They arrived in the early evening, pulling to a stop at the edge of the field. They shut off the engines of their vehicles and got out to just stare. In the distance they could see the old warehouse, a dot on the horizon. They could have driven closer, but somehow Dean just couldn't. He was the first to stop, and of course, Claire followed him, pulling the truck over next to the Impala.
The last rays of sunlight dripped down on them. They had made good time. Claire slipped her hand into his and leaned her head over to rest it on his arm. "We should go get a motel and rest tonight. We have our work cut out for us tomorrow," she said.
Dean looked down at her and said, "I assumed that we'd have to dive in tonight. I've been dreading it."
There was so much light on her. Dean stared down at her eyes, which were vibrant and so full of life and stories. The things that she had seen. Older eyes had seen less. Her blonde hair was brighter in the last of the sunlight and seemed like late summer wheat that might blow about on a breeze. He brushed a strand back behind her ear and kissed the top of her head.
Sam came over. "So tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Dean said. Sam reached out and took his keys. Dean didn't fight him. He felt tired now, like he could sleep for days. Claire pulled him along with her to the truck. He got in without protest. Alex took Claire's keys and settled into the driver's seat. Once they were settled into the truck and the engine was roaring back to life, Dean pulled Claire into his side, and they closed their eyes together as the vehicles rolled on down the road. They needed each other now to get through what was to come, what they'd see, what they'd feel. The others wouldn't understand in the same way.
They had to drive nearly ten miles from the site to find a motel. It was the same motel that they had stayed in the last time. God could have just zapped away the need for sleep, but no, instead he had plopped them down in a run-down, cheap motel and zapped in some take-out. He had dragged out the time. He didn't want to go. Dean really couldn't blame him. He felt that somehow now he understood quite well what was felt then.
In those days, he had even managed to develop some sympathy for Lucifer too. God didn't make things easy back then. He blew off their complaints and questions. He had a mission all mapped out in his head, and he made sure that everyone played their parts. It was hard to find comfort in the situation. It was even more difficult given the fact that they were bound to lose people that mattered.
Dean thought of who he had left. He thought of Claire held close in the crook of his arm, of Alex at the wheel, staring ahead with steely-eyed resolve, of Sam, driving the Impala, worrying over every little thing. He even considered Chuck and Paul and Charlotte. He couldn't accept the losses that might be in their futures even if they consented to them. He thought that life was supposed to be better after the sacrifices of several years ago. It was for most, but it was not for him or the ones with him now.
He took on their sacrifices as his own. He took on guilt that shouldn't have been his, as if his own guilt wasn't enough already. He was like that though. He was saddened by the thought that they'd do all of this and maybe nothing good would come of it. He was troubled by the idea that none of them really knew who or what they were saving. They were going forth on a feeling. He didn't like the idea of it. He didn't like that everything could be so very bad, and, in the end, what doesn't kill them will consume them in further guilt.
Alex interrupted their quiet contemplations with a question, "How long did it take for you to draw up the sigils the last time?"
Dean opened his eyes and peered over Claire's head to Alex. "What makes you think that we drew sigils?"
"Chuck was saying something about the sigils being the same as the ones used the last time. He had memories of it leftover from when God was riding him around." The Impala turned off the country road that they were on and Alex followed.
"I don't remember that. God must have just snapped them into place." Dean tried to remember the way things went before, the preparations and such, but all of that was buried under everything else. He had been more worried about what God would ask of them. He had already asked for so much. When they arrived at the warehouse, there was nothing left to do but to fight and maybe survive. He closed his eyes again and tried to picture the sigils. There were many, drawn in blood around the property. They glowed out once the battle began with the blue-white light that Dean associated with grace.
The crunch of the tires on gravel startled him a little as they pulled into the parking lot of the motel. Alex hopped out and made her way to the office. Sam joined her at the door. Everyone else just waited in the vehicles. Claire moved a little and took his hand in hers. She threaded their fingers together. "I'm not ready to see him."
His thumb moved slowly back and forth over the side of her hand. "I know. I'm not either." The silence came again. They watched through the dusty glass as Alex and Sam stood at the counter, likely filling out the paperwork that would get them some rooms.
"I'm not going into the warehouse until it becomes absolutely necessary. I might not even go in then. Alex and I talked about it, and she's afraid of what it'll do to me. She wants me to be safe, so I need to respect that."
"I'm afraid my situation is a tad different."
"Is it?"
"It'd be like you deciding not to go in if you found out that Alex was in there."
She hummed a bit of agreement. "I get that. You have a brother though, and he needs you too."
"I'm not going anywhere. I just can't imagine a scenario where I don't go to Cas. I have to do this, no matter what it does to me." Dean looked away from her, away from the vision of his brother in the office, toward the long line of red doors that ran down the motel row, ending in a dusty field.
The silence claimed them again. A little breeze kicked up outside and swirled the dirt into a tiny dust devils that trailed off to the end of the parking lot and away. The night was on them now. The stars were out and since they were far from any city lights, the sky was country huge. Dean looked for Denab past the windshield. He was always looking for that familiar star, and everything that his head tied to that bright spot in the dark.
Sam came out of the office with Alex and waved a hand to signal that they should all get out. They gathered their bags and Sam handed out the keys. They had some unspoken agreement that they'd all end up in the same rooms with the same people as they had been with the night before. They all headed off to their rooms, and Sam said, "We'll all meet up at 7:00 am tomorrow. Sleep well." Dean followed him, and they entered the room silently. Sam tossed his bag onto the bed, and Dean took the other. Dean let his body fall face down on the bed and spread his limbs out like he was a starfish. He could hear Sam moving along the tiny aisle between the beds. "You doing okay?"
Dean turned his head toward the other bed and saw that Sam was sitting there, watching him. "I'm fine." He wanted to sleep. He also didn't want that. The dreams had become something that haunted him even in his waking life. Actually, it was Cas that haunted him. His face with his deep sky blue eyes, his lips eternally chapped, his mess of hair, his words, his dying…
"Claire's taking things kinda hard. I just thought that maybe you'd like to talk a bit."
"She's not gonna go into the warehouse. We talked about that."
Sam just stared at him like he could will him to share more through the power of his glare. "Come on Dean."
Dean sat up. "Look, I am not gonna start pouring my heart out. I'm tired, man. I'm tired." He turned away from him. "I'm not going in tomorrow. At least you won't have to worry for one day."
He felt Sam's hand on his back in the space between his shoulders. He rubbed small circles there. It reminded him of when he was young, of something his mom had done for him when he was sick. "When I use to get sick, you use to make soup. You'd force me to eat it. You'd make me go to bed after, but you always stayed with me even though I knew you had other things you'd rather be doing."
Dean turned his face back to Sam then and said, "I was doing what I wanted. I was right where I wanted to be."
"Yeah, I know. It was a sacrifice though. Much of your childhood was." Sam kept of the motion of his hand and smiled down at Dean. "You use to sing me mom's songs when you thought I was just about asleep."
"Probably gave you nightmares." Dean gave him a half grin with the words.
"No, you gave me comfort. Don't get me wrong. You had a voice that was, well, certainly not classically trained, but it was enough."
Dean closed his eyes and pulled in a breath of sleepy air. "Wish you had heard mom sing. She had a great voice. Wish I could've heard her sing "Hey Jude' just one more time or anything for that matter." He could feel his mind growing heavy with sleep. Sam was here, offering up comfort in a gentle touch. Then his voice joined the moment that was half of a dream already. Almost like McCartney, Dean thought as Sam began singing "Hey Jude" barely above a whisper. His volume increased a little as the moment extended. His mind filled with colors, so much color that nothing else could be distinguished within it. And Sam's voice traveled through it all as he sang out the words of the chorus.
"Then you'll begin to make it better…." Sam's song filled his mind. The words were comfort as he fell deeper into his sleep. Tomorrow would come, and he would get through it. He would work alongside them. He would do what he could. It would not be better for him, but he would get through.
The process of creating the sigils around the field was much more extensive than he had realized that it could be. He had not considered the materials needed when he had considered the acts of drawing everything. Yes, they had all of what they needed, but short of killing the participants in the ritual, they could not get enough blood all at once. This was going to be a many day affair.
The blood had to come from all three of them, Paul, Chuck, and Charlotte. Dean wondered how God had dealt with this before and whose blood he zapped into the field all those years ago. Sam, for his part, made a special trip back into town to get orange juice and lawn chairs, deciding that they needed to be able to just rest until they had gotten their strength back. Alex, Claire, Sam and Dean could take care of the work just fine on their own.
The hard part for Dean was the looming presence of the warehouse at his back. He could feel it there; although, he tried to keep from looking at it. Cas was in there, and knowing that was like feeling his heartbeat after a hard run. It was entirely felt, and it was entirely his focus even without the looking. Periodically, one of the group would come to him and rest a hand on him, pass him a water or some snacks. He took them wordlessly and ate or drank while he worked. The sooner they finished the better. This was the pattern for days.
On the first day, the sun burned them. On the second day, they dripped with sweat, but the drugstore sunscreen kept the burn from getting worse. By the third day, they were pros. They worked with some efficiency on the quadrants that they had each been assigned. Chuck, Charlotte, and Paul kept things organized on the tablets. They also performed the rituals needed to ready the materials. This didn't require much physical energy, so this was their duty. They were drawing close to the end of the fourth day when Dean decided that he needed to quit early and take a walk.
He tossed his blood soaked paintbrush into the wooden chalice. A little blood splashed back onto his hand. He wiped it off on the dry grass. It was bright against the honey brown blades. He got up and made his way out into the far field. It seemed to go on forever. In his dream he would have been to the lake by now. In reality there wasn't a lake close enough to walk to. So eventually Dean stopped and closed his eyes. He imagined the lake and the dock. He imagined the sky gone dark. He peppered it with stars. He breathed in deeply of the warm country air. The scent of drying grass filled him with comfort.
As he stood there, seeking serenity, he thought of how much was left to do. There wasn't much. Soon it would be over. Soon he'd have to face the consequences, both the consequences of the current situation and the consequences of the past. The stars seemed large in his imagination, a comfort in the moment that was almost becoming overwhelming. He felt the warm sun baking his skin to a deeper golden brown. He felt it as he imagined the cool night. He could almost imagine a breeze and feel it.
A voice drew him from his dream. "Thought you might need this."
Dean opened his eyes to Paul standing at his side with a cold bottle of water. He pressed it to Dean's arm and smiled. Dean took it, twisted off the cap and drank it all down. Paul followed the effort with thinly veiled desire. "Thanks."
"Are we done for the day?"
Dean looked back at the field, the sigils seemed small from so far away. "Nah, I should actually try to do a couple more. They take forever. They have more small details than we usually have to deal with."
"Guess someone out there didn't want to make this simple."
"With good reason, I guess." Dean sighed and ran a hand back up into his hair. It was a little sweaty.
"Are you going to venture into the warehouse soon?" The question shook Dean a little. He turned from the vision of the field and the sigils back toward where his imaginary lake would be. There was no chance of looking at the warehouse if he faced this direction.
"I'm gonna avoid that for as long as possible."
Paul let the words settle and then he said, "We talked a bit while we were researching in your house. Sam talked about Cas. Later Charlotte talked about how you and Claire shared a story about Cas. Sam cleaned out the lie and now we understand better. I've understood in feelings for awhile. He's constantly in your thoughts."
"He is." It was all Dean could manage.
Paul's hand rested on his arm. "You don't have to do this. You can walk away from this."
"You mean the ritual or the seeing of my dead friend."
"Both maybe." He paused and seemed to think a bit before continuing. "I think that you were meant to bring us all together. It was like we were or are bonded to you. Now that we are here though, you shouldn't have to go through this. You've done this before. God wouldn't expect you to do this all again. And Cas, if he loved you, which I think is the case given the stories, he wouldn't want you to do this either."
"That's where I think you're wrong. I think that he does want me to do this. I've been encouraged by him every night in my dreams. He wants me to do this, not for him, not for us, but he wants this done none the less."
Paul shot down another tangent, "What if we just left?"
"Huh?"
"I mean it. What if we just left, said to Hell with it all?"
"You really think they'd go along with that?"
"No, but I might if you wanted. I think we're doing the right thing here, but if you say the word, I'll hop into that car of yours and ride off into the sunset at your side. Nothing has to be set in stone. If you want to change the story we're living, change it." He ran his hand up Dean's arm a little and turned him so that they faced one another. "I'm not him, but I could be enough."
"It'd be easy with you Paul."
"It would."
"But it's not what I'm meant for. I went into something once when I was feeling lost. She was wonderful, everything I thought that I needed. In the end, she wasn't enough, and being with me lead to so much pain for her, her kid, and even me. I'm done doing that to people. I'm not what you need."
"Yet if he were here…"
"I'd forget everything I just said and make it work. I'd say to Hell with the consequences. I'd ride off into the night with him. No questions."
"Because he's it."
"Yes, because he's it, and he always will be. With some people, you throw away the rulebook, say to Hell with the consequences. When you find someone like Cas, someone that has been to literal Hell and back for you, you hang on. You hang on even when it seems like there ain't nothing left to be hanging on to."
"Is that what you've been doing, Dean, because it seemed more like you were a defeated man, a guy that had nothing to hang onto." Paul released him and looked steadily at him through sad eyes.
"I put on a good show." Dean's lips curled up into a wry little grin. "I have no reason to believe that I'll ever get him back. He's well and truly gone, and he has been for years. Doesn't matter though. He told me recently that he has never left me, and you know what, I believe him. I may never be in the same room with him again. I may never get the apple pie life with him, but he has never left me."
"I don't understand."
"There's no explaining it. Nothing I say will make sense. I just feel him. He's with me and he always will be. I've recently decided that I can just hold onto that, and that will be enough." Dean's voice wavered a bit.
"I hope you're right, Dean. I hope you're right." Paul reached out to Dean then and hugged him. Dean stiffened up at first, then he hugged him back.
"As long as I have this much, I'll be fine." He let him go and Paul stepped back. "Thanks for listening." Paul smiled and Dean saw sadness in it. It was a familiar look. He thought that he'd recognized something in Paul that wasn't there before, or maybe it was, but he was too busy to really see it. And with that moment of recognition, he felt that he finally understood a little better what was going on.