Dean had always hated arguing with Sam. Growing up, he'd made sure either to take Sam's side or stay carefully neutral when Sam and his dad fought. Being angry at him felt wrong, always had. But on top of Cas's letting him search fruitlessly for months in Purgatory and what John blatant betrayal of Dean's trust, learning that Sammy hadn't even bothered to look to save him from months of fear and pain and horror was more than he could take.
"Right," Sam said derisively, glaring between Dean and John—whose help Dean decidedly did not want. "And what was I supposed to have done? Stormed Hell or wherever he's keeping the kid on my own?"
"Shoulda done something," Dean growled. "Could've at least summoned Crowley. Talked to him. Figured something out."
"Yeah, 'cause working with demons always goes so well for us," Sam said scathingly.
Dean glared at him, refusing to back down. He had lost too much tonight, and worse, Sam had no idea. As much as he wanted to tell Sam what Dad had done, a part of him knew that Sam would never understand what losing Benny had meant to him. Even if he had been looking for a heart to heart, which he definitely wasn't, Sam wasn't the one he wanted to talk to. Especially not now that Dean knew he hadn't even looked for him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch someone…again.
"Look," Sam said carefully, addressing Dean and John, "I'm glad to have both of you here. I really am. But you have to back off on this. Dad, you don't know what it was like for me. Dean, I had every reason to think you were in Heaven. End of story. I moved on."
"Damn it, Sam," Dean muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face. If he was going to be totally honest with himself, he believed Sam. His little brother had never rested when he'd been afraid for Dean's soul, and why should now be any different? If Sam had let him go, Sam had believed he was in a better place. He couldn't fault him for that. Not really. It his dad who had actually betrayed his trust, and who he still wanted to throw down so he could hit him again and again.
"Dean was in Purgatory," John argued doggedly, not picking up on Dean's change of heart. Dean felt another surge of annoyance that John was butting in at all. "He wasn't dead."
Sam sighed gustily, clearly not wanting to engage with him but something not quite willing to let it go either. "You weren't there, Dad. You don't know what my life has been like and you of all people have no right to judge me for wanting a normal life."
"I have no right?"
"Yeah, Dad, you—"
They were interrupted by Cas clearing his throat loudly—so loudly, in fact, Dean narrowed his eyes at him, a little suspicious.
"I'm going to leave," Cas announced, making John and Sam swivel round to stare at him as if they'd forgotten he was there. John looked annoyed at their being cut off, while Sam huffed slightly. Their expressions were actually so similar that for an absurd moment Dean wanted to laugh.
"Go where?" Dean asked, feeling a tug of betrayal that Cas was leaving him, again.
"I don't know," Cas said, glancing at each of their faces before focusing on Dean. "However, I sense these are family matters you need to work out among yourselves."
"Leaving again?" Dean asked tightly. "Hope you're not planning on running again."
Cas's eyes widened slightly. "No, Dean. Of course not."
"You know what, Cas?" Sam said, standing up abruptly. "Don't worry about it. I should…I've got a lot of explaining to do. Might as well get started."
Dean had to admit that maybe a break do them all some good. He sure as hell was tired and had a feeling that John, too, would be less confrontational after a good night's sleep. It occurred to him that if breaking up the argument had been Cas's plan, he'd pulled it off impressively.
And so Dean managed half a smile and asked Sam in a conversational tone, "Stayin' in the chick's room tonight?"
"You guys can have this one," Sam said, nodding. "There's some food in the cabinets, soap in the shower, whatever you need. Go for it. I'll just be a few doors down." He looked at Dean searchingly, as if waiting for his permission.
Dean managed a smile. "Guess I could use a shower and some shut eye," he allowed, hoping Sam could read the truce in his tone, then glanced at John. "Guess we both could."
After a moment's hesitation, John took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay."
"Good," Sam said, "And seriously, enjoy that shower." He returned Dean's smile and Dean drank it in, glad for some normality, and more than grateful that Sam seemed to be accepting the ceasefire at least for now.
"We still gotta find Kevin," Dean reminded him as he stood and started to turn toward the door. "He was our responsibility."
"I know," Sam said, glancing at John—who'd been watching the exchange with a guarded expression—before agreeing, "We'll get started tomorrow. Get some rest."
As he turned to go again, John spoke up. "Hey," he grunted.
Sam looked at him uncertainly.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," John said.
Sam's jaw tightened and brows drew together as he tried to read John's tone. "Yeah," he said cautiously, with a quick glance at Dean, who shrugged a shoulder. "See you both tomorrow."
"No salt lines," John remarked as Sam left and shut the door behind him. Dean let out a breath, rolling his neck and refusing to take the bait. "Really has left the life."
"Drop it," he said, casting around. He saw where Sam had packed his clothes into a dresser provided by the motel and opened a drawer to pull out a shirt and pair of pants. Sam's stuff would look ridiculous on him, of course, but his were caked in six months' worth of Purgatory mud and he figured hitting up the Salvation Army for new jeans would have to wait until tomorrow. He headed into the bathroom, and closed the door.
He hadn't been alone in a long time, since before Benny had found him, and it hit him suddenly. His first weeks in Purgatory he'd been on high alert every moment, afraid to stop moving or sleep or rest or think. Then Benny had come along and he'd had someone to watch his back, someone to fend off the darkness and despair of the night. Only now Benny was gone. Dean took a deep breath through his nose, setting the clothes down on the counter a little more firmly than was strictly necessary.
More grime than he'd thought possible ran off him as he showered. To his surprise he heard voices, muffled by the closed door and the sound of the water. He easily recognized his dad's low tone and Cas's measured responses and wondered what they were talking about. Curious, he toweled off quickly and pulled on Sam's gigantor clothes. The shirt was about three sizes too big and he had to cuff the pants—hardly his best look—but by the time he opened the door the room was quiet again.
What he found was John sitting alone on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and forehead resting in his hands. He looked sad and pensive, though he glanced up at the sound of the door opening and rearranged his features into their usual grim expression as soon as Dean was in full view.
"Hey," he said. It seemed his anger had faded and now he simply sounded exhausted. Dean knew the feeling, though he didn't relish the idea of spending more quality time with his dad just yet.
"Where's Cas?" he asked.
"Said he was going outside," John said, dropping his hands and straightening up. "You done in there?"
"All yours."
"...Thanks," John said hesitantly, as if there was something else he wanted to add. But nothing came.
Instead John stood stiffly, rubbing his forehead, then followed Dean's lead and pulled a few of Sam's clothes from the drawer. As soon as he had disappeared into the bathroom Dean began rummaging through Sam's other belongings. He couldn't find the demon knife but there was a spare angel blade under the bed and he shoved it in his waistband before pulling on one of Sam' jackets and his own, battered boots. He stepped out into the cool night and locked the door behind him. As soon as he stepped outside he felt alert, senses heightened, and had to remind himself that none of the souls of dead monsters were prowling here tonight.
He found Cas standing at the edge of the parking lot, staring at the panoply of lights just off the highway that was the city main of Kermit, Texas.
"Hey," he said.
Cas turned around, unsurprised to see him. "Hello, Dean."
Dean joined him, folding his arms and trying to figure out what Cas was looking at, exactly. "Thanks for breaking that up. They coulda gone on for hours, I think."
The corner of Cas's mouth turned up. "I wasn't sure you noticed."
"Took me minute," Dean said honestly. "Would you really have left again?"
"I wouldn't have gone far," Cas said. "I'm still not convinced that your father is your father, although I believe that he thinks he is."
"Ah," Dean said, not particularly wanting to start on that subject again. John certainly seemed to be John, but he still didn't have any proof beyond the mix of inadequacy and frustration the man still made him feel. He changed the subject. "So how you doing? Being back."
"It was quiet in Purgatory. Now I hear all of them. All of you," Cas answered, staring out at the lights.
In Purgatory, Cas had only heard Dean. Dean swallowed, pushing that thought away before it could consume him. A light breeze rustled Cas's coat and across the parking lot, Dean noted with detachment that a very inebriated man was stumbling from his room toward the ice machine in a bathrobe. They really were home.
"How are you holding up?" Cas asked.
"Honestly? I don't know," Dean said before he could think to stop himself. It was Cas, after all, and he was just so tired. "I'm still pissed. Feel like I don't belong here anymore."
Cas squinted at him a moment. "Your father said the same thing."
Dean looked at him with a scrunched brow, surprised. John had never done much in the sharing of feelings department, at least with him. "He said that to you?"
"He appeared distressed. I asked."
"Yeah, well," Dean said, feeling the fury rise in him again. He couldn't care what his dad was feeling. Not after what he'd done. "He doesn't belong here. With me and Sam. Not after what he did."
Cas looked troubled, more so than Dean would have expected given that Cas wasn't even sure John was John.
"What?" he barked. "You want to stand up for him?"
"He thought he was doing the right thing. To protect people. To protect you," Cas said earnestly.
"So?" Dean countered.
"Dean, please," Cas said, the emotion in his usually flat tone making Dean peer closer at him. "I have to believe… I have to believe that mistakes made for the right reasons can be forgiven."
He wanted to argue. To insist that what his dad had done was wrong and would never go away or be okay no matter what John's reasons had been. But then, he realized, Cas wasn't just talking about John anymore. "Of course they can. Just…don't run off again, okay?"
After a few moments they looked out over the city lights again, Dean somehow feeling even less sure of himself than before. If he could forgive Cas so easily for letting him down, for all he'd done, why couldn't he forgive his dad?
The sound of the ice machine had stopped and the hammered guy was returning across the parking lot. Something about his gait made Dean spin toward him, hackles rising. The man was moving steadily, now, his red face determined, and he wasn't carrying any ice.
"Cas," Dean said urgently, nodding toward the guy.
Cas turned away from the city lights, eyes narrowing as he followed Dean's gaze. Not only was the man clearly not drunk anymore, Dean noted, but his path was arcing away from the door he'd come from and toward John's room. Maybe there weren't any souls out here, but there sure were monsters.
"You see that?" Dean prompted, pulling the angel blade from his waistband.
"Yes," Cas said, taking a blade of his own from his coat. "That man is a demon."