His church is the body, but where is the blood?
He's centering himself inside the castles built with mud
He's full of cheap, cheap grace
But as for faith
He has none.
"Jill Plays Tricks, Jack Plays God" by Sent by Ravens
The sounds of death were nothing new to Alastair. He listened to them with giddy ears, every octave a slight of joy in his head. He counted them, collected them as some would collect stamps in different colors, different patterns. Every death he had caused he kept bottled and pickled in imaginary labeled jars, dusty on his mental shelf.
He wasn't the typical sociopathic, homicidal psycho. No, Alastair was different. He was careful, precise, no-mistakes. He didn't leave threads untied, strings uncut. No need to worry about survivors–there were none. Some would say he was special, others insane. The ones who knew him best, however, would categorize him only as unnatural, with abilities beyond the spectrum of a normal man.
Alastair was a monster, but he was a clever monster, efficient and cunning one.
And he was damn good at his job.
...
"Hey, how'd you get the Impala?" Sam asked Dean, fiddling absent-mindedly with the radio dials. "Thought you were driving my car."
"Got it locked away in a storage container off the highway," Dean said, checking over his shoulder as a pick-up truck merged beside him. "Baby's 'bout as illegal as they come, and I wanted her safe. Figured I'd pick her up for our little road trip."
"Yeah. About that." Sam coughed, trying to fold his legs beneath him in a more comfortable way. He was tall, taller than Dean had ever remembered, and the space between the dash and the seat was tidy but small. "Dean, I'm coming with you."
"Hell no, Sammy. I'm dropping you off at the Roadhouse after this hunt and you and Jo can braid each other's hair or something until I finish this, got it?"
"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean! You can't control me! I need to do this. I need to find the monster that killed Jess." Sam knotted his arms across his chest. "You're letting Cass come, and he's ditzier than I am."
"Cass can hear you, Sam Winchester," came a less-than-pleased grumble from the backseat. "And he is not enjoying this car ride."
Dean groaned loudly. It was like having two little brothers instead of one, and the one in the backseat was definitely looking a little green in the face. Maybe he should tone down on the swerving and u-turns.
"Look, Sam: I don't want to lose you. Not like this. Not now. I can't handle that, Sammy." He paused to suck in a deep breath. "I won't handle it."
There was a silence. Dean pulled the Impala gently into the parking lot of a 76, his brow furrowed, eyes dark.
"You won't have to," Sam said quietly, with a smirk. "I'm not gonna die on you, you jerk."
A sigh.
"Bitch."
...
Dean got out of the Impala feeling considerably lighter than he had when he had entered it four hours ago. It might not have been the perfect scenario, but at least Sam was happy. Dean could work on the whole "revenge scheme" issue later, when he had had a cup of coffee and at least one slice of pie.
He hummed to himself as he grabbed the gas nozzle, poking it into the side of Baby. The morning had turned crisp and beautiful, and the pale sunlight threw delicate shadows over the graffiti-slathered angles of the 76. Dean couldn't help but feel a little better, a little less burdened.
He fingered aimlessly with his amulet, the cool metal peaceful against his fingertips. It was then that he noticed Cass leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyebrows knitted together in obvious concentration..
Dean knew exactly what he's thinking.
He remembered vaguely Castiel telling the Heaven agents that Balthazar had been gone for two years, legitimately missing for a month. With a frown, Dean wondered where Balthazar could have been before that, not there but there, missing but legally known. It couldn't have been good, judging on the sticky situation it had landed Castiel in.
Cass, he realized, was holding one of Dean's discarded flasks in a clenched fist, expression stoic as usual. He didn't even acknowledge Dean as he darted over to him, concerned.
"Dude, what the hell? It's nine in the friggin' morning!" he snatched the flask from Cass' hands, a flare-up of anger suddenly burning his throat. "And you're only gotten drunk once, so don't you dare say you can handle it."
"You consume alcohol as you wake up, Dean," Castiel replied with an innocent stare.
"Yeah but I'm special."
"I fail to see how. All you've managed to do is lie to me about your brother and drag me around the country on some vague mission." Cass answered, his voice rising a little. Still, he did not face Dean, and still, Dean wished he would for just one moment. He could never see beyond the well-kept facade Castiel maintained; it was a sturdy wall, impenetrable, and Dean knew he couldn't break it with anger.
"Fine. I'm sorry. Now will you cut the booze until at least noon?"
Cass tilted his head, eyes wide.
"I never said it was alcohol."
Dean shifted on his feet, frustrated. Surely Cass hadn't just let him lose it like that over...well, whatever was in the flask. He rolled his eyes, and Cass squinted his in obvious confusion.
"Okay, I'll bite. What is it?"
"Jack Daniels."
"Dammit, Cass!"
Another half-smile, another almost-break in the wall.
"I brought it out here for you, Dean."
And despite himself, Dean was shocked. He blanked for a moment, and all he could register was the dull tick tick of the gas meter rising nearby. Then, he cleared his throat.
"Oh," he said. "Um...thank you...?"
(Well hell, he thought then, to himself. Since when did I become Awkward Dude #2?)
Cass gave a brief nod, finally turning to look at Dean fully. He smiled again, crookedly.
"You are most welcome, Dean Winchester."
Dean rather liked that smile. He fidgeted nervously, suddenly realizing how close he was to Cass. So close he could see where Cass had mis-tied his tie, the tag sticking haphazardly from the blue silk like a little white surrender flag. He resisted the urge to straighten it.
And then he realized it.
Dean was crushing on his best friend.
"Dean, I think you're stepping on my foot."
"Oh! Sorry, man," Dean coughed, jumping a step back, which caused the flask to tumble from his hand–and all over his jacket. "Dammit! Ah, now I smell like booze," he mumbled. His flannel jacket was sticky and wet now, and he removed grumpily, his Kansas shirt underneath far too thin for the morning chill.
Sam was chuckling from the Impala, his head stuck out the window. Even Cass looked amused, letting out a tiny laugh at Dean's expense.
"Oh shut up, you Sasquatch," he grumbled, tossing the gross jacket into Sam's now visible face. "And you," he said, jabbing a finger at Cass, who gave him a look of smug satisfaction. "You stop being so friggin' nice, you asshole."
Castiel was laughing now, a real laugh. His shoulders shook slightly, and as he laughed he turned to face Dean.
For the first time in days, he looked happy. The clouds usually gathered right behind his eyes, the hazy screens, were gone. Instead they were bright and alive and so very human, Dean grinned too, an odd warm feeling in his head.
He leaned forward, suddenly distracted, and grabbed Cass' tie. With a yank, he straightened it out. It had been bothering him.
"This thing keeps coming undone, huh?" he sighed dramatically. "Oh whatever shall we do with you, Castiel?"
"I find this infernal tie quite confusing. It's far too complicated." Cass pouted a little. "And besides, you can tie it for me. Right, Dean?"
"Yeah Dean, like a butler," Sam sniggered from Baby again.
But Dean wasn't listening to him. He leaned forward again, and kissed Castiel.
...
Castiel wasn't sure what he was expecting–another joke, or maybe one of those sarcastic quips that Dean seemed to have locked and loaded for any given moment's notice, ready to fire. Even a hug.
Definitely not this.
Sure, Cass liked Dean. Maybe more than liked.
But Balthazar–
He broke away from Dean with a shove, probably a little too fast, and brought a hand to his mouth.
"No," he said, nearly shouted. "No, no. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so...I have to..."
He looked around, desperate for an escape. Sam was staring at him, wide-eyed but concerned, ready to jump out and calm him down. But Dean looked even more shocked than Castiel. He stood completely still, staring at the place that Cass had just occupied.
"I'll get you some paper towels for the um...the jacket," Castiel muttered aimlessly, backing away.
Dean had kissed him. Not even on the lips, not even seriously. But still...what would Balthazar think? What would he say?
"No, Cass, wait! I didn't mean–"
"It's okay, Dean. Just let him go," Sam sounded surprised. Castiel didn't stick around to hear him finish. Instead, he located the nearest bathroom, head spinning, and pushed his way through the door.
...
He leaned into the sink. Let his hands clutch the stained porcelain tight, turn white, then red, then begin to numb. It was quiet there. He could think.
Castiel stared at his reflection. A zig-zag of graffiti crossed the mirror glass, jagged and confused.
Guilt had sharp teeth.
After a minute, two, he leaned back, remembering what he had promised to do. He grabbed a paper towel from the clunky automatic dispenser, avoiding a marauding cockroach, and shoved it under the squeaky tap. The dull public water ran in tiny rivers over the thin paper, and Cass took a deep breath.
It was okay. He could deal with this. It wasn't like he was in love with Dean–he just liked him. A lot. Balthazar had been gone awhile now, and it wasn't like Castiel was doing nothing to save him. In fact, he was risking everything to do so.
Was he in love?
He stopped the tap, and ran a hand through his dark hair nervously.
Was he really?
But just then the thick plaster door swung open, and another traveler wandered in. Castiel quickly pocketed the clean towel, shoving thoughts of Dean from his head. He needed to be calm, act natural. He liked the Winchesters, and didn't want to mess this up. For once, he actually had friends, real friends.
He wrapped a hand around the doorknob, the dried halo of bubblegum smooth and shiny like a welt against his palm. Just as he opened the door, the other man cleared his throat and sighed a distraught sigh.
"Oh whatever shall we do with you," Alastair sang. "Castiel."