CHAPTER 10

They arrived in the hometown of one Lily Baker – the next girl on the list – at about nine o'clock that night. It was Sam who suggested getting the motel room. "We don't need to worry about Azazel for at least another three hours, if he's sticking to his pattern," he said. "We might as well go find a place to crash until then, since odds are, we're going to be up all night waiting for the demons to come."

Dean definitely didn't argue. He wasn't going to complain about having to stay up all night – or, at least, he wouldn't complain about it much. He'd actually gotten sleep lately, meaning that he could afford to miss another night, even if it did definitely suck to get stuck pulling all-nighters twice in a row. But still, he'd be glad to have somewhere to rest up, even just for the sake of getting out of the car and stretching his legs for a bit. He loved his baby and all, but sitting in her all night to keep watch was going to be tough enough without having to stay in her for an extra three hours beforehand.

Sam was also the one who insisted on getting the two rooms. He smirked at them when Dean asked about it. "There's no way that I'm going to share a room with the two of you. I'm pretty sure I don't need to know what the two of you are going to do to pass the time."

There'd been something off about his voice when he said it. It was the kind of "I'm secretly fucking upset" voice that Sam had been using all afternoon, this stiff "let's pretend that everything's fine" thing that he'd had going on ever since Cas had talked to him that afternoon. And Dean was pretty sure that he should be doing something to fix this up and make Sammy feel better, but he'd kinda used his best words up when he'd first talked to Sam about it. If that wasn't enough, then Dean didn't know what else to say. So he figured that he'd be better off letting Sam have this time to himself. With any luck, Sam would just brood and get over it.

Besides, Sam was right about the pastimes that Dean and Cas were going to get into.

"Here's the rule," Dean said to Cas as he laid his bag onto the table. Cas turned to look at him, head tilted slightly, watching Dean expectantly. "For the next three hours, we're not going to talk about Azazel or demons or angels or anything, you got that?"

Cas nodded once. "I can do that, if you wish," he said, then gestured toward the bed as he added, "Should we try to nap before we-" He suddenly cut himself off, and shook his head, like he'd just remembered that he wasn't allowed to say anything about the stakeout.

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a grin, and he said, "We can if you want to, but I can think of a few better ways to spend the time."

"I agree," Cas said, and stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Dean in an instant.

Oh, yeah, this had definitely been the right decision.

It was eleven thirty when Sam knocked on the door. "We should get going in about ten minutes," he called through the door. "You two had better be dressed."

They weren't. Not that that should've been a surprise to Sam, considering what he'd said earlier about their activities.

The two of them were lying in bed together, propped up on the funky-smelling motel pillows. Cas had his arm wrapped around Dean's back, his fingers lightly rubbing the skin around the angel sigils without actually touching the design. All three of them had taken the bandages off their tattoos ages ago, but the artists had warned them that tattoos were technically considered open wounds, so you weren't supposed to touch them. Honestly, Dean thought that enough time had passed that it would be fine, but Cas had insisted something about wanting to be careful.

Not that Dean could exactly argue, since he was doing the same thing to Cas. Fingertips barely touching Cas' stomach, tracing a small line up and down next to one of the sigils, moving as close to the ink as he could without actually touching them.

He had to admit, he linked the way that the tattoos looked, black symbols stretching across Cas' skin, and the matching anti-possession sigil right over his heart. Definitely hot.

Now, though, Cas sat up and climbed out of the bed. "We will be ready shortly," he called to Sam, "though I do not recommend that you come inside yet."

"Figures," Sam muttered, just loud enough for Dean to hear him through the door, then added in a louder voice, "Don't take too long, okay? We should be leaving in a minute."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, probably not loud enough that Sam could actually hear him, and rolled off the bed, walking over to grab the garment bag he'd stuck on the table earlier. He and Sam had decided that they'd go with their suits tonight, no matter how Dean had bitched about not wanting to be stuck in the damn thing all night. But, well, Sam had had a good point when he'd said that they didn't know what was going happen, and it was better to be prepared. One of the ideas that they'd been throwing around was to pose as FBI agents and go talk with Lily, to see if they could wait for Azazel inside her house. They didn't know if they were going to go with that one, but they wanted to be able to do it if they decided that they should. Hence the suits.

Besides, Sam'd also been right when he'd pointed out that, until they hit a Laundromat or actually bought new clothes, there options were getting pretty limited. These suits were probably the only clean stuff they had left.

Didn't mean that Dean had to like it.

"I am ready," Cas said a moment later, turning toward Dean. Dean took a moment to look him up and down, then smiled, reaching over to smooth down the collar of Cas' trench coat.

"Let's go," Dean said, and the two of them headed out the motel.

"I take it that you two enjoyed yourselves?" Sam asked as they climbed into the Impala.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I thought that you didn't want to know?"

Sam immediately shuddered. "Trust me, I don't. Whatever you two do, just keep it to yourself."

"Can do," Dean said, and looked over to study Sam. It's not like there were any obvious signs of whatever it had been that Sam'd been doing alone in his motel room – it wasn't like Dean had expected Sam to be crying his eyes out the whole time – but Dean was still pretty sure that Sam had spent the whole time brooding. "Thinking," Sam would've called it, even though they both knew that Dean's word was way more accurate. And even though Dean'd known that that had been what Sam was going to be up to, Dean still felt like he should be saying something. He wasn't exactly fond of the mushy-gushy comforting words, but he didn't really want to leave Sam to be freaked out without at least trying to say something else about it. Not that he actually knew what to say.

It was only a five minute drive to this Lily Baker's house, anyway. There wouldn't have been time to say something, even if Dean had actually known what to say.

They parked the car about ten minutes until midnight. The Baker's house was silent, and dark except for one light up in one of the upper windows.

"You've got the Colt?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "A bit late to be asking that now, isn't it?" he asked, then pulled it out of his jacket pocket and held it out toward Sam. "Here, you should take it." There was a short second where Dean didn't think that Sam was going to, so he added, "You're the one that Azazel's coming after. That means that you'll be the one most likely to get a shot at him." He didn't bother adding that he also wanted Sam to keep it, to make sure that he'd have a way to defend himself. He was pretty sure that Sam would be able to guess at that one, anyway.

Sam's hand closed around the Colt, but he shook his head, even as Dean handed it over to him. "You need a way to defend yourself just as much as I do," he said.

Dean shrugged, and was going to say that he'd be fine – he'd rather make sure that Sam could defend himself. But Cas spoke before he could. "You should be the one to carry this," he said, and reached up his sleeve to draw his angel blade, then held it out – handle first – toward Dean.

Dean raised his eyebrows, and didn't move to take it. "What are you going to use, then?"

Based on the look on Cas' face, he hadn't thought of it. He also didn't particularly seem to care. "The hellhounds are going to be coming for you," he said. "Until you regain your soul, you need to carry a weapon that will allow you to kill them. They will not be trying to harm me the way that they will be trying to harm you."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, because I can't think of a single reason why the demons might want you dead," he said dryly.

"Dean," Cas insisted, and waved the blade slightly in his direction. "You will go to hell if you are killed. Take the blade and defend yourself."

"And you dying would be any better?" Dean countered. "What even happens to angels when they die?"

Cas shook his head, looking almost impatient now. "That is a complicated question that we don't have time for right now," he said, and again, held the blade out to Dean, practically waving it in front of him now. Dean just frowned, and didn't make any move to take it.

"Here," Sam suddenly said, reaching into his jacket instead. This time, he drew a short dagger in a sheath, and handed it to Cas. "Solid iron. Won't kill a demon, but it will sure hurt it more than a normal knife would."

"Thank you," Cas said sincerely, taking the blade from Sam's hands, then turning toward Dean expectantly.

Dean scowled, but Cas didn't look like he was going to back down, so finally, Dean grumbled and grabbed the blade from his hands. "Fine," Dean mumbled, sliding it into his inside pocket. "You win. Happy now?"

Based on the look on Cas' face, the answer was definitely yes. Smug bastard.

Dean turned back around, looking over toward the house. Neither Cas or Sam said anything more, and after a few seconds, Dean reached over and turned on the radio, turning the dial until it was just loud enough that they'd be able to hear it if it suddenly turned to static. That was one of Azazel's calling cards – it was how Dean had known something was wrong the day Jess had died, and had barely made it back in time to drag Sammy out of there – and if demons were on their way, Dean wanted to at least get a few seconds notice.

Sam nodded, showing that he knew what Dean was doing, then turned his eyes back toward the house. And Dean didn't know if Cas realized what the radio was for, but either way, he didn't ask, so Dean didn't bother to explain. When Azazel actually came, Dean was pretty sure Cas would catch on pretty fast.

Dean settled himself back into the seat, preparing for a long and boring night.

He didn't bother paying much attention to the house, not yet, even if he did keep his head turned in that direction. But they had five more minutes until midnight, which meant five minutes before they even had to worry about Azazel showing up, and if Dean wanted to be zoned out while he had the chance, then he damn well would. He'd save the concentration for when it was actually necessary.

Still, though, he noticed it when Sam stopped looking at the house completely. He wasn't even pretending to look over there. Instead, he was staring out the front window, eyes narrowed and a frown on his face.

"Sam?" Dean prompted after a moment. "You see something?" Not that Dean could think of what Sam could've seen. There was nobody around out here at this time of night. There weren't even very many cars, just one other truck parked on the side of the road ahead of the Impala-

Dean saw it at the exact moment that Sam said, his voice low, "I think that's Dad."

There was about a second where Dean just sat there, not moving, just staring at the back of their dad's truck. Then he pushed open the door and climbed out, even though he could practically feel Sam's disapproving look burning into his back.

Except when Dean glanced back, he saw that Sam and Cas were both scrambling after him – that was what he'd expected - but that Sam looked... not upset, at least. More confused than anything else, honestly, with this frown on his face, but it didn't look like it was aimed at Dean. Or maybe thoughtful was the better word. Shit, Dean didn't know. All he did know was that Sam didn't look angry that Dean was heading over to talk to Dad, and that was one thing to be grateful for, at least.

Dean was halfway to Dad's car when Dad noticed them, and immediately climbed out of the car and turned to face them.

Dean swallowed. "Dad," he said, and didn't really know what to follow up with.

He didn't actually need to find any words, though, because Dad was already speaking. "Why the hell didn't you pick up the phone?" he demanded, stepping toward Dean, and Dean had to keep himself from flinching instinctively.

And just like that, Sam was back into angry mode. Seriously, it was like a switch had been flipped, and Sam's face morphed into exactly the kind of angry mask that Dean expected to see on it any time that Dad and Sam were within fifty feet of each other. "Last I checked, you were the one who didn't want to talk to us, Dad."

Dad immediately turned toward Sam, and mentally, Dean braced himself. It wouldn't turn into a real fight – not here, not while they were on a case, not while they still had to stop Azazel. But no way was Dad going to forget a comment like that, and Dean could just picture the way that he was going to react-

Dean was wrong, though. Dad didn't snap back a response, the way that Dean had expected. He didn't even look angry.

Instead, he stepped forward and grabbed Sam, pulling him forward and hugging him tight.

Sam looked just as surprised as Dean was, and for a few seconds he just stood there, his hands lifting halfway like he couldn't tell if he was supposed to hug Dad back or not. But Dad stepped back before Sam ever got the chance to make a decision, and immediately turned back to Dean, and grabbed him in a hug, too.

The one didn't last as long. Dean had barely a second to figure out what was happening, and then Dad was already moving back, narrowing his eyes at Dean and demanding, "Almost two full days. That's how long it took you to call me back? You couldn't even take a minute to call me and tell me that you were okay?"

You didn't. It showed that Dean had been around Sammy way too much, that that was the first thing that popped into his head. He quickly swallowed down that thought – he knew better than to even think about saying that out loud.

Sam had never learned that lesson, though, that much was obvious. "What happened to you telling us to never come back?" he demanded. "Or is that just when you don't need our help with something?"

Dad didn't look over at Sam this time, but he did narrow his eyes, still glaring at Dean. "When I call, you answer," he said, and his voice was low, but Dean could hear the anger in it, just barely below the surface. If they were somewhere where they could risk making noise, then Dad would be yelling by now. "I didn't know what had happened. You and your brother could have been dead."

Dean frowned. "What?" he asked, then, "Dad? Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Dad snapped. "I cracked the pattern. Sam was in the next group due to be taken, and you couldn't even pick up the damn phone to tell me that he hadn't been taken?"

Dean froze. He'd never thought about their dad figuring that out. Which, to be fair, Dad hadn't known it the last time that they'd talked to him, so it wasn't like Dean had had a reason to think that Dad might know it now. But still, just the thought made all those guilty feelings come roaring forward.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, and glanced away for a moment before looking back toward Dad.

"We had a lot to deal with," Sam said stiffly, not sounding half as sorry as Dean did.

Cas cleared his throat, and the three of them all turned to look at him – and from the way that Dad frowned, Dean was pretty sure that this was the first time that Dad really noticed that Cas was with them. "It's after midnight," Cas said to Dean, then turned to look over at Dad. "We should be focusing on watching for Azazel. And if you are going to stay with us, you will need to be marked with certain sigils, to make sure that the angels can no longer find you."

Dad frowned, and based on the look in his eyes, Dean could tell that he was having the same reaction to angels as Dean had when he'd first learned about them – mainly, that he didn't think that they existed. "Angels?"

Cas either didn't pick up on the incredulity, or – more likely – he just didn't bother to acknowledge it. "Yes," he said simply, and turned and headed back toward the Impala without saying anything else.

"What is he talking about?" Dad demanded, turning back to Dean. Then he glanced over at Cas, who was no leaning in through the driver's side door, rooting around for something in the glove compartment. "And what is he doing?"

Dean rubbed his face with one hand, just for a second, and tried to think of the way that he was going to say this. "He's talking about how we found out that angels exist, and they're not exactly all fluffy wings and sparkly halos. Actually, half of the ones I've met have been real dicks." Not that that was really saying a whole lot, he guessed, since he'd only actually met two of them. But based on the ways that Cas talked about the others, Dean was guessing that it was safe to say that the rest of them sucked, too. Except Cas, of course.

As for the second question, well, Dean didn't actually know the answer to that one.

"Angels," Dad said again, voice still flat. "You're saying that you and your brother met angels?"

"Yeah," Sam said, crossing his arms and looking like he was daring Dad to disagree. "We have, actually. Dean's right about them not being as nice as you'd think they'd be."

"For the most part," Dean added quickly, as Cas rejoined them.

Cas took a brief moment to smile slightly at Dean, then turned toward Dad, holding up a pen that he must've found in the Impala somewhere. "As I said, there are certain sigils that I can draw on your skin in order to keep the angels from being able to find you." He frowned for a second, the said, "I doubt that the angels will be looking for you right now, if they're aware that you fought with your sons. But there is a chance that they might choose to you to find Sam and Dean in the future. It's important that I draw them as soon as possible."

"And you believe this?" Dad asked, voice rising slightly.

He must've seen something in Sam and Dean's faces that made it clear that yeah, they were a hundred percent serious about this one, because he immediately looked like he was going to argue. Sam cut him off before he could get started. "Just humor us, okay?" he said. "We all have them, too, Dad. Trust me when I say that they're important."

Dad narrowed his eyes, and looked at Dean. Dean nodded slightly, and reached up to touch his arm. Not that the tattoos were visible through two layers of fabric, but Dean could still feel where they'd been marked into his skin.

Dad didn't look happy at all, and Dean was pretty certain that he was going to keep arguing. It wouldn't be a surprise if he did – Dad never trusted what Dean said on a case, not until Dean had backed it up with ironclad evidence. Telling Dad to just trust them, even when they couldn't prove it? Wasn't going to happen.

Except Dad decided to surprise them again, because after giving one last look at Sam, he scowled but stuck out his hand toward Cas. "Fine," he said tightly, as Cas pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and began drawing the sigils on the back of Dad's arm. "But you've got a lot of explaining to do."

"Before we do anything else," Dad said, the moment that they were in the car, "we need to figure out a strategy." Dad had decided to sit with them in the Impala while they kept watch on the house. He was in the driver's seat now, meaning that Dean had scooted over to the passenger side, and Sam had been kicked into the backseat, next to Cas. "My plan is to try to trap Azazel once he shows up, to-"

"Actually," Sam said quickly, and leaned forward, pulling the Colt out of his pocket and holding it up to show Dad.

"And we've got this, too," Dean said, drawing the angel blade and turning it over in his hands for a moment before slipping it back into his jacket. "Works just as well, apparently, assuming we can get close enough to stab the bastard."

"We might be able to," Cas added from beside Sam, also leaning forward, one hand on the arm of Dean's seat. "With any luck, Azazel won't know that we're coming."

"Wait," Dad said, looking back and forth between Dean and Sam, even as Sam returned the Colt to his pocket. "Where did you get those? And what blade is that, anyway?"

Dean let out a long breath. "It's part of the long story that we said we'd explain to you."

Dad nodded, and turned himself fully to face Dean. "Keep an eye on the house," he added absently to Sam and Cas, then locked his eyes on Dean's face. "And you, explain."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, and even though he didn't say anything, Dean could tell exactly what he was offering. If Dean said something now, he was sure that Sam was step forward and be the one to explain all of this. And for a second, Dean was honestly tempted. Mostly because everything had somehow gotten frickin' complicated in the past five days, Dad wasn't going to believe half of it anyway, and Dean didn't want to have to be the one to try and make Dad see that it was true.

Dean shook his head, though, just the smallest bit, and Sam nodded once before turning to watch the Baker's house again. No, Dean figured that he should be the one to say all of this. For one, Dad had asked him, not Sam – meaning that Dean had to be the one to explain it all. And more than that, Dean wasn't entirely sure he trusted Sam to explain everything calmly, without finding some way to pick a fight. Generally speaking, the less that Dad and Sam actually interacted with each other, the better.

"It started with the demons coming for us," Dean said slowly, and launched into the explanation quickly, before he could think too much about it. Cas vanishing, and the two of them escaping out the window and running for the Impala. He didn't exactly want to talk about the hellhound ripping into his leg – it still made him wince, to think how close he'd come to letting it drag him down to Hell – but he knew that Dad would give him shit if he found out about it later, and Dean hadn't warned him that he was playing wounded. Dad was big on that, making sure that everyone knew the risks so that he knew how to cover each other's backs.

Still, Dad wasn't going to be too pleased that Dean had let himself get wounded. Dean stared straight ahead for that part, not even glancing at Dad until he was past it, and onto talking about heading to Bobby's place to hide out.

He didn't mention the fact that the demons had been coming after him instead of Sammy. He definitely didn't say that he'd sold his soul.

Dad didn't need know that Dean had failed ten years ago, and Dad definitely didn't need to know about the consequences.

So instead, Dean launched straight into the rest of it, about how the spell hadn't worked at finding Cas, and about how "Jimmy Novak" had turned up unconscious in Illinois – which led to yet another thing that he had to explain, the fact that no, Cas' name wasn't actually Jimmy, and yes, there was a reason why he'd said that it was, and if Dad would just wait while Dean explained it-

Of course, actually explaining it was a lot easier to think about than to actually do. Which was saying something, considering that just the thought was enough to make his insides squirm. God, Dad didn't even like Cas, anyway, and he didn't believe that angels existed, either. Trying to explain how Cas happened to be one? Not going to go well.

"We got to the library, and Cas drew the sigils on our hands so that the angels wouldn't be able to find us," Dean said slowly. "Too late, though. One of them was already here, though the sigils kept her from knowing exactly where we were at, so we almost got away. She still managed to get us in the end, though."

"And this angel," Dad said, the slightest bit of sarcasm on the last word. "You saw her?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "They look like humans, mostly. Except that they can do weird things like make their eyes glow and flash their wings behind them." Cas frowned, and looked like he was going to say something – probably wanting to clarify the whole thing about how angels didn't' actually look like humans, that their true forms were way different. And yeah, Dean knew that he'd gotten that one wrong. He still shook his head at Cas, though. Right then, the basics were all they needed. No sense going into the details, and making Dad believe them even less than he already did.

Dad nodded once, seeming like he was almost accepting that. Dean couldn't tell if he really was, though, or if he was preparing to explain why exactly Dean was completely wrong about this. "And why do these angels care about you two so much?"

"I was getting to that part," Dean said, then cleared his throat, and didn't actually say anything.

"I can explain, if you wish," Cas offered after a moment.

"No," Dean said quickly. "It's fine, I got it." If Sam explaining the whole story would be bad, then Dean was pretty sure that having Cas do it would be disastrous. Not that Cas would mean to make it bad, but his way of explaining things was just going to freak Dad out even more. Dude didn't know when to hold his tongue and not go into the itty bitty details, and he definitely didn't know how to explain things so that they actually made sense. So, yeah, Dean was going to have to cover this one. He took a deep breath. "So, there are these sixty-six seals, apparently."

Dad listened, not moving or saying anything. Honestly, that was more unnerving than if he'd been protesting the whole time, and only made Dean even more aware of the fact that everything he said sounded completely ridiculous. Hell, if Ash or Bobby had come up to them and tried to explain that they'd figured this thing out, Dean would've laughed in their faces, and said that there was no fucking way that any of this could be even remotely true. But, well, it was Cas. And Cas was an angel, so Dean had to trust him with this one.

It didn't make it any less ridiculous, though, and it didn't make it any less awkward for Dean to try to explain it.

Dad still didn't say a word, not even when Dean finally braced himself and said that Cas knew all of this 'cause he's an angel. Fuck, Dad's face didn't show any emotion at all, didn't even look surprised. That was a big frickin' sign that Dad didn't actually believe a word.

Dean raced through the last bit, the part about how Cas had been the one to save him when he'd been dying in the hospital, and had been the one to steal the Colt.

"We found it right where he said it would be," Dean said.

That got Dad's attention, if only to make him narrow his eyes and glance at Cas like he had something to say. Then he turned back to Dean. "Go on," he said impatiently. "Finish the story."

There wasn't much left to say, just how Cas had been captured for disobedience and turned into a human. "No memory, either," Dean said, knowing that that was something Dad was going to ask about. "That's why he couldn't tell us about the Colt, or anything like that. He couldn't remember any of this. Except, well, he could still communicate with the angels, sort of. He knew that the angels were interested in us, at least, so he tracked us down. And, well, he ended up sticking around for a while. You know how that story goes."

Yeah, Dad knew that story. It'd ended with Dad throwing them out of the motel and telling them not to come back. And from the look on Dad's face, he remembered that part, too.

"Dean," Dad said, and seriously, that one word was enough to get Dean bracing himself, waiting to hear what Dad was going to come out with next. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

"There hasn't been any movement," Sam suddenly said, and leaned up in between the front two seats, gesturing toward the house. Dean glanced at it, for the first time in who-knows-how-long. That one light in the upstairs window was off now, but other than that, Sam was right, there hadn't been any change. There was absolutely nothing about it that made it look any different than the rest of the houses on the street. "No static from the radio, either, and the streetlight's been holding steady. Between the two of those, we should have plenty or warning when Azazel decides to show up."

Dad frowned at Sam for the interruption, but Dean knew exactly what Sam was trying to say here. And he was pretty certain that Dad knew it, too.

Cas cleared his throat, and joined in. "We don't know when he will be arriving, though," he said. "I suggest that we all remain alert, and keep our eyes on the house. After all, we don't know for sure how obvious the signs will be. It will be best for all four of us to be alert."

"Yeah, what Cas said," Sam added.

And Dean would've sworn that Cas speaking up was only going to make things worse. But John just looked at Sam for a long minute, then nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Let's get back to the watch. And all of you keep your eyes open. You'd better not let Azazel slip past you because someone's not paying attention."

"Yes, sir," Dean said quickly, and leaned forward, so that he could stare past Dad and keep his eyes locked on the house.

Dad nodded once, then turned around in his seat, looking back at Sam. "And give me the Colt," he said.

Dean stiffened, and slowly looked away from the house, toward the two of them, waiting to see what was going to happen next. Whatever happened, he couldn't imagine that Sam's reaction was going to be good.

Sure enough, Sam's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms tight over his chest. "Why?"

"Because Azazel's going to be coming tonight," Dad snapped, "and when he comes, I want to make sure that we're prepared."

"I know," Sam said. "That's why I'm carrying the Colt, so that I can shoot him as soon as he appears. It's the same reason why Dean's got the blade."

Cas also turned himself so that he was facing Dad fully, and he had the same narrow-eyed unhappy look as Sam. "We decided that Sam should be the one to carry the Colt, as he was the one who Azazel will be targeting. That means that we know for sure that Azazel is going to have to approach him. We don't have that guarantee with anyone else."

John lifted his head in half a nod, almost like he was acknowledging that, though Dean noticed that he didn't glance over at Cas at all. Instead, he looked Sam in the eyes, and repeated, "Azazel's going to be here tonight." He paused, like he was letting that sink it, then added, "And when he comes, I want to be sure that the person holding the gun is going to take the damn shot."

Sam stiffened, his hands balling into fists, sitting up even taller in his seat and leaning forward, towards Dad. "I'm going to take the shot," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Like you did when you and Dean were sent to kill him, and your shot missed?" John asked, voice tight. "Or the way that you did when I told you to shoot?"

Dean could see the exact moment that the words hit Sam, because he grimaced and looked away. Dad just held out his hand, and waited.

After a moment, Sam took a deep breath, then pulled the Colt out of his jacket. He scowled, but he handed it off to Dad. "Fine," he said shortly. "You take the shot."

Dad nodded and turned back around in his seat, holding the Colt in his lap, turning it over in his hands. Dean frowned, then reached and pulled Cas' blade out of his pocket. "Here," he said, spinning it in his hand, then holding it out toward Sam handle first. "You take this, then."

Sam glanced at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No way."

"Take it," Dean insisted, and shook the blade at Sam a little.

"No," Sam said, and he definitely had that stubborn look on him now. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shook his head again. "I'm not taking that, Dean," he said flatly. "You keep it."

"Don't be a stubborn bitch," Dean snapped. "Just take the damn knife and use it to gank Azazel when he comes after you."

Sam didn't even respond, just turned his head away from Dean completely, arms once again crossed over his chest.

Cas leaned forward and touched one hand against Dean's arm. "Keep it," he said in a low voice, quiet enough that Dean doubted anybody else could hear him. "We all know that you're the one who's going to be in the most danger."

Well, that was a load of bullshit. "Sam-" Dean began, copying Cas and keeping his voice low.

"-might be taken," Cas finished for him, "but if he is, then we will find him. What the demons will do to you would be far worse, Dean. Keep the blade. Protect yourself." He squeezed Dean's arm as he spoke, and fuck, how was Dean supposed to argue when Cas was staring at him with that intense look on his face?

Dean let out a long breath, and he wasn't any happier about this than Sam had been about giving Dad the Colt, but he stuck the blade back into his pocket.

"Thank you," Cas said, giving Dean's arm another small squeeze before letting go and leaning back in his seat.

Dean didn't even acknowledge that, just turned and went back to staring hard at the house.

Okay, fine, he'd hold onto the blade. But in that case, there was no way that he was going to leave Sam alone today, not for a moment. Azazel wasn't going to be getting Dean's brother. That, Dean was absolutely certain of.

Sam fell asleep around four in the morning.

Dean had seen him nodding off for the past couple hours, even though he kept rubbing his eyes and shaking himself awake. Not exactly surprising – Sam had ended up doing most of the digging the day before, and they hadn't actually grabbed more than a few hours of sleep before driving down here. No wonder the guy was barely keeping himself awake. Hell, Dean was pretty sure that he should be feeling the same way, except for some reason, he couldn't even imagine shutting his eyes.

"Why don't you nap for a bit?" Dean had suggested around three o'clock, glancing over his shoulder at Sam. "We were going to take shifts sleeping anyway, right?" That was what they usually did with stakeouts that were going to last this long, especially since they both knew that they could go from completely unconscious to fully awake in the space of about half a second when they needed to. And for a moment, Dean had thought that Sam was going to agree. Then his eyes had flicked over to Dad for about half a second, and he'd shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine," he'd said, and turned toward the house again, that stubborn set back to his shoulders, the kind that made it obvious that Dean wouldn't be changing his mind for anything.

Now, an hour later, he was fast asleep, though it was obvious that he hadn't planned on that. He was leaning forward, his cheek smooshed against the back of the driver's seat and probably drooling.

Dad glanced back at Sam, and obviously saw that he was asleep. He didn't say anything, not right away, but the silence felt different now. More like the calm before the storm, and Dean could already feel the winds start to pick up speed. When the storm came, he was pretty sure it was going to be a fucking hurricane.

"So," Dad finally said to Dean. "Angels, huh."

Dean stiffened slightly, and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It's crazy, I know. Trust me, I know. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.

"But okay," Dad said after a moment. "Let's say that I believe you, and that this is true. We both know that there's some strange shit out there." Dean nodded slowly, watching his dad carefully. There had to be something else coming. He was pretty sure that there was no way that Dad would just agree and leave it at that. And sure enough, a second later, Dad added, "You realize that this just proves my point?"

Dean frowned. "What point?"

"You're telling me that your boyfriend is an angel," Dad said, voice flat. "If that's true, then that's a damned big thing to not know about someone that you wanted to bring into this hunt with us."

Dean would have responded, but from the way that Cas stiffened and shifted in his seat, it was obvious that he had something to say. So Dean waited, and a moment later, Cas leaned forward, once again moving so that he was between Dean and Dad's seats. "It was not as though I was trying to hide myself from your sons," he said, his voice low, but Dean could definitely hear an edge to it, one that made it clear that Cas didn't like Dad any more than Dad liked him. "If I had known the truth about what I was, I can guarantee that I would have told them immediately."

"But you didn't," Dad said, as if that was the end all be all of this argument, like nothing else would move him. "And that's not the point," he added to Dean. "The point is, you're claiming to know this guy, but you didn't know something like this. That doesn't exactly say anything good about your judgment, Dean."

"What are you implying?" Cas asked, his voice hard.

Dad shook his head.

Dean's hands clenched into fists, and he waited.

"I'm not implying anything," Dad said. "I'm telling you that whatever you're doing, including him was a mistake. You can't just drag anyone you want into this hunt with us, Dean. Especially it's hard enough already to know who you can trust, and clearly you don't know how to make that distinction."

Dean clenched his jaw, and maybe he would have said something in response, but that was when he heard it. Static crackling over the radio.

Azazel.

Dean hurried to reach into his jacket pocket. He didn't draw the knife, not yet, but he grabbed the handle, ready to yank it out at a moment's notice.

"Dean?" Cas asked, and grabbed Dean's elbow, gripping him tight. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean spun to look at him, about to demand to know how the fuck he didn't hear the static. It was louder now, practically ringing in his ears, and it didn't seem possible that anyone in the car could miss it. Hell, he didn't even know how Sam could sleep through that noise, but it didn't matter - they'd have to shake him awake now and take off running, get into that house before Azazel-

Dean stopped, staring at Cas' face.

There was a wound slowly carving itself across the side of Cas' face, blood rolling down his cheek and dripping off the end of his chin. Cas didn't seem to notice it, though, because all he did was just keep staring at Dean, head tilted and nothing but concern in his expression.

Dean slowly turned his head to glance to the side. Sam was the same - the skin along his cheeks ripping itself apart, slowly splitting to show the muscles and bones underneath, but Sam's eyes were still closed, and he obviously wasn't bothered by it.

Dean took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Okay, so the hallucinations were back. Awesome.

"Nothing," Dean muttered, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head. His hand was still clenched around the handle of his knife, and he quickly let go of it and yanked his hand out of his pocket. "Thought I heard something."

And of course Cas and Dad were still looking at him weird, Dad giving him this strange look like Dean had just fucked up, Cas' eyes widening as he realized what Dean meant. Because of course Cas would figure it out. Fuck.

"Dean-" Cas began.

"It's fine, Cas," Dean said, sharper than he'd intended, and Cas cut himself off immediately, frowning but not saying anything else.

Dean took a deep breath and leaned forward, scrubbing the heels of one hand against his eyes, the slowly lifted his head and looked back toward his dad. Part of him felt like he should defend Cas, to say something about how they wouldn't even have the Colt or the blade if it wasn't for Cas – hell, Dean and Dad wouldn't both be alive right now if it wasn't for Cas.

Dean knew how Dad was going to react if Dean tried to point that out, though, so he just said, "Didn't we decide to worry about this later? After Azazel's been ganked?"

Dad frowned, and opened his mouth to respond.

Sam spoke first.

"Dean's right," he said, and Dean had thought that he was still asleep, but when he glanced back, Sam was pushing himself upright. And it was obvious that he'd just woken, since he was blinking hard and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but he was already managing to level a glare at Dad. "I'm serious. We're going to be in this car for another twenty hours, or until Azazel shows up, whatever. If you've got a problem, you can save it for tomorrow."

Dad scowled. Dean could practically see the arguments forming in his head, ready to be snapped at Sam, and Dean was already bracing himself to play the middleman and try to get the two of them to calm down. And on top of that, Dean was pretty sure the hallucinations were getting worse – Dad's face twisting, Sam's skin rotting away, the Impala constricting on them like they were going to be crushed to death. It was hard enough trying to focus on keeping a straight face without adding on anything else.

Then Dad let out a long breath, and said, "Fine." From the sound of it, it took actual physical effort for him to hold himself back, but he didn't say anything else to Sam, or to Dean. He just turned back to watching the house without giving either of them a second glance.

Dean took a breath, and released it slowly, sagging back in his seat.

Okay, one thing less to worry about. For now, at least. He'd take it.

And he could tell that Cas and Sam were both still watching him, those worried looks back on their faces – Dean didn't even have to see their faces to be able to tell that one – but at least none of them asked about it. Dean didn't even look over in their directions, just in case that would be enough to trigger all of their concern and worry and shit like that. Instead, he just stared at the house hard enough to make it blur, and waited for the hallucination to stop twisting the world in front of his eyes.