The Impala was quiet for the first time in twenty-odd years.
Dean felt the engine hum beneath him, felt the windows shiver from the vibrations of it. The Lego pieces jammed God-knows-where rattle incessantly, a constant thrum of noise.
But it is still silent.
Dean tries to recall the last time he sat in the front seat with Sammy riding shotgun. He managed to dredge up a few sepia-colored memories of a high school graduation, a fight, and a final day before Stanford.
But it was gone before he could blink.
Sam leaned against the window as he had always done, the cool glass nothing short of numb on his forehead. He didn't want to show Dean his face. There was sadness there, he knew, and he could feel the pity radiating out of his brother in depressingly familiar, unintentionally crude waves. Dean never did know how to handle tragedy–Sam was always the "touchy-feely, self-help, yoga-crap" brother, and Dean was just...not. He wasn't.
Sam didn't feel like diving into his soul for a How Do You Feel Today one-on-one. He didn't feel like a hug, or a cold beer, or even the sound of AC/DC blasting through ancient speakers just like old times.
He felt, in short, like dying.
...
Castiel didn't understand the Winchesters. One minute, Dean Winchester is scathingly describing the pros and cons of Titanic, yet another movie Castiel has yet to see, and the next, his eyebrows are knotted together in furious anger, alternating between worried looks shot towards his brother and the frustrated grinding of his teeth.
Sam Winchester was quieter, but Castiel can see inside him, past the hazel eyes and mop of brown hair. He can see sadness and anger and a whole lot of revengepainrevengefirereveng e. He doesn't quite know what it means, but he can only hope it has nothing to do with him.
Of course, now he has to find out which brother he's supposed to kill.
Dean didn't really seem to care about the "project" Anna had given Castiel. He'd only drunkenly patted his head in a motel room and promised to help, promised to save him.
Sam didn't even know, and Castiel wasn't sure he wanted him too. The man, though four-ish years younger (according to Dean), was much taller than Castiel, and he found himself almost fearing him out of respect. Besides, he seemed...nice. Intelligent. He shook Castiel's hand and forced a half-smile that reminded him suddenly of Balthazar and said something nice. Nice was good. Nice was scary. Castiel wasn't used to nice.
And it really didn't help that both Winchesters were very attractive.
...
Four years previously...
"Cassie, where'd you put my car keys?"
"How would I know, Balthazar? I do not drive."
Balthazar raised an eyebrow.
"We're going to be late for dinner if you keep stalling, silly," he sighed, his accent flattening a little as he grinned. "And you know how much of a hard-ass Michael is."
Castiel leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. He fiddled with the end of his blue tie–he could never really get that thing tied right, no matter how hard he tried.
"I still don't see why we even have to visit him. He doesn't like me..." he said quietly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored cabinet, his black hair all over the place. Yesterday, he'd gotten a hair cut, (or at least tried) and still it looked awkward. He sighed. "Besides, this suit makes me look like a...a..."
"Tax accountant?" Balthazar pulled him into a sloppy hug. "Naw, you look cute. Besides, you can always wear that horrible sweater instead."
And Castiel laughed at that.
...
There was only one place Sam really wanted to go, and that was bed. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been before, and everything around him was too bright, too loud, too alive. He glanced at Dean sideways.
"I'm not going to let you go off on your own, Sammy," Dean said without looking at him, as if he could read his mind. "Never again. Stanford was okay, but friggin' Sioux Falls and..." He took a deep breath, glancing into the backseat. Cass was sprawled across the leather, fast asleep. Good. He didn't need to hear this. "Is Bobby good? House not too burned?"
"Dean, I don't want to–"
"Talk about it? Yeah, well, suck it up, bitch. I'm your older brother. I'm here for you."
The car bumped along. Sam had dumped his rental, his own duffel now stowed neatly above Dean's guns and holy water.
"You don't understand, Dean. She was on the ceiling. There was fire everywhere, and you just think you can get me to talk it out?" He took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing his bangs from his face.
"Yeah, I do understand. Mom died like that too. Or did you forget that?" Dean was trying not to talk too loud, but his knuckles where white, white, white on the steering wheel. "It was probably the same sick bastard, too. And I'm going to find him and rip his friggin' eyes out."
"You can't solve it, Dean," Sam aid quietly. Too quietly. "You can't fix it. You can only bury it, and it pisses me off how shallow that is."
"I'm not burying. I'm trying to kill the sicko who destroyed us!" by now Dean was shouting and he didn't care anymore. Cass was awake in the back, blinking.
He glanced curiously at the two brothers, and in that moment Dean's heart nearly stopped.
He didn't want Cass to know. He didn't want the pity, the disgusting feeling that he didn't deserve any of the craptastic sadness that leaked off of other people when the heard about his equally craptastic existence. Now, Sam was just as craptastic too, and Cass wasn't gonna see a second of it, not on Dean's watch.
"Go back to sleep, Mr. Comatose," he snapped, harsher than he intended. "This isn't any of your business."
Sam curled his lips back in an emotionless smile at this, crossing his arms impatiently as Dean allowed the Impala to shudder to a stop.
"You even treat your BFF like shit, Dean? I thought you were trying to help me–"
"Dammit, I am, Sammy!" Dean screamed this time, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't comprehend anything but the white-hot grief that came spewing from his mouth like the waves of a grey, grey ocean. "This is all so fucking unfair! First Mom, then Jess. Hell, we're lucky friggin' Bobby hasn't kicked the can yet! And I swear to God, if I lose you, I will never forgive myself. I will never forgive myself!"
Sam was silent.
Cass was quiet.
Dean felt a sliver of anger slide, almost completely unnoticed, through his heart as he watched their unmoving faces.
Then Sam spoke, and when he did, Dean was reminded suddenly of a day a long, long time ago when he'd said the exact thing to Sam. When Sam was so small, Dean could fit him in his arms and Daddy was so sad, the world smelled like alcohol and bullet casings.
"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "I'm so, so sorry."
...
One year previously...
"Cassie, there's someone I'd like you to meet."
Balthazar laid his fork down beside his untouched casserole, his mouth tugged into a grimace. Castiel was used to that look–ever since Balthazar had gotten a job at the government offices downtown, he'd come home day after day with the expression of someone who had just lost their favorite pet.
Castiel tilted his head sideways, a bad habit that Gabriel used to tease him about when they were young. The casserole he'd spent all day making was suddenly dry and tasteless, like wet cardboard in his mouth. He swallowed nervously.
"Um, okay...? Is this...work related?"
Again with the smile. It made Castiel nervous, made him squirm. Heaven in general made him uncomfortable; every time he met a government agent they'd stare at him, size him up, as if expecting him to freak out like a lunatic, or maybe burst into tears.
"Yeah well, see, I'm going away for a few days. With a Big Cheese type fellow, guy who's gonna give me a promotion if all goes well. And I want you to meet them first. Y'know. Suss 'em out." he raised an eyebrow. "You always did have a good judge of character."
"Yes. So that is a yes." Castiel was getting impatient. Balthazar ran a hand through his close-cropped blonde hair. He sighed. "What's their name, then?"
Balthazar sighed.
"Raphael," he replied. "His name is Raphael."
...
A/N: Hey, so I know I've been virtually silent for the past few chapters, but I just wanna give you a heads up: next week I have finals, so updating may be slow until the holidays. Probably more like a chapter or two a week, rather than every few days. Sorry! Also, love the reviews, keep 'em coming.
And because I didn't before:
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Warnings: Angst. Like, bring out yer tissues, folks. Violence, but not much. No dirty stuff (unless you're an Angel of the Lord and consider flirting, kissing, and/or holding hands dirty).
Pairings: Destiel, past mentions of Sam/Jess, Castiel/Balthazar. Sam/Lucifer might pop up later, plus another surprise pairing for tension!
Thanks and lots o' love,
chaoswalking