CHAPTER 22

"What?" Cas asked. He could barely hear his own voice.

Dean stepped back. This time, Cas was shocked enough that he let him.

Dean ran one hand through his hair, looking like he didn't know what to say. "Dad never told me about Azazel," he said finally. "I heard the name from somewhere else."

"Explain," Cas said, making his voice stronger this time, making sure that it didn't waver.

Dean took a deep breath, and nodded. "Ten years ago," he said. "Obviously. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. We skipped our chores to go to the park when there was nobody else around – I think we told you that story." And Cas nodded, but in the version that he had heard, it had ended with them getting in trouble with their dad. Nothing like this.

Then he remembered. This was the story about the one time that Sam had fallen.

Dean nodded back, and continued, his voice hard, "It was stupid. I mean, it wasn't like heading to the park was a terrible idea, even if we were supposed to be doing other stuff. But letting him climb so high-" Dean paused, then said, "Sam wanted to see how high he could get, and I mean, the kid was always fine. Climbed up everything, and never had a problem before – I think I told you that, too. So I figured, why the hell not? Let the kid go for it. What's the worse that could happen?"

Dean's jaw clenched. Cas didn't want to know the answer, but he didn't take his eyes from Dean's face, not for a moment.

"Thirty feet," Dean said simply, except that Cas could see the way that Dean's entire body stiffened when he spoke the words, as if they caused him physical pain to say. "That's how high he got. More or less. I was watching him the entire time, he was doing fine, but I told him to get his ass back to the ground and not go any higher. So he started coming down." Dean swallowed hard, his hands clenching. "He only made it a foot before he fell."

Dean broke off then, shaking his head, and had to take another minute before he could continue. "I'd been watching. He'd looked like he had a good grip, the branches were thick enough that he weren't about to snap from his weight or anything, he didn't looked worried or anything – but he still fell. And then I was there, holding him, trying to get him to the car, but- There was a lot of blood, and his head was-"

Again, Dean stopped. This time, Cas didn't think that he'd be able to keep talking. He squeezed Dean's hands, hard, for all the comfort that that would bring.

And sure enough, Dean took a deep breath and didn't finish his sentence, or say anything more about Sam's injuries. It was alright. Cas thought that he could picture it, more than he wanted to be able to.

"That was when the demon appeared."

"You summoned Azazel?" Cas asked.

Dean shook his head. "No. It just appeared, like it was suddenly standing there in front of me. And it wasn't Azazel. It had these- these red eyes. But it told me that it was making a deal on Azazel's behalf. Ten years for my brother." He stopped, and shrugged. "Didn't even have to think of it."

That seemed wrong. Demons didn't just appear, not without the proper rituals.

Then everything made sense, and all at once, Cas was shouting. "It was the demon, Dean!"

"I know-" Dean began, but Cas cut him off with a shake of his head.

"No," he said. "The demon was the one who killed your brother. You said that he had been fine before he had fallen, yes? That doesn't sound like an accident." He took a step forward. "The demon could have done it on purpose – could have pushed him out of the tree, knowing that you would sell your soul to bring him back. That's the only explanation for why the demon was there, waiting for you. It already knew what had happened because it had caused it."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped. "You think I didn't figure that out? I've had ten years to think about it, Cas, of course I know! But what the fuck was I supposed to do? Whatever caused it, Sammy was still dead in my arms, I had to do something to bring him back."

Cas took a deep breath, trying to pull himself under control. "And Sam?" he asked. "Does Sam know?"

"Hell no," Dean said immediately, then paused and added, "Sam woke up about a minute later. I set him back under the tree, he never knew that it had happened. All of his injuries were fixed – even the blood was gone. I convinced him that he hadn't been nearly as high up, that it'd been closer to fifteen feet. His head was fuzzy enough that he accepted it, I guess."

"So you never told him?" Cas demanded, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean shook his head empathetically. "'Course not," he said. "There's no way that I'm going to tell him that I sold my soul for him – you think the kid needs that guilt eating at him for the rest of his life?"

"And when the demons come to claim your soul?" Cas demanded. "He's not going to feel any pain about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that he will," Dean snapped. "I know what happens, Cas. The hellhounds are going to fucking tear my body to shreds, and I'm sure it's going to suck, but at least he won't have to think that it was his fault. It'll be some random demon attack, just another hazard of the job. And Sam can go hunt down Azazel and avenge me and all that shit, then he can go get that fucking law degree that he's always wanted and get his life back to normal."

"And you'll be in Hell for all of eternity," Cas said.

"But Sam's alive," Dean responded.

"That's not a fair trade, Dean," Cas snapped.

"Well, too bad," Dean said, "because I think that it's worth it." Then he paused, and added, "You know about demon deals?"

"Apparently," Cas said. He should wonder where that information had come from, but right then, that didn't seem even the slightest bit important. So instead, he said, "We will fix this. The bags will keep the demons from finding you, and we will find a way to reclaim your soul. We will begin by talking to Sam and Bobby, one of them is bound to know-"

"Woah, woah," Dean said, holding up his hands to stop Cas from continuing. "Wait. We're not telling them."

"We are not keeping this a secret any longer," Cas said firmly. "They can help."

Dean shook his head again. "You think I haven't researched this?" he asked. "The only way to get your soul back is to have the demon return it – not going to happen – or to kill the demon before it gets the chance to collect. And unless that you think that telling them that I sold my soul is going to magically help them to figure out a way to kill Azazel in the next two hours, then I don't want them to know."

Cas frowned, but Dean took a step closer, reaching forward to grab Cas' wrists. Cas could feel Dean's nails dig into his skin. "Please," Dean said, looking at Cas intently.

Cas took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Dean leaned closer, his mouth beside Cas' ear, and said, "Please, Cas. If I die in two hours, then I don't want Sam to know that I did it for him. God, it would tear him apart."

Slowly, Cas opened his eyes. Then he nodded.

"I will keep it a secret for two hours," he said softly. "If the bags work, and no demons come for you, then I will tell Sam so that he will be able to help us, and we will call Bobby to have him do research for us. And together, we will work to reclaim your soul from Azazel."

Dean considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Fine," Dean said. "But if I die today, and there's absolutely nothing that you can do to save me, then you never tell Sammy, okay? Don't let this hurt him like that."

Cas still did not like it, but he nodded and said, "I agree."

"Good," Dean said, then hesitated and added, "Listen, Cas... I'm sorry."

"For what?" Cas asked. From what he had gathered so far, Dean did not regret selling his soul for Sam's life, so he did not think that that could be what he was talking about.

"For getting you involved in this," Dean said. "And, you know, for dating you when I knew that I was going to die in a few weeks. I swear, I didn't want to do that to you. It just kind of happened, and then I spent a week trying to get out of it- Really fucked everything up with that." He stopped, and shook his head. "I never would've started this- this relationship or whatever if there wasn't a chance that I'd survive, but god, this was a fucked up idea, I never should have-"

Cas focused on Dean's face, and lifted one hand, placing it on Dean's cheek. "We already knew that we had secrets when we agreed to this," he said firmly. "I knew what I was getting into. Or, specifically, I knew that I didn't know what I was getting into, and I still agreed to it."

Dean nodded once, but didn't say anything.

Cas took a deep breath. He was fairly certain that he was close to panicking, but he made sure to keep himself composed. "We will find a way to save you," he promised, then leaned forward to place a small kiss against Dean's lips. When he pulled back, he added, "In all fairness, though, I do have to say that you were correct. Your secret is worse than any of mine."

Dean laughed at that, more of a chuckle than a real laugh, and definitely not a happy sound.

"So," Cas said slowly. "Two hours."

Dean nodded again. "Noon," he confirmed.

Noon.

"That's why I want to figure this pattern out before then," he continued. "I mean, if we can kill Azazel before the deal comes due, awesome. But if we can't- Well, maybe I can at least find a way to track down Azazel, to make sure that Sam and Dad can hunt him down and keep Sam safe."

Cas was barely listening to him now.

But then Dean grabbed Cas' arm and squeezed, and said, "One more thing." Cas focused, nodding for Dean to continue, and Dean said, "Just, you and Sam will take care of each other? You know, if it doesn't turn out well?"

"The demons will not harm you," Cas promised. Dean just stared at him hard until Cas added, "But yes, I will make sure that your brother is alright, to the best of my abilities. I would have done so regardless of whether you made me promise or not."

"Just making sure," Dean said, then turned to return to the motel. "Are you coming?"

Cas took a deep breath, and shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "I wish to remain out here and think for a little longer."

Dean hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Take your time." Then he returned to the room and pulled out his key to let himself in, leaving Cas alone in the parking lot.

Cas backed up several steps, until his back hit against the side of the Impala, the handle of the back door digging into his hip. Then he closed his eyes and sagged backwards, allowing the car to hold him up. If it wasn't for the cool metal under his back, offering him something to lean back on, he was fairly certain that he would have just fallen back onto the pavement, and that he wouldn't have cared either way.

But the Impala was solid, and strangely reassuring, and after a moment, he took a deep breath. Then he opened his eyes again, head tilted back to stare up at the sky.

"This is what you were speaking about this whole time, wasn't it?" he asked, then waited.

After so many weeks of listening to the angels and never seeing any other sign of their existence, he wasn't truly expecting an answer. Even so, he had to hope.

He remained quiet until the silence began to ring in his ears, then continued, "You have been counting down to this moment for weeks now. You must know what's going to happen. Dean Winchester sold his soul to a demon, and there is less than two hours left before he is supposed to die."

Another pause. There was still no response.

"I honestly am not certain whether you exist, or if I am losing my mind," he admitted. "But this cannot be a coincidence. My mind could not have created a countdown to an event that I knew nothing about."

He hoped.

"But if I am sane," he continued, "and you do exist, then I need you help. I need to know what I can do to save Dean."

The sky was an intense, rich shade of blue, with large clouds rolling across it, shifting their shapes in the light wind that also blew across the parking lot and pulling through Cas' hair. He wasn't entirely sure why he was standing here, staring upward. Back at the men's shelter, he'd realized that many people gestured upward when speaking of God or Heaven or other types of spiritual beliefs, and he had never quite understood why. Now, he found himself doing the same thing, for no reason.

Or, maybe there was somewhat of a reason. The videos that he had seen online all those weeks ago had featured bright lights that descended from above, so perhaps looking to the sky did make sense, after all.

And it didn't seem to matter which way he looked, one way or another. If the angels existed, they were not going to respond.

"Please," he said, and squeezed his eyes closed for just a moment. "Given the amount of time that you spend speaking of Dean Winchester, I know that he must matter, somehow." A pause, then he added, "And regardless of whether he matters to Heaven, I know that he matters to me, and to his brother. You have to help me to save him. Please, just tell me how."

He waited, and waited, and waited. But still, there was no sound but the whistling wind, and absolutely nothing to indicate that he wasn't completely alone.

He didn't wish to give up, not so easily. So he remained outside, repeating his request as many times as he could, despite the fact that nothing ever changed.

He estimated that thirty minutes had passed before Dean joined him again.

Cas turned his head to the side, watching as Dean approached, his shoulders hunched and his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He said nothing, just joined Cas in leaning back against the Impala, staring straight ahead of him. Cas reached over, gently pulling Dean's hands from his pocket so that he could intertwine their fingers, and Dean slowly turned to look at him.

"Sam's starting to wonder about what you're doing out here for so long," Dean said, then added, "But he's started going crazy with the research, thinks that he might actually be onto something. So now he seems pretty distracted."

"I did not mean to worry him," Cas said. "We can return to the room now."

"No, no, it's cool," Dean said, then asked, "What were you doing out here, anyway?"

Cas hesitated. He knew that Dean didn't believe, and likely wouldn't be able to understand, but he decided to answer honestly, regardless. "I was praying to God," he said, then amended, "Or, to his angels, specifically."

Dean nodded slowly. And Cas knew that Dean thought that these kinds of beliefs were idiotic, but even so, Dean didn't say anything negative or judgmental. Instead, he just asked, "Why the angels?"

"I thought that there might be a better chance of them hearing me."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, and there it was – the scorn for religions, and for belief in general, that Cas had been expecting to hear. "How's that working for you?"

Cas looked away. "Not well."

There was a pause, and then Dean almost sounded disappointed as he said, "Figures. That's why I don't believe in any of this shit. I mean, come on, if angels were real, don't you think they would've helped us by now?"

"Angels exist, Dean," Cas said at once, and tried to think of a good reason why, one that would be convincing, but could not think of one. Instead, he just finished, quietly, "They have to."

Dean squeezed his hand, and moved a step to the side, so that their arms were pressed against each other. "Okay, fine, they exist," he said, not as if he actually believed it, but more as though he didn't want to bother with an argument. "That still doesn't mean that they're gonna care enough to help us out. Either way, we're on our own."

Cas opened his mouth to disagree, then closed it, glancing up at the sky for a moment before saying, "You're right."

That didn't mean that he would give up. He was going to find a way to save Dean, no matter what he had to do. He would find a way.

His plan just wouldn't involve angels, that was all.

"Damn right I'm right," Dean said, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grin. Then he pushed away from the Impala, still holding tight to Cas' hand. "Now come on," he said. "If we've only got an hour and a half left of my last day alive, then I think that we should definitely try to at least sneak a quickie in."

Cas frowned. "If we have only an hour and a half, then we would be better suited spending our time demon-proofing the motel to ensure that this isn't actually your last day," he said. "And Sam is in our motel room."

Dean's grin widened, becoming far more wicked. "I already got started on the demon proofing while you were out here brooding."

"Praying," Cas corrected, as if it mattered.

Dean, of course, ignored him, just pulled his free hand out of his pocket and held up a room key. "And anyway, that's why I stole the key to Sam's room. We'll have all the privacy that we need there."

And despite everything, Cas couldn't help but smile, just slightly. "You had this planned, didn't you?"

"Of course," Dean said, and gave a tug on Cas' hand, pulling him away from the Impala. "Besides, this is my last day, remember? I should get to do what I want, and trust me when I say that I want you." He said the words in a low tone, the kind that he typically used when he was trying to be sexual, but then Dean's eyes flickered to Cas' face, and Cas was certain that he saw something there besides merely lust. A second later, Dean cleared his throat, and looked away.

"Alright," Cas said, giving Dean's hand a squeeze, returning the gesture that Dean had given him earlier. "Quickly, though, and then we need to finish preparing for the demon attack."

And just like that, Dean was smiling again. "Awesome," he said, then began pulling of Cas' arm again, tugging him toward the motel. "Now come," he ordered, then stopped walking and grinned at Cas, lifting and lowering his eyebrows rapidly as if to ensure that Cas understood the double entendre.

It was not the first time that Cas had heard that joke, so of course he recognized the meaning immediately, and wrinkled his nose. "You are exceptionally vulgar," he said, also not for the first time.

Dean just shrugged and continued to grin. "You love me for it," he said, then added, "Now hurry up." And this time, Cas did hurry forward, joining Dean in the rush to reach the motel room.

It wasn't until several minutes later, when they both undressed and stretched out in bed together, that Cas gave his response. "Yes, I do," he said, whispering the words against the bare skin along Dean's chest.

"What?" Dean asked.

Cas pushed himself up, one hand on either side of Dean's body, looking down at Dean. "This will not be your last day," he promised.

Dean's response was to lift himself off the pillows and kiss Cas, hard. And somehow, Cas could sense all of Dean's fear, the uncertainty, the belief that the bags wouldn't hide him, that salt lines wouldn't keep the Hellhounds at bay, that he really was going to die today, and they wouldn't be able to stop it.

It made Cas want to argue, to look Dean in the eyes and tell him exactly why he would live – namely, because Cas would not allow for any other events to unfold. Instead, he tilted his head and kissed Dean back twice as hard, and hoped that that would be answer enough.

Dean's leather jacket was lying on the floor beside Cas' feet. Cas was currently in the process of buttoning up his shirt, but once he finished, he bent and picked the jacket up, slipping it over his arms without a second thought. It was only after he caught Dean staring at him that he remembered.

"I'm sorry," he said, already moving to remove it. "I had forgotten, this jacket is special. You don't want anyone else to wear it."

Dean grabbed Cas' arms, stopping him.

"No," he said, then cleared his throat. "Keep it. It looks good on you."

Cas paused. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Dean's eyes flickered down towards Cas' chest, staring at the jacket for just a second. Then he smiled.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It's hot."

Cas returned the smile. "Thank you," he said softly, and pulled the jacket tighter around him. It was warmer than the trench coat, which wasn't necessary, considering that it was the middle of summer. But it also smelled like Dean, and made it feel as though Cas were still in his arms. He liked that. He wanted to picture Dean continuing to hold him, even as they prepared to face the demons that would come to take Dean's life.

Dean just bent and picked up Cas' trench coat, and Cas almost thought that Dean would put it on, but then he simply balled it up and said, "We can toss this into the trunk of the Impala before we go see how Sammy's doing. It's not like you're gonna need this if you're gonna be wearing mine instead."

Cas nodded. He had almost forgotten about returning to see what Sam had been researching, but now, he could feel reality setting back in. "Yes," he said. "We should go see if Sam has found anything."

Sam was bent over his laptop when they entered the room, but he must have been waiting for them, because the moment the door opened he was on his feet, hurrying towards them. His mouth was already open, ready to speak, but he paused as soon as he saw them, his eyes flickering over their messy hair, and the fact that Cas was wearing Dean's clothes. He made a face. "I'm not going to be able to sleep in my bed tonight, am I?"

"You might want to at least change the bedding," Dean said cheerfully. Sam narrowed his eyes into his "bitch face" expression, though it disappeared the moment that Dean asked, "So, you got something?"

"Yeah," Sam said, and hurried back to the table, Cas and Dean both following right behind him. Sam dug through the papers that had been scattered across the table until he found the list of all the victims, in order of when they had disappeared. They had all been studying for the past three days, to the point where Cas felt as though he could practically recite it word for word at this point. But now, there was something different about it. Beside each of the names, Sam had written a date.

Cas scanned through the dates. January 3, 1983. January 6, 1983. January 7, 1983. All the way through the end of the list, to the most recent victim. April 22, 1983.

"It's going in order," Sam said, gesturing empathetically at the list. "I don't know why we didn't realize it sooner!"

Cas suddenly understood, a moment before Dean said, "He's going oldest to youngest."

"Exactly," Sam said. "I don't know why it took me so long to make the connection. We just need to figure out whose birthdays are coming up next, and then we'll know who the demons are going to take next."

Cas blinked, and looked at Sam. "But that it wonderful," he said slowly, not understanding why Sam looked so unhappy about this turn of events. Sam had managed to crack the pattern. This is what they had been hoping for – not that it would help them today, not when they only had an hour left before Dean was attacked, and they had to focus on ensuring that the Hellhounds couldn't harm Dean. But in five days, another group would be stolen. They could find Azazel then, kill him before he could take his next victim.

Or-

Andy and Ansen had been taken as seven o'clock in the evening. The first group had been stolen at nine. There didn't seem to be any reason for why the times of the kidnappings continued to change, or at least, they had never been able to figure out why. But if Azazel didn't plan to come for this group until this evening, then there was a possibility that they could fine whoever was next on the list, and stop Azazel tonight.

Not that they knew how to kill him. They still needed to figure out a way to do that. But still, Cas couldn't help but hope-

"Do you know who he will be coming after next?" Cas asked urgently, glancing between Sam and Dean. Sam was frowning, and Dean was staring at his brother, a look of horror growing on his face. Cas frowned. "What?"

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, and pulled out another list of papers. "Here is everyone who hasn't been taken yet. I went through and figured out what all their birthdays were while you and Dean were, uh, entertaining yourself in my motel room."

Cas snatched the papers from Sam's hands and scanned through them quickly. All of the birthdays were there, and Sam had already gone through and circled five names – the five who were due to be taken today.

The first four names were all on the same piece of paper. It only took Cas a second to read them. Josie Timmons, born May 1. Kale Kimo, born April 29. Alexis Brewer, April 26. None of the names meant anything to Cas, though he vaguely recognized a couple of them from the calls that they had made yesterday.

It didn't matter, though. He was sure that Sam would be able to track them down easily, if they decided that they were going to hunt down Azazel today. That wouldn't be an issue at all.

Cas flipped through the papers, scanning through them until he found the final name, all the way down at the bottom of the final page. It was the last date, the final person that Azazel would be coming after today.

May 2, 1983.

Samuel Winchester.