's just put a window through with his baseball. "I…appear to have lost something."

I glanced up and down at him and grunted. "You don't say?" Then I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room.

Sam was still snoring lightly, so I kicked him.

"Huh?" He snorted, rubbing his eyes and doing a double take at our new guest. "Am I still asleep?"

He actually looked like he might be, but I had bigger fishy to fry.

I picked up the parcel I'd tossed earlier and pulled out the overcoat. "Better put this on before you get arrested for streaking or something," I offered with just a little snark. "Guess someone other than me and Sam was expecting you."

Sam finally realized he was awake and his eyes grew even wider. "Cas…I thought I…"

"It would seem God has decided I deserve another chance." He looked up and down himself again. "However, as I said, I appear to have lost something."

"Yeah, we kinda noticed you're naked as a jaybird." I grinned.

Cas' brow furrowed and he looked slightly annoyed. "That was not what I meant." He licked his permanently parched lips. "It would seem Father has taken away my Grace, so that I cannot use my gifts…" he paused, obviously pained by his past transgressions. "Unwisely anymore…"

"So you're basically human now?" Sam asked, rubbing at his neck.

"It would appear so."

"Chuck took away your angel mojo, but let you live. Gee, that was generous of him," I said sarcastically, then glanced at the gift wrap on the floor and Cas's overcoat. "What? Are you my Christmas present from the big "G?""

Cas didn't seem to have the answer, and for a time we simply all stared at one another. It was the most buckets of crazy situation I've ever been in, not to mention my most whacked Christmas to date, even counting the Madge and Edward Carrigan affair back in Michigan.

"I hurt so many people…" Cas eventually sighed, his recent deeds obviously weighing heavy on him. "Perhaps God is punishing me again for all my transgressions."

"Dude, God kinda made you that way. He up and left knowing you angels weren't firing on all cylinders. I mean no offence, but your kind are so naive it ain't even funny."

I was defending him, I know. But apart from Sam and Bobby, Cas is the closest thing I've had to family in awhile.

He nodded, but his face said he wasn't so sure. "All those souls in this town…"

"It wasn't like you could stop yourself. Crowley was holding the reins," Sam tried to help.

Cas still looked like a man about to be hanged. Or maybe a man who thought he ought to be hanged. "Perhaps," he conceded. "But I shall endeavour to be a better person now that I have this chance." He looked at me. "That is, if you'd lend me some clothes?"

I slapped him on the back and felt better than I had in months. Finally steering the bus away from the cliff felt like it was worth it.

And maybe Chuck wasn't such an asshat after all. Apparently God even made mistakes, and now he was setting them right like he should have already.

"Are you sure my duds aren't a little too macho to go under that Columbo coat," I teased, fishing a Henley and some jeans out of my bag.

"They will suffice, thank you." He took the clothes and began getting dressed.

"So," Sam looked bewildered. "What will you do now?"

"You could always ride shotgun with me and Sammy," I offered, thinking the ex-angel wouldn't really know of anywhere else to go. "I mean, without your powers you'd probably suck as a hunter, but we'd forgive you."

Cas didn't miss a beat. "Thank you, but I have other…responsibilities now, and my being here would only upset the family bond you two have managed to rebuild. No, it's time for me to give something back I took many months ago."

I folded my arms and Sam huge brow furrowed.

"You do?" Sam asked.

Cas plopped down on the edge of my bed, now thankfully fully clothed. "I'm going to Pontiac," he said matter-of-factly. "It's time Amelia and Claire had a husband and father in their lives again. It is the one good deed I can do on this earth, angel or not."

I balked. "You're giving up your vessel? What about you?"

Cas smiled. "Jimmy and I have come to a mutual agreement. It is time for me to take the back seat for awhile."

"But you'll still be along for the ride?" Sam questioned. "I mean, you won't give up the body altogether and..?"

"No, I will be riding shotgun, as you put it, but Jimmy will have his life, his family back. It is the least I can do."

I wasn't convinced it was the right thing, but it obviously meant a lot to Castiel to do something inherently good for a change after his recent rampages.

I couldn't help but think that Chuck hadn't let him back to roam Earth to do something so simple as give Jimmy Novak his life back, but that was for Chuck and Cas to figure out as they went along.

Heck, Chuck was the writer in all this, after all. Although, some days, I gotta tell you I think that guy has totally jumped the shark and will get his "show" cancelled next season.

Anyway, I looked at Cas and then Sam and decided for now, it was Christmas, and the world of creatures from Hell, Purgatory, or wherever, could wait a few damn hours longer to get their asses ganked.

"Okay," I said to Cas. "You get to go to Illinois. Heck, Sammy and me will even drive your wingless butt there. But, today, we eat drink and be merry…" I cringed as I looked around the room. "At least, we do if I can find a store open to buy more food and beer from at Christmas."

Cas licked his lips and that normally straight face of his cracked into a smile that warmed the cockles of my heart. "That sounds…very good," he agreed.

I grabbed my keys to go out to my baby and then paused at the door. "Oh, anyone for pie?"

There was short pause and both Sam and Cas found something to toss at me.

Was it something I said?

…

Epilogue.

As soon as Dean left the motel I realized I hadn't a clue what to say to Cas. We'd always been friends, yes, but not on the scale he and Dean had. After all, he'd pulled Dean from Hell, and they'd shared a kind of bond after that. Me, I wasn't sure he'd trusted for awhile until we'd gotten to know one another.

Which to be honest, was exactly the way I felt about him right this second.

I mean, how did we actually know Cas had been brought back by God? This could be a Leviathan waiting to bite my head off, but because he/it looked like Cas, Dean had believed unconditionally.

Could Cas get resurrected so many times?

Then again, Dean and I had written the book on that one.

I glanced at him uncertainly and he cocked his head.

"It is alright not to trust me. Were I in your position, I would not."

I squirmed. He knew what I was thinking, but then, if it was a Leviathan, it would have Castiel's memories. I shook my head. "No man, I'm good."

Cas shook his head. "For your own piece of mind, you must test me. Holy water, Borax, whatever you choose." He pulled his overcoat sleeve up and I found myself feeling incredibly stupid for not trusting him.

"Please?" He asked again.

I shrugged and pulled out a couple of small bottles from my bag. In turn, I poured the contents onto the flesh of his forearm, but nothing happened.

Cas looked at me and nodded and I felt more guilty, even though I wasn't the one who'd been riding around town with a couple of hellhounds creating havoc.

"Sorry," I heard myself apologize without even thinking about it.

"You had a right to know. A right to be certain."

I looked at him.

Really looked this time.

Cas seemed weary, drained, even. Maybe it was the weight on his conscience?

I thought about "Norman," Hank, Denny…

Then it hit me.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound pleasant, even though I had a not so pleasant question. "Do you mind me asking one thing? About when Crowley was controlling you, I mean?"

Cas shrugged. "I will answer if I can."

"Why did you kill Denny? I mean, you had two chances before we got to the church, and did nothing. We thought she wasn't on your hit list."

This time Castiel seemed genuinely surprised. "I did not kill the girl. She had no ancestors in St Anthony's Cove, ergo, there was no contract to collect on for her soul."

I frowned. "We saw her go down screaming. Maybe one of the hellhounds got a little jaw happy or something?"

"No." Cas shook his head. "They answered only to me and Crowley. They have no free will anymore than I did, of that I am certain." He looked as puzzled as I felt.

"Maybe I can help you out here, fellas?"

Cas and I both turned to see Crowley standing at the door. He looked even more tired than Cas, and this time he sported a thick growth of stubble that was almost a beard.

Could he move through time like an angel could? And if so, what had he been up to that required such use of his powers?

I shook the thought away. "What do you want?" I sighed. "We won the bet fair and square."

Crowley laughed. "With a little help from me and my ritual." He sauntered between me and Cas. "I have to say, I didn't think Dean would have the balls to actually use it on his pet angel, but what the hell."

"You were going to explain why you killed Denny?" I pressed the demon.

"Who me?" He feigned an innocent expression. "Not me, Sam my boy. In fact, nobody killed her, at least, not last night. You see the real Denise Fairborn died about six weeks ago in Denver."

"Shapeshifter?" I guessed wildly.

Crowley tutted. "Not even close. When I say die, I use the term rather loosely. What I should be saying is consumed by one of Dick's little helpers." He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"You're saying Denny was a Leviathan?" I'm sure I gaped – shouldn't really let the king of Hell know what I'm thinking like that, but hey, I wasn't ready for him.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Finally the boy catches on."

"So why didn't she kill us when she had all those opportunities?"

"My, haven't you Winchesters got a high opinion of yourselves," the demon sniffed then leaned so close to me I could smell his fetid breath. "She didn't kill you, because she wasn't here for a bunch of mere hunters. She was here to find Chuckles." Crowley looked worried as he spoke now. "You just don't get it, do you?"

I shook my head. "The Leviathan are looking for God?"

"More than looking, they want his lily-white arse served up to them on a skewer, and Dick and his boys are getting powerful enough to do it."

I was getting it now. "So Chuck didn't come back to answer Dean's demand for help, he came back to sort out the mess he caused when he created those things."

"Something like that," Crowley admitted. "Why do you think I didn't push for your souls last night in our little deal? Because we all need one another now. We need to fight those bloody things together."

I grimaced. "We're not getting into bed with you again, Crowley." I shot a warning glance to Cas, just in case he had any wild ideas. "And neither is he," I snapped, meaning the ex-angel.

"Fair enough." Crowley sniffed. "But you boys just remember one thing. Chuckles might have saved your arses this time, but heaven nor hell can defeat the Leviathan anymore, not on our own. See, your wonderful God created those bastards first, before the angels, before man, and he made them so powerful even he was scared of them and had to stick them in Purgatory."

"We'll find a way to kill them. We found the Borax, we'll find something stronger." I tried to sound more confident than I was feeling.

Crowley didn't seem convinced. He walked to the motel room door and then turned back as he was exiting, as if he'd had an afterthought.

"I hope you do, Sam my boy, because if the Leviathan have their way, this time next year, there won't be a God, and there certainly won't be a Christmas for you to celebrate…"

I opened my mouth to answer, but realized he'd already gone, and that I had nothing to say anyway.

If Lucifer had been a formidable enemy, then the Leviathan were the ultimate one.

And to quote Dean, I wasn't sure we could steer this bus away from the cliff anymore.

All I know is because we're Winchesters, we'll keep on swinging until the very end, or we'll die trying…

The End