CHAPTER 6
Sam called 911 from the car as they drove away. They weren't sure if it was necessary or not – it was possible that someone else had already seen the flames and called someone – but they figured that it was better to be sure.
Dean took them to the nearest motel and made Sam get out of the car to check them in, claiming that not having to do it was the privilege of nearly dying earlier that night. Sam hadn't argued with that, and a few minutes later, they were heading for their room. Castiel awkwardly exited the car, but after that, he wasn't entirely sure what to do, so he simply ended up standing beside the Impala until Sam gestured for him to follow.
"It looks like this place has a couch you can crash on," he said as Castiel followed him into the room.
"I don't want to impose-" Castiel said, still thinking of what Dean had said earlier.
Dean cut off that protest by saying, "You're not going to sleep on the streets." After that, Castiel didn't feel so bad, even though he still knew that they didn't want him to be there.
Nonetheless, Dean and Sam were both very kind to him. Sam tossed one of his pillows onto the couch for Castiel to use, and Dean gave him his blanket, claiming that he always slept on top of the covers, anyway. "You never know what you're gonna wake up and see," he said. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared." And apparently he meant it, too – a few minutes later, Castiel caught him tucking his gun beneath his pillow.
They also handed him the toothpaste and told him he could go brush his teeth, which was something that Castiel hadn't had the chance to do since leaving the men's shelter. He didn't have a toothbrush, but then, he hadn't had one at the shelter, either. He licked off a bit of toothpaste and figured that that would be good enough.
"You want something to use as pajamas or something?" Dean asked as Castiel emerged from the bathroom.
Castiel glanced down at the borrowed clothes that he was still wearing, and quickly said, "No, I'm fine." He didn't want to impose any more than he already had. And anyway, Sam looked as though he intended on sleeping in his clothes as well, and though Dean had changed, he was still clothed in jeans and a tee shirt, just a different pair.
Dean shrugged. "Okay, then," he said, and flopped backward onto the bed, then squirmed and turned onto his stomach, his hands hanging off the sides. Sam was already in his bed, lying diagonally across it because that was the only way that he fit. "Mind turning off the light?" Dean muttered, already sounding as though he were on the verge of falling asleep.
Castiel nodded and flipped off the light, then crawled onto the couch. It was too warm in the motel room to sleep beneath the blanket, so he lay on top of it instead, keeping it between himself and the scratchy fabric of the couch.
It was infinitely more comfortable than the streets had been, not to mention that he felt far safer here than he ever had when he was out on his own.
"Thank you," Castiel said softly, glancing over at the Winchesters, even though it was too dark to actually see them.
A muffled snore was all that he received in response. Castiel smiled to himself, then rolled over and attempted to sleep.
Castiel woke the next morning when something light and soft hit him in the face. Despite the fact that it didn't hurt at all, it was still surprising enough to make him jerk upright, looking around frantically to ensure that he wasn't under attack.
Dean grinned at him from the end of the couch. "Sorry," he said. "Figured you'd want something to change into."
Castiel glanced down at the objects that had struck him, which were lying across his chest. It was a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. "That is very thoughtful of you," he said, looking back up at Dean.
Dean just shrugged. "You smell like smoke," was all he said.
Castiel frowned and sniffed the shoulder of his shirt, realizing that Dean was right. Funny, he hadn't noticed that until now, though he supposed that it made sense, what with being in a burning building the night before. "Thank you," he said, and headed to the bathroom to change.
Sam must have already been out that morning, because there were three take-out boxes sitting on the table when Castiel exited the bathroom. Sam and Dean were each eating out of one, so Castiel assumed that the third one was for him.
His stomach was growling – he was fairly annoyed with how often he had to eat, to be honest, even though that seemed like something that he should be used to – but the sight of the box made him frown for some reason. It wasn't until he was placing the clothes he had worn the day before into Dean's bag (after attempting to fold them neatly, despite the fact that Dean had apparently just crumpled up his dirty clothes and shoved them inside) that he realized what he was feeling. Guilt.
"I will find a way to pay you back for this," he said as he joined them at the table and reached for the plastic fork that Sam extended to him.
Sam just grinned. "Keep saving our lives, and we'll call it even on the food."
Castiel nodded, because he didn't know what else to do, though he didn't quite feel right about that. After all, the two of them clearly never wanted him to travel with them in the first place. Well, Sam hadn't seemed to mind, but Dean had made his feeling on the matter quite clear already. Forcing them to pay for him on top of everything else didn't seem right.
He didn't get the chance to say anything more, though, because Dean reached across the table – nearly dragging his shirt sleeve through Castiel's eggs in the process – and punched Sam in the shoulder. "We're on break, remember?" he said, then tapped his fingers against the back of Sam's laptop, which Sam had opened in front of him, just as he had the day before. This was barely the second day that Castiel had known him, and already he was wondering if Sam ever parted with it.
Sam pulled his laptop forward, trying to move it out of Dean's reach. "I'm not looking for cases right now."
"Good," Dean said decisively, leaning back in his seat. "Because we're not doing anything today, okay? We've been going nonstop since I got out of the hospital, and I'm definitely due for some me time, you got it?"
Castiel shot Dean a curious look, wondering what he had meant when he'd said that he'd been in a hospital. Well, Castiel knew what the words meant, and considering that they had each suffered at least one near-death experience in the past two days, he wouldn't be particularly surprised to learn that the Winchesters were hospitalized frequently. He couldn't help but wonder what had caused Dean to be hospitalized, though, especially considering that Dean seemed to be implying that he had only recently been released, and yet Castiel couldn't see a single thing wrong with the man. Whatever had caused him to need a hospital, he must have already recovered from it.
Castiel didn't ask, though, and Dean didn't supply any more information. He didn't even glance in Castiel's direction.
"I'm looking up info on Azazel," Sam said, his eyes not leaving the screen. He barely even seemed to be paying attention to his breakfast. "Now that we have a name, we might be able to learn something more about him."
Dean instantly stiffened. "You find anything yet?"
"I just started looking," Sam said. Dean said nothing more, just raised one eyebrow – which Sam couldn't have seen, considering that he still didn't look up – but after a moment, Sam continued, "I've found a few things, but this is the first website I've checked. I still need to double check my sources and compile all the lore that I can."
"Boring," Dean suddenly announced.
That finally drew Sam's attention. "This is the demon," he said incredulously, putting special emphasis on the last two words, as though there was something important about them. Castiel wondered if this meant that Azazel was the only demon in existence – which would explain why Sam had said the demon, instead of a demon – or if there was some other reason for the specific way that he spoke.
"I didn't say that it won't be good to know," Dean defended himself, scooping up a forkful of eggs and beacon and shoveling it into his mouth, then continuing to speak with his mouth full, "But just because you have a hard on for research methods and special ways of compiling data doesn't mean that any of us care."
"I didn't ask you to help," Sam said, sounding grumpy as he returned his eyes to the laptop. "Just go watch trashy TV, I'll let you know when I learn more."
"Now that, I can do," Dean said with a grin. He grabbed his container and flopped down on the couch with it, balancing it on his legs as he grabbed the remote off the floor, where Castiel had left it the night before. He pointed the remote at the TV and began flipping through the channels, then settled on a show and turned the volume all the way up. Sam sighed and rubbed his temples, but didn't say anything.
"Just so you know," Dean said, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the noise, "I fully intend to sit here on my ass for the rest of the day and let you handle the nerdy little research things. Because you know what? I've freakin' earned it."
Despite what Dean had said, it only took him a few hours to become bored of the motel room, and to begin complaining. And once Dean began complaining, it only took Sam a few minutes to grow impatient.
"If you're so bored, then go find something to do," Sam snapped. "It's not like anyone's chaining you here."
Dean snorted. "What's there to do in the middle of the day?" he asked. "It's way too early to go get drunk."
Sam let out a long breath and looked over at Castiel. "Can you find a way to keep him amused somehow so that I can finish this up?"
"I'm not a little kid," Dean groused, crossing his arms and slouching lower on the couch. "I don't need a babysitter." Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't respond, and after a moment, Dean suddenly sat upright. "Come on," he said, jumping to his feet and motioning for Castiel to follow him.
Castiel did, with no small amount of confusion. Dean grabbed the keys and headed outside, and Castiel continued to follow, though he did ask, "Where are we going?"
"You said that you didn't know how to shoot, right?" Dean asked. Castiel frowned but nodded and Dean added, "I'm going to teach you."
"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, though Dean was already climbing into the Impala, which meant that there was nothing for Castiel to do except to follow after him, sliding into the passenger seat.
"'Course I'm sure," Dean said as he started the engine. "Besides, if I stick around there any longer, Sam's going to make me start helping with the research or something." He glanced over at Castiel, his face incredibly serious as he said, "Word of advice, dude? Always pick guns over homework."
Castiel didn't have the slightest idea what that meant, but he nodded, regardless. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do," Dean said, and then they took off.
They drove for about half an hour. Dean turned the radio all the way up and sang along to a variety of rock songs. He tried to make Castiel join him, but gave up after Castiel insisted for the seventh time that he didn't know the words to a single one of the songs. Finally, they arrived at a large field, with nothing around them for miles but rows and rows of wheat. Dean pulled the car off to the side of the road and pulled out his gun. "You ready for this?" he asked, an excited grin forming on his face. Castiel couldn't help but smile back as he took the gun from Dean, though the metal felt far too heavy in his hands.
"See that scarecrow over there?" Dean asked, and pointed to one about fifteen feet away from them. "Pretend it's a monster trying to get us. Shoot its head off."
Castiel frowned. "Isn't this destruction of property?" he asked.
Dean snorted. "Anyone who puts up such a creepyass scarecrow deserves to have it destroyed," he said, and made a vague gesture toward the gun.
"I'm fairly certain that this is illegal," Castiel insisted.
"Only if we get caught," Dean said. Castiel would have protested – he didn't think that that was how laws worked – but before he got the chance, Dean urged, "Come on, I've still got a vendetta against scarecrows. One of them tried to kill me last year, I need my revenge."
Castiel wasn't even surprised. "Don't blame this scarecrow for what another one did," he said. "That doesn't seem fair."
"Screw fair," Dean said. "Let's shoot things!"
Castiel's frown deepened, but Dean looked so enthusiastic that he finally sighed and lifted the gun, pointing it in the general direction of the scarecrow. "Alright," he said. "Now what?"
"You need to aim really carefully," Dean said, stepping closer and placing his hands on Castiel's wrists, to show him. "Lot's of creatures, you gotta go for a headshot, but let's start with aiming for the heart, that's a little easier."
Frankly, Castiel doubted that. He could see how the chest would be as easier place to strike a human, but the heart wasn't terribly large, and seemed like it would be easy to miss, especially in the middle of an attack. But he dutifully lined the gun up, until it pointed at roughly the area where the heart would be.
"A little lower," Dean said, although Castiel wasn't sure why Dean even bothered to give the instruction, considering that he just went ahead and lowered Castiel's hands for him.
"Better?" Castiel asked, after Dean had nodded and dropped Castiel's hands, stepping back and looking satisfied.
"Looks good," Dean said. "You need to take the safety off first."
Castiel frowned, not having the slightest clue what that meant, so Dean stepped forward and showed him, clicking the safety off in a smooth motion, then clicking it back on and stepping away again, gesturing for Castiel to continue.
The safety was clicked off, and Castiel waited to hear what came next.
"The gun moved a bit when you were messing with the safety," Dean said. "Line it up again."
Castiel did so, carefully moving the gun until he was reasonably certain that it was pointed toward where Dean had aimed it before. He spent a minute fussing about the exact position, shifting his aim a centimeter to the right or the left, trying to make it perfect while Dean huffed impatiently beside him. Finally, Castiel nodded. "I believe that I'm ready."
"Then shoot," Dean said.
Castiel looked toward Dean expectantly. Dean was watching Castiel with the exact same expression, like he couldn't fathom why Castiel hadn't done anything yet.
"You were going to teach me how to shoot," Castiel reminded him.
Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you think I'm doing?"
Another long pause, with neither of them moving or saying a word.
"You still haven't told me how to shoot," Castiel finally said.
He had hoped that pointing that out would erase Dean's confusion and remind him of what still needed to be done, but to no avail. If anything, Dean appeared even more confused now than he had before. "You don't know how to shoot?" he asked incredulously. "I mean, I understand not knowing how to aim or use the safety or something like that, but-" He broke himself off, shaking his head in a way that made Castiel vaguely uncomfortable, likely because Dean made it seem as though Castiel were missing some piece of vital knowledge that everyone was supposed to know, and Castiel didn't like feeling ignorant. "You just pull the trigger," Dean said. "The thing under your finger there. That's how you make the gun shoot. Geez, I'd thought that everyone knew that."
"Apparently not," Castiel mumbled to himself, and pulled the trigger.
The gun practically jumped in his hands, which he hadn't been expecting, and his first shot missed the scarecrow completely.
"Try again," Dean said, his voice encouraging now. Castiel nodded and lined up another shot. This time, he braced himself for the movement of the gun, and his bullet tore through the scarecrow's stomach. This time, Dean grinned. "Not bad," he said, giving Castiel a celebratory clasp on the shoulder. "Aim a little higher this time." Castiel did, and the next bullet lodged itself exactly where the scarecrow's heart would have been.
"See? Not so hard," Dean said, holding up one hand. Castiel stared it, wondering what Dean was trying to signal, and after a few seconds, Dean awkwardly lowered it.
"I believe that that was merely a lucky shot," Castiel said, and then proceeded to prove it over the next ten minutes, as Dean told him to aim for specific parts of the scarecrow's body, and Castiel missed every single time, frequently for several shots in a row. Still, after the first few times, he got to the point where he at least managed to hit the scarecrow more than half the time, so Castiel supposed that that was something, at least.
"Come on," Dean said, once the scarecrow was in tatters, barely hanging onto the stick that propped it up. Dean climbed back into the car, and Castiel followed, assuming that shooting practice was over, despite the fact that Castiel had only made a marginal amount of improvement. Instead, though, Dean said, "I think I see another scarecrow about half a mile up the road. Let's go."
"It really is very rude to be destroying someone's property like this," Castiel said again, though considering that he'd just spent fifteen minutes shooting someone's scarecrow, he supposed that it was too late to be arguing.
Dean shrugged, not looking bothered. "I figured that we get a pass on that kind of stuff," he said. Castiel gave him a quizzical look, and Dean elaborated, "Like, the scarecrow I told you about? The one that was going to kill me? I was tied up to this tree, right, and Sam was half a state away when he found out that I was in trouble. So he stole a car and drove up to save me. That wasn't a bad thing, right?"
Castiel thought it over. "You would be dead if he hadn't," he finally said.
"Exactly," Dean said. "So, most of the time it's a bad things, but sometimes we have to. We're saving lives. We don't exactly have time to obey laws and be good, upstanding citizens."
"What does this have to do with destroying the scarecrows now?" Castiel asked. "Neither of us are in danger."
Dean shrugged again. "Yeah, but you need something to aim at, and there's nothing else around. What if your shooting skills end up being the difference between life and death? Don't you think that that's worth some property damage?" After a moment, Castiel nodded. He still felt somewhat reluctant, but Dean did have a reasonable point. He was about to say so, but then Dean grinned and said, "Besides, destroying things is awesome!"
Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He was beginning to think that Dean just enjoyed criminal behavior, and that the rest was simply justification. He didn't end up needing to say anything, though, because Dean stopped the car near the next scarecrow, and the two of them climbed out and resumed their practice.
After going through an hour and three more scarecrows – and Castiel wasn't entirely sure why there were even this many scarecrows in the field – Dean said, "Last one." He pointed to the scarecrow directly in front of them. "Go for the head first."
Castiel nodded, then lifted the gun. He took a minute to aim carefully, and pulled the trigger, sending the bullet directly into the scarecrow's forehead.
"Didn't take you so long to catch on," Dean said, making Castiel grin with pride, at lest until Dean added, "Of course, monsters are a lot harder to hit when they're moving, and none of them are going to stand around nicely while you line up your shot."
"Can't you let me enjoy this victory?" Castiel asked, a touch annoyed.
Dean's lips twitched up in a grin. "Sure, enjoy away," he said. "Don't think that you'll be ready to take a gun on a hunt anytime soon, though."
Castiel just scowled at Dean and raised his gun. This time, he didn't take more than a second to aim before he sent a bullet straight into the exact center of the scarecrow's torso, just to prove that he didn't actually need to take so long to line up the shot. And if Castiel had actually been trying to shoot the scarecrow in the heart, and had missed by several inches… Well, the shot was still impressive enough that Dean didn't need to know that.
Dean didn't appear to have even noticed the shot, though, much to Castiel's disappointment. He was staring at nothing, his eyes locked intently on the rows of dirt, even though Castiel saw nothing there that could be holding Dean's interest this way. Castiel wondered if he should ask, but finally returned his attention to filling the scarecrow with as many bullets as possible, taking careful aim and ensuring that most of the bullets, at least, struck their intended target. Hopefully Dean would mention whatever was on his mind, if there was indeed something he was thinking hard about.
As it turned out, Castiel didn't have to wait longer than a minute. Then Dean asked, "That's really all that you knew about Azazel?"
Castiel pulled the trigger, this time placing the bullet in the scarecrow's chin, then lowered the gun and turned toward Dean. "That is all," he confirmed.
"Are you sure?" Dean asked, voice tight. "You're not lying about this? You've heard absolutely nothing else?"
"Nothing," Castiel said with a nod. "If I knew more, I swear that I would tell you and Sam." Then he shifted uncomfortably, abruptly aware of the things that he wasn't telling Sam and Dean, and the lies that he was allowing them to believe. The angels weren't directly related to Azazel – not exactly – but they were likely an important clue. Perhaps it would be good for Sam to know that the angels were speaking about Azazel, in order to aid his research somehow? At least, it would help the Winchesters to prepare themselves somehow, even if Castiel didn't quite know how.
Suddenly, Castiel realized that he had not even thought about the angels all day. In fact, he was pretty sure that the last time that he had listened to their voices had been the night that he'd slept in the alley, after saving Sam from the Vetala. Not surprising, he supposed. The angels were difficult to hear on the best days, and he often had to concentrate in order to make out their voices. With all of the distractions of the past couple days, it made sense that the angels' voices had faded to the background. But still, it was odd to go so long without hearing even a whisper from them.
For a second, Castiel nearly panicked, wondering if he had lost their voices completely, and wondering whether or not it would be a good thing. He tilted his head and concentrated, and was immediately greeted by the murmur of their voices washing over his mind. He didn't understand any of the words – the voices were too faint for that – but he found himself breathing a sigh of relief, grateful that they weren't gone forever. They held valuable information, after all. And more than that, they confused him horribly, but they were at least a constant in his life, and he wasn't quite ready for them to disappear.
Dean, meanwhile, had relaxed, his stiff body posture instantly loosening once he'd learned that Castiel was not withholding information – not about Azazel, at least. "Okay," he said. "Okay, awesome. Let's head back to the motel, then. I bet Sam's given himself a nerdgasm over all his research by now, we should go hear what he's figured out."
Castiel blinked, a bit caught off guard by Dean's abrupt announcement, and the way that Dean turned and headed back to the car without waiting for Castiel to agree. After a second, though, Castiel merely nodded and followed Dean to the car without another word. Dean started up the engine and once again turned the radio all the way up, though this time, he wasn't singing along. Castiel wasn't sure why, but he didn't think that this was something that he should ask about, so he simply sat there and wondered.
It turned out that Sam had uncovered quite a lot of information about Azazel. The moment that Dean and Castiel entered the motel room, Sam began explaining at length about how some sources believed that Azazel was a demon while others called him a fallen angel, and about all of the information that pointed toward Azazel being near the top of Hell's hierarchy. He couldn't, however, tell them anything that helped indicate what Azazel's plan was, which made Dean declare that the information was useless.
"You never know," Sam said, clearly getting defensive. Castiel, meanwhile, stood by the wall and glanced between the brothers, wondering if he should get involved or not. He thought not.
"It doesn't tell us where he is, and it doesn't tell us how to kill him, aside from getting the Colt back from Dad," Dean said, flopping backward onto the couch in quite the dramatic fashion, then crossing his ankles and propping them on the couch arm. "Which we're not going to do, since you won't let me call him."
"The Colt?" Castiel asked with a frown.
"A gun that can kill anything," Sam said absently, not looking away from Dean. "And it's not like he'd pick up the phone even if we did call."
"You don't know that," Dean said.
Sam ignored him. "Besides, some of this info might come in handy," he said.
Dean snorted. "Like what?" he asked. "The fact that some people thousands of years ago saw a demon and decided to call it a fallen angel? That's supposed to help us catch the bastard?"
Sam grimaced. "Well, maybe not that part," he said after a moment. "But what about the fact that he's aligned with Lucifer?"
Dean pushed himself up on one elbow. "Dude, we're talking about a demon here. He's from Hell," he said incredulously. "You think we didn't already know that he's on the bad side? Now, unless you're trying to imply that Lucifer is actually real…"
"Wait," Castiel said abruptly. "You don't believe in angels?"
Instantly, Dean and Sam's eyes were both locked on his face, so suddenly that Castiel found himself flushing under their gazes. Sam looked to be about to answer, but Dean beat him to it. "'Course not," he said, like he couldn't believe that Castiel even had to ask. "What, don't tell me that you believe in this religious nonsense?"
"A lot of this 'religious nonsense' turns out to be true," Sam pointed out, his voice firm. "We just dealt with those villagers who were making sacrifices to that fertility god, what, a few months ago?"
"Fucking scarecrow, man!" Dean exclaimed, then shook his head and waved away Sam's argument. "Yeah, but that's different. Those are just some supernatural baddies that people started calling gods. And sure, they're tough, but they die just like everything else. But you two are talking about… I don't know, some wise old guy sitting on the clouds, with a bunch of winged babies flapping around him. Seriously, you think that that exists?"
"Well, I doubt it would be quite like you've described," Castiel said, trying to keep his voice calm, as if Dean's disbelief didn't bother him in the slightest. In actuality, though, the opposite was true. Castiel felt almost as though the ground were shaking beneath him.
"Whatever," Dean said, and shook his head.
"There must be some proof that angels exist," Castiel said, and turned toward Sam for his answer, already knowing that Sam was the one who would know something like this, considering the amount of research that he did.
Sam hesitated. "There are signs," he finally said. "Miracles, healings that nobody can explain, that sort of thing."
Castiel only had a moment to feel relieved. Then Dean said, "And they're all full of crap."
Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean like he was being an idiot. "We're pretty much the last people who should refuse to believe this sort of thing, don't you think?"
"Yeah, well." Dean lowered himself onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling. He crossed his arms behind his head and added, "Trust me, I've lived through the 'miraculous healing' thing twice now. Doesn't mean that I've been touched by an angel. It was a crazy old woman with a reaper on a leash, and a… Well, whatever the hell that second thing was, but it wasn't some godly force."
Sam didn't say anything to contradict him.
Castiel spun around to look at Sam. "What else?" he demanded. "There must be some other proof, isn't there? Angels would leave signs, wouldn't they?"
"They would if they existed," Dean said.
"There are eyewitness accounts," Sam said slowly. He was giving Castiel an odd look, one that he wasn't sure how to interpret, except that it was clear that Castiel had done something unusual, even if he couldn't be bothered to try to figure out what it had been.
Yes, that was right. Castiel couldn't be the only one who heard the angels speak. Perhaps people had even seen them. That would prove-
"Crazy people," Dean said simply.
"A lot of people would say that we're crazy for believing in ghosts and monsters," Sam pointed out.
Dean laughed at that. "Yeah, but we know that those exist. The fact that my throat still hurts like a bitch is proof of that. We're talking about people who claim to know about angels, but have no way to back it up."
Castiel very, very slowly turned to look back at Dean. He didn't want to ask, he really didn't, but he found himself saying, "So what you mean is…"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Dean supplied the words for him.
"I'm saying that anyone who claims to have seen the angels in insane," Dean said bluntly. "Every single one of them."
Castiel nodded. Then he turned and practically rushed toward the bathroom.
From behind him, he heard Sam say, "I think you offended him." And Dean said "Shit!" There was a muffled noise that sounded as though Dean were getting to his feet, but Castiel was already shutting the door tight and locking it. Then he practically collapsed against it, taking a deep breath and trying to reevaluate everything that he knew.
Father Garcia had claimed that angels weren't real, and said that Castiel needed treatment. Castiel had ignored the words then, but it was different, hearing it from Dean instead. For one, Castiel was reasonably certain that Father Garcia would never have believed him if Castiel had tried to explain the existence of venomous snake monsters disguised as innocent women. The Winchesters, though, they seemed to know all that there was to know about the supernatural. They certainly knew far more than Castiel did. So what were the chances that he would be right about the angels' existence, despite Sam and Dean never having found any proof?
There was a sudden banging on the door, then Dean called, "Jimmy! Hey, Jimmy!" Castiel didn't move, or otherwise respond at all, and after a moment, he heard, "Fuck. Come on, just open the damn door."
Castiel took another deep breath, and somehow, this one did a better job of calming him than the ones before. He straightened and took another long breath, since they finally seemed to be calming him, so now hardly seemed like the time to stop taking them.
Angels didn't exist.
Castiel wasn't entirely sure if he could make himself believe that. Not yet, at least, even if it appeared to be the truth. But he was struck by one certainty, though – that he was grateful, at least, that he hadn't told the Winchesters about the angels' voices, so that he didn't have to see them watch him as though he were a freak, or insane. He might not know for sure what was happening in his head, but he did know that whatever the problem was, it was his to figure out.
And he would figure it out. Somehow.
In the meantime, though, Castiel turned and opened the door.
"Jesus," Dean said, and spoke the word as if it were a swear. He shifted and scowled, but after a moment, he said, "Listen, I wasn't trying to insult your religious sensibilities or anything. Didn't mean to piss you off like that."
"It's alright," Castiel said truthfully. Dean had merely been speaking the truth, after all, or what he clearly thought was the truth. The fact that it happened to contradict the one thing that Castiel was certain of and make him question his sanity was completely incidental, and obviously hadn't been Dean's intention. That seemed too complicated to explain, though, especially since Castiel was now more convinced than ever that he should keep the fact that he heard voices to himself. So instead, he said, "I don't have any religious sensibilities. I'm not sure what religion I would even call myself, to be honest."
"Really?" Dean asked. "Then what was with…?" Instead of finishing, he just made a vague gesture toward the bathroom, clearly indicating what he had meant.
Castiel didn't know how to answer that, so he simply shrugged.
"Huh," Dean said. "You're an odd guy, you know that, Jimmy?"
"So I've been told," Castiel said simply.
That made Dean grin, and he gestured Castiel back to the main room with him. "Well, all of this research talk went pretty horrible," he announced, then glanced between Sam and Castiel as he added, "Who's in favor of getting completely shitfaced plastered, huh?"