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Chapter Three

Dean was overwhelmed and overwrought. Sam was there, as a ghost, but still there. He'd laid Sam to rest outside that church, and that was supposed to be it. The fact Sam was denied Heaven was damn wrong, but Dean couldn't deny it felt good to have Sam back, even if he couldn't see him. He thought it was the end for them, when Sam made that last stand, but here he was, hanging on a little longer with Dean.

Castiel was looking to a spot a few inches from Dean, and frowning. Though the angel obviously wasn't happy, it pleased Dean that Sam was so close. They weren't exactly joined at the hip before, but with Sam gone in some form, that closeness felt good.

"When was I supposed to have the time to do that?" Castiel asked in a tone of forced patience. "I have been a little occupied recently, Sam."

"What's he saying?" Dean asked.

"Nothing of import."

"Hey!" Dean snapped. "That's my brother you're talking about. I can't hear him, so you're playing Heavenly translator, and I want to know what he's saying."

Castiel sighed heavily. "He is criticizing my appearance. Apparently, I need a haircut and better coat."

Dean threw back his head and howled with laughter. It felt so good. He never thought it would feel this good again. His stomach ached and tears streamed down his face but still he was laughing. Sam had never been dull, but he'd always treated Castiel with a little more angelic reverence than Dean ever had—part of his whole belief system. The fact he was now using his afterlife to bust Castiel's chops was hilarious.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said, eventually choking himself to calm again. "But he's got a point. That coat is all kinds of wrong. Sam's the last person that should be talking hair though."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath and the tension in the room changed palpably. "So, about Metatron, I heard you'd got him when I was… you know. What's happening with him?"

Castiel pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, Dean did the same and the chair beside him pulled out too, though no one could be seen to do it. Dean looked to the side and tried to imagine his brother sitting beside him. He thought maybe he could make out a faint outline, but that was just wishful thinking. It would take Sam a while before he could be seen. Kevin had taken a month and then it had been sporadic.

"He is trapped in Heaven's jail," Castiel said. "He has been since you died. I don't know any more as I have been otherwise occupied in the intervening weeks." He looked to the chair beside Dean and nodded. "You're right. He is the main problem now. He is the one that can tell us how to reopen Heaven and he is probably the only one now that knows where my grace is. Hannah has searched his person, but he is not carrying it the way Uriel did with Anna's."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "We've got to get your grace back."

Castiel hesitated but he didn't seem to be listening to Sam. It looked like he was locked in some internal debate. He looked up again and shook his head. "No, Sam. I am one angel. There are legions of my kind that need to go home." He smiled slightly. "You would say that."

Irritated by the silent conversation, Dean cleared his throat. "Want to fill me in?"

"Sam believes finding my grace is more important than opening Heaven."

"This is the grace that's going to kill you if we don't find yours, right?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded soberly.

"Then that's the mission."

"But I am one angel," Castiel said. "There are many more than matter more than—"

"No!" Dean shouted, cutting off Castiel's words. "I am done with this! Why do we have to be the ones that sacrifice ourselves all the damn time? You're one angel, Cas, and my brother was one man, and he closed Hell, but it wasn't worth it!" He stopped, panting heavily. Sam had saved the world from demons but it wasn't worth it, not to Dean. He would rather have demons crawling the earth if it meant his brother was still alive. "It wasn't worth it, Sam," he said quietly, glancing up to see if he could get some read on Sam's reaction from Castiel.

Castiel looked to the side for a long moment, his face creased with sadness. Eventually, he looked at Dean again. "We disagree."

Dean sighed. Of course they did. They weren't the ones that would be left behind, alone in the world. He was done with being left behind. "Disagree all you like," he said. "If you want my help, you're doing this my way. We're getting your grace back and then we will take care of Heaven. The feathered pests have managed a year on Earth, they can handle a few more months."

Castiel was silent for a long time, and Dean was sure he was listening to Sam. He shuddered suddenly, as if Sam was shouting, and then nodded. "Okay."

Dean clapped his hands together. "Good to know you're on board, since we're doing it my way regardless. I figure our best chance is going back to your base and catching up on what we've been missing while you've been otherwise… occupied." Occupied chasing Dean's demonic self across the country, seeing the trail of destruction he left in his wake. He looked the chair beside him. "How about you, Sammy? Are you stuck here or do you know what's tethering you?"

It was silent for a long moment, and then Castiel said. "Just bring my duffel. I should be able to tag along."

Dean frowned. There was some tension in the air, as if a storm had just descended. "What are you tethered to, Sam?"

"Just bring the duffel." Dean was beginning to tell the difference in Castiel talking for himself and talking for Sam. It was something about the way he formed the words when he was talking for himself. Otherwise, it sounded like he was reciting from a script. He was talking for Sam now, but the strain Sam must be feeling bled into his tone, too.

Dean rose to his feet and walked to the opposite end of the table, where Sam's duffel lay. As he reached for it, it was yanked off the table and onto the floor. "Sam," he growled. "Quit it."

"Don't do it, Dean," Castiel warned.

Dean ignored him. He snatched the duffel from the floor and gripped the handle tight in one hand so Sam couldn't pull it away again. He slipped it open and began pulling clothes out at random. They weren't folded as Sam preferred, but stuffed inside, as if Sam had been in a hurry when he packed up. He dropped the clothes down on the table, hand scrabbling at the bottom of the bag for whatever it was Sam was trying to keep from him.

"Dean, please."

He shook his head. "Got to know, Sammy." He needed to know for two reasons. First and most importantly, he needed to know what Sam was attached to so he could protect it. He also wanted to know what it was Sam was trying to hide from him.

His fingers closed around a small, metal object and he pulled it out, knowing exactly what it was before he even saw it. He should; he had worn it for long years around his throat. It was the amulet Sam had given him for Christmas the day Sam's innocence was stolen by their father's journal.

Mingled shame and anger settled over him. He was pissed that Sam would have had it all these years and not told him, and ashamed that he had ever let it go in the first place. It would have been easy to say that he had dropped it into the trash because it had failed them in their search for God, but it would be a lie. He had thrown it away to hurt his brother. He'd known what it meant to him, what it represented, but after seeing Sam's heaven didn't include him, he'd been so angry. After giving everything for Sam, even his life, he still didn't matter to Sam. He had regretted it after. During the year Sam was—so he believed—in Hell, he had wished again and again that he'd had that to remember his brother with, by keeping a piece of him close.

"Why do you have this?" he asked quietly.

"Why'd you think? Picked it out of the trash."

"But why?" Dean asked, anger surging again and making his tone harsh.

"Because you might have thought it was worthless, but I never did."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean shouted. "Why the hell didn't you—"

"He's gone," Castiel said soberly.

Dean spun on his heel to face the angel. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He has left. I imagine he is somewhere in the bunker still, but I cannot see him. He has the ability to conceal himself, even from me."

Dean cursed. "Well that sucks." It was more than that though. He wanted his brother close, but at the same time he knew why he'd decided then was the time to leave. Dean had upset him. Now he thought back on his words, he realized Sam would take them as a rejection. In truth, Dean was overjoyed that he had the amulet back. It had been gone too long.

He slipped it over his head so it rested on his chest, relishing the weight.

They were halfway to Colorado when Sam appeared in the backseat. He had been there since around a mile from the bunker, Castiel could sense him, but he had remained invisible till then.

Sam was sitting stretched out with his legs across the seat and in arms behind his head. "Haven't done this in an age," he said happily, no sign of his previous sadness. "Hey, Dean, remember when we were kids and Dad would make us a bed on the backseat and we'd crash together and snuggle."

Castiel repeated the words automatically, turning to face Sam as he finished to see a wide smile across his face.

"Dude!" Dean spat. "We never snuggled."

"I know," Sam said happily. "I just wanted to make Cas say snuggle."

Castiel scowled at him. While he was happy that Sam was happy, he was not amused to be used as a butt of the joke between the brothers. While it was good Sam was dealing with his setback so well, it was a little confusing. The Sam he had spent the last weeks of life with was dour and wracked with guilt. He had chased down every lead on Dean with a zealous need. Part of Sam's change of mood could easily be subscribed to the fact Dean was cured now, but his subsequent death and entrapment in the veil should have taken the shine off it at least a little to Castiel's mind. He would have to talk to Sam about it when they were alone next.

Sam lounged back against the seat and grinned at Castiel, starting to hum a tune. Castiel didn't recognize the tune, but when Sam started singing, he understood. Sam had many positive attributes, but his ability to carry a tune wasn't one of them, and Castiel quickly grew annoyed.

"What's he saying?" Dean asked when Castiel huffed his frustration.

"He is singing," Castiel said dourly.

Dean turned to face him for a second. "Seriously? What."

Castiel sighed heavily. "Henry The Eighth, I am."

Dean roared with laughter. "Sammy, are you seriously reenacting Ghost on my backseat?"

Sam chuckled. "Get me a potter's wheel and me and Cas will be set."

Castiel scowled at him. "I am not repeating that."

Sam's grin widened impossibly. "Go on, Cas. He'll get a kick out of it."

Castiel shook his head. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for the Winchesters, but this was one of those rare things. Since Metatron had imbibed him with the knowledge of popular culture, there were many things he understood better. Unfortunately, the potter's wheel scene from Ghost was one of those things, and he refused to open himself to Dean's ridicule as well as Sam's.

"Repeat what?" Dean asked eagerly.

Sam leaned forward and patted his brother's shoulder. "Nothing, Dean."

That Castiel was happy to share, and though Dean looked disappointed by the fact there was obviously a joke he was missing out on, he seemed content. Castiel thought that had a lot to do with the ghostly hand on his shoulder.

They drove on for an hour before Dean pulled over for gas and a rest stop. Though he had no need of it, he didn't tire, Castiel got out of the car too and leaned against the hood. Dean filled their tank and then went inside to pick up what he called 'Drive time essentials' — namely candy and chips. Sam appeared by Castiel and stood opposite him.

"You okay, Cas?" he asked.

"Yes…" Castiel said thoughtfully.

"But?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "I am curious about you, Sam. While you've obviously been amused and have been entertaining your brother at my expense, I was wondering about your state of mind."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Worried I'm going vengeful already?"

"No, I am wondering what it is that is making you so happy."

Sam sighed and turned away for a moment, watching his brother through the plate glass window. "It's Dean," he said.

"You're happy to be with him again?"

"Yes, well, no, but mainly yes." Sam raked a hand over his face. "Look at him, Cas."

Castiel looked through the window. Dean felt their gaze and he turned and gave them a thumbs up and wide smile.

"He's almost happy," Sam said. "He's been through hell; he died and came back as his worst nightmare. The least I can do is make this as easy for him as I can. He doesn't need to know what it's really like. He doesn't need to know how bad."

Castiel felt a heavy weight drop into his stomach. He should have known sooner. He should have seen. "How bad is it, Sam?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "Not as bad as the cage. Worse than losing Jess." Castiel stared into his eyes and Sam shifted uncomfortably. "It's worth it though, Cas. Dean's worth it. It's what he needs."

"And what about you? What do you need?"

Sam locked eyes with him. "We're reopening Heaven right?"

Castiel nodded.

"Well, that's what I need."

Dean came outside again at that moment and Sam fell silent, looking at his brother with an unnamable emotion in his eyes.

"We good to go?" Dean asked.

Sam knocked one of the sacks of chips out of Dean's arms and grinned. "Ready when you are."

Forcing a smile, Castiel climbed into the car and prepared himself to play the part of the jester, knowing that by helping Sam he was helping Dean, too. It was all he could do to make it easier for them both, even though as he caught Sam's eye through the mirror, he realized it wasn't nearly enough.

So…. Sam embraced the snark and the Samulet made a reappearance. Good times. When I realized Sam would be tethered to something, the Samulet sprung to mind—and maybe I did a little happy dance. I love the Samulet. I love what it represents, and the scene in DSOTM, when Dean's drops it into the trash, wrecks me. This is the second time I've brought it back in a fic (Breaking Down The Wall) and if I get the chance, I will do it again.

Sam's snarkiness… This isn't how I envisaged it going at all. This story was supposed to be an angst fest, but when I sat down to write it came out like this. I like it though. It's been a long time since I have had the chance to write snark like this. It won't all be giggles and movie quotes though. There are serious issues at hand here and I want to do them justice, too.

I still don't know how long this story will be. I am currently writing chapter eight and I'm guessing I'm around the middle of the plot. Good news is I have an ending in mind now—I was clueless when I started—so I have a goal to work towards.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx