This update is several months late, and I'm sorry; I was swamped with work. But, I've reached a lull, so hopefully, I'll be able to update much more quickly now.
Also, I caught the mistakes that I made in the previous chapter about where the boys were located. When I began writing this story, they were in Bobby's house, but I forgot in chapter four and kept referencing the bunker and the Men of Letters. I've fixed the issue now, though; they are at/leave Bobby's house.
There was a strange comfort that overtook Dean every time he drove the Impala, present in any situation, compatible with any emotion—though, sometimes, the comfort was shoved aside, into the background, it always remained. Such ease tangled itself with the hunter's vibrant, painful emotions. He allowed his hands to relax their iron grip on the wheel slightly, allowing his irritation with Sam to heel.
Just as the comfort overtook Dean swiftly, it could dissipate at the slightest trigger. Try as he might, Dean could suppress his frustration and curiosity with his younger brother for so long.
His conflicting thoughts burst through the comfort's broken dam, nearly overwhelming him.
How could Sam so foolishly plunge himself into an obvious trap, just because false signs of Gabriel arose?
Dean couldn't understand chasing smoke for the death of a reluctant ally, an unreliable friend, one who'd messed with them numerous times, even tortured them to prove points. It didn't matter that he'd sacrificed their life for them; that action might earn forgiveness, but it certainly didn't erase the past or validate it.
Okay, so maybe Dean understand it more than he believed, when he substituted his angel for Sam's, when Purgatory and Castiel's absence replaced sibling slaughter and years of melodramatic, albeit instructional, interferences. If Castiel died and clues surfaced of his return, Dean would've irritated Sam until he turned his older brother loose, or he would've left with nothing but a note.
Dean glanced at Castiel, fondness rising at the angel's attentive gaze fixed on the window as roads, trees, hills and houses swept by. He hadn't seen Castiel's gaze break away from the glass since they began driving two hours ago.
No matter what happened between the angel and his charge, nothing, it seemed, truly broke their bond. Bruised and battered it may be, sometimes barely alive, it wouldn't fade easily; the past weeks alone proved it. Perhaps, Sam forged such a bond between himself and Gabriel, though Dean had a hard time understanding why such a thing would happen. At least him and Cas made sense.
"What do you think we'll be dealing with, Cas?"
Castiel turned from the window. "I'm not certain. So many creatures out here don't like the Winchesters; it's difficult for me to narrow it down. The reports hinted more at Gabriel than anything else."
"And there's no chance he survived?"
"It's very unlikely. If he were to survive, he'd go into hiding again or approach you more directly."
"Could it be angels luring us into a trap?"
Castiel frowned. "Possibly, but most of them were unaware of his location, and few remembered which disguises he wore, much less those you would know. They only know he was slain by Lucifer's hand."
"How many creatures knew Gabriel well enough to trick Sam?"
"I wouldn't know; Gabriel wasn't very forthcoming about details of his hiding."
Dean frowned and tapped his fingers on the wheel. Not many creatures knew much about Gabriel; those who might know were mostly unmotivated to attack the Winchesters themselves, but Castiel, on the other hand...
Dean glanced at the angel again, this time meeting his gaze. The familiar, intense pull ensnared Dean's attention, and his stomach clenched as he realized his selfishness.
What if it wasn't a trap meant for the Winchesters? What if it was meant for Castiel?
He shouldn't have brought him, shouldn't have risked his life so stupidly and so selfishly. Castiel pissed off creatures just as much as they did, if not more so, and he was vulnerable now.
"Cas..."
Castiel's gaze sharpened. "Dean. Do not go back on your word."
"What if they're after you, Cas; what if they've figured out you're human?"
"And what if they aren't even targeting us, Dean? What if this isn't about us at all?"
Dean chuckled darkly. "When hasn't crap been about us? If you haven't noticed, everything bad that's happened has pretty much centered on my family since I was born. The day we are safe is the day we're dead."
"The signs within the strange cases involved a surplus of sweets and strange deaths and disappearances. Sam saw this as indication of Gabriel; Gabriel cloaked himself in the guise of a trickster. The creature disturbing the towns could be a trickster, or something pretending to be one."
"Maybe, Cas, but I'm not going to overlook the possibility of a trap."
"It was not my intention to fully dissuade you from that idea; I just want you to be careful and consider all possibilities."
"I still don't feel right about you coming with me."
"I'm not leaving your side, Dean."
Dean fought against the burst of happiness and the upward quirking of his lips, ignoring the urge to suppress his increasingly fickle emotions. Even though Castiel was new to mortality, the hunter found himself emotionally stunted; his focus on the mission was the glue holding his confusion, his rage, his strange pleasure, his foreign attraction together and relatively concealed.
He didn't want to know what would happen when the hunt was finished.
Night melted into dawn and, after a voice-mail alerting his brother to his location and intentions, Dean learned which motel Sam was in, and the city. Thankfully, all of the cases were in the same state, but the city was an extra hour out of his way.
Sam sounded exhausted and exasperated on the phone, and Dean could see his bitch face clear as day while his younger brother yielded the information, knowing Dean was able to track him if Sam didn't relent.
That would've been an unpleasant experience for everyone involved.
Castiel rested quietly in his seat, eyes closed and body relaxed. On the surface, no nightmares plagued his angel's sleep; his face was peaceful every time Dean glimpsed it in the mirror. Whatever mask he donned to hide from the hunter slipped away, and Dean saw sincerity again.
Daylight Cas concealed as best he could, and his efforts, while noticeable, were fairly successful. Dean couldn't read him as easily as he thought he could once the angel experienced humanity, and the only reason Dean saw was Castiel's obsession with not being a burden.
(Which was absolutely ridiculous to Dean, even if he understood why his angel would be afraid of it, but saying so would lead the conversation places he didn't want to go.)
Nighttime Cas (or, more accurately, sleeping Cas) wore emotion with the genuine innocence of a child. Smiles flickered over his face, rare but warm all the same. Mumbles bubbled occasionally from lips full and pink...
There was one drawback to his being asleep, one involving the concealment of bright blue, inquisitive eyes, but that particular downside embarrassed Dean to consider, much less act upon. Besides, his angel needed his sleep. Dean could only imagine how exhausting it must be, going from a celestial wavelength to a mere mortal.
When they arrived at the motel, Dean hesitated in the Impala, gaze flickering over the sleeping angel. His options were limited for dealing with Castiel's exhausted state; either he could carry him, or he could wake him. Neither seemed fantastic, but, no matter how much Castiel meant to him, Dean wasn't about to carry him bridal-style into the motel, not merely for the sake of sparing him a brief surfacing into consciousnesses.
He drew the line there.
"Cas. Cas; get up. We're at the motel." Dean lightly tapped the shoulder nearest to him, and the creature stirred under his touch.
Mumbling indistinctly, Castiel slowly uncurled from sleep, blinking blearily into the grimy, artificial light. "Where are we?"
"The motel where Sam's at. C'mon, once we get in, you can get back to sleep."
For a second, Dean seriously thought Castiel would argue with him, but the angel only sighed, stretched, and slunk out of the car. Blinking back shock, the hunter followed him inside, past the ramshackle lobby and into the mediocre room.
Upon arrival, Castiel dashed to the nearest unoccupied bed and crashed.
The night passed uncharacteristically slowly, the only awkwardness a brief silence as Dean struggled with addressing the hunting without triggering mentions of Gabriel. Quickly, however, they fell into an ease both comforting and worrisome.
Worrisome, because deep down, Dean knew the skills of lying both in general and by omission the brothers possessed did more harm than good.
Comforting, because Dean had issues he didn't want addressed, not then (or ever, really). Issues like the knowing look in his younger brother's eyes as he absentmindedly fiddled with Castiel's covers, tucking the angel in long after he'd passed out. Comforting, because the tension that marred their earlier interactions seemed to dissipate with space, time, and a new focus.
They weren't up against tricksters, Dean learned. He didn't have to fish at all to discover the vermin polluting this town were vampires. Teenage vampires, to be exact; reckless youth who hungered for blood and sugar and lacked subtlety with the remnants of either meal.
It seemed too easy to be true, too much of a coincidence that at first glance, Sam thought they were tricksters. It seemed too sloppy that Sam didn't pick up on the manner of killings themselves.
How desperate was Sam to find Gabriel?
"Vampires took you this long to kill?" Dean asked, leaning against the room's ratty kitchen counter-top. How long have you actually been here?
"I've been killing a few more here and there along the way," Sam replied. "But this particular city's had more attacks than the others, so I figured I'd come here."
Dean nodded. "Needed to get out of the house?" Too many memories, or too impatient to find Gabriel?
"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "It's a great resource, but..."
Dean understood what Sam refused to verbalize. He knew his brother appreciated the idea of having a "home base," especially after lacking one for so long, but acclimation to a life on the road didn't react well to an addition like that, no matter how needed or wanted it was. It didn't help that Bobby's metaphorical ghost lingered in every room.
Even so, complaining about the bittersweet relief to their lives seemed rude and ungrateful at best.
"I have to say, I was kinda surprised the problem turned out to be vampires."
The abrupt change in topic resulted in little surprise or emotion from his younger brother, other than a slight pursing of the lips. "I was too I guess, but it didn't really matter what it was."
Dean suppressed a sardonic chuckle; since when did Sam copy his vague justifications for shifty behavior? Quite frankly, he was a little disappointed. Was he not supposed to see through his act? Was there really no other, more logical excuse for his actions?
"Well, hope you don't mind some company. Cas's been wanting to 'learn our ways,'" Dean replied as he stepped away from the counter and walked to the edge of the unoccupied bed. "He's pretty much got the basics down, but he insisted on learning how to hunt." Dean sat on the corner furthest from Cas.
A pleased, slightly taunting smirk stretched across Sam's face. "I'm surprised you caved to his demands, seeing as you're very protective of his innocence."
Dean scoffed. "Whatever. It isn't knowledge he doesn't have; he knows our life isn't rainbows and sunshine. He's been with us long enough, but he hasn't really lived our lives. Why he wants to when he could be anywhere else doing anything else is beyond me. This definitely isn't the life I would've chosen for myself."
"That's not entirely true, though." Sam leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he shifted for a more comfortable position (good luck with that) on the small, singular chair in the room. "Sure, you couldn't help your childhood, but you've had opportunities where you could escape our lifestyle. Sometimes you took them, sometimes you didn't, but you always ended up coming back to hunting. You didn't come back just because some part of you enjoys hunting and saving people; you came back because you wanted to. You came back because each time you got the opportunity, you thought of your family, and that brought you back. Maybe it's the same for Cas."
Dean did not like the way Sam's words made perfect sense. Dean did not like the way they turned a perfectly normal conversation into a scripted "heartfelt" family scene straight from a sappy romantic comedy. Most of all, Dean did not like how he could only sit and stare at his younger brother, whose features continued to resemble a mixture of serious explaining and playful hinting, in silence.
It was funny how Sam could suddenly be logical and thorough when it came to his older brother's life. Where was that skill earlier, when Dean wanted to hear anything but evidence supporting his and Castiel's previous suspicions?
Belatedly, Dean realized that Sam's explanation hinted at Castiel's affection for him, and self-control emerged just in time to snatch the questions that arose with that thought back into his mind, away from his mouth. He decided to focus on the situation at hand, the obvious meaning in Sam's words. "I didn't just 'come back,' though."
Sam rolled his eyes. "No one really ever forces you to do anything, Dean. You give them the power to back you into a corner."
Dean sighed and rubbed his neck; he was too tired for this kind of talking. Exhaustion loosened the tongue, and there were too many things Dean didn't understand about the situation that required tact to discuss without making himself too vulnerable. The last thing he wanted right then was a late-night chick-flick-moment.
Sam saw that the conversation was over. "Sleep in that bed; I've already rested. We'll go to the hideout in the morning."
The elder hunter complied without resistance, rising slowly from his relaxed position and slithering under the covers. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to ease into sleep's embrace.
Even in sleep, however, the sound of light snoring haunted Dean.