CHAPTER 9

All three of them crashed the moment that they got to the motel, which wasn't until about an hour after they'd dug up the gun, considering that they'd still had to fill the damn hole in. Not that it probably did a whole lot of good, considering that there was still obviously a circle of dirt where the grass had been the night before, but it was still a little less suspicious, at least. And after that, they'd had the awesome revelation that the graveyard was a good thirty-minute drive from anything – and Dean meant that pretty much literally. By the time that his head finally hit the pillow, it was already morning, and Dean had never been happier to see a bed in his life. He barely even noticed that Cas was curled up at his side. He was too busy squeezing his eyes shut and getting ready to pass out completely.

Cas was still asleep when Dean woke up about five hours later, and a quick glance across the room revealed that Sam was still snoring, too. The three of them hadn't bothered getting separate rooms, considering that they didn't plan on hanging here for much longer, and it wasn't like Dean and Cas had been awake enough for any of the activities that would drive Sam away.

Dean rubbed his eyes, and groaned. Part of him was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep. Except now that he was awake, he was suddenly completely aware of the fact that he stank. To be expected, he guessed, after spending hours digging and then not bothering to shower afterward. But now that he realized it, he could feel the sweat sticking to his skin and the dirt sticking to the sweat, and shuddered. Okay, shower first, and then he could fall back into bed. Though, that second part might not end up happening, considering that Cas wasn't exactly a daisy, either. He was hoping that motel owners planned on washing the sheets between uses, or else the next occupants would be in for a terrible surprise when they smelled the sheets.

Dean wrinkled his nose, and rolled out of the bed. Right, shower. That's what he was supposed to be doing.

Thirty minutes later, Dean left the bathroom, scratchy motel towel wrapped around his hips. By now, it looked like Sam and Cas were both awake, though Cas was debatable. Sam, at least, had gotten out of bed and was staring at the motel's coffee maker like it would magically turn itself on if he just stared at it enough, without him having to actually cross the motel to reach it. Cas was just sitting in bed, squinting around the room. His eyes fell on Dean, and he smiled.

Dean smirked back. "Like what you see?"

Cas was about to respond. Sam beat him to it. "You're not allowed to have this conversation with me in the room," he said.

"What?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. "Just a simple question."

Sam shook his head, finally pushing himself out of his seat and making his way over to the coffee pot. "Yeah, well, I know what direction that question's gonna lead, which is why I'm shutting it down right now. Not. While. I'm. In. The. Room."

"Spoilsport," Dean grumbled, and started digging through his bag for the least disgusting clothes that he could find. Maybe he'd been wrong about whether he and Cas would need their own room.

"We should find something to eat," Cas said, before Dean got the chance to dwell on that for much longer.

Dean nodded. "I think I saw a diner not too far off," he said. Not that he'd really been paying attention on the drive over here – he'd been way too exhausted for that – but he vaguely remembered seeing one. Plus, there were diners everywhere. He was sure that finding one wouldn't be much of an issue. "You two want to get cleaned up and we can head down there."

"Sure," Sam said, pushing the coffee maker away without actually making anything in it. "Give me ten minutes in the shower, and I'll be ready to go. Although, I think Cas is gonna need to wash up before we leave, too."

Dean nodded. "Should've joined me," he added in Cas' direction. "Could've saved us some time."

"For the last time," Sam began.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, not while you're in the damn room, I got it."

Sam nodded firmly, and grabbed a random tee shirt from his bag, then headed for the bathroom.

"Actually," Cas suddenly said, and glanced over in Sam's direction for a moment. Then he turned his eyes back toward Dean. "Do you think that you could go to pick up takeout of some sort? Sam and I will stay here, to wash up and get ready to leave after you've returned."

Dean shrugged. "Sure," he said. Probably a good idea, considering that right now, their most important order of business was finding a way to gank Azazel. They should probably get to work on that as soon as possible, meaning researching while they ate, most likely. Awesome.

Cas glanced at Sam for just another second, his eyes darting in Sam's direction, then returning to Dean almost before Dean could even notice. "Thank you," he said with a nod. "Order me whatever you wish, I don't particularly care."

"Will do," Dean said. He grabbed his pillow and yanked it aside, revealing the Colt, which he'd tucked there the night before for safekeeping. He picked it up and held it up to make sure that Sam saw it, then set it on the bedside table. Just in case they needed it. Not that Dean thought that they would. But still, just in case.

He didn't bother to ask for Sam's order – he knew what kinda stuff his brother liked. Instead, he just grabbed the keys and headed out the door.

It was a half hour later when Dean got back to the motel, absently whistling a Nirvana song as he headed for the door, a bag of takeout containers in one hand. The diner he'd found had had this all-day breakfast thing going on, which was awesome – Dean didn't care if it was the middle of the afternoon, he'd just woken up, and that made it breakfast time, dammit. And they'd also had a "design your own omelet" thing, which was awesome. Dean had even decided to be a nice person and get a bunch of veggies in Sam's, even though Dean maintained that adding spinach to anything just made it completely inedible, no matter what Sam said about it being good for you.

The conversation with Cas yesterday was still playing on repeat in the back of Dean's mind, but he was doing a good job of ignoring it, if he did say so himself. The sick feeling he'd gotten when Cas had told him about Dad nearly going to Hell for Dean was almost gone completely, and as far as Dean was concerned, it could stay that way. As long as he didn't think about it, it couldn't bother him.

Dean was certain that Sam and Cas would disagree with that logic, but whatever. It was Dean's head, and he could think about what he wanted.

"Hey," Dean said, pushing open the door with one hand, the plastic bag of their takeout swinging from his other hand. "Sam still in the shower?" he asked, glancing around the room. His brother didn't look like he was around anywhere, and Cas was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing the disgusting clothes from yesterday, meaning that that there was no way that Sam had given him a chance in the bathroom yet. Probably still washing his hair. Forget everything that Sam had ever said about Dean being a diva – Dean had never seen anyone else spend so much washing up, just because "the label says rinse and repeat, Dean!"

"No," Cas said, not standing or even lifting his head at all.

Dean frowned as he set the bag onto the table, then turned around. The first thing he noticed was the expression on Cas' face, and it was enough to send Dean's stomach instantly plummeting into his shoes, and he instinctively plunged one hand into his jacket, grabbing onto the gun he had hidden there. Not that he needed it, but he always felt better with one in his hand. And he didn't know what was going on. Better to be paranoid than dead.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, taking another look around the motel room. He didn't see any signs of a fight, or anything like that- Cas would've called him if anything serious had happened, there was no way that the guy would just be sitting there- But the bathroom door was also standing wide open, he saw that now, no way was Sam inside-

"Sam is fine," Cas said quickly, scrambling to his feet and hurrying forward to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He chose to leave the motel. I'm not entirely sure where he decided to go, considering that you had the Impala, so he could not have gone far. But there isn't any danger." He hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry if I had worried you."

Dean just waved that off, relaxing and dropping his hand off of his gun. "It's fine," he said, mainly because he was about ninety percent sure that he had just been acting like a paranoid bastard. Then he turned back to Cas with a frown, eyes narrowing. "If everything is fine, then why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?"

Cas glanced away. "Sam was not particularly happy when he left the motel room," he admitted. "I had considered going after him, but I believed that he needed his space."

Okay, a fight of some sort. That'd explained it. "What did you do?" Dean asked, though honest, he wouldn't have been surprised if Sam had been the one to start it. Sam could start a fight over frickin' anything, as he'd proved way too many times while they were growing up. Give him anything to disagree with you over, and you'd never get him to shut up over the fact that he was right and everyone else was wrong. And sure, pretty much all of the fights had been with Dad, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if Sam had decided to have a temper tantrum against someone else for a change, considering that Dad wasn't around for Sam to scream at.

No, though, Cas was already looking at the ground, and Dean swore that he saw guilt flash across his face, just for a second. "We had a conversation that he did not find pleasant," he said.

Dean nodded. Okay, that was basically exactly what Dean had already figured out, and not exactly helpful. "What'd you two fight over?"

Cas immediately shook his head. "It was not a fight," he said, then added, "Sam did not look angry as he left. Or, yes, he did look very angry, but I do not believe that the anger was directed at me, though I'm not always the best at judging these things-"

"Cas," Dean said quickly, and stuck his hands on Cas' shoulders, cutting him off. "Come on, man, just tell me what happened."

Cas met Dean's eyes, and yeah, there was definitely some guilt there, especially as Cas shook his head again.

"What?" Dean asked, and scowled. "You're not going to tell me? Seriously?"

"You understand that there is a bit of an... ethical dilemma here," Cas said slowly. "I believe that you deserve to know, but all the same, I want to respect Sam's privacy. It was the reason why I wished to speak to him in private, to tell him before I told you." He hesitated, then said, "I would prefer it if you spoke to Sam first, to either have him explain it to you, or to receive his permission to have me tell you."

Dean's eyes narrowed further. This was definitely not sounding good. As in, the last time that Cas had held a secret like this, it had been because he'd been hearing frickin' voices that turned out to be the angels talking at him. Didn't exactly give Dean any confidence in what this one would be, but still, he nodded and let go of Cas' shoulders. "Okay," he said. The Colt was still sitting on the bedside table, exactly where Dean had left it. He grabbed it quick, tucking it into one of his empty pockets, then headed for the door.

He'd made it halfway outside before he turned around. "Is this the last of it?"

Cas tilted his head. "The last of what?"

Dean shrugged, and made some vague gesture with his hands, which even he wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. "You know. The secrets and shit. I mean, I know that you're an angel and all, so you've got to know a ton of stuff that we don't. But do you have any more secrets about us? Anything else that you're going to make some big reveal about somewhere down the line." Cas still looked confused, so Dean just shrugged again. "Just want to know what I should brace myself for here, man. Are you going to keep bursting out with these major secrets all the time, or are we done with all this?"

Finally, Cas seemed to understand what Dean was asking. "No," he promised, and took a step forward, eyes locking on Dean's. "No, this is the last of what I know regarding you and your brother, I can swear on that."

Dean nodded once. "Good," he said, then stepped out, letting the door swing closed behind him.

He hadn't thought that Sam would be that hard to find. His brother wasn't usually too creative with his brooding places. Back when they'd been kids, Sam would lock himself in the bathroom for hours at a time, just reading a book or doing his homework, not even using the privacy for anything fun. Other times, he'd run out of the room, and Dean figured out pretty quickly that he'd always find Sam one of two places: the library or a coffee shop, whichever was farther away. That was when Sam wanted to be in a crowd, though – Sam had always had this weird thing about wanting to be alone, but also wanting to be with "normal people" (as he called them) at the same time.

Dean figured that this was different, though. From the sound of it, Sam had been angry about something when he'd left, and angry Sam never made it all that far. Dean could only think of one time when Sam had actually made it more than a few hundred feet after having a blowout with Dad, and in that case, Sam had managed to run all the way to California. Trust his brother to go big or go home about something like this.

Dean shook his head, since Stanford was the last thing that he had to be dwelling on right then, and headed down the street.

And sure enough, there was a park less than a block away, and it didn't take Dean more than a few seconds to recognize Sam, sitting at one of the picnic tables, arms crossed on the table in front of him, his whole body so stiff that Dean could practically feel the rage radiating off of him. It was a look that Dean had only seen a few times in his life – toward Dad, on the day of the whole Stanford thing. Toward Azazel, in the weeks after Jess had been killed. And right now, toward whatever it was that Cas had told him.

Great. Well, Dean was definitely in for a fun conversation, then.

Surprising Sam while he was all worked up like this was probably the stupidest that Dean could do. Didn't stop Dean, though. To be fair to him, he didn't jump up and shout "Boo" or anything like that, even though Sam was distracted enough that Dean definitely would have taken advantage of it any other time. Instead, Dean just didn't give Sam and warning before he climbed up onto the table, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his feet on the bench next to Sam. Sam's eyes flickered over to Dean for a second, but otherwise he didn't do anything to acknowledge that Dean was there.

"So," Dean said after a couple seconds. "Cas won't tell me what's going on. Said something that wanting to respect your privacy. Which means that, sorry, you're gonna have to be the one to tell me what the fuck happened."

Probably not the best way that he could've phrased that, but it did his job. Sam took a deep breath, and straightened slightly, turning his head to look at Dean. "Did Cas tell you anything?"

"Nope," Dean said, then leaned over and poked his brother in the ribs. "So come on, Sammy, get with the sharing. I want to hear all about whatever pushed your buttons like this."

Sam just gave Dean the bitch glare. A real one, too, not just the look that he got on his face whenever he wanted to pretend that he was pissed at Dean, even though secretly he loved Dean's awesome humor. Now, though, it was obviously that he really was pissed. Okay, then, no more trying to lighten the mood.

"Cas didn't tell you that he knows the reason behind the visions?" Sam asked. His voice was tight, like he was restraining himself, trying not to show emotion. Which was always a sign that you should brace yourself for a Sammy explosion. Sam swallowed, then added, "He didn't tell you about what Azazel did to me?"

Dean stiffened now. "No," he said, voice low, all thoughts of trying to make a joke immediately vanishing from his head. Instead, he leaned forward, watching Sam's face. Because he'd known that it had to be something big, to get this reaction from Sam, but he hadn't imagined it being something like this. Though, fuck, Dean didn't even know what "this" was yet.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dean finally said, after realizing that Sam wasn't in any hurry to share the rest of the story. Sam's eyes immediately cut toward Dean's face, and Dean swore Sam's eyes were almost burning, the way they'd looked the day after Jess' death. Dean amended, "I mean, isn't it good that you at least know now, whatever the reason is?"

"No," Sam said. No pause, no deliberation, he didn't even have to think about it. "No, Dean, it's not a good thing."

Dean frowned, and waited. Nothing. "You're going to have to give me a little more info than that, Sammy."

Sam's mouth twisted to the side. "Apparently, Azazel hadn't been there for Mom," he finally said, slowly, like he was digging a bullet out of a wound. "He'd been there for me."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "What do you mean?" he demanded. Sam didn't say anything, not right away, and Dean leaned forward, feeling like he was seconds away from shaking his brother. "Sammy," he said, his voice low and carrying an obvious warning. "What did Azazel do?"

Sam's jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

"Sam," Dean warned, and this time he grabbed his brother by the arm. Because Dean was serious. Sam had better start explaining what was happening, or Dean was going to drag the answer out of him.

Sam flinched like Dean's hand was a live wire, immediately jerking away from him. And Dean was about to demand that Sam stop avoiding him and fucking answer, but he didn't have to – Sam was already shoving himself to his feet, head shaking, hands flying in some wide gesture. "You want to know what Azazel did to me, Dean?" he demanded, shaking his head again. His voice was louder now, sounding like he couldn't hold himself back – exactly the kind of explosion that Dean had been expecting to see.

He didn't bother answering, and Sam didn't wait for him to.

"He gave me demon blood, okay, Dean?" Sam said. He was practically shouting now. Then he broke off and shuddered, reaching up to rub his arms, fingernails scratching across his skin. "Azazel infected us with demon blood. All of us. All of his 'special children'." Sam's mouth twisted at the words, and he shook his head again, like if he kept doing that, all of this was going to go away.

For a long minute, Dean just sat there and stared at his brother. He wanted to shake his head, too, and tell Sam that there was no way that that was actually true. It felt- Honest, it felt just like it had when Cas had first said he was an angel, except that Dean was pretty damn certain that this was worse. Or, it would be worse, if it was true. Right then, though, Dean was damn certain that it was a lie.

Except Sam definitely would've been smart enough to figure that out for himself, and no way would he get this worked up about a lie.

"How'd Cas know this?" Dean asked, his voice coming out steady, mostly because he was forcing it to do that. He felt like he was twelve again, after Dad had come stumbling home bleeding from the side after a bad encounter with a wendigo. Keep calm, don't make Sammy feel any worse, don't let him see that you're scared, lie through your fucking teeth even though Dad's blood is turning the bed sheets bright red. Be the big brother. Protect Sammy. "You sure that he's right about this?"

Sam just nodded once, more a jerk of the head than anything else. "Apparently all of the angels know," he said, biting out the words. "Common knowledge up in Heaven, I guess. They just didn't bother to do anything about it. Because it was all part of Naomi's plan, though Cas said that it was because the angels weren't allowed to interfere on Earth without direct orders, and nobody was told to keep this from happening."

Dean frowned, and for the first time, he started thinking about the fact that Sam had prayed every day, before. It'd never been something that Dean had really cared about. He was sure that the whole "God" thing was a load of bullshit, but if Sam wanted to try it out, then why not let him? Didn't bother Dean one way or another. But he had to admit, the fact that Dean had never believed in the angels made it weirdly easy to accept the fact that they wanted them dead. It wasn't like he'd had any faith to lose.

Sammy, though, had definitely believed that "angels are protecting us" crap. Which meant that it had to suck when he'd found out how wrong he was.

"You okay?" Dean decided to go with next, the question coming out awkwardly – he definitely wasn't used to saying stuff like this. But he was trying, okay?

Sam barked a laugh, which turned out way more bitter than anything else. "Do I look okay?" he asked, and used the palm of one hand to scrub at his eyes, then ran the hand up through his hair.

No, he definitely didn't. That hadn't been what Dean had been trying to ask, though. "I mean, do you wanna say something about it?" That made Sam look at him, and Dean shifted uncomfortably on the table, then finally just took a deep breath and came out with it. "You wanna talk?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, looking surprised enough to kill a bit of the anger, for now, at least. "You want me to actually talk about how I feel?" he asked. "You? Talking about feelings? Really?"

Dean scowled and looked away. "Don't get used to it," he muttered.

But yeah, he was worried about Sam. Which meant that they probably should do some talking, try to get an idea of where Sam's head was at.

Not to mention that asking Sam to do the talking was way easier than Dean having to think about all of the different emotions that were swirling around in his head. Sam's feelings were like a blanket that he could throw over his own. Made it a whole lot easier to think – or, to not think.

For a minute, Dean was sure that Sam wasn't actually going to say anything. Dean was a few seconds away from giving him hell for that – seriously, Dean finally agrees to do the feelings thing that Sam wants, and Sam won't even take advantage of it? – when Sam finally spoke up. "It feels-" he began, and hesitated, like he was searching for the right word. Dean looked back at his brother, and didn't say anything, just gave him time. "-disgusting," Sam finally finished, and Dean swore that he was trying to suppress of a shudder.

"Why?" Dean asked. He also wasn't all that great at being comforting, either, but he was trying to give it a go, at least. "You're exactly the same as you were yesterday, aren't you? It's not like you changed."

"Yeah," Sam said, "but now I know."

Dean grimaced, and wanted to argue with that, but he couldn't, really. He knew what Sam meant, and that was the absolute worst part, because this was definitely something that he didn't want to feel.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking it, though. The thoughts kept pushing their way into his mind, no matter what he tried to do to stop them. Not disgust toward Sammy – god, no, he wasn't going to start thinking that way, not ever. Sam was his brother, and as far as Dean was concerned, that didn't change at all.

But thinking about the idea of a human having demon blood objectively – God, the thought was disgusting. Dean wasn't even sure how Azazel could have given his blood to a group of babies, but there was no way that he was going to fucking ask, because he couldn't think of a way that didn't make him feel like he was going to be sick.

And trying to picture the other psychics they'd met – Ansen and Max had both always been psychos, so Dean's opinion on them didn't change there. But there was also Andy, who'd been a pretty good guy, more or less. Not that Dean had known him, not really, but there hadn't been a reason to dislike the kid.

Thinking about the fact that Andy was part demon, apparently? Suddenly, Dean was pretty sure that he didn't want to go meeting up with Andy again any time soon. Didn't care if the guy had seemed nice enough. Dean wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at him without shuddering. It was just, there was something not right about that, being a human with demon blood. A freak of nature. Definitely screwed up.

He couldn't think like that when he looked at Sam, though. So that was something to be glad for, at least.

"We'll figure it out," Dean said – like he'd thought before, comforting people was not his forte. He'd had more experience comforting Sammy than with anyone else, but that didn't mean that he was actually any good, even after years of practicing. Still, though, he knew enough to be able to tell that he had to say something, that he couldn't just keep sitting there with his mouth open like a complete idiot. And that seemed like as good a thing to say as anything.

Sam disagreed, apparently, if the bitter laugh was anything to go on.

"Figure this out?" Sam asked, a mocking tone to his voice. "Dean, this isn't something that we can figure out. This is something that's inside me." He broke off, shaking his head again. "God, Dean, you don't get it. This? This is worse that anything else that he could've done. He changed me."

"And we're going to gank the bastard for it," Dean said, reaching up to pat the pocket where he kept the Colt. "It'll be taken care of."

"And then what?" Sam demanded. "What, the demon blood is just going to magically go away? Like I'll turn human as soon as Azazel is dead? Because I know that that's the way that we're going to get your soul back, but somehow, I don't think that it works that way for me."

"You're human," Dean argued.

"I have demon blood." Sam cut Dean of almost before he had finished speaking. Then he shuddered, and when he spoke again, it wasn't so angry anymore. Except now it sounded more hopeless, and fuck, it made Dean wish that the anger would just come back. That'd be easier to deal with, at least. "No matter what happens now, this isn't going to change."

"You're right," Dean said, and for a second, he saw the surprise flash across Sam's eyes – apparently he hadn't been expecting Dean to agree. Dean pushed himself off the picnic table, moving over to stand closer to Sammy. "Listen, what happened happened. Thinking about it isn't going to change it, either. But come on, Sam, if you have demon blood because of what Azazel did, then it means that you've had it since you were six months old, and it hasn't bothered you so far, except for the whole visions thing." Sam snorted, making it clear that he thought that the "visions thing" was a damn big deal, but Dean ignored him. "So, this happened. Doesn't mean you're any different. Doesn't mean you have to start turning into an emo kid and brooding about how unfair your whole damn life is. Come on, Sam. This kind of shit always happens to us. We've got to just suck it up and deal with it." It only felt like half a lie, too. Well, all of the stuff about how nothing had changed was half of a lie. The rest, about sucking it up and dealing? That was the whole truth.

Sam snorted again. "You know, that was almost a nice pep talk," he said, then added, "Or, it would've been if I believed anything you were saying."

Honestly, that was about the response that Dean had been expecting. He shrugged. "I gave it my best," he said, and hesitated, then reached forward to put his hand on Sam's shoulder, looking his brother in the eye. And for a second, Dean was pretty sure that he was supposed to say something brotherly and loving, something that actually would work to make Sam feel better. Turn this into a real tender, emotional moment. Maybe end it with the two of them hugging and sobbing on each other's shoulder.

"Wanna head back inside and grab our breakfast?" was what Dean ended up going with. "Come on, I know that I can't be the only one who's starving. Besides, Cas is probably still inside kicking himself over making you feel bad. We'd better go talk to him before he ends up curled up in the corner sobbing."

Sam took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's head back inside."

Dean had been exaggerating when he'd said that Cas was going to be sobbing in the corner, but when they got back to the room, it was obvious that the guy was still upset. He was sitting on the edge of the bed again, exactly where Dean had first found him. He still hadn't bothered to change out of his dirty clothes, even though it had gotten bad enough that Dean could practically smell him from across the room, and the bag of food hadn't even be touched.

The moment that Dean and Sam entered the room, Cas was on his feet. "Sam," he said, and then looked like he didn't know what else should come after that.

"Thanks for telling me, Cas," Sam said, and even managed a smile. "I'm glad I know, at least."

Slowly, Cas nodded. "I didn't want to risk hurting you," he said, "but it didn't seem right to keep the information from you, either."

"Yeah, no, I get that," Sam said quickly. "Like I said, I'm glad you told me." Then he crossed over to the table, immediately starting to go through the bag with this look of intense concentration, like there was no way in hell that he was going to think about anything else besides finding his omelet and digging in.

If Sam was concentrating so hard in an attempt to keep Cas from saying anything else, it didn't work. Actually, it kind of failed miserably, because Cas took a step forward, and said, "You should know that I don't believe that the demon blood makes a difference. If I had known about it when we had first met, I would have believed that you were an abomination. But now that I know you, I do not think so."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, and Dean was pretty sure that even Cas would be able to pick up on the sarcastic twist to his words.

If Cas did notice it, though, he didn't react. Instead, he just continued, "Demon blood or none, you are still one of the best men that I have met, and you should know that the demon blood doesn't make you lesser in any way. That, I firmly believe."

Sam was quiet for a long minute. Then-

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said again – quieter this time, more like he actually meant it.

Cas just nodded, and accepted the Styrofoam box that Sam offered him without another word. None of them spoke again as they all sat down around the table, except for Sam bitching a bit about the fact that Dean hadn't bothered to grab drinks, while Dean complained about the fact that he'd thought that they wouldn't need them, because he'd expected Sam to have the coffee pot working by now. If he squinted, it almost looked like things were normal. All he had to do was ignore the too-stiff set to Sam's shoulders, the worried looks that Cas was still sending in Sam's direction, and the sick feeling still churning in his own stomach, and Dean would be able to pretend that everything was just fine.

After they'd finished eating, they had to figure out where they were going to head off to next.

"Bobby's house?" Dean suggested, shoving his empty container away and tilting his chair back onto its two back legs.

Cas, though, vetoed that idea immediately. "Neither the angels nor the demons will be able to find us," he said, "but it is still better if we don't go anywhere where they will expect us to be. If they don't know where to begin looking, they will never find us. But if we go someplace predictable, then there is a chance that they will be able to track us down."

Dean nodded. "Okay, no to Bobby's house."

"Killing Azazel is out next step," Sam said, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it across the room, where it bounced off the rim of the trashcan and fell to the floor. Sam grimaced as he got out of his seat to go pick it up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. You want to explain how you got to that conclusion?"

Sam gave his standard bitch face – the one that meant that he wasn't actually as annoyed with Dean as he was pretending to be – and continued, "Dad knew how to summon Azazel, remember? I still remember most of the ingredients that he asked for us to get for him, and Bobby's bound to know the rest." He shrugged. "We complete the summoning spell, shoot him with the gun, and finish this."

Slowly, Dean nodded. "That's not actually a bad idea."

"We will lose the element of surprise," Cas warned. "There is a reason why your father never planned on using that summoning spell until he had no other choice. Azazel will know what we are planning to do, and will be prepared."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, but how much trouble could he get into if we stick him in a devil's trap?"

He meant it to be more rhetorical than anything – he knew that demons could get plenty feisty, even when they were supposed to be bound. Cas decided to answer anyway, though. Which might've ended up being a good thing, because apparently the answer roughly translated into "a shit ton more trouble than Dean had thought".

Cas' actual answer was, "The devil's trap will have to be fairly large, as the summoning spells aren't terribly precise, and there's no way to tell exactly where in the immediate vicinity he will manifest. It's still possible, though we would also have to account for the fact that once he knows what we're doing, he may choose to have his followers teleport. Even if the summoning is successful, there is a chance that we may end up being forced to face several more demons than we had prepared for. And even if he does come alone, I am not sure what his abilities are, and whether he would be able to break the trap and free himself."

"Okay, okay, got it," Dean said. "You said that you were some big strategist in Heaven, right?"

Cas blinked, looking confused by the sudden change in topic, but he nodded. "Yes, I was."

"I can tell," Dean said simply, then said, "Okay, then, what are you thinking we should do?"

Dean had expected Cas to be the one to answer, considering that he was obviously in some Heavenly-strategist mode, getting this intense look on his face, like he was planning battle strategies in his head. And Cas looked like he was going to say something, but Sam beat him to it.

"Tomorrow," Sam said, suddenly leaning forward. Dean shot him a look, waiting for him to elaborate on that, and Sam added, "If the demons are sticking to the schedule, it means that the next victim is going to be kidnapped sometime tomorrow."

"Meaning that they'll be trying to come after you again," Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

Sam shook his head impatiently. "Maybe they will," he said, and made a dismissive gesture to show how little he thought that that mattered. "But even if he comes looking, he won't be able to find me, if Cas is right about the hex bags and angel sigils."

"I am right," Cas interjected. "I would not take any chances with your safety."

Sam acknowledged that with a nod, but otherwise didn't respond, or even glance at Cas. Instead, he kept going without pause. "My guess is that Azazel will be going after the next person on the list, the one who's supposed to be taken after me. So, we find who that is, we go to their house, and we wait for Azazel to show up. Then we kill him before he knows that we're coming."

Dean nodded. It sounded like a good plan to him. Or, no, scratch that – anything that involved Sam going anywhere near Azazel sounded like an absolutely terrible plan, but they weren't exactly going to get anywhere with their plan to kill Azazel if they were never in the same room as the bastard. And Dean could try to suggest that they leave Sam behind, but he could just imagine how well that suggestion would go over.

So instead, he just leaned forward, letting the front two chair legs slam down to the floor, then turned in his seat to face Cas completely. "What do you think?"

Cas considered it for a long moment. "It is not without risks," he finally said, "but I think that it sounds like the best plan that we have."

Dean nodded. "I guess we're doing that, then," he said, and climbed to his feet, heading over to go grab their bags. "You know who the next person is going to be?"

Sam was already on his feet as well, hurrying over to yank out his laptop, then settled onto the bed with the computer in his lap. "I'd backed up the information online at the same time that I'd emailed it to Bobby, just in case. Give me a minute or two, and I'll know where we need to go."

"Got it," Dean said. "You do your nerd stuff, and Cas and I will pack up the car." He slung both his and Sam's bag over one shoulder, and headed out the door, Cas trailing after him. Not that Cas actually had to help him with the bags at all, considering that he and Sam were both still down to only a couple shirts and jeans each, and Cas didn't have any of his own clothes left. Hell, they didn't even have any actual duffle bags anymore, just some plastic bags that they'd stuffed their clothes into to make it easier to haul stuff around. It wasn't like Dean was going to be struggling to carry these things out.

It only took Dean a few seconds to pack up the car. Cas stood beside him while he did it, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring off into the distance like he was lost in thought. Dean turned around, then leaned back against the trunk of the Impala, just watching him for a moment.

"Do you believe that we can really kill Azazel tomorrow?" Cas asked suddenly, turning his head to look at Dean now.

Dean just shrugged. "I hope so," he said, and reached up to touch the Colt through his jacket. He tried to imaging the twenty-year vengeance mission being over. Knowing, for the first time in ten years, that there'd be something waiting for him after he died besides Hellfire. Not having to worry about Sam's visions any longer, or about Sam getting kidnapped. He swallowed. "This could all be over."

"No," Cas said, making Dean frown. "It will not be over. We will still have to find a way to put an end to Naomi's plans. And Azazel plays an important part in Lucifer's rise, but I'm sure that the angels could find somebody to replace him. Just stopping him won't mean that Lucifer won't eventually rise."

"Buzzkill, dude," Dean said.

Cas frowned, then amended, "But several important things will come with Azazel's death. Sam would be safer, at least. And you will have your soul back." And based off the way that Cas said that last part, it was almost as though he thought that that last part was the only thing that mattered.

Dean swallowed again. The way that Cas was staring at him had suddenly morphed into being way too intense – and considering the way that Cas usually looked at him, that was saying something. Dean looked away, then said, "Come on, let's see if Sam knows where we're going yet. Not to mention that – no offense – if we're going to be sitting in the same car for the next few hours, you're going to have to shower first."

For a moment, Cas looked as though he was going to act offended. Then he wrinkled his nose, and nodded. "Fair enough," he said, and the two of them started walking back to the room.

Along the way, Cas moved a step closer to Dean, so that their arms brushed against each other, then slipped his hand into Dean's and squeezed.

Dean smiled, and squeezed back, then led the way back into the motel.