CHAPTER 21

Given the way that John Winchester had acted the night before, Cas wouldn't have been surprised if he had disappeared sometime in the night, to go off and fight the demon somewhere where they wouldn't be able to find him.

Apparently Dean had the same idea, because when Cas woke, Dean was no longer in the bed beside him.

Cas pushed himself up, looking around the room. Sam was still in his own bed, curled up on his stomach, eyes closed and snoring. Dean, though, didn't appear to be anywhere in the room. Nor was the bathroom door closed, so he couldn't be in there. Cas frowned and walked around the room, just to be certain. Then he slipped on his shoes and left the motel.

The Impala was still parked where they had left it, but it had been turned around, as if Dean had pulled out and then backed into the same space so that the front of the car was now pointed toward the motel instead of away from it. Dean was stretched out in the passenger seat, his head propped up on his hand, fast asleep.

Cas tried to open the door, but it was locked, so he knocked lightly against the window until Dean jerked awake. He blinked around for a moment, seeming unsure of where he was. Then his eyes landed on Cas.

Cas gestured to the lock, and Dean nodded, then unlocked the car. Cas slipped around to the driver's seat and climbed inside, settling down beside Dean. "Keeping watch?"

Dean nodded, then made a face. "I was supposed to be," he said, then shook his head and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he gestured to the car parked beside him. "That's dad's. This way he couldn't leave without talking to me."

Cas nodded slowly. "Did he try?"

Dean shrugged. "He left the motel room about midnight," he said, "but he went back to his room after he saw me here. I'm guessing he didn't want to have a fight about it in the middle of a sketchy parking lot at night." He snorted, though there wasn't any humor in the sound. "He's probably going to give me shit about that later."

"Did you sleep at all?" Cas asked, reaching over to place his hand on Dean's knee. "Besides just now, I mean."

Dean thought for a moment, and shrugged. "Think I dozed off for about half an hour somewhere around two," he said, then added, "Last I checked, it was about four-thirty."

Cas looked at the time now. It was only slightly after six. "That was not enough sleep," he pointed out.

Dean just waved that off. "It's fine," he said. "I've gotten by with less than that."

Cas frowned. "You wanted to make sure that he didn't leave so badly?"

Dean's mouth pressed together into a thin line. "Yeah," he said, then didn't add anything more.

Cas thought about asking more about why Dean would care so much, considering the way that John had acted toward him, both the night before and especially when Dean had been in the hospital. He didn't, though. He was fairly certain that this feeling wasn't logical, and that is might be something that he couldn't understand, considering that he wasn't entirely sure what it felt like to have a family, or a father.

Instead, he just squeezed Dean's knee, then opened his door to climb out. "We should both get dressed," he said, indicating the tee shirts and sweat pants – their usual sleep clothes – that both of them still wore. "I believe that there is a coffee pot in the motel room. I'm sure that that will help with your exhaustion. Then we can go over to your father's room as soon as Sam is awake."

Dean gave him a tight smile. "Thanks, Cas," he said, following him out of the car.

Cas just nodded and reached for Dean's hand as they walked back to the motel room.

John Winchester wasn't happy when Sam, Dean, and Cas showed up on his doorstep half an hour later. And it was obvious that he was going to protest, particularly about Cas' presence. At least, that was the impression that he got, based on the way that John looked at him when he opened the door.

Sam spoke first.

"Listen, dad," Sam said, his voice low, "whatever is happening to me and the kids like me, I have a right to know about it, okay? We all just want to figure this out. And he-" he indicated Cas "-is a friend of ours, and he's been researching Azazel, too. He's got as much a right to know as either of us. So can we just come in and get to work on this, before some freakin' demon comes and kidnaps me in my sleep?"

John's face got steadily angrier and angrier as Sam spoke. At the last sentence, though, he stopped, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "You know about that, then."

Dean nodded. "We were working a case," he said. "Pair of twins with psychic powers, one of them went psycho and started killing people. They both vanished before we got the chance to do anything, all of the people around them were killed."

John looked almost thoughtful for a moment, then stepped back, allowing them into the room. "Alright, fine," he said. "I'll show you what I've got."

He had a laptop open at the table. John sat down, and Sam immediately took the seat across the table, setting his own laptop case onto the ground beside him and immediately turning John's laptop around so that he could see it. Dean and Cas stood behind him, reading over his shoulder. Sam scrolled through it fast – fast enough that Cas had difficulty reading it – then asked, in a shocked voice, "What is this?"

"It's a list of all the psychic children, and what's happened to them," John said, reaching forward and turning the laptop so that all four of them could see it. "One hundred kids exactly. So far, forty-eight of them have vanished. Four of them are ones that just disappeared last night. I was just confirming the news reports when you walked in."

"Wait," Dean said, his voice just as incredulous as Sam's. "You managed to track down them all? Every single one? How did you even do that?"

John just looked at Dean. "You think you're the only one with connections?"

Dean frowned, and shook his head. Then he said, "Seriously, though, this is incredible."

John inclined his head slightly, but otherwise, he didn't acknowledge what Dean had said.

"Wait," Sam suddenly said, and pulled the laptop closer to him to get a better look. "Is there a pattern to when they start going missing? Because if we can figure out who's going to be next, then we can figure out a way to stop it."

Dean's eyes widened as well as he caught on. "And then we'd know where to go in order to kill the bastard."

"Exactly," John said, looking proud for about half a second before he yanked the laptop away from Sam and shut it. "That's what I'm working on. You two need to get back to hunting, let me track this down."

Sam didn't even acknowledge that. "Have you figured out the pattern yet or not?" he asked, then – apparently assuming that the answer was no – he added, "What info do you have on all of the missing persons? Let me see if I can figure anything out."

John just shook his head. "It's great to see you boys again," he said, "but you need to leave now. I'll come find you when this is all over."

Sam shook his head, arms crossed, the look on his face saying that he wasn't going to give in or change his mind. "I'll tell you one thing," he said, his voice almost an exact copy of John's. "I wasn't the one who wanted to come find you. I said that we could hunt this thing on our own. But I'm not leaving until we at least get a copy of your research, so that we can figure this out."

John snorted. "You seem to be doing a good job on your own," he said, though this time, it definitely wasn't pride in his voice. "You've already figured out about the disappearances, and even got the demon's name on your own."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Dean told me what the name is. Why even share it with him if you didn't want us to join the hunt?"

John frowned. "I-" he began to say.

Dean cut him off, stepping forward so that he was between Sam and John. "Can you two just stop fighting for two seconds so we can focus on the important stuff?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, leaning back in his chair, while John just set his jaw, not looking happy about Dean's interruption.

"Come on, Dad," Dean said, looking over at John. He caught the angry look that his father was aiming for him, and Cas swore that he saw Dean flinch slightly, but he took a deep breath and continued, "We drove all day to get here. Just let us stick around for a little longer."

There was something off about his voice. And his words. Actually, everything about Dean's appearance was odd at that moment. His hands were stuck in his pockets, his entire body stiff and radiating discomfort. And his voice wavered a little halfway through his request. It was slight, to the point where you wouldn't notice it unless you were listening for it. John didn't appear to notice – or, if he did, he didn't react to it in any way. Cas, though, frowned, and then turned toward Sam, who was watching Dean intently, also frowning. So he had heard it, too.

Cas wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that a second later, Sam said, "We can at least help you with the research, to figure out what's going on. Whether we actually go with you to kill the demon is something we can fight about once we know where it's going to be."

John frowned and shook his head. "Don't think I don't know you, Sam," he said. "If I tell you where this thing is going to be, you'll come after it whether I tell you to or not. You don't give a damn about following orders."

Sam's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. Cas felt the need to jump into the conversation, to try to argue on Sam and Dean's behalf and ease the tension that had fallen over the room. Given John's feelings toward him, however, he thought that his intervention would only make things worse. So he remained silent.

"I'll be good," Sam said. His voice was hard, sounding as if it physically pained him to say it.

John just shook his head, looking as though he doubted that. Sam's hands tightened around the arms of his chairs, and his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, though it didn't appear to make him any calmer.

But a second later, John barked out, "Fine." He turned to Dean and added, "But I'm serious about you boys not taking a part in the actual hunt. You're helping with research only." He waited until Dean nodded, then said, "And I'm expecting you to keep Sam in line with this one."

Sam's angry look grew stronger, but he didn't say a word in protest. Dean's eyes flickered to Sam for a moment, then he swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Alright, then," John said, and pulled out a pile of papers. Some of them were newspapers, others looked to be official documentation, while the rest all appeared to be print outs of the file he kept on his computer. "Start with those. See if you can find the connection," he said, then gestured to the other side of the room. "You boys can work over there."

That's what they did. Dean picked up the stack of papers and spread them out on top of the bed, while John remained at the table, typing something on his laptop, though the computer was turned away from them, so they couldn't see what he was working on.

"Okay," Dean said in a low voice, looking over at Sam. "We know that forty-eight people have vanished already. So we start from the beginning, work our way through, see if anything jumps out at us?"

"Sounds good," Sam said, and reached for the piles of papers. "So, who was our first victim?"

"Here," Cas said, and pulled out a specific piece of paper that he had seen a few seconds earlier, when Dean had first placed the papers onto the bed. It appeared to be a list of all forty-eight of the children who had disappeared so far, with the date and time of their disappearance written beside it. John must have typed up the list himself as part of his research, or else gotten it from his mysterious contacts. "Amy Jones, Jordan Summer, Yvetta Herrera, and Myra Wong all vanished roughly two months ago," he said, then mentally counted and added, "The disappearance took place exactly fifty-six days ago."

John looked up sharply when he heard Cas' voice. Cas glanced over at him, catching the hard look that John sent him. So he still didn't approve of Cas being a part of this.

Cas just turned away, and looked down at the paper again. "It looks as though there's no way to be certain of who, exactly, was taken first," he said. "Two of them disappeared at around 9:15 and 9:30 PM, respectively. The rest of them don't have an exact time of disappearance, or even a close estimate, but we do know that all of their disappearances were approximated to take place somewhere between eight PM and eleven PM." He glanced up, looking over at the younger two Winchesters. "So they all vanished on the same day, at around the same time."

"That's the obvious part," John said, not looking up from his computer. "It's easy to figure out the pattern of when they all vanish. The question is, why, and in what order?"

Sam frowned and took a step closer to Cas, reaching out to take the paper with one hand and tilt it so that he could read it earlier. His eyes skimmed over the page, then widened slightly. "Every five days," he said, then turned to Dean and Cas, gesturing down at the page as he explained, "Look at the times of the disappearances, there's a pattern there."

Dean squinted at the page for a moment, skimming through it as well. Cas could see it on his face, the exact moment when he realized what Sam meant. "Four people have been going missing every five days for the past fifty-six days. Which means that another group of five is going to vanish-" he paused for a moment, as though he were counting the days "-this next Tuesday unless we figure out where they're going."

"Exactly," John said, still not looking for them. John didn't sound particularly pleased – his voice was more absent than anything else – but it still made Dean smile, looking almost proud of himself.

Then John added, "I figured that part out weeks ago, took me all of two seconds to get the connection. But that's not going to do jack shit unless we figure out where these people are going, or who's going to be taken next."

The proud look slid from Dean's face, and he nodded.

"Let's start with the first four, see what we can figure out from them," Sam said.

"Good idea," John said. "Just keep it down. I'm trying to focus on this." He shook his head, and added, "Don't bother me unless you figure out how to actually track down the demon."

Sam ignored his dad completely. Only the clenching of his jaw revealed that he had actually heard him. Sam pulled his laptop out of its case and sat down on the edge of the bed, beside the piles of papers. He glanced at the paper that Cas still held, then typed the name into his search engine and got to work.

"Come on," Dean said quietly to Cas, nodding at the papers. Cas nodded, and they both sat on the end of the bed as well, moving the pile of papers so that it was stacked between the two of them, and get to work going through the information that John Winchester had collected.

"God," Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes. Cas couldn't help but nod in agreement. They had been sitting on the bed for the past four hours or so, barely speaking and moving around even less, pouring through the various papers while Sam frantically typed things into his laptop without telling anyone else what he was working on. Now, Dean stood and stretched his arms over his head, adding to Sam, "Please tell me that you've figured something out."

Sam scowled down at his laptop screen. "There has to be a connection somehow," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "There's got to be a pattern to how Azazel is picking his victims, but I can't figure out what it is."

"Figures," Dean said. "Even our resident geek boy's got nothing." He shook his head, then turned toward where John was still working. "What about you?" he asked. "Do you have anything?"

"No," John snapped, obvious frustration in his voice. He ran one hand through his hair, and added, "There was an ancient knife that was rumored to be able to kill demons, but it vanished about fifty years back. Absolutely no way to track it to where it might be now."

"Wait, knife?" Dean asked. "What about the Colt?"

John's mouth pressed together, and once again, anger took over his features. Cas got the impression that that had not been the right question to ask. "I don't have the Colt."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, suddenly on his feet. "You're saying that you used the last bullet?"

"I'm saying that I never got the chance," John snapped, turning to glare at Sam. "It disappeared before I got the chance."

"Disappeared," Sam repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means whatever you think it means," John said. "I got back to the hospital room and it was gone. Never let go of it once, but it vanished right out of my bag."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean said, holding up his hands. "Someone stole the Colt?"

"Not just someone," John snapped. "You think that I'd let anyone pickpocket me in the middle of the hospital? Whatever it was, it must've been something supernatural to get it away from me."

"So, demons have the Colt," Dean concluded, and covered his eyes and groaned. "Well, that's just great."

John made a face, obviously agreeing. "Don't have a single lead on where it could be," he said, voice tight. "I'm hoping it will surface eventually, but until then, I'm trying to see if there's another way."

Cas frowned. There was something about Dean's assessment that didn't seem quite right. "Perhaps the Colt was taken by whoever it was that healed Dean," he suggested slowly. "Someone who materialized as a glowing light and destroyed an entire roomful of machinery would likely be strong enough to take whatever it wanted."

John turned toward him, and despite the fact that Cas was reasonably certain that his assessment was logical, John did not look particularly happy. "So you know about that, too, huh?"

Cas frowned. "Your sons have shared with me the information that they believed to be helpful for finding the demon."

"And he's done the same with us," Sam added quickly, with a gesture toward Cas. "We've all been exchanging information, trying to figure this out as soon as possible." He crossed his arms suddenly, raising his eyebrows, his face holding a challenge. "Is this a problem?"

John shook his head, which Cas almost took to mean that there wasn't an issue, until John said, "I still don't like the idea of bringing an outsider into this."

"Cas isn't an outsider," Sam snapped. "He's been working with us for weeks now."

John's frown just deepened, his eyes cutting sharply toward Cas. "Oh, so he's Cas now, is he?" he asked. "Yesterday you told me that his name was Jimmy."

"It's both," Dean cut in quickly, and shrugged, though the gesture looked more like a nervous twitch than anything. It was not a gesture that Cas was used to seeing from Dean. "He goes by a couple different names."

"Not now, Dean," John said, almost absently, not looking away from Sam and Cas. Dean snapped his mouth shut tight and looked away, though Cas could see the way that his hands kept clenching and unclenching, as if he were trying not to ball them into fists.

"Mr. Winchester," Cas cut in, deciding that a formal approach would be the best. "I promise you, I would never do anything to harm either of your sons. I-"

John cut him off. "Tell me honestly," he said. "How much do you actually know about him?"

"Enough," Sam snapped, and narrowed his eyes at John without saying anything more.

John shook his head. "I don't think you do," he said. "And I don't want him being brought into a family matter like this."

"Dad-" Dean immediately protested. John looked at him, hard, and Dean didn't say anything more.

"Too bad," Sam said. "He's already a part of this."

"I told you," John said, hard, "this is for the family-"

"And since when have the three of us been a family?" Sam snapped. Up until now, it had been as though Sam had been holding his anger back carefully, keeping it under control. Now, it was as though his self-control had finally snapped, and suddenly, Sam was raging, making wide gestures with his arms and practically screaming at his dad. "You know what? I'm pretty sure I've seen Cas more often in the past four weeks than I've seen of you in four years. You haven't exactly wanted me to be a part of this family since I ran off to Stanford. Even when we were hunting the vampires or the demon together that didn't change. And you know what? I don't know everything about where Cas came from, but at least I'm sure about the fact that he would give a fuck if Dean was dying."

John's eyes narrowed. "And what are you accusing me of?"

"I don't need to accuse you of anything," Sam said, his voice going quieter, either consciously or unconsciously mimicking the dangerous tone in his dad's voice. "We already know what happened last time you had to choose between Dean's life and killing the demon."

John's face grew harder, if possible, until he looked as though he were carved from stone. Then his eyes flickered to Cas, and he said, "We can discuss this later, Sam."

Sam shook his head immediately. "Cas is my friend, and Dean's boyfriend." Out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw Dean flinch slightly when Sam revealed that. John, though, didn't react at all. He didn't appear to be surprised. "If you're going to say anything to me, then you can say it to all three of us."

For a second, Cas thought that John would. Then he just turned to Cas. "You need to leave," he said. "Now."

Cas glanced around at Sam and Dean. Sam was still glaring at his dad. Dean was looking away, his head turned away from Cas and his eyes locked on the carpet. Then Cas finally looked back to John. It was obvious from his expression that he was deadly serious.

"Fine," Cas said, and stood. He walked toward the door, his body stiff. He didn't want to remain here if he wasn't wanted, or to come between the younger Winchesters and their father – and this was what he had expected from the beginning, anyway. He had begun to believe that it wouldn't happen, but really, he shouldn't be surprised.

Even so, he moved as slowly as he could, hoping that he would be told not to go.

Then he heard it.

"Wait."

He froze, and slowly turned back around to face the Winchesters, feeling torn between relief and disappointment. He was grateful that his friends hadn't simply let him leave without saying anything. But all the same, he had been hoping that Dean would be the one to stop him.

"If Cas leaves, then I leave," Sam said, looking his dad straight in the eye.

John Winchester didn't even look bothered. "Fine," he said. "I've been telling you from the beginning that you and your brother shouldn't be involved with this."

Sam just slowly nodded. "Okay," he said, and bent to grab his laptop case. He closed his laptop and slid it into the case, then grabbed the papers and began shoving them roughly inside.

"Leave those," John said sharply.

Sam didn't acknowledge his dad at all, just zipped up the bag walked toward the door, where Cas still stood.

Dean was still standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at the floor.

"You know what?" John said. "If you walk out the door right now, then don't come back." He took a step closer to Sam, eyes blazing. "I told you before when you decided to run off to Stanford. This time, I mean it. Leave now, and you're not going to be allowed back into this family again."

Sam chuckled without any humor. "Trust me, I figured that out for myself," he said, then turned and looked at his brother, his voice abruptly going softer. "Dean? Are you coming?"

Dean clenched his jaw, and didn't respond.

They waited. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Cas counted them all in his head as they ticked by, waiting for Dean's answer, which never came.

Finally, Sam nodded. No words, just a nod and a disappointed look on his face, and then he turned to push the door open. "Let's go, Cas."

Sam left. Cas was right behind him, already halfway out the door, when he heard, "Yeah."

Cas turned around. Dean glanced over at them, then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm coming," he said, and hurried after them, head down, not so much as glancing in their dad's direction.

Cas moved out of the way, allowing Dean to exit the motel room first. Then he followed after, and let the door slam closed behind him.

None of them spoke at they returned to their own room. By unspoken agreement, they didn't remain there long. Instead, they all just threw their bags over their shoulders and headed out to the Impala. Sam moved around to take the passenger seat, but Dean stopped him.

"Here," he said, pulling the keys out of his pocket and shoving them into Sam's hands. "You drive."

Sam blinked down at the keys. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, and moved past Sam without another word, then climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

Cas and Sam exchanged a look, but neither of them said a word, and if he was being honest, Cas wasn't entirely sure what they were even trying to express to each other with their glances, other than concern. Then Sam turned and headed for the driver's seat, and Cas slid into the back seat, as always.

All of them remained silent as they headed down the road.

There wasn't a destination in mind. Or, at least, Cas assumed that there wasn't. Sam always seemed to know where he was going, but Cas couldn't be entirely sure if that was because he knew exactly where he wanted to end up, or because he didn't care one way or another.

After about two hours, though, Sam pulled off the highway. It was early afternoon by now. Sam pulled into a restaurant parking lot and glanced over at Dean. "This is the chain that has those really good burgers that you like, right?" he asked, glancing over at Dean. "Figured this would be a good place to stop for lunch."

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, but otherwise didn't' respond. Though he did follow them when they climbed out of the car and headed inside.

Lunch was long, and uncomfortable, and quiet. Dean glared hard at the waitress, snapped when she messed up his order, and spent most of the mean glaring at the wall while Sam repeatedly apologized for Dean's behavior. Cas stayed still in his seat, wanting to say something to Dean, but also not wanting to do something wrong and upset Dean further. Beyond that, he was also fairly certain that Dean would not want to discuss any of this in public. Or, knowing Dean, he wouldn't wish to talk about this at all, but particularly not here.

Sam must have known the same thing, because the moment that the food arrived, he asked for three to-go boxes. Or maybe that was just to spare the waitress, who looked relieved when she saw that they were leaving. Cas noticed that Sam left her a large tip.

They drove to the nearest motel room and got a room, then brought their meals inside. The moment that the door swung shut behind them, Sam said, "Okay, man, I know that you're pissed, and honest? You've got a good reason to be. But you can't take it out on random people."

For a second, Cas thought that Dean would protest. Then he just sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah," he said, and nodded as if to say that he really had known that. He brought his to-go box over to the table and dropped down into the chair. Sam took the other chair, which was across from Dean. There were only two chairs seated by the table, so Cas sat in an oversized armchair that was part of a sitting area in the center of the room, sitting sideways in the chair so that he could continue to face the Winchesters.

For a second, everyone was silent. Cas decided that this would be a good time to voice the things that he had been thinking ever since they had left John's motel.

"Sam, Dean," he said slowly. "Thank you." Both boys turned to look at him, and he continued, "I know that that could not have been as easy decision, especially considering what I had just revealed about myself."

Sam shook his head. "No," he said, "I mean, I was serious, that stuff I said to Dad." He shrugged, then added, "Of course I'm with you."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Good old loyal Sammy." He sounded almost bitter as he spoke, though Cas couldn't tell why. Not until Dean added, "He's the only one you should be thanking."

Cas thought about that for a moment, and decided that he disagreed. "Sam did the most to stand up for me," he said, because that was true. "But you still agreed to come with us. I know that you had been desperate to find your dad. Giving that up must have been difficult for you."

"Yeah," Dean said, and was quiet for a long minute, until he added, "I didn't exactly do it for you."

Cas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if Sam hadn't walked away, then I wouldn't have left," Dean said. This time, Cas could hear the anger in his voice, and he was pretty sure that Dean was directing it toward himself.

Cas took another minute to consider that. And he had to admit, the thought that Dean wouldn't have come after him- Well, it hurt, far more than he wanted Dean to ever know. Even so, he found himself answering honestly when he said, "Regardless of who you did it for, you still did it. And I'm grateful for that."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice more like a challenge. "You're grateful that I didn't end up letting you leave even though I knew that you had nowhere to go? Yeah, that's really high standards to set for someone. Good job there, Cas."

"Dean-" Sam began.

"No," Cas said. "I do not expect you to give up your family – the man who raised you – for my sake. If Sam was the one who convinced you that you should be come with us, then I'm not going to begrudge that. As I said, I am grateful that you're here at all."

Dean didn't respond to that. Instead, he just tore open his box – ripping the Styrofoam to pieces in the process – and grabbed his burger, biting into it as if he were attempting to eat the entire thing at once.

"Seriously, man," Sam said. "Thank you. I mean, I know it wasn't easy. Hell, even I wouldn't have expected you to choose me over Dad."

Dean just swallowed, then shook his head at Sam. "Okay, we're gonna stow the mushy-gushy lovey-dovey crap, okay?" he said. "We've had enough of that already. Let's just work on something important, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said, and reached into his laptop case to pull out the papers. "Well, we could start with these," he said. "All of Dad's research on the Special Children. If we go through all of this, we've got to find something."

"Do you think that we might be in time to save the next group of children?" Cas asked.

Sam frowned down at the papers. "I don't know," he said, then squared his shoulders. "We've got three days until the next group is due to be stolen, though, so I say that we try."

They worked for the rest of the day, trying to gather as much information as they could about all of the Special Children. Sam had a special skill for finding all sorts of facts about the people that he researched, and it hardly took him any time at all. But despite that, they still didn't find a way to connect the victims with the order of their kidnappings.

They ordered a pizza for dinner, and ate slices while they continued to pore over the papers, not pausing long enough to sit down for a meal. Around eight o'clock, though, Dean began yawning. They'd been making coffee all day – Cas had lost count of how many pots they had brewed, or even how many cups he himself had drank – but by now, they had clearly reached the point where even the caffeine could not keep Dean awake for much longer, considering how little sleep he had gotten the night before.

That was when Sam stood and said, "We should call it a night."

Dean nodded and didn't argue, which was a testament to how tired he must have been, that he didn't even say a word in protest.

"I'm going to go get a separate room," Sam said. "In case you two want privacy." He paused a moment, watching Dean as he was waiting for confirmation. Dean didn't give it, but he also didn't argue, so finally, Sam left.

Like so many other things today, they got ready for bed in silence. It wasn't until they were in bed together with the lights off that Cas whispered, "Are you certain that you're alright?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I'd be a lot better if we could figure out what Azazel's fucking plan is, and how to keep Sam safe. But yeah, I'm fine."

Cas didn't believe it, but he didn't say that, either.

"What about you?" Dean asked after a minute. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckled, then asked, "Didn't you decide that you were going to tell me that big, bad last secret of yours? Still wish to share?"

"No," Cas said. "Not tonight." That was the last thing that Dean would need right now. Of that, Cas was certain.

And sure enough, Dean just nodded. "Okay," he said, and turned over onto his stomach, pressing his face against the pillow. Cas laid beside him, also turned over on his stomach, one arm stretched over Dean's back, holding him tight. He thought that Dean would like that, that it would help him to feel that Cas was right here.

Despite Dean's exhaustion, it was a long time before either of them fell asleep. Cas lay awake for hours, listening to the angels chatter. They were still speaking in the low, faded voices that made them difficult to understand, but somehow, the voices had never seemed so loud.

They continued to go through the research. And they continued to find no sign of the pattern.

Tensions were running short. It was clear that all of them were getting frustrated, but none of them wanted to stop, not when they knew how important it was.

Sam was the first one to suggest taking a break. "Maybe we should start looking for another case to work," he suggested, shoving the papers over to the side. By this point, it was the night after they had left John Winchester, and they had been pouring over the papers for a day and a half, with nothing to show for it.

Dean glanced up from his paper long enough to look at Sam, then lowered his eyes to the words again. "No," he said. "I don't want to go on a hunt right now."

"Seriously?" Sam asked. "You? Not wanting to go kill things?" He shook his head, then added, "It'd at least be a good distraction from whatever it is that we can't figure out. And we'll bring the research with us, it's not like we can't keep working on this. It might just be a good idea to, you know, do other stuff."

Dean didn't even respond, just flipped to a new piece of paper.

"Maybe we should go out for drinks," Cas suggested. They didn't have anything to celebrate, of course, but even so, he thought that drinking would lighten the mood a bit. Either that, or Dean would get drunk and begin talking about exactly what was bothering him so much, and why he acted as though the world would end if he didn't find the pattern within the next five minutes.

"Why?" Dean asked, and lifted his beer. They had stopped off earlier that day and bought a couple six packs at the same time that they had bought lunch. "We can drink here just fine."

"Yes, but we'd actually enjoy ourselves at a bar," Sam pointed out, and reached over to shake Dean's shoulder. "Come on, man. Let's go get wasted and hustle people. You love that, and anyway, we could use the money. Plus, it'll be good to clear your head for a bit, so we'll have a fresh start tomorrow."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, a fresh start while we're hungover," he said.

Sam frowned. "Since when are you the responsible one?" he asked.

"Since we don't have much time to figure this out, if you haven't noticed," Dean snapped, and threw the papers to the ground. They landed lightly, in a way that couldn't have been terribly satisfying. "Seriously, Sam, we only have two days left. We've got to get this now, before it's too late."

Sam frowned, and scooted his chair closer to Dean's. "You know, we've got no reason to think that I'm going to be in the next group to be taken," he said.

The voices in Cas' head sang, Two days. Two days.

"And even if they do decide to come for me," Sam continued, then didn't finish. Instead, he pulled the leather bag that Bobby had given him from his pocket, holding it up so that Dean could see it. "And I know that you and Cas both carry yours," he said.

Dean nodded, his hand instinctively going to the pocket where Cas knew that he kept his. "We don't know that they're going to work, though," he said, voice harsh. "We can hope that we will, but we've got to prepare for the worst. And that means getting this thing figured out before it's too late."

"Again," Sam said. "Even if the bags don't work, we still don't know that they'll be coming after me."

"So you're okay with five other people getting kidnapped and taken to who knows where?" Dean demanded.

"No, of course not," Sam snapped. "But we have to admit that we can't always do anything about it. There's no sense driving ourselves crazy over this, or else we'll never be able to get it."

"Oh, we'll get it," Dean said, and reached for another handful of papers.

Sam shook his head.

Two days, the voices repeated.

"I agree with Dean," Cas said in a low voice.

He couldn't know for sure that the angels were speaking of Sam's kidnapping. But he didn't want to take the chance, or trust in coincidences.

"Ha," Dean said, and looked up at Sam with a ghost of a grin on his face.

Sam shook his head, but didn't argue. "Fine," he said, grabbing the papers that had fallen off the floor and then reaching for his laptop. "But going through those papers again and again isn't going to help. It's like Dad's journal – there's only so many times that you can read it before you know everything that it says."

"Then do your techno thing and find us some new research," Dean said, and Sam nodded, then began typing away.

Cas stood and moved behind Dean's chair, leaning forward to read over his shoulder. As he did, he placed one hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean reached up to squeeze his hand, tilting his head back just long enough to grin at him, the smile looking a little more genuine now. "Besides, who says I need to go out to a bar to relax and clear my mind?" he asked, glancing over at Sam. "What did you think that Cas and I are going to be doing as soon as you leave the room?"

Sam made a face. "Dude," he protested. "I know that you guys are doing that, but you don't have to bring it up in front of me." Dean laughed, and Sam shook his head. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Dean shot back, and Sam grinned for a moment before they all ducked their heads and returned to their research.

Two days left.

Cas woke to the sound of Dean gasping for breath, and immediately shot upward, reaching for the knife that he had taken to hiding under his pillow and unsheathing it with one smooth motion. Then he looked around the room frantically, searching for any sign of what was attacking Dean, or what could possibly cause him to make those pained noises-

There was nothing wrong. Or, not that Cas could see, at least. Dean was still asleep, curled up on one side with his arms tight around himself. He was breathing hard, small whines escaping his mouth, which worried Cas enough that he almost didn't know how to respond. He had seen Dean get injured before, and seen the way that Dean did the best not to show when he was hurt. It was only when he'd been tortured by the witch that Dean had ever given any real sign of pain, and for a second, the noises that he made now were similar enough to the ones that he had made then that it caused Cas to freeze.

"No," Dean said, softly, speaking in his sleep. "No. Run. No."

"Dean," Cas said, and hesitantly reached out one hand, barely touching Dean's shoulder.

Dean jerked awake, lashing out as though he were trying to attack him. Cas flinched back and grabbed both of Dean's hands, but the attack carried more force than he had expected, and Cas barely managed to stop him before his first collided with Cas' chest.

"Dean," he repeated, louder this time. "It's okay, you don't have to fight me."

Dean froze. "Cas," he said, and his voice was unsteady. He shook his head, and chuckled weekly. "Sorry. Bad dream, I guess."

Cas frowned. "Do you often have nightmares?" He didn't think so – or, at least, he had never seen Dean react this way before, but he didn't know for sure.

"Nah," Dean said, in a voice that was failing to be casual. "This is pretty new. I think it's all the stress."

Now, Cas felt even more worried than he had been a second earlier. "Maybe we should take a break, after all," he suggested. "Allow you to rest for a bit."

"No," Dean insisted. Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "Thanks, Cas, but really, the only way I'm going to relax is if we've ganked Azazel and made sure that nothing bad is gonna happen. The sooner we get this, the better."

"Are you certain about that?" Cas asked slowly. Because he could understand Dean's worry, but even so, it did seem as though a day of relaxing would do him good.

Dean, though, just nodded. "I'm sure," he said, firm enough that Cas found himself unable to argue. Dean took a deep breath, then slipped out of bed. "Come on," he said, glancing back at Cas. "Let's get to work, okay?"

That day, Sam and Dean each started up a phone call campaign, though they were very different in nature.

Instead of trying to figure out the pattern, Sam pulled out the list of all of the special children who hadn't been kidnapped yet and called them up to warn them. The conversations didn't go terribly well.

"Is this Ava Wilson?" he asked, glancing down at the paper to double-check her name. A short pause, where she presumably said yes, then Sam said, "Don't hang up, okay, but have you developed some kind of psychic powers in the past year? If you did, then your life is in danger- No, don't hang up!"

The different calls had varying levels of success, with some people agreeing to listen, while others hanging up immediately. Sam was persistent, though, calling back as many times as necessary, or leaving endless messages on voicemails. The voicemails actually went easier than the calls, because they didn't have to worry about interruptions, though they couldn't be sure how many of the messages would actually reach their intended recipients. Sam didn't let that stop him, though, and would talk at length into people's answering machines. "I'm trying to reach Lily Baker. Don't delete this message! You're in danger. Over the past year, a group of us have developed psychic powers…"

There were forty-two people to be called – there should have been five more, but some of the psychics were dead, plus one man was serving in Afghanistan, where it seemed unlikely that they'd be able to reach him. Even so, there were too many people for Sam to call alone, so he recruited Dean and Cas to aid him. They were all given lists of numbers, and sat around different corners of the motel room, making their calls.

Dean, however, also called someone else.

Cas and Sam saw him sneaking out of the motel room multiple times, cell phone in hand, and knew what he must be doing. Dean wasn't as sneaky as he thought that he was. Neither Sam nor Cas said anything about it, though, and every time, Dean returned with a scowl on his face, making it clear that John hadn't answered the call.

By that evening, they had called nearly everyone on Sam's list, and convinced the majority of them that they were telling the truth, though there was no way of knowing how many of them would actually heed their instructions. Still, though, it was the best that they could.

This was also the time that Dean ceased to care about hiding who he was calling, because he walked up to Cas and said, "Let me borrow your cell phone."

"Why?" Cas asked as he handed it over, genuinely curious. He knew that Dean's phone was functioning perfectly, so Dean should not need to use someone else's.

"Dad won't recognize your number," he said, punching the phone number into the phone and holding it to his ear, then added, "That might be enough to make him pick up."

Cas frowned, but didn't say anything. A second later, Dean said, "Shit!" then handed the phone back.

"It's okay," Sam said. "We've still got all day tomorrow. We'll figure this out without Dad's help."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, with no enthusiasm. He went over and sunk down into a chair, sighing as he reached for the papers again.

"Maybe we should go to Bobby for help," Cas suggested. The thought had occurred to him before, but this was the first time that he'd said it out loud.

"I already took pictures of the info and sent them to him," Sam said. "He's working on it, same as us."

"You did?" Cas asked, followed closely by, "It's possible to do that?"

"Yeah," Sam said, and smiled and shook his head. "Trust me, Cas, someday I'll show you everything that computers can do. You're going to think that it's insane."

"I will look forward to it," Cas said with a smile and a nod.

"Can you two concentrate on the frickin' demons that are going to be attacking tomorrow?" Dean asked, and both Sam and Cas returned to work.

It was the first thing that he heard the next morning. The final day the voices said, followed immediately by Noon. Exactly noon.

Cas frowned up at the ceiling, then rolled over to check the time. It was a little before six in the morning. That meant that there was slightly more than six hours left before something – whatever it was – happened.

Dean was already up, sitting at the table and pouring over the papers for the millionth time. Or maybe he had never been to bed at all. He had laid down beside Cas the night before – after they had finished with other activities – but he had still been awake when Cas had fallen asleep. Perhaps he had gotten up right then, and worked through the night. It would not be surprising.

Cas didn't ask, just sat beside Dean and began working as well, even though by this time, he had no idea what they could possibly be looking for that they hadn't already seen.

Sam joined them half an hour later. He brewed coffee and heated up the leftovers from yesterday's dinner, and they all sat around, concentrating.

"There has to be a reason," Dean said around ten o'clock. "All of them have four people... They disappeared at all different times. First group was nine o'clock at night, second group was two in the afternoon... That part seems to be random, but what about the rest? Don't tell me that Azazel's just been grabbing whoever the hell he wants, for no reason."

"It is starting to appear that way," Cas said, though he didn't want to admit it, either.

"Well, that's just fucking fantastic," Dean growled. "We've got nothing. Fuck." He shook his head and pulled out his phone, hitting the second number on speed dial. He didn't even bother raising it to his ear, just sat it on the table, on speaker, so that they could all listen to it ring. John Winchester did not pick up.

"Fuck," Dean snapped again, then shoved to his feet and stormed out the motel, slamming the door hard behind him.

Cas frowned, staring at the door as if he would somehow be able to see through the wood and watch Dean if he only stared hard enough. "Should one of us go after him?"

Sam frowned, then said, "Maybe give him a few minutes to calm down first."

Cas nodded, and tried to wait patiently. He was not good at that, though, and barely a minute had passed before he pushed to his feet. "I will go check on him."

"Okay," Sam agreed, and pushed his hair out of his eyes, letting out a long breath. "I'll keep working on the pattern, for all the good that that will do."

Cas nodded, the slowly slipped out the door.

Dean was in the middle of the parking lot, standing over by the Impala, leaning forward with his hands pressed flat against the top of the car, looking like he was breathing hard. Cas walked toward him, but he didn't seem to notice until Cas placed his hand on his shoulder. Then he stiffened, but seemed to force himself to relax after a moment. "Hey, Cas," he said, his voice low, and huskier than normal.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, despite knowing the answer.

"'Course I am," Dean mumbled. Of course he would lie.

Cas, though, immediately shook his head. "You are not fine," he said. "I want to know what is hurting you so badly."

"I said I'm fine," Dean snapped.

Cas frowned, and decided to take a guess. "It is alright for you to be angry with your father for what he has done," he said slowly. "I know that you care about him, and wish to speak to him again, but that doesn't mean that you can't be angry."

"I'm not-" Dean began.

Cas squeezed his shoulder. "Dean," he said, turning Dean to force him to look Cas in the eye, then said intently, "It's alright to be angry."

That did it.

"You know what?" Dean snapped, jerking himself out of Cas' grip. "You know what? Yes, I'm angry. I'm fucking furious."

Cas nodded. "That is good," he said. "Tell me why."

"Because what kind of man just kicks his sons out like that?" he snapped, his voice rising now. "What kind of man just lets us leave and won't answer twenty fucking phone calls in a single day."

Cas raised his eyebrows. Perhaps Dean was a little sneakier than he had thought, because he hadn't realized that the number was so high. Still, though, he said nothing, just listened patiently for Dean to continue his rant.

And Dean did.

"You know what?" Dean snapped. "I don't even give a fuck over the fact that he would've let me die when I was in the hospital, how fucked up is that? All I frickin' want to do is get him to answer the damn phone and talk to me, and he won't. And that's the worst fucking part. I've done everything to get him to answer, and he won't. He's my dad, and after everything I've done for him, I'm still going to die with him hating me, and yeah, that does piss me off."

Cas froze. "What did you say?"

Dean didn't appear to be listening. "Because I've been there," Dean said. "I've done every-frickin'-thing that he's ever asked of me, and I've never gone against him, and now he's just going to-"

Cas grabbed his shoulders again, with both hands this time, squeezing hard enough to cut Dean off midsentence. "Dean," he said, making his voice as firm as he possibly could, looking Dean straight in the eyes. "What did you mean when you said that you were going to die?"

Dean immediately stiffened, a look of horror crossing his face, and then he was trying to pull away. "Nothing," he said. "We're probably all going to get killed trying to fight this demon, and Dad doesn't seem to care."

No, that was a lie, Cas could see it all over Dean's face. He tightened his grip and refused to let Dean move away. "Dean," he repeated, louder this time. "What did you mean?"

Dean kept trying to pull away, looking around like he expected an answer to fall from the sky. Cas could see the exact moment that Dean gave up. His entire posture changed, his shoulders slumping, head bowing, his body language deflating. Cas loosened his grip on Dean, but Dean didn't try to move away. Instead, Cas slowly ran his hands down Dean's arms, stopping when he was holding Dean's hands in his own.

"Dean," he said, soft this time. "Tell me."

Dean took a deep breath, and lifted his head to look Cas in the eyes.

"I sold my soul to a demon," he said. "I've only got a couple hours left to live now."