How many days could he spend not talking with Sam? He thought that he might be able to avoid words forever. He certainly had enough practice. Sam tried to strike up conversations as if he had forgotten that Dean was not interested in responding. He tried to seem casual about it all, but Dean didn't cave. The others noticed, and presumably Sam explained it all to them. Charlotte and Paul had gone to their respective homes, so neither of them were likely made aware of the situation.

Dean moved about like a man on a mission, and Chuck, Claire, and Alex made a point of keeping from getting in his way. He gathered their research and poured over it all. He read up on the items and on the lines of Enochian that had to be said in unison by three participants. Dean finally decided to ask Claire about that. She replied, "We've determined that the three are now Paul, Chuck, and Charlotte. I mean they are the ones that had the visions. Plus, one of the three had to be a man of faith. We've already determined that Paul is that." She didn't let on that anything was weird about him finally talking.

He set down the tablet and gave her his attention. "Were there specifics on what the others had to be?"

"Chuck said that it was not clear. We all reread what he had typed up before. It said, 'There will be three, and they will be those that see.' We talked about it a little after the stuff with Paul and Charlotte. They were given visions. They were used to speak to us. I think that means that they are the ones."

"I guess that makes sense."

"So does that mean that you're onboard with this then?" She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. She had her hair pulled back and mostly tucked into a knit cap. It gave her a younger appearance. This made Dean waver in his feelings concerning her participation.

"I'm going. I'll see this through."

"Are you gonna talk to Sam?"

Dean looked over his shoulder to see if Sam was lurking. He wasn't. Then he remembered that Sam had gone out with Alex for something. "Not planning on it."

"Ever?"

"I have nothing to say to him."

"You have plenty to say to him. You're just angry. You need to talk. Go get it over with. I can't imagine us all riding together with you two doing the grumpy silence thing."

"We won't be riding together. This is a two vehicle trip. He can go in one, and I'll drive the Impala. Unless you have a hidden mini-van tucked away somewhere." Dean cringed a little as he said it.

"Nope, just the truck. I'm not sure that your approach here is healthy." She threaded their fingers together and said, "What'd he do? He wouldn't tell us. Just said that it was bad, and that you had every right to be mad." Dean felt as though he had been punched in the gut. If it were possible, he managed to feel even more anger toward his brother then. He didn't tell her. How could he keep this from her?

Dean would have made an excuse to leave the room just to avoid answering. She had his hand though. He looked off out the window. He'd managed to kill five days since the trek to the park. They were running out of time, and he couldn't seem to fully get past his desire to avoid it all. He had almost accepted so much about this nebulous mission, but the idea of Cas lying there in the warehouse set him back entirely. He never thought he'd see him again. He didn't know if he could handle it now. He'd made progress. He was functioning in polite society. He even made a friend. Yeah, she wasn't entirely human, but so what. He was doing exactly okay. He wouldn't be after all of this. He knew what seeing Cas like that would do to him. Yet somehow, he also knew that he couldn't escape this.

He looked into Claire's eyes and contemplated the awkwardness that would come from forcing his hand free. He contemplated it, because he wanted to run again. He couldn't see an easy way to tell her what was in store for them. How do you tell someone that they are about to go see the body of their long dead friend? How do you tell someone that they are about to go see the body of their long dead father? He suddenly understood the difficulty that Sam had faced when he chose to keep the secret. He spoke then, because he didn't want to carry the added guilt of hypocrisy.

"Cas is there." He felt her startle with the words. He kept her hand. He added, "When Cas died, I told Sam to give him a hunter's funeral. I left. I didn't stay to see that it was done. Sam told me, just the other day, that Cas' body did not burn. It is still there in the warehouse."

Claire found her voice and said, "What the Hell, Dean. We can't see that. We can't. Shit."

"I know. I'm freaking out a little too." Dean covered her hand with his second hand. He held her gaze as he spoke. "I know that I have to go there. I know that. I just don't think that it will end well for me. You don't have to go there though, Claire. I don't think that you should."

She was shaking her head. "Why didn't he bury him? I mean, he's just laying in that warehouse rotting away. Why?"

"Sam said that he hasn't decomposed. He apparently looks just like he did on that day seven years ago."

Now she focused on him fully. "What?"

"His body is as it was."

Claire made an almost inhuman noise. A sob that came from some deep place. She slumped over a bit and shook and cried. Dean pulled her in and held her to his chest. He smoothed her hair down and held on, trying not to fall into the same level of grief. "My dad. It'll be like looking at my dad. And Cas. And they're dead. Oh God." And then it all became muffled and incoherent. Dean just held her and hoped that he'd find the words to make it okay.

Sam and Alex returned. Claire was still in Dean's arms, slightly calmer. Her eyes were puffed up and red. Alex took one look at them and rushed to Claire's side. "What happened?" And then Claire was crying again.

Dean moved her into Alex's arms and said, "Why don't you two go to my room to talk. It's quiet in there."

Alex nodded and moved Claire in that direction. Sam watched them go and then turned his attention back to Dean. "What happened?"

Dean looked away for a moment and considered remaining silent. He looked back at Sam though, and saw that he looked utterly defeated. It was as if he had already resigned himself to never hearing Dean speak to him again. "I told her about Cas."

Sam startled a bit, but then came over. He took a seat at the table. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"She's upset. I don't think that she should go. It's worse for her. She'll be seeing Cas and her dad. It's like she's losing them both again. If she's this bad now, what'll seeing him do to her?" Dean pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to will it all away.

In a still quiet voice, Sam said, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean looked at him and said, "No secrets. You have to tell me everything, even the bad stuff."

"I have. That was the last thing, I swear." Sam looked at him with such earnestness that Dean felt like they had shot back in time nearly twenty years. It was like looking into the face of his kid brother and not the eyes of a man that had been to Hell and back.

"I believe you. Just know that I need to be told if anything comes up. If you think something is off, if you think that something is going to be potentially bad, even a little, I want you to tell me. You have to do this. Promise?"

"I promise. No secrets, not even the ones that'll hurt you. I'll share it all. If it's in my head, you'll hear about it."

Dean set his hand on Sam's arm and said, "It was hard telling her. I get why you didn't want to tell me."

"I shoulda told you though." He looked away a second and then said, "I was so afraid of what you'd do. I thought it would be the final straw. As it was, I lost you for the better part of that first year. I thought you'd just be done, entirely and completely done."

"I would have." He didn't elaborate on what that meant. They both knew. "You were right not to tell me then. I wasn't strong enough. I'm barely strong enough now. I can't promise you that I'll be okay after seeing him like that, and I'm sorry about what that'll mean to you."

"Dean," Sam blinked rapidly and then swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. "I hope you know that you matter to more than just me. If you checked out," he stopped again and swallowing continued, "It's not just me that would feel that loss. Please make a choice before we get there that takes into consideration what you can handle. And by handle, I mean what won't kill you. I need you to be okay, but so does Claire." He swiped at his eyes again and said, "You two have become rather close since Cas," he choked up a bit. "You've become like a father to her. How many father figures can she lose before it ruins her?"

"Sam." It was all he could say at first. It was hard sometimes to do what Sam wanted, to just live. He was tired. He was so damn tired. And just when everything seemed tolerable, like he could maybe make it to the end of the road, the old man death that hunters never got, then he gets pulled back into the life. "It's not fair, I know. I don't know what else to say."

They sat in silence and Sam made an effort toward pulling himself together. Dean focused on a spot on the carpet in the livingroom. He thought about going out for a walk, clearing his head, but Sam would just follow him or worse, stay at the apartment worrying. Instead he took Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze. Sam looked at him like the careful facade that he was creating might fall apart again. "I'm gonna do whatever I can to make things okay for you. I got you through it before. I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose you now."

Dean held onto Sam and made his silent choice. They'd leave the next day at dawn. He'd face down his fate, whatever it was.

Somehow, Dean had managed to get the weird end of the stick. He was driving down the long empty road with three passengers, Chuck, Paul, and Charlotte. Somehow, Sam had gotten lucky and was riding with Claire and Alex.

Deep down, Dean took comfort from the situation. As much as he was not enjoying the idea of a million hours with a trio of potential vessels in the Impala, he really didn't want them to be riding with the others. After all, Charlotte was essentially Death, and if anyone was riding with Death, Dean thought, it should be him.

He stared straight ahead at the lonely road and the dusty pink sky. In the rearview mirror he caught a glimpse of Chuck and Paul, their faces aglow with the light of their tablets. Sam gave them a bit more light reading to do before the end of the journey. Out the back window, he could see the bright headlights of Claire's pick-up. The truck was framed in the slowly brightening early morning sky. If he stared back hard enough he might just see some stars.

Charlotte was riding shotgun. Her hands were folded on her lap and she was the very picture of serenity. "Are you doing okay, Dean?" Her words were quiet, but the silence of the car made everything seem loud.

"Yes." He didn't want the feelings chat that he sensed was coming. He silently wondered when his life had become one long dissertation on feelings.

"I wish it wasn't weird. I regret that it became weird." She was staring straight ahead when he glanced at her. She continued, "The first time that we ran into each other outside of Jefferson Hall, you remember that?"

Dean looked over at her and saw that she was staring at him now. "Yeah, I knocked you over. Can't believe how many papers we had to save from the wind."

She laughed and said, "Yeah, I was new. I think that I printed out every possible lecture for the year before I even taught the first class."

"Were you trying to meet me that day?"

"No." She looked away again and said, "It's like I said before. I was drawn to you. I'd hazard a guess that we all were and that we never quite knew why."

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror and saw that Chuck and Paul were listening. "Were you guy's feeling this so called Dean magnetism?"

Chuck laughed at him and said, "I was actively seeking you out. I felt a pull to this part of the U.S. I suppose that was you."

Paul looked away and didn't say anything so Dean said, "What about you, Paul?"

He made eye contact with Dean in the mirror and said, "I think that I obviously felt something. I made an ass of myself about it."

Dean felt a little heat in his cheeks as he turned his gaze back to the road in front of him. "Uh, oh, yeah. Sorry."

Charlotte, luckily enough, decided to throw him a save. "Billie never gave me details, and most days I felt like I was living a normal life. Yeah, I didn't age, and I'd eventually have to move to a new place, but for the most part, my life was rather normal."

"Normal?" He side-eyed her as he said it.

"Yeah, as normal as any of us get. I had jobs, and I dated. I did little things here and there. Frankly, the last seven years have been rather peaceful too."

"And before?"

"Before what?"

"What was it like, say, eight years ago or ten?"

Her brows came together a little, and she turned to face the blurred landscape outside the passenger window. "I don't remember a lot of it. I stayed tucked away, let her have the reins." She hugged herself a little then as if she felt a chill.

"You okay, Charlotte?" Dean was gonna reach out to her. He didn't though. Something about the tone that she had before made him feel like she wouldn't welcome it.

"I am." She looked at him, keeping her head pressed against the window. She seemed smaller then than she had seemed to be before. "I don't know how many vessels you've spoken with, but I've never known any that got to be in charge of their forms once they say yes. Once you say yes, you're giving them certain rights. Most have resigned themselves to that fate before they even consent. Sometimes life is such that no other choice feels at all appealing. That's how it was for me anyway."

"What happened to you before?" Dean had not considered her life before. He knew the little details that she had shared about what he thought was her normal, recent, human life, but now he had to question even all of that.

"I've lived many lives, Dean. Before Billie though, I was not the confident, little ball of philosophy and friendliness that you see today. I suppose that it was a life not so dissimilar to your own."

"Really? How so?"

"It is a long story."

"Not sure if you noticed, but we have a long drive ahead of us." Dean ended with a small laugh to ease the tension.

Charlotte sighed and said, "It's more than that too. I have done my best to not think about it so much. It's there. It's always there, eating away at my mind, but I can redirect my thoughts to quieter things. Thinking about it much will have an ill-effect I think."

"Oh, I...I'm sorry. I just wondered is all. I felt like I knew you, and yet there's a bunch I'll never really know."

"You know the parts that matter." She took in a deep lungful of air.

"I guess so." Dean glanced over at her.

"I might have to stop abruptly." She looked back to the blurry landscape again. Dean hummed out encouragement. "Long ago, before Billie, before anything resembling an independent life, I found myself attached to "The Philosopher." In the eyes of some, I'd have been seen as a servant. I was, I suppose. I was also there by choice."

Dean interrupted, "Where is 'there'?"

"Alexandria," she whispered. "She showed me mercy when she traveled through Egypt. She was brilliant. She saved me from a life that was base and cruel. She let me follow her. I recorded her teachings and her philosophies."

Dean interrupted again, "Who is she?"

"The Philosopher?"

"Yes."

"Her name is Hypatia. She was one of the few women to have made a mark on the world of philosophy, yet her name has practically been demonized by some. She was a philosopher that saw the importance of a marriage between science and faith. She enlightened leaders and the common folk in equal measure. Most importantly to me though, was that she was kind. She cared more for others than for herself. She was always quick to throw herself into fiery discourse or dangerous situations if it meant that the outcome would be that we had a better world to live in. She was human, and yet now, sometimes I wonder if she was something more. Regardless, she was my focus for many years."

"What do you mean when you say that she may have been something more?"

"I suppose I've just seen a lot now. She could have been an angel, I suppose. Who knows. Some accused her of performing spells or of having magic at her disposal. Still others thought that she had a connection with the pagan gods. This rumor did not serve her well in Alexandria. There were already factions in the region. There were acts of violence perpetrated against various men of faith. Hypatia did her best to soothe the leaders that could do much to exacerbate the problems. She met with them, provided wise counsel, and they chose not to listen."

Dean asked, "So, you helped her with all of this?"

"I don't know that I did much to help. I answered letters for her. She would receive letters from everywhere. They would show up labeled with the words, 'The Philosopher' and nothing more. Everyone of any merit knew and respected her."

Dean interrupted again, "Clearly you cared for her a great deal."

Charlotte didn't answer right away. The miles rolled by and the sky was now bright daytime blue. They would be on this long straight stretch of road for hours. Dean thought that he could close his eyes and they'd still be safely barreling along. The fields on either side of the road were a deep green, clearly still sucking up vitality from the earth that had been rather rain-soaked over the past month. When Charlotte finally spoke again, it was quieter than even before. "She was the closest thing to family I'd ever had. I was a possession before, passed from one to the next. I was a servant to cruel men. When she found me, when she saved me, it was as I was nearing the end of my time." She stopped abruptly.

"What do you mean? The end of your time?" Dean asked.

"Nothing. What matters is that she saved me. The old masters are long dead now. I don't know why I let them have any place in my thoughts."

"But you were in danger. What were you facing when she saved you?"

"It is not something that I can discuss. I've told you the details that I can remember. Most of it is just feelings. When Billie took me away, she asked me about my happiest memories. I told her. She said that I could live in them, and there I would forget the rest, the pain, the loss. I haven't forgotten it all, but it is different now. It is distant like it belongs to someone else."

Dean let go of the steering wheel with one hand and raked his hand up through his hair. "So how do we get from you working for Hypatia to you being Billie's vessel?"

"Hypatia let me accompany her to her last important meeting. She was attempting to soothe tempers between Orestes the prefect of Alexandria and what boiled down to a bishop named Cyril. To be brief, there had been a massacre that came about because many philosophical divergences existed in this one grand melting pot. Hypatia worked with Orestes to try to calm the tempers that were becoming dangerous. Many from Cyril's camp began accusing her of moving Orestes to actions that were more oppressive. She wasn't, but opinions were formed."

"So what happened to her? I'm assuming nothing good." Dean threw a glance at her and saw that a lone tear was snaking its way over the angles of her cheek. He reached out to her and settled a hand on her shoulder as he drove. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

She looked at him then and said, "I think sometimes it helps to think of what we've lost and who we've lost. Maybe then we haven't really lost them."

"If it's too much though…" he started.

"No," she interrupted. "It's not." Dean let his hand fall back to his side. "One night after we met with Orestes, a group of fanatics were waiting. Who could have supported this behavior? They took us. They dragged her screaming to the Caesareum. Did anyone come out to defend her?"

"I'm guessing no."

"Not a soul. She begged them for mercy. She tried to speak to them like they could be reasoned with. They beat her until she couldn't speak. They tore her clothes from her. Naked and bleeding to death on the floor of their holy place, she stared up to the ceiling as if she could see past this room, past this place of torment to some place beyond all of this. I crawled to her. They let me. They jeered and laughed at us. She begged me with a glance. She wanted me to crawl away. She wanted me to live. I couldn't leave her though."

Dean reached to her again and found her hand. He gave it a squeeze and said, "I'm sorry."

"I couldn't save her either." She looked at Dean like she was saying something more. "Sometimes you can't save the ones that matter most." She took a deep breath and continued. "They pulled me away from her. They made me watch as they tore her to pieces. There were tiles that were being placed in the center room. They were resourceful. They used those to slice into her. I tried to fight them. I tried to move. They held me and made me watch. I watched the light leave her eyes. It took a long time. When they were done, they gave me a swifter treatment. They had used their greater energy on her."

"They killed you?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Almost. They likely thought that I was dead. What did I matter anyway? I was just a servant, a nobody." She stared off out the window, but Dean could tell that she was seeing past the green fields to a darker place, to a past that was so vivid that it seemed to be surrounding her even now in all of its horrors.

"How did Billie become part of this?" Dean noticed how his words seemed to shake her out of herself a little.

She pulled her arms up and seemed to hug herself a little. "She was there to reap Hypatia. The room held but just the two of us and Billie, yet it was loud. The growling night was deafening. I could not move, because of the damage that they had done to my body, but I wanted to move. I wanted to flee. I imagined past the pain a scenario in which my bare feet were speeding my body out of the Caesareum. The noise increased, and with it my terror rose too. I knew what it was, but I could do nothing. My time had come. It was always my fate to end then. The irony of the two events coinciding did nothing to ease my terror. But then Billie…"

"What was the noise?" Dean asked.

Charlotte ignored his question and continued. "She looked at me. She told me that she could change my fate. She offered me salvation at a price. I didn't know that I could consent to such a thing. I did though. She asked for my form, and I gave it to her. She spoke words to the darkness around us and the noise fell away. Her words were old, older than time and anything that existed then even. They had a melody to them though. I felt safe as they swirled out around us into the room. She took Hypatia then. Using my form, she reaped her, speaking words of comfort to her as they left. Billie gave me comfort, and a world of memories to live in as my reward. She took this one day of horror, and gave me an eternity of peace. It was real to me, and Hypatia was there, and everything was good."

"But it wasn't real though," Dean interrupted.

She looked angry, but she schooled the look back into passivity. "It was though." The miles passed by, and Dean estimated that they'd be stopping soon for food and gas. Charlotte continued, "She got to live on in my mind, and I got to live the life that was never mine to begin with. Not only that, but she gave me the reins again and let me live this life and a couple of others before. I have had an eternity to exist and be, an eternity that has been a bonus gift, one that I never should have received. Billie gave me that."

He let the miles pass in silence, and Charlotte seemed to relax a bit more in the time that passed. He glanced back at Chuck and Paul in the back seat. He had nearly forgotten that they were there during the story. Paul looked sad, but he did not speak. Chuck stared off out the side window, chewing on his thumbnail. Dean tried to piece together what Charlotte had told him with what he knew already.

She was a reaper and also a human servant, an ancient scribe to a long dead philosopher that lives on in her memories. He felt a certain kinship with her situation. He thought about her interactions with him over the years. The camaraderie that was so easy and so natural. He wondered how one could push aside thousands of years of life and pretend that everything was just so normal. He wondered how she could do all of that in the name of friendship with someone like him. He thought about that a bit more and remembered that she had felt compelled to find him. A certain sadness washed over him as he thought about that, about how she was pulled to him, to his disaster of a life. He felt regrets for her.

"I'm sorry that you didn't get to live out this life peacefully. I'm sorry that you were compelled to find me." Dean did not look at her as he spoke. He just gripped the steering wheel tight in his hands.

"I have no regrets, Dean. Knowing you has made this life fuller than it ever could have been without you. You are the first friend that I've had in a long time. Hypatia was my friend, though the dynamic seemed on the surface to be master and servant. It was so long ago, yet I still feel the joy of our connection. It is like that with you too. I am happy to have known you and to continue knowing you." She reached up and cupped the side of his cheek. "Don't go all doom and gloom on me yet Winchester. Our journey is nowhere near over."

Dean smiled a little and drove on. Her hand retreated from his cheek. He thought more about her words, her story. He thought more about what she carried, what they all carried. The burden of their lives seemed to press them down under the oppressive summer sky. They carried on though. They each carried on.

Mistakes were made. By the time evening had descended upon them, Sam was clutching his gut and threatening to throw up every five seconds. They checked into a motel and set up the rooming situation. No one had to share a room; they had money enough for their choices. Some chose to share though. Alex and Claire got a room. Chuck and Paul decided to share. Charlotte went solo, and Dean decided to take care of Sam.

"You're too old for gas station burritos." Dean rested a hand on his back just between his shoulder blades, giving him a little pat of comfort as they went into their room.

"I'm too old for food poisoning. I knew. I should have just stuck with the beef jerky." Sam looked pale and like he might need to get into the room faster. He stopped talking and took three quick strides to the restroom.

Dean could hear the noises of Sam's distress. "You want me to go get you some meds?" he called out past the barely closed door. He waited. Sam was a little busy. He glanced around the room and tossed the bags onto the bed. The room was nice enough, clean at least. It was not modern, but it had a mom and pop charm to it. The wall art was a bunch of Thomas Kinkade mall art. Dean didn't like it, but he had seen much worse. They stayed in a clown themed motel once when they were kids. He cringed. He didn't fear clowns like Sam did, but that place was almost enough to send him there.

Sam finally said, "Yeah, go get me something. Maybe Pepto or something." Sam stopped talking abruptly to continue feeling awful.

"I'll bring back some drinks too. Maybe something with electrolytes in it or something." He thought that he heard Sam grunt some acceptance. He patted his pockets, finding his keys in there, and added the motel keycard to his other pocket. He opened the door to find Alex and Claire on the other side. 'Whoa, not creepy at all."

Alex said, "We figured we'd check up on sad Sam. How's he doin'?"

"Barfing up several meals. How much did you all feed him?" Dean came outside and looked down the row of doors toward the noisy ice machine and the distant office.

"Your brother is a free man. He can make his own choices however bad they might be." Claire followed Dean's gaze to the Impala and asked, "Were you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go get him some meds and some hydration. Could you maybe stay and keep an eye on him 'til I get back?"

Alex said, "I'll watch him. You go with Dean." Alex nodded over at Claire. "Convince him that we should go out tonight."

"Uh, I'm not seeing that happening. Sam's way too sick for that." Dean glanced back at the door.

"Once he gets some meds in him, he'll just need to sleep. We, my friend, need to stretch our legs and listen to some music." Claire clapped him on the shoulder and walked him to the car with a wave back at Alex.

Dean looked back and said, "We won't be long."

"Don't worry, I'll hold his hair back for him." They both laughed at Alex and got into the Impala.

They took care of the shopping. Luckily there was a pharmacy that was still open in a little strip mall down the street. They passed what appeared to be a very busy bar with a well-lit parking lot. Claire pointed at it. "So this is where Alex and I propose that we go tonight."

"Hmm, well, you two have fun." They were heading back and she had already talked about how it would be fun to get the stiffness out after the long drive.

"Come on Dean. Nothing says good times at the bar like dragging your old man along for the journey."

"I am not an old man."

"You literally just said, like two minutes ago, that you were too old for this."

"We're all too old for this. I mean, honestly, I've been to more bars than I can count. I don't see what I'll get out of this. I'll likely sit, watch you and Alex drink, and then haul your sorry asses back to the motel."

"Then you should go as our sober wing-man. We might need your vigilance." Claire had a look that said, ha, got you now.

"Fuck, Claire. Now I can't say no." He pulled into the parking lot back at the motel and shut off the engine. "It's close enough for you to walk."

"Yeah, well, we might need someone to watch our backs." She elbowed him, and they got out of the car.

"I pity anyone that tries to take advantage of either you or Alex. That's the short path to painful death." Dean laughed a little but was already secretly convinced that he'd be going with them. "What about Sam though?"

"Well, let's just see how he is."

They got into the room and Sam was laid out face down on the bed. Alex was sitting at this side. She was raking her fingers through his hair and humming a little tune. She stopped as they entered and whispered, "I think he got it all out of his system."

Dean set the bag of meds and drinks down on the nightstand. "He asleep?"

Sam turned his head and looked at him. "No, but I'll take some of those meds and give it a try."

Alex helped him sit up and Dean got out the meds. He twisted off the cap on one of the drinks and passed both to him. Sam gulped it back and set the drink down. He still looked pale. His hair looked a little sweaty. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, Alex said she and Claire are gonna take you out of my hair for a few hours."

"Oh, did she now?" Dean threw a glance at Alex.

Sam said, "Yeah, it's a good plan. Go stretch your legs. I'm fine on my own here."

"I'm not so sure. You might need some more hair holding." Dean smiled at him.

"Shut up. I'm good. I just need to rest." Sam swatted a hand at him. "Go. Maybe take the others with you. I bet they might need a little break too."

Dean looked back at Claire and then at Alex. "Sure Sam." Alex said. "So it's decided. Let's go before anyone changes their mind." She seemed to almost bounce on her toes a little. Claire came over to her side and snaked an arm around her waist. Dean smiled at them, happy to see that some things had improved in recent days.

They left the room with a few last minute reassurances from Sam. He headed down the walkway to the other rooms with Claire and Alex in his wake. He gave Chuck's and Paul's door a quick knock. Chuck answered. Paul was sitting on the bed in the background. "Something wrong, Dean?"

"Nah, the girls just want us all to go stretch our legs a bit at some dive down the street," Dean offered up.

"Hey, it's not a dive. That place looked classy." Claire gave him a little shoulder punch and then leaned back into Alex. She said to Chuck and a little louder so Paul could hear too, "Get your shoes on and come with us. We're gonna go get Charlotte." She started to pull Dean along but he didn't go right away. "What?"

"Maybe you don't need a wing-man."

"Oh, no you don't. Don't you even try to back out now." Claire gave Alex a little push and said, "Go get Charlotte." Alex complied and they continued to stand at Chuck's door while they put on their shoes.

"Paul, you ever go bar hopping?" Chuck asked.

"Can't say I have, but it doesn't sound like we'll be hitting up more than one tonight either." Paul looked up at Dean and Claire as he spoke. It was almost a question.

"Yeah, just one bar, ya party animal, Chuck. Don't go freaking out the preacher." Claire leaned into the doorway and asked, "Were you all just gonna go to bed?"

"Yep, Paul here is old and doesn't know how to party." Chuck laughed.

Dean said, "Sounds like me."

"So you're all young and such now, Chuck?" Claire linked up an arm under his outstretched elbow. Paul followed them and shut the door as they moved out in the direction of Charlotte's room.

Alex and Charlotte met them halfway. "So, we walking there?" Alex asked.

"Might as well. It's just a block away," Claire said. They walked along in comfortable silence.

Dean looked to his side and saw that Paul had moved there. "So, don't let them corrupt you." He tossed a wink into the comment without thinking.

Paul laughed and said, "Pretty sure I don't have to worry about them." He was still smiling as he said it. Dean felt a little warmth fill his face.

"Yeah, well, you're our man of faith, so I think that means you're supposed to be like all pure or something. Not sure we should be taking you to a bar just days before the ritual."

"Uh, pretty sure purity was never a part of the deal. If so you better go find someone else. That ship done sailed ages ago." Paul's words elicited a raised eyebrow from Dean. "What?"

"You're a preacher. I thought there were rules and such."

"You seem like you've seen a lot, Dean, but then you talk, and I'm left thinking that you are the most naive man alive." Dean felt his face scrunch up with Paul's words. Paul laughed at him. "Keep up Dean." Paul nodded ahead to the group that was leaving them behind a little. Paul double timed it to catch up and Dean did the same.

They all got to the bar and Claire and Alex opened the double doors together to usher the group in. This would have been Dean's kinda place not so long ago. He remembered sitting in dark little dives like this back in the day. It was different not having Sam with him but not incredibly so. He had ventured out on his own often enough. There were a few bars that gave him opportunities for companionship that he didn't need his brother knowing anything about. Well, at least that was how he felt back then. Things were different now, and he wasn't exactly interested in any second tier companionship to fill the time.

They found a table at the far end of the building, near the makeshift stage. There was a band performing and a few tables full of college kids. Old timers were at the bar. The place had a wide mix of ages and types. Dean took comfort in the fact that it wasn't a demon bar or a place that would lead to rough altercations. They could have fun here, drink a few beers, listen to some music, and go back to the motel feeling rejuvenated.

"You all know what you want? I'll put in an order at the bar," Dean asked the table. Everyone threw out orders at him and he was confident that he'd be able to retain the orders. He thought for a moment that he'd missed his calling. Shoulda been a waiter or maybe a barista. Might make more than I do now.

He went off to the bar and Charlotte followed him. He smiled at her and she leaned into his arm with a reciprocal grin. "Figured I'd offer my help or at least company."

"Thanks," he raised his voice over the start of the music behind them. "Hope the band's good."

"They're doing open mic night, so we're likely to get quite the hodge-podge of talent," she said. Dean put in the orders with the overworked bartender and tipped him before he got the drinks going. This got him a smile and he hoped a speedy turnaround on the drinks. Charlotte looked like she was at ease once again, like nothing was bothering her. She smiled at the band playing their hearts out. She looked at Dean and said, "I use to sing a little."

"Me too," Dean joked, adding, "In the shower."

"No, I really use to perform, like on a stage and stuff." Their drinks started showing up. They gathered them up rather awkwardly and took them to the table. Dean sipped at the edge of the ginger ale that he got for himself in an attempt at keeping it from spilling.

As they neared the table he asked, "So, you were a professional singer and got paid for it?"

"A little. It was ages ago."

"I honestly don't know if you just mean it was a long time ago or it was like generations ago. Were you singing with some troubadours or were you an opening act for the Beatles?"

"Wow, Dean, just wow. Those are the two options that you see for me. Out of all the singers in the world, I get paired with random troubadours or the Beatles. You didn't even go with Aretha. Seriously, show me some respect. I'm ancient."

Dean mock bowed to her and said, "So you sang with Aretha then?"

"No, I wish." They sat down at the table and passed the drinks around.

Chuck, clearly not hearing her response, said over the band, "You sang with Aretha?"

She rolled an eyebrow up in passive judgement. "Now look at what you started Dean." Dean laughed at her. "No, Chuck. I've had some singing gigs in the past, a little while back. Did a gig at the CBGB before it shuttered. It was nothing big."

"Shit. No way." Chuck leaned forward a bit resting his chin on his hands. "You gonna take to the stage tonight?"

"I do not think that will be happening. This isn't my kind of crowd." She leaned back and drank down some of her beer.

Claire proposed a toast, lifting her bottle up into the center, "To getting Charlotte drunk enough to sing, and to all of us forgetting our worries for one night." They clinked their drinks together and watched the band. One group after the next got up and took to the instruments that were provided. Some were abysmal. It was like karaoke for those that needed to show their playing talents along with their singing talents. Those that were good, were memorable particularly alongside the very bad ones that managed to think that they belonged on stage.

Chuck left them for a moment and eventually came back. They ordered more drinks and a band performed that promised dancing music for one and all. They did some old stuff from the Righteous Brothers and a few power ballads. Claire made Dean dance with her, which opened the floodgates for Dean's dance card. Charlotte got in second, then Chuck, then Alex, and finally Paul.

"Seriously, I've now danced with everyone," Dean huffed out as the music somehow became slower.

"Yeah, I figured I should get on up here and dance with you so you didn't feel like you were missing out on something."

"Ah, you're a charitable soul, Paul." Dean had his hands on Paul's hips and moved him just slightly to the meandering tempo of the music. Paul's hands were settled on Dean's shoulders, his thumbs brushing back and forth languidly.

"You've thought about some of the possibilities that lie ahead of us." Paul looked up at Dean. He was only a little shorter. His eyes drew Dean in. They were warm and brown and earthy. He smelled of beer and the leather jacket that he had been wearing.

"Obviously. I'm worried. I'm dealing with it though." Dean moved a little closer, their hips bumping a little with the sway of the dance. The dance floor was crowded with couples, some were closer than he was to Paul. They looked, actually, rather chaste by comparison. Dean caught a glimpse of Alex and Claire on the other end of the dance floor. Claire pressed a kiss into Alex's neck and leaned away a moment later to just look at her. Charlotte and Chuck were chatting at the table and drinking their beer.

"You seem like you're a million miles away."

"I suppose I am." He turned his attention back to Paul.

"What if I'm a vessel to someone important? What if I'm a vessel to your angel?" And there was the unspoken issue. The question was one that he had been quietly pushing aside. Cas had taken a vessel before, with consent, and from a man that was in Cas' words, devout. Jimmy had been a man of faith. And now, here he was dancing with a man of faith, that might just end up on the Jimmy path.

"I don't know. I can't believe that he's coming back. Also, his former vessel is not gone."

"Yes, but what if he needs to occupy a space and mine is the one for him?"

"What are you asking?"

Paul looked away a moment and then back and said, "Should I say yes to him?"

"I don't think that he'd ask. He only stayed in Jimmy's form at the end because it was an empty vessel. He had feelings about taking over someone's life. He wouldn't want you to give yourself up for this."

"Wouldn't he though? Wouldn't he want just one more chance, even if it was short, to just talk to you?"

"He would, but he wouldn't want you to be in the awkward position of having your body used to accomplish that."

"I would consent, just so you know." Paul looked earnest and the music was nice. The room felt warm and it was almost like they weren't even there with a bunch of bodies pressed all around them. Dean moved his hand up to Paul's face and cupped his cheek, stroking along the angle of his face with his thumb.

"You deserve to be happy too. I wouldn't ask you to consent to that, and neither would Cas." Dean leaned down and kissed him light and chaste on the lips. He moved back a little from him and added, "I appreciate what you're doing, but don't go throwing your life away on a mission that you can't possibly fully comprehend. And certainly don't do it for me."

Paul leaned down and rested his forehead on Dean's chest. "I won't promise you anything, but I'll at least consider what you've said."

By the end of the night, they had manipulated Charlotte into taking to the stage for two numbers. Chuck had gone off and signed them up for two songs. Since they had a college crowd making up a chunk of the room they picked a song from around ten years prior and figured they'd make it work as an acoustic number. Chuck apparently could play the guitar. They also opted for a folksy piece that Dean remembered from long ago, only back then it was God singing it in his bunker shower. It was different hearing the song coming from Charlotte.

They cheered after the first song. Dean felt like the song had extra meaning. It lingered in his head even after the applause. There had been a line about having wings and flying, which he immediately connected to Cas. Then the chorus of Fare Thee Wells that followed stirred something more. Paul was watching him during the song and at some point reached over under the table to take his hand. Dean let him.

The second song was "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. Dean remembered it as a poppy song from way back when. Charlotte's voice though was like honey, all sweet and sticky with old timey affection. She dragged her notes and dipped into low graveled moments that sent one's skin into pinpricks of interest.

Somehow this song reminded Dean of himself. She had slowed the pacing of the song significantly Her voice rolled slowly through the lines, Don't get too close. It's dark inside… And she was looking at him as she sang. Chuck played through the chords of the song and eventually joined her in the last bit. The end of the song was met with applause and standing ovations. Dean got up and gave them a wolf whistle.

They settled the tab with the bar not long after the song ended, and slowly wended their way back to the motel. Paul had an arm around Chuck, who was "Totally not drunk." He had played and sang like the most sober person in the room, but apparently when it came to walking, he was not too steady. Alex and Claire were happy and committed to a little PDA. Dean had an arm around Charlotte and she leaned into the sideways hug as they walked.

"You sing."

"I do."

"You're good."

"Eh, I'm not half bad." She tipped her head into his arm, and he gave her a squeeze of affection.

"I hope that at the end of all of this, that I won't look back on this moment with regrets."

"You have some regrets?"

"Some. Many." Dean breathed in the night air and took in the sounds of those in his group. Chuck was singing another folk song. He sounded a little giddy. Paul knew the words and joined him. Dean heard Claire mutter an 'I love you' to Alex and he heard Alex say, 'ditto.'

"Don't you go all Ghost on me with that 'ditto,' bullshit. You say I love you too like a civilized lady." Claire's tone was light and touched with the kind of mirth that a couple shots of tequila added in the final hour.

Alex laughed at her and leaned into a whisper in Claire's ear. This seemed to remedy the previous offense with the 'ditto' utterance. Then, as they got to the edge of the parking lot to their motel. Alex threw her arms up and spun around declaring loudly to the sky and the stars and all who were within a five mile radius, "I love you, Claire Novak. I love you so damn much." Claire picked her up and spun her in a hug.

Dean noted the control that she had in the hug and as she lifted her. Claire was not as drunk as she had seemed to be before. They parted ways at their doors. Charlotte kissed Dean's cheek as she said goodnight. Claire and Alex were in their own world with their tossed off, 'nights.' Chuck gave Dean a hug. Dean half-heartedly returned it. Sometimes it was hard separating out Chuck from the God that he had been before. Chuck declared some sort of love for Dean. Told him he was awesome. Dean just chuckled a little uncomfortably and directed him into his room. Paul lingered in the doorway.

"I should have maybe opted for a solo room." He leaned against the door frame and smiled at Dean.

"You and I both. God only knows what Sam has done to that bathroom since I've been gone." Paul moved toward Dean then.

"So, uh, if I kissed you now, would you be okay with it?" Paul seemed to waver a little in front of him.

"I don't know. I'd likely beat myself up for it later. You're attractive and kind. I love Cas. I'd be using you to feel good in a moment. I kinda stopped drowning myself in other people. It didn't feel good after." Dean was shuffling his feet a little and sounded like he was going to keep rattling off lists of reasons to not do this with Paul, when Paul leaned into him and kissed him quiet. His hand carded up into the back of Dean's hair. Dean did not resist, but in his mind, he could just let himself drift. He'd done it a million times before. If he couldn't have what he wanted, he'd just slip into darkness and note only the pleasure that came from the contact taken from whoever was there in the moment. He didn't love them, the many that filled time in his motel beds, or in grungy storerooms in bars. Paul tasted of beer and the salt that lingered on his lips from the bowl of pretzels that he had been picking at earlier.

Dean couldn't distance himself from who he was kissing, couldn't float off into an imagined space where it was all just pleasure and forgetting. He knew Paul a bit, so that changed everything. He had his hands pressed up under Paul's shirt a little. He breathed him in as he pulled back and held onto the breath a moment before either of them could speak. He thought that Paul would try to move in again. He didn't though. Instead he just said, "Goodnight, Dean."

"Goodnight, Paul." Dean went off to his room with Sam. Tomorrow would be different. They'd be arriving. It was a three day drive that they cut down to two. He cast a glance back at Paul who was watching him go. He set the vision of him standing there seemingly without a care in the world into a mental file full of memories of those that he maybe failed a little. He was beginning to think that the collection was becoming as vast as the stars above him.

Sam was fast asleep and had apparently consumed two of the drinks that Dean had left for him. He looked less pale in the moonlight that fell into the room from the between the curtains hastily pulled together in front of the window. Dean was glad of it. He took off the layers of clothing and crawled under the sheets. He stared up at the ceiling and then over to the window with the curtain drawn. It was not closed well enough to keep out the light of the full moon though. He thought that he might have trouble sleeping. His mind was full of thoughts and the lingering sensations of the kiss received just a few moments ago.

He told himself not to think about it too much. It would just worm its way into his dreams and morph them all into guilty nightmares. He turned from the window and faced the dark of the ceiling instead. Soon he would see Cas again, cold dead Cas. He felt a chill blanket him with the thought. He licked his lips and tasted the salt that lingered there in his kiss stained mouth. He closed his eyes and tried to let the moment be pleasure. He let his hand dip to his hip beneath the blanket. He lingered there, considering a slide to the left. He didn't move though. He just laid there hoping for sleep to overtake him.

When it did, he did not find himself in the throes of romance. Instead, he was on his pier, in the bright light of summer. He was not alone. The girls were swimming, Charlotte was sitting at the end next to Chuck, who was hanging his feet over the edge into the water. Paul was floating on a little blow up raft, and Sam was treading water at his side. Dean raised a hand up to his eyes to shield himself from the sun which was hot on his face.

Paul caught sight of him and rolled off the raft into the water. He swam with quick, wide, strokes to the side of the pier. He pressed his hands to the top and hoisted himself up out of the water. The water trailed down the angles of his cheekbones, his chest and sides. Dean's gaze followed the water and the muscles that lead everything down to the pier. He was wearing black and white swim trunks that hung loosely off of his hips. Dean wondered if gravity just didn't work here, because there was literally no reason for them to be staying put.

Paul's lips curled up into a smile as he noted Dean's gaze. He strolled over to him and said, "You seem happy to see me."

Dean didn't move. Paul set his hands to either side of Dean's hips and pulled him in. He kissed Dean again, but this time, Dean did not close his eyes or kiss him back. He looked past Paul as he kissed him and noted the ways that everything seemed so strange. There was the noise of them frolicing in the water. It sounded of summer and joy. Yet at the same time, the world was silent. No birds called down from their flights, because they weren't soaring through the sky. No wind blew through the trees, so the rustle of leaves did not greet them.

Dean stepped away from Paul and looked back along the pier, toward the land that was behind them. There was a vast empty field and a familiar warehouse. He moved toward it and did not look back. He knew what he'd find if he left the pier, but he did it anyway. His family was behind him now. They were all family now, both by blood and choice. The sounds of them in the water fell into silence, yet he did not turn back to them.

He stepped barefoot from the pier to the sand. The feel of it between his toes was warm until his feet sank in a little to the wet underbelly of it. He moved from it with wide steps. He climbed up the embankment to the high grass that framed the beach. He walked through it toward the warehouse. He spread his arms out at his sides and felt the soft tickle of the grasses brush along the underside of his arms and fingers. He breathed in deeply of the thick summer air, wet with humidity.

There were sigils carved into the occasional rocks that dotted the field. They were there just like they had been before. He had let himself forget these things, or maybe he had been made to forget these things. He walked onward to the large doors of the warehouse. They were a deep, dark wood. Sam had said that he had locked the doors, but Dean knew that the doors would part for him with just a touch.

He pressed his palm to the rough lines of it and pushed. They opened on a creak. He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the dark. He turned back a moment and let his eyes fall on the distant pier and the lake. They were all still there, but it was dark now and they were frozen in place, shadows in the night. He knew they were there, but only because he couldn't imagine them leaving. He turned back to the space before him. There was a body in the center of the room, covered in a white sheet.

"Cas," he whispered. He had been dreading this moment. He had craved any distraction from what he would see beneath the sheet. He dreaded going to bed and pulling his own sheet up over his body, thinking about what the next day would bring. His body moved across the space like it was levitating. He did not wish to stop, but it was also too fast. He knew when he got to the body that he would have to see it as it was. He couldn't handle it. His heart was racing. His hands were wet with sweat.

When he was at his side, Dean fell to his knees beside the form. He reached out immediately and pulled back the sheet. Cas' eyes were closed. He was still and beautiful, just as he had been before. Dean reached out and brushed back his hair from his forehead. "I love you," he whispered and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead.

Cas stirred and opened his eyes. "I'm home."

"You are." Dean smiled down at him.

Cas looked off to the doorway and the distant places beyond it. "You can be happy with him. I want that for you."

"I don't want that, and no, I really couldn't. I could pretend, but it would never be enough." Dean looked back out the doorway toward the pier now too. He could see them all frozen there in some sort of pose that seemed like a still life of summer. It was bright again there as if that would tempt him. The color was not real though; it was too vibrant, too punched up in that way that dreams often were. He turned away from it back to Cas and let this dream have him.

Cas sat up and took his hands in his. "The ritual is not for me."

Dean looked at him long and parsed his words, hoping that he had just misunderstood him. "Then why are we doing this?"

Cas smiled in that way that showed that he knew so much more than Dean ever would. He said volumes with that smile. He moved a hand up to Dean's face and gave it a pat of affection and a hint of condescension. "After all this time, surely you must know now that not everything is about us. There are often many more important things to consider."

"Cas, if I'm not getting you back after all of this, then I don't see the point. I know that not everything is about us, but if this is not about you, then who is it about? Who should I be caring about more than you at this point?"

"I assume that you don't hate God enough to wish that his end would remain permanent." Cas let him go and watched him for a response.

"Is that who we're saving?" Dean reached out to him and took his hands in his.

"It's complicated, Dean."

"I need you to come back to me."

"I never left." Cas let go of one hand and pressed it to Dean's chest. "I've always been with you."

"Yeah, and this dream life is real." Dean's tone became suddenly sarcastic. He looked steadily at Cas and saw his face fall a little. The world around them wavered.

"Time is running out. You'll be waking soon. Do the right thing Dean, and have a little faith. If you can't have faith in general, then have faith in me. I'm sure that I've earned that much." Cas leaned in and settled a kiss on the corner of Dean's mouth. Dean dipped his head in a posture that looked a little shy at first.

"I've always had faith in you. It's the rest of the world that seems to get in the way of it." They sat there looking at each other as the walls around them seemed to shake and fade away.

"Just remember, that I'm still with you. I've never left." As Cas leaned in again to repeat the kiss, he faded and disappeared. Dean opened his eyes and was in the motel, staring up at the popcorn ceiling that sparkled a little with what sunlight had managed to snake its way past the curtains. He rubbed the grit of sleep out of his eyes and tried to hold onto the words that Cas had said, but like every good dream, even this one would fade and eventually seem like it held nothing of substance.