A/Ns: I'm so sorry for the long delay again, everyone! I am still trying to establish a writing routine while working from home (aaaand struggling with the 'routine' bit of that). Luckily, I keep writing these beasts of chapters in the meantime, so you guys get nice long updates when they come.
Chapter Reference - Andy Losing his Powers: Quick reminder since it has been a long time now, Andy lost his powers when another psychic, Jonathon slashed his throat with a knife.
Chapter Reference - Dean Missing Chest Cas: Since Rivergrove, the warmth in his chest that was the sliver of Cas's grace has been missing. Castiel has confirmed it is still there, just weak and slowly growing in strength again, but Dean hasn't felt evidence of that yet.
Quality Warning: Man, I edited this thing so sporadically over so many days that I can't even tell you I got it all. I may have missed some sections. Please forgive any errors and, as always, apologies for any disturbance they cause to the story. I'm working on that beta thing (I...think)
Chapter Warnings: What started out as your favorite author writing five paragraphs about the boys calling it a night turned into five pages of Sam calling it a night and then Dean, the next morning, adding another five pages about him calling it a night the night before -_- But after we spend an ENTIRE CHAPTER'S LENGTH just saying goodnight to one another, we spend another chapter's length educating Ronald, eating pancakes, painting fences with blood, and playing fetch with Sarge. Yup. We got a lot to cover (and also...like, nothing at all?) so let's get to it.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 80
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
They decided to call it a night not long after. Ronald finally subsided in his panic (mostly), promised by the Winchesters several times over to have the rest of the supernatural world explained to them – specifically the teleporting bit – and the guarantee that the shifter in the bank had been taken care of. Well, that and the threat of being knocked unconscious by their resident…erm…. Actually, Dean had avoided telling the freaked out (if not normally entirely too enthusiastic) man the identity of their rescuer. He left it at, 'Yes, Ronald, she's not human. It's fine, she's with us.'
Dean couldn't exactly say he trust Ronald not to run his mouth to every single hunter he might meet from this day onward about the angel who'd rescued them from a shifter. Most hunters wouldn't believe him, which might be lucky for the Winchesters, but not so much for the future hunting career Ronald may or may not take up. Dean was more worried about the hunter that did believe him. All it would take was the wrong one and they'd have a whole new can of ugly to deal with.
Luckily, just Cas's presence in the same room as the panicking man made him…well, not any less panicky, but slightly more behaved.
With the promise of more information tomorrow, Ronald reluctantly agreed to let it be for the rest of the night. Bobby fetched a spare sheet and blanket, tossing both of them at the larger man then pointing at the couch in the den with the kind of eyebrow that begged to be argued with. With the boys upstairs and Andy camping out in his van for the evening, the couch was the last open bed in the house, minus Angela's hospital bed upstairs. Of course, Bobby wasn't fool enough to offer that up to anyone, both for the questions said person might have as to why there was an empty hospital bed in his guest bedroom, or the rage-storm it would surely stir up from Dean. Boy was damn sensitive about things he perceived as his angel's, and Bobby'd sure caught onto that quirk damn quick.
Ronald obediently set up his makeshift bed without a word (though not without at least some pouting, definitely some lingering confusion, and occasional wary glances towards the angel standing next to a yawning Dean in the kitchen).
Sam had to be dragged away from his laptop, which he'd immediately set up while everyone else in the house had been calming Ronald down. News coverage of the bank robbery was not looking particularly good for them on the internet. Dean told him to 'leave it' which got him a lecture from Sam and Bobby, before he reminded them both he was from the damn future, he knew what it friggin' meant for them, thank you very much.
(Which triggered an entirely new, second round of freaking out on Ronald's behalf until Cas, without prompting, did just knock him out again. He fell perfectly onto the couch he'd just finished making up, and they left it at that with the guarantee from the angel that he would not be waking until morning.)
Dean gave up trying to pull his brother away from the news hunt despite the wee hours of the morning they were creeping into. He needed sleep more than he needed Sam to get sleep, so he gave up with a toss of his arms in the air and headed for the stairs. Cas followed the older Winchester without a word, and Bobby pushed the laptop closed much to Sam's protests. The older hunter just pointed towards the stairs with a no-nonsense glare, and the younger Winchester retreated with a pout all his own.
-o-o-o-
When Sam walked into the room he shared with his brother, the hunter pulled up short at the sight of Cas sitting on the edge of Dean's bed. His brother was already passed out, snoring on his back with one arm thrown over his head. The angel, however, was perched on the very edge of the bed, somehow simultaneously looking solid as a rock and like she might fall off the sliver of mattress she'd taken for herself with the smallest of weight shifts.
The hunter did a second double take when he realized Bobby's new dog, Sarge, was laying at the angel's feet, watching him with dark eyes.
Sam didn't move from his spot at the door, feeling for just a moment like he was interrupting something private. Something weirdly intimate. Well, except for the dog. That was just plain weird.
The whole thing was weird. And silly, really, because Dean was asleep and Cas was…well…Cas. As far as Sam knew, she didn't do intimate. At least not in any form that she'd then be embarrassed of.
So instead the younger Winchester cleared his throat, gave the angel a nod, and headed for his own bed. Pajamas were for people significantly less dead on their feet than the Winchesters, so Sam just pulled off his boots and prepared to climb under the covers. He paused again, eyeing Cas out of his peripheral, but the angel hadn't so much as twitched a muscle, let alone move.
"Thank you," Sam blurted out suddenly, though the unintended comment was no less sincere for its abruptness.
Cas turned her head to meet Sam's eyes, a slight pinch in her brow and miniscule head tilt giving away her confusion. Sam cleared his throat again.
"For, uh…" Saving Dean's life? Coming for them? The rescue from the bank and a last second save from life in prison? What Sam settled on, with a dart of brown eyes to Dean's sleeping form, was, "for watching out for him."
Which was really what the angel was doing now, wasn't it? Watching over the older Winchester. Over all of them, really (though Sam couldn't help but note it wasn't him Cas had followed upstairs). Dean had said, on more than one occasion, with more than just a little grump, that Castiel had no sense of personal space. Liked to watch them while they slept, he'd said, but even back then Sam had been pretty sure 'us' was really a 'me.' And sure enough, that's what Cas seemed intent to do. Watch over Sam's brother.
Intimate or not, private or not, it made Sam feel a lot better. And that's what he was thanking the angel for, he supposed, even more than saving Dean's life. His brother was a moron and a martyr. If anyone needed an angel watching over him, it was Dean.
Cas opened her mouth to respond but then tilted her head further to the side, listening. Sam was sure it was Angela she was listening to, so he waited. After a moment, Castiel righted her head and just nodded at Sam, accepting his thanks without verbal reply.
The younger Winchester was too tired to contemplate the conversation he hadn't been privy to, or what Cas might have said without Angela's input. So instead he climbed onto the mattress, just barely holding back a groan as his body sunk into the springs and his eyes closed without conscious thought. Before he could reach for the light that sat on the nightstand between the two beds, it went off on its own. Another thing to thank the angel for, Sam supposed, but didn't bother vocalizing. Instead, he lay on his side, covers pulled up to his chin, and opened his eyes to the outline of brother and angel, visible in the faint moonlight filtering through the window.
"Cas?"
"Yes, Sam?"
The younger hunter wondered if Castiel could see him in the dark. Did angels have night vision? He worked on slowing his breathing, even though he knew sleep was far away that night. It wouldn't really do much good to have an angel know how on the brink he was. Even now, safe at Bobby's…at least for the moment.
And wasn't that just the whole thing? For the moment. For the moment was turning into the rest of his life, wasn't it? Just one more quiet moment between next storm, and the one after that, and the one after that.
Sam didn't know how he was supposed to keep doing this.
"How did you know?" The younger Winchester hesitated to say more. Unsure how to say more. But when Cas didn't respond, and Sam could basically picture her head tilt in the dark, he amended, "That Dean…." He cleared his throat, past the lump that had formed there hours ago and didn't seem ready to disappear anytime soon. "That we needed you?"
"The wound in Dean's shoulder," Cas replied after a moment. Her voice was deep as always, but she wasn't whispering despite the snores beside her. Dean kept right on sleeping, though. For some reason, that annoyed Sam instead of comforted him. "It was too close to the grace in Dean's chest. I felt the injury not unlike it was my own."
If Sam could see in the dark like Castiel indeed could, he might have noticed the pensive look that stole over the angel's face. It was a troubling fact, her ability to sense Dean's wound from so far away, whilst in the middle of a deep trance. A troubling fact she added to the list of other troubling things regarding that sliver of grace that Dean always immediately disregarded.
"I woke from the healing trance due to the irritation."
Sam had to cough to cover the snort. Of course an angel would feel a two inch, brass-coated, .300 caliber sniper round as a minor irritation. But that cough cleared quickly as the angel's statement sunk in. Sam propped himself up on an elbow, staring at the silhouette of Cas in the dark.
"Shit, are you- are you okay?"
It hadn't even occurred to him that Cas might still be injured. She'd appeared so perfectly fine he'd almost forgotten she was hurt to begin with. Another of the things Dean would gripe and grumble about during those stories: Cas's tendency to dismiss damn near mortal injuries like they were papercuts.
"Yes. My healing was near completion. I can finish recovering while fully cognizant from now on."
"Oh." Sam realized with that exhale of sound that he'd been holding his breath. He let the rest of it out as well, lowering himself back to the mattress with a squeak from an errant spring. "That's- uh, that's great."
"You should sleep, Sam," came Castiel's voice once more, no quieter but somehow…softer. Or maybe Sam was just imaging it.
"Yeah," he whispered, then cleared his throat and repeated the word louder. "Yeah, um, of course. Thanks. Again."
And so the household slept under the guard of an angel. Now known criminals on the run, hunted by the FBI, having narrowly escaping death or arrest. Dean slept like the dead. The same couldn't be said for Sam, who kept track of his brother's breathing well into the night.
At least until their angel stood up, walked over to his bedside, and placed two fingers to his forehead. The last thing he remembered was the mattress dipping as something dog-sized jumped onto the bed and curled up next to him.
-o-o-o-
The milk was almost bad.
It tasted alright, mostly, with just a hint of sour tinge on the tip of his tongue, but the smell was worse. Not bad enough not to drink. He'd already poured the cereal, after all, but he'd probably have to dump the rest of it when he was done. It wasn't going to last another day, and he didn't want it stinking up the fridge once it did go.
It was pretty full, too. What a waste.
Cole Trenton hunched over the cheap laminate countertop of his temporary accommodations and ate his breakfast standing. He wouldn't call this place home; it wasn't. It was just the place the military most often put him up in when he was stateside from his latest tour. A week here, a month there. They insisted he take the time off and 'recuperate.' Problem was, Cole wasn't the recuperating type. He'd tinker with a couple side projects, dig into that old file he had on his father's cold case, which had turned over no new leads in more than a decade. Really, he'd just putz around, pretending he wasn't twitching to get back out there and onto the next deployment.
The TV flickered on the edge of his vision, and he glanced at the screen showing the outside of a bank, helicopter flying by and search lights illuminating the skyscraper. A newscaster was narrating over the footage, discussing an incident with armed robbers and a handful of hostages. One of the bank employees had been killed and the robbers were still at large.
Cole wasn't really paying the story much attention. He liked having the news on in the background whenever he cooked. Which, considering this was his usual breakfast routine, wasn't that often. But he was a damn good cook when he actually took the time.
He raised a spoon full of cheerios, dripping milk back into his bowl, when the TV flashed to three images the men who had robbed Milwaukee International Bank. Cole dropped the spoon, heedless of the splash of milk it created as he stared down the face of his father's murderer.
The man in the photo was older, as well he should be given the ten years that had passed since Cole had last seen him. But it was him. He'd never forget those eyes. Those cold, monstrous green eyes that had watched him, stared up at him, standing over his father's body, covered in blood that was still warm and dripping.
Cole set the cereal bowl down with a calm that only came from years of training and the kind of patience that let a man pursue his father's murderer without stop for more than a decade. He jabbed a finger against the television screen, right between the eyes of the man identified as Dean Winchester, wanted by the FBI.
"Got you."
The FBI would have to get in line. By the end of the week, Cole Trenton would be reported AWOL when he failed to show up for his next assignment.
-o-o-o-
When Dean woke up the next morning, Cas was gone. It was kind of a relief as much as it wasn't. When the angel had followed him into the bedroom the night before, it took Dean several moments to even realize she was there. Moments that he spent stripping off his flannel and grabbing the hem of his t-shirt before he noticed. Then he just stood there, arms crossed, shirt half raised, belly bare as the day he'd been born. And Cas just stared right back.
Dean had thought about it. He really had. But he also knew the answer. He'd lived through the answer multipletimes.
Do you mind?
And Cas would just tilt his – uh, her – head and say, 'No' or 'Mind what?'
So, with a near silent sigh (because seriously, where was Dragon Lady in moments like these, huh?), Dean lowered his shirt back down without a word. Guess sleeping in his clothes was one less step between him and bed, and he was too damn tired to have that conversation or the déjà vu that would come with it. But he was taking off his jeans. Jeans were damn uncomfortable to sleep in, exhausted or not, and it wasn't like angel or dragon had never seen a man in underwear before.
Once down to boxers and tee, Dean climbed under the blankets with a groan that was purposefully lecherous, just because he friggin' could. Let Dragon Lady explain that.
God, he was tired. It wasn't hours of grave-digging in the cold kind of exhausted. Not the burning muscles, numb fingers, and aching feet. Nor the sorta dog-tired you got after a beat down, drag-out fight filled with bruises and the adrenaline of life or death. Nah, the bank hadn't been any of that. Not like their usual cases. Just four hours of pure stress and tension that left him tight and twitchy.
Not to mention the bullet he took to the chest.
The hunter took a deep breath and tried to let go of all that tension as he let it out. It didn't work worth a damn, so he tried again. All that yoga shit, meditation, calming crap Sam had tried to teach him over the years. Not that any of it had taken.
With a frustrated sound, Dean gave up any pretense of sleeping and rubbed at his shoulder and the memory of that pain. He'd been damn tired years ago of near death experiences, and traveling back to a younger, fresher body hadn't changed that one bit. He was so damn tired of nearly dying.
"Is something wrong with your chest?"
The hunter practically jumped under the covers. Shit, he'd nearly forgotten Cas was in the room. Habit, he figured, from all those times when the angel had literally watched him while he slept and he'd eventually tuned the presence out. Only way he could sleep, knowing he was being watched.
Dean picked his head up, eyeing Cas who stood at the literal foot of the bed. With a much more reasonable groan, he dropped his head back to the pillow.
"Phantom pain," he muttered, keeping his eyes closed like that, alone, could put him to sleep. There was something else, though, and he knew it. Despite reassurances from Cas that her counterpart still existed in his chest, Dean hadn't felt him. Weeks – weeks – since Rivergrove and he hadn't felt that warmth in his chest, that physical guarantee that his friend was still there. That he wasn't alone.
Right now, all he felt was the phantom cold of death, spreading from his shoulder and into his soul.
He shivered violently, which just pissed him off all the more, and then Cas was next to him. Dean's eyes popped open, looking up at the angel staring down at him. She was silent, those piercing eyes waiting him out. It only took a second – either he was too used to losing to those eyes or too tired to play the game – before Dean sighed, closing his eyes.
"Is Cas- uh, chest Cas…is he alright?"
At the silence that didn't answer his question, Dean slid one eye back open. Cas was staring down at him, head tilted ever so slightly to the side like she was solving a particularly difficult puzzle. Dean cleared his throat self-consciously, already beating himself up for even asking in the first place.
"The, uh, the bullet didn't…you know…hurt him or something?"
God, it sounded stupid out loud. So stupid. Cas was an angel. Not even one with a body, just pure grace, however sliver-y and small, so of course a bullet wouldn't hurt him. But Dean couldn't shake it. Not being able to feel his friend's presence, after all this time with him as a roomie…. Call it some co-dependent shit, whatever. He needed to know. He needed to hear it, if he couldn't friggin' feel it for himself, damnit.
Cas stared at him for another second, eyes as unreadable as they always had been before the angel fell that first time. But she reached her hand out, splaying it across his chest. Dean managed not to suck in an expectant breath in anticipation of that flip-flop joy he knew he wouldn't feel. God, he only felt colder.
As he stared at the angel expectantly, waiting for her verdict (telling himself it was so stupid the entire time), he tried to ignore his brain. It was busy telling him he'd be warmer if there wasn't a couples layers of cloth between her hand and his chest.
He shut his eyes and pretended he hadn't just thought that. Pretended there wasn't something happening in the room with them. Between them.
Stupid female vessel. That's all this was, dangit.
"He is still there," Cas spoke quietly, hand splayed against his blanketed chest. Green eyes popped back open and the human took a shaky breath in. "He is unharmed, Dean. Just weak."
"Thanks."
She withdrew her hand, but remained like a statue beside him.
"You gonna stand there all night?"
That head tilt was unfairly cute on a female vessel. (Which was a total lie. It had been unfairly cute on a male vessel too, Dean just tried not to think about that. Cute like a baby in a trench coat was cute, of course.)
"Yes."
Dean snorted, but ultimately moved his legs to make space on the mattress for an angel's ass (and he was absolutely not putting adjective – cute or otherwise – in front of that one). "At least sit down, or something. You're gonna give yourself a cramp."
The angel seemed about to respond to that (and Dean could already hear the answer: Angels do not get cramps) but instead closed her mouth and settled, primly, on the very edge of the mattress. And he meant very edge. Dean doubted she even had one full cheek on that bed, but that was an argument he was so not ready to have. It's not like he'd win it anyway. He hadn't in the past, after all. Er. Future. Future past. No…past future? Whatever.
"Sleep, Dean," the angel ordered, voice deep and gravely as ever, but also soft. She leaned towards him, two fingers reaching for his forehead. He didn't fight what he knew was coming. Told himself he was too tired to, rather than admit how much he was craving that comforting touch or the oblivion it would bring. "You are thinking loudly again."
Dean didn't even finish the next snort before it turned into a snore.
Unbeknownst to the man riding high to snooze-town on an Angel-Ambien, Sam walked in only seconds later. Not that the Sasquatch was there now. The second bed was empty, though the tussled blankets at least reassured the older Winchester that Sam had gotten some level of sleep. Dean quickly changed out of yesterday's clothes, digging out a pair of jeans and a faded band shirt from the closet. He'd have to restock the spare threads they usually kept at Bobby's house. But hell, it was about time to do laundry anyway. Maybe they could stay a day or two, lay low, refuel a bit.
Although, with Henriksen on their tail (surely both desperate and pissed after this latest disappearing act…) they should probably stay on the move for a while. God, he hated being wanted by the feds. Life on the run was nowhere near as glamorous as Hollywood made it out to be.
Dean ventured downstairs biting back yawns and hoping someone had the grace (translation: intelligence) to make coffee. He could hear the TV – or what turned out to be Sam's computer playing a news broadcast – before he made it to the kitchen. Kid had apparently picked up the search right where he'd left it the night before.
At least there was coffee, he thought, making a beeline past Sam, Andy, and Castiel, all sitting at the kitchen table like some sort of obliviously effed up family breakfast time straight outta the twilight zone. Speaking of breakfast, Bobby was standing over the stove wearing an apron that said, 'kiss the cook' andan early-morning frown that said 'don't even think about it', while making honest to god pancakes. Not that the man hadn't cooked plenty a time for the boys as they stayed throughout the years, but never for a crowd, and never under such odd circumstances.
Okay, not true. Dean definitely remembered weirder 'family' breakfasts or dinners, usually right before they were gearing up to take on the end of the world. Last meal of sorts, when they had time to have 'em.
But there was nothing like that happening now. Unless Bobby thought making the FBI's most wanted list deserved a Last Supper.
Actually… knowing Bobby like he did, Dean really wouldn't put it past the man. As a statement of protest to the situation if nothing else. Not that Dean would listen to such a thing. He'd sure eat his weight in pancakes, regardless, though.
Bobby gave him the side-eye first and a raised brow second as Dean settled against the counter beside him, sipping at his mug of liquid gold. The hunter ignored him in favor of observing the little crowd gathered at the old man's rickety old kitchen table. Cas and Andy were speaking together. At first, Dean just stared at the angel fluently Signing with the kid before he remembered, oh, right, angel. Cas knew every language (not that Dean knew where he stored it all). Why wouldn't American Sign Language be included in that? Beside them, but not actively part of the conversation, Sam was glued to that damn computer once again. It didn't take much listening for Dean to figure what it was he was watching, too.
"One bank employee is confirmed dead, though we cannot release a name at this time. It is believed all three suspects are at still at large, two of which have been linked to previous crimes in California and Maryland. If you have seen any of these men, or have any information on their whereabouts, please contact your local authorities immediately or call the number appearing on your screen now to be connected to the FBI tip line."
Dean spared half a glance at the pictures now on display on Sam's laptop screen. There was a still image of himself, popping his head out of the bank while escorting the guard to the medics (he knew he should have stayed inside and just wished Mr. Okie Dokie the best with the panic attack, but it's not like this was much of a change over last time), a photo of Sam the authorities clearly got from Stanford at some point (probably after the Baltimore fiasco), and possibly the most awkward photo of Ronald, wide eyed, crazy-haired, with nothing but a white wall as a backdrop. An ID photo presumably taken by his last job.
Sheesh. No wonder he got let go.
The hunter turned away from the screen, using the opportunity to refill his already half-empty coffee cup before crossing to the table to oversee what Cas and Andy were up to. Whatever passionate discussion they were having, Dean wasn't privy to. Unlike Sam, who'd spent whatever free time they got – in the car, in the motels before calling it quits at night, or in the cafes and diners while waiting on food – learning ASL, Dean hadn't picked up much more than what Andy taught him in person.
He probably should have gotten Sam to give some lessons as well, come to think of it.
"Whatcha chatting about?" he asked conversationally, leaning against Cas's chair, hip brushing her shoulder. He could feel the muscles in her arm flex and extend as she Signed.
Andy smiled up at him, but gestured at Cas to speak in his stead.
"I offered to heal his injuries."
Dean was gobsmacked for a second time that morning, once again staring at the angel while his brain caught up. It didn't help that despite the clear miracle she was offering, the angel spoke so monotonously.
"Well, that's great!" Dean exclaimed before he'd really thought about it. Pretty much just blurted out the first thought that came to mind when that mind started functioning again.
Although, inevitably, that thought came.
If Cas had healed the kid, why were they still using Sign?
Andy was already shaking his head with quick little lurches side to side. He raised his hand, first to point at himself and then, so fluidly that Dean almost missed the first part, flattened it out, raising that hand to his nose and swiping down into his other palm in what was almost a passing clap. Dean frowned, completely unaware of what the kid had actually said, but a bad kinda feeling was forming in his gut from context alone.
"He declined," Cas translated, craning her neck to look at Dean.
"What?" the hunter blinked, then blinked again, gaze darting between the two like he was watching a tennis match. Or, since Dean Winchester would never attend a tennis match, two scantily clad strippers about to get in a cat fight. Although, in this case, he was way less excited about the outcome.
He settled incredulously on Andy. "Why?"
The kid just smiled at him, that kind of peaceful expression so full of both regret and acceptance it practically floored the hunter who'd seen – and done – just about everything. Dean kinda felt the need to sit down under the glow of that sad little smile. Andy shrugged, but the hunter didn't need ASL to understand him in that moment. Memories of his own sins and the payments he'd made in their name over the years – on Earth, in Heaven, and down below – flitted through his brain like a bad home video. Nothing but regret for the sins and acceptance of the costs.
Son of a bitch.
He got it. Even if it didn't make sense – shouldn't make sense – it made sense to him. Sometimes the talents you had put you in ugly places. Just like sometimes, the ugly places you got put in gave you talents you didn't always wish you had.
Hell, Dean would get rid of several talents of his own if he could. Or, in this case, might not ask for back if they had been taken away by, let's say, a psycho kid with a knife.
So he clasped Andy on the shoulder and squeezed. Yeah, he got it. The kid's hand settled briefly on his, Andy giving him an understanding nod, before Dean withdrew his hand. The silence stretched, one second ticking into the next, and then they were shuffling or shifting weight or mock-coughing to pass the awkwardness of the man-moment they'd just had.
Enough so that even Sam picked his head up from the laptop to glance at them, clearly wondering why no one was talking.
Dean cleared his throat, ready to say something to change the topic, when a plate plopped down on the table loudly enough to do it for him. It was stacked high with pancakes, and when Dean looked up, Bobby had his hands on his hips, apron hitched up, eyebrows raised. The the older man reached over Sam's shoulder a second time and closed his laptop for him, just in case the continued news obsession seemed like an open option.
Cackling, Dean pulled up a chair and sat on the corner between Andy and Cas, grabbing himself a pancake (which he passed between his hands like a game of hot potato before Bobby, muttering under his breath and yet very audibly, grabbed a stack of plates and set them on the table as well. Loudly). Sam rolled his eyes, but decided he would at least eat something before daring to open the computer again. As Andy dug in third, Dean gave the angel on his right a side-eyed glance. When it was clear she had no intention of indulging, he nudged her with an elbow.
"Come on, Cas. Grab a pancake." The 'you've earned it' was more than implied, not that Cas would hear it or understand even if she did.
The angel frowned at the diminishing pile of fluffy, lightly steaming discs sitting in the center of the table.
"I do not require sustenance."
And Dean was glad for that. An angel that required food was a hurting angel, and Dean didn't want to see Cas like that if he could help it. Shit, they'd just gotten Cas back from that. But this was pancakes they were talking about. That wasn't 'sustenance'. It was…well, come on. It was pancakes!
"Come on, man. This is what saving the world's all about."
Dean reached for a pancake, realizing too late that Bobby had only put three plates on the counter. Fair, since it's not like he'd ever seen the angel eat before. So Dean pushed his plate between himself and the angel, offering Cas his fork.
Across the table, Sam damn near choked on his own syrupy breakfast. In his life, outside of himself when he was a kid (and that had ended when he'd turned about thirteen) he had never seen Dean share food willingly. Even when Dean had offered up some of his meal for his kid brother, it was only ever after Sam pulled out the big puppy eyes. The dangerous ones that Jess had once told him were the equivalent of the nuclear option, and he ought to use those things more carefully.
But here Dean was. Going halfsies over breakfast with an angel.
Thank God it wasn't dinner with Bobby cooking pasta or they'd have a straight up Lady and the Tramp moment on their hands, Sam was sure of it.
(Given the waggling eyebrows and barely bit-back grin Andy was sending Sam's way, his thoughts were right along the same page.)
Castiel eyed the fork with clear wariness, but took it from Dean's hand. "I do not see how a mixture of flour, water, and egg, heated and covered in tree sap is a worthy cause to avert the Apocalypse."
The whole table blinked at the sass (even Bobby over at the stove, cooking up a second batch, glanced over his shoulder at that one). Andy wasn't even hiding how hard he was cracking up anymore. Dean looked at Sam, who had no idea how to respond, before grinning like an idiot.
"Well, now you're definitely having one." He pushed the plate a little closer as if to emphasize the statement. Diligently, Cas used the fork to cut a triangular shape in the top pancake, then gently stabbed it and placed the food in her mouth. She chewed slowly while the entire table watched, at least until Dean rolled his eyes and stole his fork back.
"It's world-saving," he affirmed, almost grumpily though the entire room knew it was for show at that point. He stabbed his own piece, far more violently, swirled it in syrup, and popped the ridiculously dripping mess into his mouth. Still chewing, he used the fork to jab in Cas's direction. "Totally worthy. You just don't know."
"Are you still feeling alright, Cas?" Sam asked, seemingly out of the blue for the others in the room. "No lapse in healing, or anything?"
Swallowing, Cas tilted her head as if the question didn't make much more sense to her. "Yes, Sam. You needn't worry. The healing trance-"
"Oh yeah," Dean interrupted through the same mouth full of food. "You were supposed to be sleeping. How'd you know we were in trouble anyway?"
Sam stared at his brother, wholly unimpressed. Dean pulled his head back at the look, even as Cas responded, "I heard your prayer and also felt-"
"I didn't pray to you." The older Winchester was staring at the angel, frowny face in full on frown mode.
The angel just raised her eyebrows. It was a look Dean had come to equate, on any vessel, as are you an idiot or just special? He was pretty sure he'd seen it on Anna first, and she must have taught Cas. Cuz it wasn't long after meeting her that his angel started using it plenty.
"You did."
Dean grumbled into his stack of pancakes that no, he didn't.
"I also felt the wound."
His fork slipped on the plate with a ceramic screech. "Sorry, what?"
"The injury was too close to your soul. The grace there alerted me." Dean blinked, exchanging worried looks with Bobby and Sam. It was news to Bobby, who sure as hell didn't look okay with it. Sam, on the other hand, was nonplussed. Castiel seemed to agree with the concern of the first two. "It is worrying. We should discuss options to remove the grace-"
"Yeah, yeah, we can talk about it later. You're okay, right?" The room shifted into a stunned, awkward silence as Dean changed the topic, pretty damn blatantly too. Not that his innocent, let's-move-on-it-doesn't-matter look gave it away. He was busy looking Cas up and down, like there might be residual physical damage from her injuries (not that there had been before). "Your healing got cut short and you said you, uh, felt the bullet. But, um, you're okay now, though…right?"
Cas nodded. "The trance was almost complete. I will be fine healing while awake."
"Hell yeah," the hunter beamed, digging back into his food. "Angel on board!"
"On board what?"
Dean didn't even let Cas's obliviousness bother him. He nudged the top pancake with his fork. "Just shut up and eat your breakfast."
Cas continued to glare – or the equivalent of a glare for the angel – but grabbed the fork from Dean's hand, much to his protest. Sam considered getting up and grabbing another fork, but why interrupt the happy couple?
"It takes like molecules," Cas practically muttered before stabbing another piece and diligently eating it.
"Molecules of deliciousness," Dean grumbled back before reclaiming his fork and plate, declaring her and her taste buds a lost cause.
Another plate clattered down on the table, loudly, causing all occupants but Andy to jump. Unlike the others, he'd seen Bobby coming with the newest plate-load of food. The benefits of taking the seat that faced the kitchen.
"You all wanna keep honeymooning, or shall we talk business?" the old man grumped. He was eyeing both hunter and angel, the former of who choked on his bite of pancake and blamed that for the reason he was blushing redder than a tomato. Cas just looked up at Bobby expectantly, not entirely sure what businessthere was to discuss and waiting on him to indicate a topic.
"Sure, Bobby." Sam, ever the mediator, took the opportunity (excuse) to open his laptop back up.
They took a few minutes in and among bites of pancake to talk about what being chased – really chased – by the FBI meant for all of them.
"Don't suppose you can fix that for us, huh?" Dean asked nonchalantly, casting the angel beside him a side-glance that was equally nonchalant. Perhaps a bit too much so. Cas was less beat-around-the-bush with her return look and the hunter shrugged. "Yeah, didn't think so."
Which meant they were going to need a whole new type of laying low. The topic turned to the how of it, which was when Dean remembered their lack of hex bags (geez, that felt like years ago now) and turned to Cas.
"We need more of those human toe mushrooms."
Andy choked on his tree-sap covered flour, water, and egg to the point where several at the table would have intervened, were it not for his flapping hand indicating he'd survive.
The unblinking stare the angel leveled Dean's way after that told him Cas had no idea what he was talking about more than any words she could have used would have. Dean opened his mouth to clarify (or make things worse, who knew) when Bobby harrumphed from where he was leaning against the counter. He lowered his fork, pancake hanging from the prongs, to give Cas a look that could only be described as kindergarten teacher.
"The idjit means they're outta the makings for those hex bags, and need more."
"Oh. Of course," Cas replied immediately once she understood what was being requested of her in a manner which made infinitely more sense. While she understood Bobby about as well as she understand any human (which was, admittedly, not particularly well), she did appreciate his tendency to be more straightforward than the older Winchester brother. "However, I believe the time for a more permanent solution to hide your whereabouts has come."
Dean pulled his head back for a third time that morning, frown forming between his eyes. "What do you mean more permanent- Gah!"
The hunter doubled forward with a gasp, Cas's hand pressing flat to his chest with little force but serious impact. There was a flash of pain – gone so fast he hardly registered it all – across his ribs. Then the angel was pulling back, leaving Dean sitting there, no worse for wear but certainly stunned. There was a vaguer sense of déjà vu than he was used to lately floating around the back of his eyeballs.
"What the hell," he breathed out, trying to remember how to do that normally. He rubbed at his chest, then poked at his ribs experimentally, suspicion forming pretty quickly as the surprise passed.
"Dean?" Sam asked cautiously, glancing between his brother and his brother's angel, computer momentarily forgotten. Behind him, Bobby had started forward, plate still in hand, that piece of pancake poised on his fork now forgotten about entirely. But Dean straightened up with a shake of his head to clear it and call them off. Both hunters settled back hesitantly.
"I'm alright," Dean confirmed, then glared at the angel who had surely just imprinted Enochian warding on his ribs for a second time in his life. "A little warning next time?"
Cas tilted her head, no doubt thinking about that little bell chime she'd used to announce her departure from the car last time Dean had a similar request. The human opened his mouth to tell her not to even dare when Sam interrupted. Unlike them, no one else in the room understood what had just happened.
"Uh, Cas?" he asked, drawing the angel's attention. "What…was all that?"
"I inscribed Enochian warding onto his ribs, as I will for the rest of you as well."
The physical step Bobby took back, bouncing right back off the kitchen counter, suggested that was going to be a big ole' no on his part. Sam looked slightly less apprehensive, but only slightly, as he glanced between brother and angel.
"It's fine," Dean grumbled, still rubbing at his chest. "Only hurts for a second and it's the damn definition of tamper proof. Trust me."
"I'll bet," Bobby huffed, still eyeing Dean up and down as well as Cas, like the angel might pounce on his rib cage if he turned his back for even a second. "Gotta be pretty damn hard to scrape that shit off."
Cas looked slightly perturbed by the imagery, but settled for a brisk, "Precisely. If I may?"
She held her hand out to Sam, whose reluctance was obvious in the way his gaze flickered to the appendage, then Dean. His older brother gave him nod, which was more reassuring than any single gesture really ought to be. So Sam nodded at the angel. She pressed her outspread hand to the larger man's chest and Sam took in a sharp breath, both surprised and pained, then surprised to no longer be in pain. Just like that, it was over and the angel retreated, turning to Andy. While Sam recovered his breathing, rubbing at his ribs just as Dean had, Andy stuck out his chest with absolutely no qualms whatsoever.
He let out the fist-equivalent of a "whoop!" followed by signing, 'What a rush!' once Castiel was done.
The angel turned to Bobby but the hunter raised his fork, pointing it at the woman before she could raise from her chair like he might beat her back with utensils alone. Dean didn't actually doubt he'd find a way to do it, too. This was Bobby, after all.
"Don't even think about it. I'll pass."
"But-"
"I'm good," Bobby insisted sternly, eyeing Cas's hand like she planned to burn him rather than help hide him from prying eyes. "I'll stick to my own devices, thank you very much."
Castiel retreated back to her seat, glancing at Dean who just shook his head subtly. Confused but aware of her own shortcomings when it came to the intricacies of human nature, she relented, settling in the chair once more.
At least until their last houseguest came to, shooting himself right off the couch in the den, yelling to boot. Again.
-o-o-o-
Thinking it was best to get some distance between Ronald and the angel he kept eyeing warily all through their discussion of the events at the bank, the supernatural, and where they were and how they got there, Dean mentioned offhandedly that maybe Cas should go for a walk. When she stared uncomprehendingly at him, about to ask why she, an angel, would need to walk anywhere at this precise moment, Dean rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and told her to go somewhere else for the next half hour, kay?
Picking up on what the hunter was getting at as he motioned not-so-subtly at the wary Ronald, Cas not-so-casually mentioned improving the warding around the Salvage Yard and promptly disappeared. Ronald leapt out of his seat at the sudden and visual proof of teleportation. At the same time, Bobby leaned backwards to holler out the nearest open window about how his house was perfectly damn safe as is, thank you very much.
Sarge picked his head up at the angel's departure, having been dozing on the rug in the middle of them all. Hardly caring about the human reaction to it all, which was far from quiet or calm, the Shepherd climbed to his feet and trotted out of the room, into the kitchen where they heard him push the screen door open. It closed behind him and Bobby shook his head, eyes raised heavenly, like he was praying for patience. He had no doubt the mutt would go walk the perimeter right alongside Cas. Sarge had formed some sort of natural affinity to the angel ever since she glared him into silence the night before. Never let her out of his sight, so much as he could help it.
Bobby was pretty sure the dog had gone upstairs with the angel last night. Which didn't have him grinding his teeth at all at the idea of his dog (technically Andy's dog, Bobby would insist (at least in any other argument but this one)), groveling after some angel just because she bossed him around with her mind, or whatever it was angels had that controlled their powers. Not at all.
Of course, Sarge was far from subservient in any definition of the term. The dog made for an intimidating figure even when he was dogging after Cas like she was the damn sunshine. He looked more like a personal bodyguard than a loyal companion.
Poor pup didn't seem to realize Cas needed little protecting. Not that the angel seemed to mind the company as the two disappeared among the cars that littered his property.
Angels.
Bobby snorted.
Dogs.
The departure of the angel left Dean and Bobby to finish explaining how things were to Ronald somewhat in peace. Sam might be in the same room, but he wasn't contributing to the conversation, instead focused on finding as much information as he could on Victor Henrisken and the FBI's file on them. His opinion of Ronald in general wasn't hard to figure out even if he hadn't put it into words since the bank. He wanted nothing to do with getting the chaotic, haphazard man into a life of hunting, believing the idiot would get himself killed the first time he went after something.
Dean figured the man was headed down that path no matter what anyone had to say about it, might as well prep him the best they could. Hopefully that would extend his lifespan further than Sam anticipated.
Andy was doing what Andy did best: sitting next to the man, occasionally commenting (to which Bobby had to translate), spooking the hell out of him with his telepathic imaging (to which Bobby still had to translate), messing with him after he was done freaking out, and just generally putting Ronald at ease in the most counter-productive, unlikely of ways. Like only Andy could in tense, unpredictable situations. It was clear within half an hour of the two men being in the same room that Andy was automatically Ronald's favorite, and the one he trusted most.
How Andy could do that every dang time, Dean would never really know.
By the end of the second hour mark, Ronald knew a little more about what was out there in the world, and how to fight it.
"But…if all that's real, how come nobody knows about it?" He glanced between Bobby and Dean, the spokespersons in this situation, even for Andy.
"Because it's just not that common," Bobby answered with his trademark harrumph. "Sure, hunters always got enough work between 'em, but there's what, three hundred million people in this country? Supernatural deaths don't account for more than one, maybe two hundred a year."
"Easier to write off the occasional unexplainable death than accept something you've been told your whole life isn't real," Dean added with a touch of bitterness. Ronald blinked at him, then lowered his gaze to his lap, where he was fiddling his fingers.
"And…her?" he glanced nervously out the window, in the same direction where Bobby had hollered at Cas. Dean followed his gaze, even though he couldn't see the angel out there. He could picture her, though, walking the perimeter, adding new sigils to the fence. Probably in her own blood.
"Cas is with us," Dean reiterated what he'd said last night, for all the good it did them. Ronald wasn't going to feel better about their mysterious savior until he knew who or what she was. And Dean wasn't telling him that. "You don't need to worry about her."
"But…she's….what is she?" he asked, not for the first time. "I mean…she's not…not human…right?"
"No, she's not," Bobby confirmed, earning himself a glare from Dean which he shot right back. He wasn't dumb enough to go talking about angels to a man he barely knew. Didn't his boy know that? "But Dean's right. She's on our side, and that's all you need to know."
Ronald didn't look satisfied, returning his gaze - significantly grumpier now – to his lap. Dean's gut twisted with a weird feeling he didn't like. "So…what now?"
"Now, we get you some wheels, set you up with a fake ID, and send you on your way." Dean put it pretty bluntly, leaving no room for an open ended invitation. They didn't need the mess that was Ronald Reznick added to the mess that was their own lives. But he could tell from Ronald's wide eyed look that getting him on his way wasn't going to be quite enough. He pointed at the man, waggling his finger until those big ole brown eyes focused solely on that digit. "You can't go home, Ronald."
"But-"
"You robbed a bank, you moron," Bobby grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Your old life is over. You can do whatever you want – hunt, don't hunt – but from now on you do it under the radar or off grid. You're wanted by the FBI for christ's sake."
"There's a bar," Dean interjected before Ronald could, "called the Roadhouse. Common hunter hangout. If you want to pursue this life, you can start there. Find someone to teach you the ropes, make sure you don't get yourself killed."
"Why can't you guys teach me the ropes?"
"Because we've got our own shit to deal with." It was Sam who answered, the first words he'd spoken in the conversation so far. He didn't even look up – kept his eyes on his laptop screen.
Dean cleared his throat. His brother wasn't wrong. "We're kinda busy with…something, Ronald. We don't have time for a trainee, alright?"
The larger man didn't look happy at that, but didn't argue either. Andy nudged him with an elbow and made a gesture that needed no translating. It would be okay. Amazingly, Ronald seemed to relax at that.
Both Dean and Bobby shook their heads. Andy, the friggin' mute Jedi.
-o-o-o-
When Dean found Cas, she was, indeed, painting Bobby's fence with her own blood. The hunter just shook his head at the sight – it was apparently a morning for headshakes – and walked up to her as she finished drawing the last sigil. They flashed with a bright, pure white light before fading out of existence entirely, soaked into the wood.
"Hello, Dean."
"Hey, Cas." He fell in step beside her as she moved to the next section of fence, arm still freely bleeding (which he tried not to think about). Sarge was a dozen feet back, sniffing at the pine needles and patches of dry grass smattered along the ground. Every so often he would freeze, duck his head real slow, and then pounce on the ground and start to dig.
Probably chasing mice, Dean figured, ignoring the amusement he felt. He didn't like dogs, damnit. Even if Sarge was a Shepherd like the Colonel, and the Colonel had maybe changed his mind, a little, about dogs.
Then again, he'd been using witchcraft that day, so who's to say the spell didn't mess with his mind. Because Dean Winchester didn't do dogs.
"Have you finished your conversation?"
He wasn't sure if that was an angel's way of asking if it was safe to return to the house. Close enough to it, probably. "Yeah. Ronald's gonna head out soon. Bobby's finding him some wheels."
The frown that formed on Cas's face, pinching her brow together between her eyes, was unfairly cute. Dean kept that to himself, wondering – not for the first time – what his brain's deal was lately. He could practically hear the angel asking what Ronald needed wheels for, but unlike the Cas from his time, this one had a dragon lady to explain.
That frown disappeared, and Dean told himself he was not disappointed. God, he needed to a drink. Or to get laid.
…That thought did not help anything, and Dean had to actively hold back a groan.
He cleared his throat awkwardly – not that Cas noticed – and decided to get to why he'd joined the angel out here in the first place. "I, uh, was thinking maybe you could…adjust his memory a bit."
Cas turned her head somewhat sharply in his direction from where she'd started painting on the last of the wood posts. She did not stop her sigil work, but her eyes were intense enough Dean wondered if he'd maybe just crossed a line. His Cas had done it before, not that the angel had been much happier about it that time, either.
The man from the future had to remind himself that were he came from, extreme measures weren't so out of place. Desperate times and all that. But they weren't in his time. At least not yet.
(Never, he promised himself fiercely).
Maybe he shouldn't have asked so cavalierly.
"I mean, erm…" Dean cleared his throat again, for entirely different reasons this time. "Ronald's gonna talk. Maybe not on purpose, but just look at the guy." He gestured offhandedly back towards the house, and Cas followed his arm like she might actually spot Ronald in that direction. "We didn't tell him what you were, but he's seen enough to cause trouble."
Not to mention that Dean was pretty sure he'd let slip a time-travel comment when he was bleeding out on the floor of the bank. He didn't really remember what – he'd been a little preoccupied at the time – but if Ronald got chatting with other hunters, it could come up.
They'd already had one near-fatal run-in with Gordon Walker. Dean really didn't want to find out what other hunters thought of the psychic, time-traveling Winchesters and their supernatural guard dog.
Dean had no illusions that Gordon had hunting buddies of his own. Some that might even visit him in prison. It was how he'd gotten out last time, Dean had been sure of it at the time. Which meant they were already going to have to keep an eye on that situation and the shit Gordon might spread. The Winchesters did not need one of those buddies running into a loud mouth Ronald Reznik.
"Is this something I did for you often in your timeline?"
The question wasn't necessarily unexpected, but it still hit Dean like a punch to the gut. He could tell from Cas's reserved tone that she disapproved of the request. Which meant she was now asking if this was something she was expected to do in her service of the Winchesters to save the world.
Something about that bugged the shit out of him, but Dean wasn't sure what. He was pretty sure it had to do with knowing his Cas had fought for them – with them – and Fallen because of his admiration – his love, really – for humans. For their free will, more than anything. A freedom that Dean was asking her – had asked him before – to violate, however minimally.
Or, you know, something like that. Probably.
"No," the hunter muttered somewhat hastily after catching his breath from that sucker punch. A sucker punch Cas didn't even know she'd delivered. "I, um…just once. And that time, it was…"
It was Lisa and Ben. They were…they were an exception. They'd been in danger, and he'd had to save them. He'd had to.
Now he was just sucker punching himself, damnit.
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," he tried instead. Which, of course, made him immediately realize how much it wasn't. Not the way that really mattered. This wasn't like Ben and Lisa.
Ah, shit.
Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp in what should have been soothing but was, in fact, more punishing than anything.
"Forget it," he mumbled, dropping his hand.
Sarge, who was wondering up to them at that moment, startled at the sudden movement, then leaned in to sniff at Dean's fingers. He gave a quick, investigational lick, causing the hunter to let out a startled noise that sounded a lot like "Gyah!" The Shepherd tilted his head at the reaction, ears huge and sticking straight up. Dean, rubbing his hand on his jeans, stuck his tongue out him, but the dog's attention was suddenly elsewhere. His ear twitched, then turned towards the house. Sarge took off with a bark and ferociously wagging tale.
Probably a squirrel this time.
When Dean turned back to the angel, Cas was still watching him. She seemed to have forgotten that blinking was a thing. Dean cleared his throat for a third time, rubbing the back of his knuckles on his jacket absentmindedly. They still felt slimy.
"I, uh, I should probably take a page out of Sam's book on this one and just talk to him."
"Yes," Cas said with so little hesitation it was almost friggin' rude. Dean gave her some side-eye, not that she would notice. Dragon Lady would, though. Angela could explain it to her. "Communication does seem to be a less dramatic course of action."
The side-eye tripled in power. In fact, it turned into direct-eye by the time Dean was done whipping his head her way.
"Did Dragon Lady tell you to say that?" he asked, tone more than just a little suspicious.
Cas didn't answer, just stared with those piercing eyes. Dean was pretty sure he could see that dang devil lady behind those stupidly blue pools. The angel broke eye contact to heal her bleeding arm and pull down the sleeve of her coat.
Dean sighed, turning back towards the house with a resigned step. He could feel Cas at his back, following. Bobby and Ronald were out front, standing next to a roughly idling Camry, Sarge already with them. Guess Bobby had been the squirrel, then.
The dusty, sun-faded-gold sedan had clearly seen better days, but she was running and that was more than any hunter new to the game could really ask for. Ronald was eyeing it like the whole thing might fall apart at any minute. Dean knew he'd get over it by the time he realized how hard the life of a hunter actually was.
"Hey Ron, got a sec?" He walked up to the larger man, using his head to gesture away from the running vehicle and Bobby. The gruff old man reached through the driver's side window to turn the car back off even as Ronald, wide-eyed, followed Dean several paces away. "Look…about the bank, and how we got out of there…. You can't tell anyone."
The noobie hunter's eyes went wide, but Dean cut him off before he could interject.
"Other hunters, they don't know about Cas. And we gotta keep it that way." He tried to get Ronald to see the importance of this with the intensity of his gaze alone. He doubt it worked, but it did seem to scare the shit out of the man. Dean would take fear over understanding if it got him where he needed to be. "Cas is on our side, but some people aren't gonna see it that way. You get that?"
Ronald clearly didn't. He looked put out and confused – mostly the latter, but the guy pretty much had two types of expressions: ecstatic or pouting. Every emotion fell somewhere into those two. This version of the pout said he was torn between arguing and asking a thousand questions.
"I mean, we could just have Cas erase your memory," Dean continued, cheating a bit. Whatever got him where he needed to be, right? He could practically feel Cas's eyes snap onto his back, but he mentally told the angel to fuck off in case she was listening in. "I'm trying to give you a chance to do the right thing, here."
He might be compromising a bit, but a compromise was still communication. Dean was pretty damn proud of himself for this one, and he thought his angel should be too.
Ronald, on the other hand, made a sound suspiciously close to 'meep' and Dean sighed.
"Come on, man. She doesn't want to do that to you. She saved our skins back there," Dean exclaimed, gesturing vaguely back towards Bobby and the angel without actually turning to look at them. "Least we can do is make sure no one comes after her for it, right?"
Oddly enough, that seemed to click with the other man. He straightened up slightly, a glint of determination in his eye like a knight excepting a quest. Ronald nodded, his expression turning serious. Dean probably should have realized sooner that putting his request in terms of saving someone was going to get him where he needed to be with a lot less hassle. Ronald had the makings of a hunter, after all, and they all spoke a similar language: heroism or revenge. Or both.
Ronald gave another, more parting nod that wasn't awkward at all (no, not at all, Dean thought with a roll of his eyes), then turned and walked over to the angel. Cas, standing next to Ronald's new vehicle, all but milling about with Bobby (and what an odd sight that was), looked at the approaching man with a curious tilt of her head.
"I won't tell a soul," Ronald proclaimed, seemingly out of nowhere for the two who weren't a part of the conversation. Not that they couldn't figure out what had been said. Ronald raised one hand, folding his thumb and pinky together to leave three fingers raised. "Scout's honor."
Despite knowing that this version of Castiel had no idea what a scout was, Dean watched his angel nod back with all the same solemnity. A queen all but blessing her white knight. Dean resisted burying his head in his hand and wondered if he'd maybe taken a harder hit back at the bank (perhaps to his skull rather than his chest).
Maybe he was caught up in another one of Charlie's LARPing games. Or one of Gabriel's tricks. This had all the makings of a bunch of nerds. He was sure of it.
Bobby, who seemed to be on the same page as Dean, exaggeratedly cleared his throat, eyebrows near his hairline. "Well, now that that's out of the way…"
He gestured to the car in a less than gracious form of 'get in and get out of here already.'
Ronald made a little exclamation of "Oh, right!" and climbed in. It took a couple tries to get the engine going again, but then he was backing out of the salvage yard and flipping the Camry onto the main road. He turned left, heading towards state lines and the Roadhouse.
Dean exchanged a glance with Bobby, then gestured with his chin for Cas to follow them back inside. He wondered how long it would be before Ellen called, hollering at them for sending her such an unprepared mess.
-o-o-o-
It took four hours. Which was about six and a half minutes longer than it took to drive from Bobby's home to the Roadhouse.
Sam picked up the landline as it rang, immediately wincing and pulling away from the phone at the volume of whoever was on the other end of the line. He held the thing out for his brother with a scrunched up face. Dean took it with all the wariness of a member of the bomb squad.
"What do you think my bar is, a daycare?"
The older Winchester flinched at the tone even as he grinned. He couldn't help it. Ellen was a damn scary lady, but he didn't think he'd ever get tired of the tough mom routine.
"He's gotta learn from someone, Ellen, and all the best come through you."
The woman grumbled several things not fit for ears belonging to anyone but the dead or about to be, then the line clicked and he got a dial tone. Dean just laughed, tossing the phone back to his brother who hung it up.
They should probably make a point to swing by Nebraska sometime soon and drop off at least a case of beer and some info worth trading. Knowing Ellen, that would just be a start. She'd have them earning her forgiveness with months of the crappiest hunts.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
A/Ns: So, for reals, this chapter started out as five paragraphs about the boys calling it a night, Bobby forcing Sam to quit the computer, and then they slept, wanted men. AND THEN. I was like…oh, I should squeeze Sam chatting with Cas into that. That became FIVE PAGES. And then I took a break, and when I came back I was all, Oh, and some Dean and Cas! But…where…. And that turned into TEN PAGES which included a non-linear shift back in time to the night before [facepalm] Five paragraphs saying they went to friggin bed turned into TEN PAGES of just trying to go to bed. [insert staring at the ceiling here] Sweet Jesus, I am hopeless.
Not Healing Andy: For those of you who were asking me about Cas healing him, I hope this chapter explains it. Cas wasn't in any shape before now to do so, otherwise you know she'd try it as soon as she noticed. Hopefully it makes sense why Andy might refuse. Yes, part of it is pure author's motivation to keep him from becoming an overly-powerful character, but the majority of it is actually character-based. With the growth I gave him through this story, I think Andy might naturally come to an acceptance of his injury and his new place in the world due to it. I think Webber's power and the possibility of his own scares the shit out of him a lot more in this story than it ever did in the show. I hope I adequately showed how he woke up to that realization, and that he might be afraid to regain his voice and power for what he might do with it.
Update: Okay, I have awesome news and not so awesome news. The awesome news: GABRIEL IS UP NEXT! FINALLY! [insert me flailing here and calling it dancing] The not so awesome news: Iiiiiiiiiiit's not written yet [insert me sobbing here] And what I do have written has, of course, spiraled into a tangent of Dean/Cas, Dean hugging Cas, a Sam-to-Dean heart-to-heart that is really more of a heart-to-an-oblivious-idiot-who-thinks-he-doesn't-deserve-to-be-loved and WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE GETTING TO GABRIEL.
[headdesk]
[headdesk]
[aaand one more for good measure. HEAD DESK]
Sigh. So I will keep working on all...er...that, but I don't know when I'll be able to post it. Hopefully in two to three weeks (I'm on vacation this week, and it's the fun, chase-around-a-two-year-old-at-DisneyWorld type vacation, but also the no-time-or-energy-for-writing-after-all-day-at-the-park kinda vacation)
(...I just realized that wording makes it sound like I plan on chasing random two year olds around DisneyWorld. While...frankly hilarious, I actually meant my two year old niece XD)
So, I will get you all a chapter just as soon as I can, but it may be a stretch again. Thank you all so so so so so so SO much for your patience, understanding, and, always, your encouragement.
Cheers,
Silence
Additional Note 4/6/2022 - Cole: I forgot to add a note about Cole! Okay, so for anyone who hasn't read the deleted scenes connected to this story, I originaly thought about including Cole towards the end of Season 1. However, when I first got the idea I did the appropriate reasearch to make sure it would work and learned...it totally wouldn't [insert facepalm here] Cole was supposed to be 13 when Dean murdered his father in 2003, which would only make him 16 or 17 now. But I don't want teenage Cole. I want badass Marine Cole. To add insult to injury, the timelines don't line up on the show, either. If he was 13 in 2003, then he was 24 or 25 when we first meet him on the show. But he's done two tours and he's special ops (not something easy to get into with little experience), plus he has a kid who looks at least 8 (I think older, but I'm being generous here). While all of that is plausible it still seems unlikely to me. To rub salt into that insulted injury, the worst part of all is that Cole's actor looks way older than his twenties (and indeed was far older) Which makes MUCH MORE SENSE for a two time tour, father of an 8-12 year old, special opps marine. So anyway, long story short, I asked readers to vote on whether they were okay with me breaking the already-broken-but-cannon-timelines to fit Cole into this story. The almost unanimous response was yes, and so here we are!
We're gonna have a lot of fun with him, I promise XD
Just as an FYI for all you accuracy nerds out there (my people ;P) my plan is to have Cole be in his early thirties when he first meets Dean in 2014, and still have his dad get killed when he's 13. Which means Dean stumbled onto that hunt the exact same way, just in 1995 instead of 2003, making Dean about 16. Which also makes more sense that a young, teenage Dean doing a solo hunt might mess up so badly as to murder a man in front of his kid. So for the most part the only change in the timeline that will be obvious is Cole hasn't met his wife or had his son yet.
Anyhoo, that's the plan! Hope you all are here for it :D