CHAPTER 8
By the time that they were back on the road, Dean knew that there was no way that they were going to reach Wyoming before the middle of the night. Not that Dean really had any objection to driving all day – it'd been a while since they'd done a real, nonstop road trip, and he was actually looking forward to doing nothing but driving. Sam was definitely going to bitch about his legs getting stiff, but as far as Dean was concerned, they could do this every day.
Sam wasn't complaining yet, though, and he looked like he wasn't going to start anytime soon. He was way too caught up in talking with Cas. Apparently he'd decided that this was the perfect time for him to turn into geekboy.
It started about five minutes after they'd left the tattoo parlor, when Sam suddenly turned around in his seat. "So," he said, looking straight at Cas. "Angels."
Cas was silent for a few seconds. "Yes?" he finally asked, in that one voice he used when he didn't understand what the fuck Dean and Sam were saying. "Why are you just saying that word?"
Sam shrugged, then said, "It's just, we'd talked about this before, right? About wanting to know what was out there." Another shrug, and he added, "Now you have the answer, and I just want to know more about them."
Now, Cas used the voice that made it obvious that he was smiling. "That's understandable," he said. "What do you wish to know?"
"Everything," Sam said at once, because of course he did.
"I don't think it would be possible to tell you everything," Cas said doubtfully. "Not the least because I myself don't know everything."
Sam shook his head. "It's an exaggeration, Cas."
"Oh," Cas said, and Dean grinned.
"What can you tell me, then?" Sam asked.
"It would depend on what you wish to know," Cas said, "which you still haven't told me. I'm sorry, but your exaggeration wasn't terribly helpful for helping me to make a decision."
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Sam suggested.
Dean didn't know what Sam meant by that, exactly. Actually, he wasn't so sure if Sam knew, either, or if he was just throwing out a random suggestion to see what Cas decided to say. Either way, it worked, because Cas began to speak. It was all mythology and history and other shit that Dean didn't give a damn about when it wasn't directly related to a case they were working, and if it'd been anyone else who'd been explaining all of this, Dean would have stopped listening about two seconds after they'd started talking.
Except, for one, this was Cas. But not just that – this was Cas actually talking about stuff that he had, apparently, lived through. The stuff about God declaring war against Lucifer? Cool legend – he could always get behind any story that led to a giant super-powered monster war – but the fact that Cas had been one of the soldiers in it? Completely changed the story.
Not that Cas talked about the actual fighting, or really dwelled on it at all, except to mention that he had lead a garrison of angels into battle (and seriously, how sweet was that?) Most of it was the history stuff – all names and events, boring crap that Dean never bothered with. He kept listening, though, to the stories about Lucifer turning against Heaven, and the creation of the demons, and some dude named Gadreel letting evil into the Garden. (Seriously? Now the Garden of Eden was frickin' real, too?) And Dean had to say, Cas wasn't the best storyteller. Actually, he kinda completely sucked.
Still, though, it was interesting.
Cas finished up the story about Lucifer getting his ass locked up in Hell, then went silent for a moment, cutting off his story abruptly. Dean glanced over his shoulder, and Cas was frowning out the window, definitely brooding over something. "Cas?" Dean asked.
"That is what Naomi and the other angels are trying to bring back," Cas said. Dean had had to turn back around – looking at the road and all that – but he risked another glance. Cas still wasn't looking at him. "All that war, that death and destruction – all of it will happen again, if we don't find a way to stop it. Only it will be worse, because this time, Earth will be completely destroyed."
Okay, well, that was definitely one way to ruin a good mood. "Then we won't let it happen," Dean said. "Easy as that."
He looked back again, in time to see Cas shake his head, though his eyes were still locked on the view out the window. "It will not be so simple," he said. "If they release Lucifer... You cannot even imagine what it would be like, Dean. I will not allow him to return." Cas' voice was fierce, filled with tension, and Dean couldn't help but glance back at him. His whole body was tense, shoulders hunched and hands balled into fists.
"I take it you didn't exactly like the first war?" Dean said.
That was a yes, if the way that Cas' jaw clenched was any indication. "It was not pleasant," Cas said shortly.
Dean hesitated, but finally decided to just ask. "What happened?"
Cas' expression didn't change. It might as well have been made of stone. "Destruction," he said shortly. "Terrible pain and death. You don't wish to imagine it, Dean, and I don't wish to speak of it."
Okay, okay, Dean could understand that. He wouldn't say anything more.
Cas kept going, though. "And it isn't just the destruction of the world," he said, voice still tense, and Dean couldn't help but snort. "Just" the destruction of the world? How exactly could you do more than that?
Apparently there was something that topped that, though, because Cas said, voice still intense, "There are sixty-six seals that must be broken in order to free Lucifer from Hell. I will not allow the first to be broken, Dean, I can promise you that." A pause, then he added, "Of course, those two goals work together. If the first seal is never broken, then Lucifer will never have a chance of rising. So preventing one would be the same as preventing the other."
Dean frowned. "What exactly is this first seal, anyway?" he asked. Because seriously, Cas getting so worked up about this, acting like keeping the first seal from being broken was somehow more important that keeping frickin' Lucifer from rising out of Hell? Definitely didn't make sense.
For a minute, Cas didn't say anything, and then- "I never told you why the angels wanted your soul in Hell, did I?"
Dean frowned, and didn't bother to answer. Instead, he said, "I'm not going to like this answer, am I?"
"Not particularly, no," Cas said.
"'Course not," Dean muttered, and let out a long breath, then said, "Okay, fine, hit me."
He'd expected some confused comment from Cas asking why Dean wanted him to behave so violently – because the second the words were out of Dean's mouth, he realized that Cas probably wasn't going to get the expression. Apparently Cas did understand this one, though. Dean was actually pretty proud of him for that.
"The first seal for releasing Lucifer is that the Righteous Man has to be broken in Hell," Cas said slowly.
"Yeah?" Dean asked after a moment. He used the rearview mirror to check out the intense look on Cas' face again. "What, is that supposed to be me?"
"Yes," Cas said, voice completely solemn. "You are the Righteous Man, Dean. You were the one who was destined to break the first seal. The demons' goal will be to corrupt you, to make you into one of them by convincing you to take up a blade and begin torturing the other souls."
Dean grimaced, but nodded. "Okay, then. So, I gotta start torturing people, and that's how the first seal is going to get broken?" He waited for Cas to nod, then said, "So then I just won't torture anybody. I don't break, Lucifer can never rise. Easy."
In Dean's head, it all made sense. Cas, though, shook his head. "You would be broken, Dean."
Dean snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas," he said. "Glad to know you trust me so much."
Cas scooted even farther forward, moving until he was practically sitting in between Dean and Sam, one hand on the back of each of their seats. "You don't understand, Dean," he insisted, voice low. "I have seen Hell. All of the angels know what happens down there. The atrocities that occur-" His voice broke off, then he took a deep breath. "Everyone breaks, Dean, no matter how strong they might be." Suddenly, his hands tightened on the seats, his whole body going stiff as he said, voice fierce, "And I will never allow that to happen to you. That is one promise that I guarantee that I will keep."
Dean swallowed, and turned to look at Cas. Just for a few seconds – even he wasn't stupid enough to take his eyes off the road for longer than that, no matter what Sam or Cas might say about his driving. But for those couple seconds, Cas stared his straight in the eyes, and it was obvious that he was a hundred percent serious about this one. And Dean figured that actually finding Azazel and ganking him before he got Dean's soul was a long shot at best, even with the hex bags to keep them hidden. But with Cas staring at him like that, Dean couldn't help but believe it.
He cleared his throat, and turned his eyes back to the road. And okay, maybe it'd been more than a few seconds that he'd been staring at Cas. So sue him.
"Thanks," he said, since he couldn't think of anything else.
Cas just nodded once, then settled back into his seat.
The Impala fell into silence. This time, Dean didn't bother thinking about turning on the radio. Call him stupid, but for some reason, he didn't feel like being the one to break it.
"You're not praying any more, are you, Sam?" Cas asked abruptly, after about five minutes had passed in complete silence.
Sam frowned. "What?"
"Prayer is a direct link from soul to soul," Cas explained. "It was how the angels realized that I was still alive – they heard my prayers, and came for me, and passed out location to the demons as well. You haven't said any prayers in the past few days, have you, Sam?"
For a moment, Sam looked almost embarrassed, as if not praying were some sort of terrible thing. "No," he said, and shook his head. "I meant to. I just didn't."
"Good," Cas said. "The angel sigils can only do so much. If you open your soul up to the angels in that manner, I would give it less than a second before Naomi would find us, and likely drag me back for reprogramming, as well as guaranteeing that Azazel could finally claim Dean's soul."
Sam stiffened. "Thanks for warning me," he said.
"Of course, not every angel would be able to sense you," Cas continued, "only the ones that you specifically pray to. But then, I can't think of any angels who you would wish to have hear your prayers, so you wouldn't need to pray. And if you just pray to nobody in particular, then the prayer will be opened up to any angel who wished to listen."
"Yeah, no praying," Sam said quickly. "Got it."
Dean frowned. "Hey, Cas, speaking of Azazel," he said, "you know anything about his plan? What he wants with Sam and the others?" He doubted, since that probably would've been near the top of the list of things that Cas would tell them straight off the bat, but he figured that he might as well ask.
Sure enough, though, Cas said, "No, I don't. Or, I know that it's related to the rise of Lucifer, but I don't know the specifics. Actually, I was not supposed to know anything about this at all. I was lucky to uncover what little information I could." A pause, then he said, "I'm sorry, I wish that I could be of more use."
Dean just shrugged. "We'll figure it out," he said, then added, "You know, we did most of this without your super angel knowledge, or whatever. We can do this, too."
"Yes," Cas agreed, but still didn't say anything more.
The car once again fell into silence. This one felt heavy, for some reason, and way more uncomfortable than they usually did.
Then Sam cleared his throat, making Dean and Cas look at him.
"So, angels," he said, turning back around to face Cas again. "What do you guys even do? Besides, you know, flying around Heaven and starting apocalypses?"
Dean groaned, preparing himself for an afternoon of Sam's geekery over all things angels, and Cas' rambling history lessons. And sure enough, Cas launched into an explanation of cherubim and seraphim and archangels, and a bunch more classes of angels that Dean hadn't even known frickin' existed, and about all the shit that they did on Earth. Cas was reciting info like he was rambling off his ABCs or something, and didn't sound like he was planning on stopping any time soon. This could be a long drive.
Still, though, he couldn't help but smile as he listened to Cas drone on and on, with Sam nodding enthusiastically and sticking in a question every couple minutes.
And Dean kept listening.
They rolled into the graveyard late that night – or, early the next morning, technically.
As soon as they'd reached Wyoming, Cas had started giving him directions to get here. Not that directions were actually good for anything, since Cas hadn't exactly had to worry about following the roadways last time he'd been here, considering he'd been flying. Or, "bending the human concept of distance", whatever that meant. That had been one of the only things that Dean hadn't bothered even trying to understand, to be honest.
Anyway, the point was that Cas' directions weren't worth shit, but they'd busted out the maps and managed to find their way eventually, even if they made about a dozen wrong turns that could've been avoided if Cas had bothered to glance at a street sign once in a while. It ended up being four in the morning by the time they pulled through the cemetery gates, and Dean was about ready to collapse in the nearest motel bed he could find – or even the backseat of the Impala would work at this time. He could sleep there, and Cas and Sam could go find their own places to crash; at this time in the morning, no way was Dean going to be nice and share.
Still, though, the one good thing was that nobody else was going to be crazy enough to hang out in a cemetery right then, so it wasn't like they were going to run into anyone here to visit their dearly departed.
"You can park the car here," Cas said, and Dean did, then climbed out of the car, stretching his hands over his head to try to fix his stiff muscles. God, he always forgot how much it made his back hurt to sit still for so frickin' long. Not that he wasn't used to it, and honestly, he kinda liked the long trips, but still. This part wasn't so fun.
"We will need a shovel," Cas said, and Sam popped the trunk to grab one, then nodded at Cas, holding the shovel in one hand, propped against his shoulder. "It is this way," Cas continued, gesturing off the dirt path, through the maze of tombstones. "I thought that it seemed disrespectful to hide the Colt anywhere that would disturb the bodies. However, there is an area near the center of the graveyard in which no bodies are buried, and I thought that it seemed to be a fitting place."
Dean nodded and made a gesture for Cas to lead the way, and the three of them started walking. After so many hours of not moving, Dean's legs – especially the injured one, which was waking way too freakin' long to heal, in Dean's opinion – were protesting to the movement, and he ended up limping a little, but he'd deal. Lucky he was making up the rear of the group, so neither Cas nor Sam seemed to notice.
The cemetery was a little creepy at night, Dean had to admit. And that wasn't normally something that he thought. He and Sam didn't get freaked over a dark graveyard – they'd spent way too many nights in places like this for it to even bother them anymore. But still, this place was making his skin crawl, and he couldn't tell why, except that he couldn't stop himself from imaging that demons were going to start popping up from behind the tombstones any second. Which was completely stupid, especially since Cas had explained why that definitely couldn't happen. Samuel Colt, the five churches, and the railway tracks that connected them in a giant pentagram. For some reason, Samuel Colt hadn't wanted any demons to be able to reach this place. Cas hadn't known why, but he figured that the giant devil's trap still made it into the safest place to stick the gun, which was why Cas had made a beeline for this cemetery in the first place.
So yeah, no way were any demons going to be crashing the party. Didn't mean that Dean could keep himself from imagining them, though. He just hoped that this frickin' paranoia wasn't some fun new symptom of the Hellhounds chasing his ass, because that would just be delightful.
There was a crypt in the exact center of the graveyard – or, it looked like it was the exact center, not that Dean was going to measure. And the graves all surrounded it, but Cas was right, there was a circle of bare dirt about ten feet wide, where it didn't look like anyone had ever been buried.
"Here," Cas said, gesturing to the area right by his feet. Sam nodded, and stabbed the shovel into the dirt, burying it halfway to the handle. "The Colt is buried deep, but the hole will not have to be wide. It shouldn't take us long to finish the digging."
"Deep," Sam repeated. "Great." He shook his head, and dug up the first shovelful of dirt. "I'll take first shift, and we can rotate off."
"Sounds good," Dean said, since if Sam was offering to do the digging first, there was no way that Dean was going to complain. Instead, he moved over and sat a few feet off, leaning his back against the crypt. The thing was ramshackled to the extreme, looking like it was barely holding itself up, and Dean half expected his weight to send it tumbling back completely the moment he even touched the thing. It seemed solid under his back, though, so he figured it was good.
He settled back against the crypt, arms crossed over his chest. A second later, Cas joined him, though he frowned at the crypt for a moment before scooting forward so that his back wasn't actually touching it. Dean glanced at him for a moment, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't entirely sure what Cas' idea of "deep" was, but he was pretty sure that they were going to be at this for a while.
He'd been right. Digging the hole did take way longer than Cas had made it seem like it would. Especially since the hole had to be wide enough that they could actually get down in there and dig, with enough room to actually move their arms and lift the shovel. Still, wasn't quite as bad as digging a grave. Barely.
They usually got to sleep before the grave digging, though, so that would be one thing in its favor.
The sky was bright now, bright enough that Dean was starting to worry that they might have to worry about early-morning family members coming here to see some tombstone and ending up spotting the three of them digging this frickin' hole to China in the middle of the cemetery. Though he had to say, he was pretty sure that if there was even one person who cared about this place, it wouldn't look nearly this overgrown and shitty. Meaning that they were probably safe.
All evening, they'd been taking turns with who shoveled. At that moment, Sam was the one who was on duty – he'd been the one doing most of the digging, actually. It was their usual agreement; when one of them was hurt, the other had to cover the slack. And neither of them had ever liked being referred to as "the slack" – Dean maintained that he was ten times the hunter Sammy was, injured or not – neither of them was above taking advantage of it to get the other to carry their bags, or take on the extra manual labor.
Cas, apparently, hadn't liked the idea of not doing his fair share. Dude was weird like that. So he'd been trying to dig, which hadn't exactly gone well. The first couple turns he took had gone fine. After that, though, Dean could see it getting to him. Pale face, shaking hands, heavy breathing – the works. He'd basically been forced to take a break. Which he'd bitched about, of course, but for all of his complaining, he looked like he would barely be able to lift the shovel now, let alone handle the actual digging. He'd removed his trench coat when he'd started the digging, to keep it from getting dirty, but now he had it draped over his shoulders again, though he hadn't bothered to pull his arms through the sleeves. His eyes were closed, and he slumped back against the crypt that he hadn't even wanted to touch earlier.
Or, Dean thought that Cas was passed out, up until the moment that he suddenly said, "I was not entirely honest to you earlier."
Dean glanced over at him, and shook his head. "Seriously?" he asked. "It's got to be seven in the morning by now, and we're still trying to dig up some magic gun that's going to help me kill the demon who's coming after my soul. Not to mention that none of us have slept all night. You think is the best time for another heart-to-heart?"
Cas frowned. "No, you're right, I'm sorry," he said. "You may rest. We can discuss this later."
Dean tried to let it go at that, but he barely made it ten second before he let out a long breath. "No, now you've just made me curious. So come on, spit it out."
Cas nodded, but still waited a moment before speaking. "I did not do it out of malice, or because I intended to lie to you forever. But I knew that this may be a painful subject for you, and I wanted to wait to find a better time to speak to you about it."
"And again," Dean said, "you decided that now would be the best time? Really?" Cas' frown deepened, and Dean quickly added, "Just come on. I wanna hear this now."
Cas was still looking upset – at himself, Dean thought – but he nodded. "It relates to your father," he warned.
Dean stiffened, his hands clenching into fists, but he jerked his head into a single nod. "I'm listening," he said. And so was Sam, based on the way that he kept glancing in their direction. And not to mention the fact that he was only about five feet away. It'd be kinda hard for him to not overhear this one. Though, if it was about Dad, then that meant that Sam probably had as much reason to listen as Dean did – even if Sam was the one who was more likely to end up pissed by the time that this was over.
"You remember what Sam said, about how your father had still been focusing on killing Azazel, even while you were dying?" Cas asked.
Dean's hands clenched into fists. "Yeah, I remember that," he said dryly, though his voice was tight. "Wasn't exactly something I'd forget, was it?"
Cas just nodded, and turned to look Dean in the eye. "I thought that I should tell you that that wasn't what actually happened."
Out of all the things that Dean had expected Cas to say, that was pretty much at the bottom of the list. "What?"
Cas nodded again, still watching Dean's face closely. "It was the opposite, actually," Cas said, and from the way he was speaking, it was obvious that he was choosing his words carefully. Dean'd rather he just hurry the fuck up and come out with it, honestly. And maybe Cas realized that, because he took a deep breath, then said, "Your father had intended on summoning Azazel in order to trade the Colt – and most likely his life – for your recovery."
Dean froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Sam had stopped digging, too. It was hard to tell, considering that the top of Sam's head was just barely visible by now, but Dean saw the movement pause.
"How do you know?" Dean demanded, his voice coming out harsh and angry, which made Cas frown, though he looked more worried than anything else.
"The angels all knew what his intentions were," Cas said simply. "It wasn't a secret in Heaven."
Right. Because angels would know these things. Of course they would. Dean shook his head – he didn't even know why he asked.
Actually, no, scratch that, he knew exactly why he had asked. Because he'd had to be sure, to be absolutely positive that Cas actually knew what he was talking about. Even if Dean wasn't sure whether he should be hoping that Cas was right or wrong about this one.
Dean took a deep breath. "Thanks for telling me," he said, then pushed himself to his feet. He could practically feel Cas frowning after him, and Sam had the same worried looked on his face as Cas, though his looked a hell of a lot more dumbstruck and shocked.
"Dean," Sam said, or started to say.
Dean shook his head, and reached down to grab the shovel from Sam's hands. "My turn," he said.
Oh, fucking fantastic, now Sam was looking more worried than ever. As if Dean hadn't already had to deal with that enough. As if he hadn't just gotten Sam to stop treating him like he was going to burst into tears any second. "You sure?" Sam asked.
Dean narrowed his eyes. "I said it's my turn."
"Right." Sam nodded, and let Dean have the shovel, then hauled himself up and out of the hole. Dean hopped in, and started digging away, flinging the dirt up and out of the hole as fast as he could.
He was glad. Or, relieved, maybe- shit, he didn't know. The point was, this almost felt like a good thing, the fact that Dad hadn't been about to let him die to kill Azazel. It was a good thing. He was pretty sure he should see it that way, at least.
But even just thinking about Dad making that deal-
Dad, getting dragged down to Hell in Dean's place-
Dad in Hell, period-
Well, fuck, maybe Dean should've given Sam more sympathy after he'd first told his brother that he'd sold his soul. Dad hadn't even gone through with it, and Dean felt like he was going to be sick. Obviously the solution here was to focus on digging as deep as he could get, and not think about this at all.
Sam clearly wasn't going to make this easier on him, because he cleared his throat, then asked Cas, "Is that why you took the Colt?"
And Dean very deliberately didn't look over at the two of them, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the dirt in front of him, but he couldn't help but see Cas nod out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't think that the Colt would be safe with him," Cas admitted slowly. "If the demons had nearly convinced him to sell the Colt once, I was afraid that they would do it again. And I knew that the very fact that the demons wanted it so badly was enough reason to ensure that it was kept from them."
Sam was silent for a second, then finally said, "Yeah, I guess that does make sense." And from the way he was talking, it was obvious that Sam was confused out of his mind, like he was reevaluating everything he'd known. Kid sounded like he was five years old again, and that asshole classmate of his had just told him that Santa wasn't real. Either way, Dean was pretty sure that Sam was going over every conversation they'd ever had with their dad, trying to see it in context with this, picturing it a whole different way now that he knew that John had been willing to sacrifice himself like that. Or, at least, that was what Dean was doing.
Dean flung out another shovelful or dirt, and another, and another. He was digging like a champ now. At this rate, maybe they would actually get done soon enough that they wouldn't run the risk of someone coming here early and seeing them. Honest, it was all muscle memory at this point. He barely even noticed that he was still digging.
The really fucked up part? Dean almost felt more betrayed now than he had when Sam had first told him that Dad had tried to chose killing Azazel over saving Dean. It didn't make sense, and yeah, he knew it. Didn't matter. Dean had gotten used to thinking of it like that – it even made it easier when Dad had kicked the three of them out, because if Dean could be pissed at Dad, then it didn't hurt so much. And yeah, he'd still felt like a terrible piece-of-shit son for not sticking with Dad no matter what, and the pissed off feelings only made the guilt worse, but at least he could tell himself he had a reason to be upset, and try to convince himself to believe it. Having that stripped away? God, it hurt.
And the phone calls? Dean had sort of started up a mantra in his head, almost. Sam said not to answer. Dad hadn't tried to save you. You don't have to take the call now. Sam said not to answer-
Guess Dean hadn't had a reason to ignore those calls, after all.
He didn't think that he could feel any guiltier about not answering that he already had, even though the guilt hadn't stopped him from ignoring the calls. He'd definitely been wrong.
Speaking of the calls-
Dean stopped digging for a second, and turned toward Sam. He still had that lost puppy look on his face, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched.
"I called Dad earlier," Dean said. "While you were getting your tattoos done. Figured that it was about time that we figured out why he'd been trying to reach us."
Yesterday, Sam would've gotten pissed, would've told Dean that they didn't want anything to do with Dad anymore, probably would've treated it like the biggest betrayal Dean could've thrown at him. And Dean could see all of that flash across Sam's face, just for a second, like Sam was instinctively preparing himself to be upset. Then he stopped. A second later, he didn't look so angry anymore. He just looked like he didn't know what to say.
"What did he say?" Cas asked.
"Didn't answer," Dean said.
"Of course," Sam muttered, and shook his head. It didn't have any of the heat that Dean had grown to expect from Sam whenever Dad was mentioned, though. It didn't sound like it had much emotion at all.
Dean figured that something could be said about that, but he definitely didn't want to be the one to say it. So he just turned back toward the digging.
Five minutes later, his shovel struck something solid.
"I think I got it," he called to the others, carefully using his shovel to dig around it so that he could pull it out. And it was about damn time, too. The hole had to be at least seven feet deep, which Dean thought was overkilling it a bit. But then, considering that this was Cas they were talking about, he figured he should just be grateful that it hadn't been shoved down halfway to the center of the earth. Honestly, Dean wouldn't have put it past him.
It only took Dean another minute to pry it out of the ground. It was a simple wooden box, the kind of fancy thing that you'd see on the bedside tables of rich old ladies, to keep their jewelry and whatever in. It was hard to tell with all the dirt on it, but it looked like it'd had a pattern of roses at one point, which was completely obscured by the fact that someone – Cas – had carven symbols all over the damn thing. Dean didn't recognize them at all, except that they looked similar to the ones that they'd just gotten tattooed earlier. Enochian, then.
"Any reason for the chicken scratch on the outside?" Dean asked as he tossed the box up and out of the hole, then grabbed Sam's hand and let his brother help yank him up and out of the hole.
Dean didn't even have to glance at Cas to imagine the look on his face. "There was no poultry involved-"
Dean couldn't help but smile, just slightly, as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. Cas had gotten better lately abut understanding their meaning, but Dean kinda liked the fact that he could still confuse the poor guy. It seemed like just one of those constants, like he couldn't imagine Cas any other way. Besides, it was still funny as hell, even after doing it for the millionth time. Still, though, Dean didn't bother letting Cas finish this time. "What's with the symbols?"
"Oh," Cas said, and nodded. Dean could practically see him filing that away in some mental dictionary of him – "chicken scratch" equals Enochian symbols, or something like that. Whatever definition Cas assigned to it, Dean was pretty sure it was going to end up being wrong. "The box is warded against both angels and demons. Neither of them would be able to sense its presence."
"Smart," Dean said, and reached down to grab the box off the ground. It wasn't locked, meaning that it was only a second before Dean was carefully removing the Colt. First thing he did was open the chamber. "Last bullet is still here," he said, and closed the cartridge, double-checked the safety – you couldn't exactly be too careful when you were dealing with something that would destroy you instantly if it went off on accident – and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he glanced at Cas. "Do we have to worry about the angels or the demons tracking it down now that it's out of the box?"
Cas considered for a second, then shook his head. "The hex bags should keep it from the demons' notice, and as long as it stays close to one of us, the sigils in our tattoos should keep it safe from the angels' gaze. I have no doubt that both Heaven and Hell are searching for it, though. We have to be careful with it."
Dean nodded. "Right. Careful. Got it." They could do careful. Hell, it wasn't like any of them were going to be running out into the street anytime soon, yelling for the demons to come here and kill them.
The only demon who was going to find out about them holding the gun was Azazel, and if Dean got his way, the bastard wouldn't know about it until the second after one of them had pulled the trigger.
Because now that they had a way to kill him – two ways, actually, with the angel blade – there was no way that they were going to let him walk around for much longer.
Now, Azazel was going to die.