On These More Familiar Roads--Chapter Three (3/5)--SPN Fic
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They stop in Taos to check for directions. The air is thinner here and the change in pressure leaves Cas a little light-headed. The irony that he apparently has trouble with high elevations isn’t lost on him, but he keeps it to himself. Dean’s got a local map they picked up at the visitor center spread over the steering wheel and the sharp focus in his eyes that usually accompanies the death of something evil.
Their destination is another old farmhouse, this time on an abandoned horse ranch that’s far enough out that any strange activity should go unreported. Luckily for them, it hadn’t. The ranch’s nearest neighbor had called the police the day before, saying she heard strange noises in the night and that there was an odd smell when she drove by. The police had sent a car by, apparently finding nothing, but Cas knows there are a dozen ways the demons could hide themselves from prying eyes. It’s not much, but it is in the center of the demonic omens Cas found, and it’s the only lead they have.
There’s no snow, but the ground is frozen, making the thud of their footsteps seem unusually loud. Dean had been forced to leave the Impala outside the locked gate at the main road, but the walk up to the house doesn’t take too long.
When they get within sight of the house, Cas freezes. There’s a thin blue line of smoke floating up from the chimney and an old truck parked out front. Beside him, Dean mutters a quiet curse and Cas silently agrees. For all that he hoped they’d find Sam, he hadn’t really expected anyone to actually be here.
“What do we do now?” he says, voice low.
“Well, we can’t just go in shooting,” Dean says. “They could be demons, they could just be squatters, no way to tell.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a flask. “You ready?”
“Of course.” Cas takes a deep breath. The cold burns his throat, but it’s steadying. His hand finds the comforting weight of the sword stowed in his jacket.
The porch creaks loudly under their feet. Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas and knocks on the front door, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the cold air. The door opens almost immediately and, for a second, Cas thinks there’s no one there. Then he looks down.
“Hello?” It’s a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, with wild hair and an Iron Man t-shirt.
Dean hesitates, then bends down a little. “Hi, are your parents home? We’re with the police.”
The boy gives him a dubious look, but yells, “Mom!” over his shoulder anyway.
A woman appears a second later. She’s older, with steel-gray hair pulled into a messy bun, and she smiles when she sees them. “Come on in.” She nudges the boy out of the way and pulls the door open wider.
For a second, Dean’s eyes meet Cas,’ then he’s smiling broadly at the woman and stepping through the door. Cas takes a moment to acknowledge that this is probably one of the stupidest things he’s ever done as a human, and follows him.
The door slams shut behind them in a way that Cas is truly hoping isn’t ominous. Inside, it’s dark, most of the light coming from the massive fireplace on the far wall. The walls are lined with trophies, the glassy eyes of elk and mountain lions staring down at them, and Cas suppresses a shudder.
“We’ve been expecting you for a while,” the woman says, and the boy smiles, eyes flashing black.
Fuck.
“Just tell us where my brother is,” Dean growls, enough menace in his voice that the hairs at the back of Cas’ neck prickle and the demons lose a little of the smugness on their faces. “You know who we are, you know what we can do to you. Do you really want to cross me?”
The woman smiles and flicks her wrist. Dean’s thrown across the room, hitting the wall by the fireplace with a dull thud. She takes a few steps towards him, clenching her outstretched hand into a fist, and Dean’s punched-out breath tells Cas as much as a scream would have.
“Yes, the great Dean Winchester. See, the thing I always heard was how very fragile you are. Torture your brother, hurt your angel-it’s just a matter of finding your buttons, and there’s so very many of them. That’s the reason you broke so easily in Hell.” She smiles, cocking her head at him. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll see your brother again. Of course, by then it’ll be too late. There’s no way to tell if he’ll even be anything you’d recognize as your blood.”
Dean moans again, but Cas can’t afford to let himself get distracted. The demons are barely paying attention to him as they gloat over Dean, possibly assuming that Cas is the lesser threat. They’re probably right, but Cas has been underestimated for most of his very long life, and most of those that have doubted him are now dead. He intends to add these demons to that list.
He adjusts his grip on the angel sword and lunges, aiming for the female demon’s heart. She turns, just a fraction too slow, and the blade catches in her blouse, scraping along her ribs. She shrieks, louder and higher-pitched that any human lungs can manage, making the windows shudder in their frames.
It’s the boy that turns on him. Cas hits the wall hard and stays pinned to the wood. He’d lost his hold on the sword on impact and it skitters across the floor, finally resting far out of his or Dean’s reach.
“You hurt my mommy,” the boy says. His voice doesn’t seem natural, too singsong and exaggerated, like the demon has forgotten what a real child sounds like.
It hurts to talk past the weight on his chest, but Cas pushes past it. If they’re focused on him, then maybe Dean will have a chance to act. “We both know she’s not your mother.”
“She’s this useless sack of meat’s mother.” The boy shrugs. “Close enough.” He smirks at Cas, and raises his hand. Cas doesn’t have time to brace himself against the pain, but it doesn’t matter. He couldn’t have prepared himself even if he had. He knows it’s not real, that it’s just an echo of Hellfire that the demon has conjured, but it still tears through him, overriding every other thought. Dimly, he hears someone scream, but he doesn’t realize it’s him until the demons start to laugh.
“So this is what happens to an angel when you take out all the important bits,” the woman’s saying, but Cas can barely hear her past the roaring in his ears. The pain isn’t coming from any one place in his body-if it had, he’d have a chance to compartmentalize, shove it to the back of his mind and keep trying to fight-but it’s enveloping him, burning across his skin and through his bones.
Just when Cas’ vision is staring to darken around the edges, a voice breaks through the pain.
“Exorcizamus te-” it’s saying, and somehow, impossibly, it’s Sam, his voice weak but unmistakably him. Sam’s here. He’s alive. It’s enough to make Cas fight against the demons’ hold again, and then he’s free, the agony suddenly stopping as the demons’ attention turns to Sam and his steady, precise exorcism. He falls to the ground, his muscles still weak from the pain, and tries to remember how to breathe. In the distance, the exorcism rolls over him, mixed with the demon’s screams, but for now he’s happy to just lie here.
Then Dean cries out and Cas forces himself to focus. The exorcism is still going, draining the demons’ powers. The boy is on the ground, hands over his ears as if he’ll be safe from the words if he can’t hear them. The woman hasn’t given up yet. Dean’s still sprawled by the fireplace, and she’s straddling him, hands crushing his windpipe. There’s no sign of Sam.
Cas staggers to his feet and barrels at her. He manages a halfway decent tackle, knocking her off of Dean, but she’s still stronger than him, and rolls them until she’s on top, holding him down. Cas grabs for her wrists, but she bats his hand out of the way and wraps her fingers around his throat. He gasps for air, searching the floor around them for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon, but only finds empty air.
It’s Sam who saves him. The exorcism finishes with a forceful, “Audi nos!” and the demon screams. Cas watches, dazed, as the black smoke streams up through the ceiling. The woman crumples, falling half-off of Cas onto the floor. He’s not sure if she’s survived.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is shaky, but he’s alive. Cas basks in that for a second. “Cas? Dammit, Cas, are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed,” Cas manages. His skin still feels raw, but there’s no physical damage. He edges out from under the woman, trying to ease her gently onto the floor.
“Is she breathing?” Dean’s pulled himself up against the bricks of the fireplace. He’s pale, but Cas can’t tell if he’s injured or not.
Cas presses shaking fingers to her throat and breathes until he’s steady enough to feel for a pulse. “Barely.” He’d have thought she was dead, but he’s fairly sure there’s still a thready beat under his fingers.
“Can you check the kid?”
The boy’s breathing is stronger, and for the first time, Cas thinks that maybe both hosts might survive. “Should we take them to a hospital?”
Dean shakes his head, then winces. “We need to get out of here. Call 911, tell them there was, I dunno, a burglary, anything.”
Cas is already feeling for his phone. “Where’s Sam?”
Dean closes his eyes. “It was just a recording.” He holds up his own phone. “About a year before you came along, we took out a mess of demons by broadcasting an exorcism through the PA system, and Sam thought it might come in handy again sometime.” He slides the phone back into his pocket. “He wanted to be sure I was prepared.”
A recording. That explained the odd tinny quality that Cas had attributed to weakness. There’s a voice on the other end of the line, and he manages something, he’s not even sure what, except that he knows he was able to get in the address and that it was urgent. He gives what he’s fairly sure is the fake name Dean had given the police when they’d first got to town, then hangs up.
“Do you need a hand?”
Dean is still sitting hunched by the fireplace, holding his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “that might be good.”
Cas gets an arm around Dean’s chest and pulls him up, steadying himself with his other hand. Dean hisses and grabs at Cas’ shirt. Dean’s hand is stained red, and Cas swallows hard.
“I’ve got you, Dean.”
The walk back to the car, which had been bracing before, now feels like a marathon. Dean can walk, or that’s what he keeps insisting, but when Cas tries to let him stand on his own, he stumbles on the first step, almost falling to the hard ground. Somehow, they make it to the Impala before the ambulance arrives. Dean collapses into the passenger’s seat and Cas slides in next to him, fumbling the key into the ignition.
“Do you need medical attention?” He thinks Dean would be honest with him-after all he’s been injured so many times that he probably has a good grasp of what he can fix on his own-but he’s also prepared to knock Dean out and drag him to a hospital if he needs to.
Dean shakes his head. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Cas pulls out onto the highway, the tires kicking up dust. In the distance, there’s the wail of sirens somewhere behind them. He doesn't look back.
He drives faster than he generally likes, but Dean's face is still ashy-pale and he's keeping up a steady stream of curses under his breath.
"How badly are you injured?"
Dean shifts, then swears a little louder. "I think I hit one of those trophies. Something with horns. It feels like my back might have been kinda torn up."
Cas' jaw tightens. "Tell me the truth, Dean, do you need a doctor?"
"Can you handle sewing me up?"
"If that's what you need me to do." The prospect of stitching Dean back together like a broken doll is uninviting, but Cas hasn't yet found the limits of what he'll do for Dean. A few stitches should be nothing.
"Then I'll be fine. We should stop somewhere, get bandages, booze."
They reach the intersection with the highway and Cas turns north. Dean arches his back slightly and Cas glances over at him. "Shit," Dean says, "I'm bleeding all over the seat."
"I'm sure it's not the first blood it's seen."
"Yeah, but do you know how hard it is to get blood out of leather? It's a pain in the ass, that's what it is."
Before Cas can stop him, Dean pulls an old towel out from under his seat, and slips it behind his back. Cas just hopes the pressure will be enough to stem the bleeding until he finds somewhere they can stop. Dean goes quiet after that, his forehead leaning against the glass, and every few minutes Cas sends him a worried look that goes unanswered.
Returning to Taos doesn’t seem like a good idea, not with the police probably looking for whoever had called in the tip about the ranch house, so Cas keeps driving They should reach Colorado soon, but he isn't sure if that'll be soon enough. Around them the countryside is quiet and empty.
The next town they come to has a small drug store and a practically empty motel. Somehow, Dean manages to pull himself into something resembling normality when they reach the motel and Cas leaves him in the warmth of the lobby while he gets their bags out of the car. He gets Dean into a room, then drives the three blocks to the drug store. The cold is biting and, even with the heater going full-force, Cas' face is starting to feel numb by the time he gets back to the motel.
While Cas was gone, Dean had peeled his t-shirt off and flopped face- down onto the bed. He'd dampened a hand-towel and laid it over the wound, and when Cas gets back, he's got a bottle of whiskey.
"Did you find everything?" Dean doesn't lift his head.
"I believe I was able to locate what you required." Cas carefully lays out the contents of his shopping bags-sterilized bandages, more whiskey, a sewing kit, dental floss, and a lighter. He shrugs out of his coat, grateful for the heating in the room.
"Okay, I'll walk you through this." Dean lifts his head enough to throw back another mouthful of alcohol.
Cas is only shaking a little as he takes off his over shirt, rolling the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows, and washes his hands, lathering up his arms. Using tweezers, he dips one of the sewing needles in the liquor and holds it into the lighter flame. Threading it with the floss takes a few tries, but eventually the needle is ready.
He's holding his breath when he pulls back the towel. Underneath, it's not the deep puncture wound he'd feared. Instead, a flap of skin about four inches long has been neatly flayed from Dean's upper back. Cas swallows hard.
"Have-have you seen what it looks like?"
"You just need to clean it out and sew it back down," Dean says, and his words are starting to sound a little slurred. Good.
It takes Cas a few long minutes to clean out the wound. Finally, the silence, broken only by Dean’s soft grunts of pain, is too much.
“I thought we’d found Sam,” Cas says, before he’s really aware of what’s coming out. “Back at the house.”
There’s a long pause. Dean takes another swig of whiskey. “Sorry about that. He recorded that exorcism for me ages ago, but I’ve never had a chance to use it. Guess I’m not usually as off my game as I’ve been.” He snorts. “Also, most times demons don’t hold still enough for a whole exorcism when they’re not in a trap. We’re lucky you were so much fun to torture.”
Yes, very lucky. Cas finishes cleaning the gash and picks up the needle. This is the part he had been dreading.
“You’ll be fine, man,” Dean says, and he sounds almost soothing. He must have realized Cas had finished the first step. “Sammy and me were sewing each other up since we were little. It’s a piece of cake.”
“I’m sure it is.” Cas carefully tips some of the new liquor he’d bought out onto the wound and Dean hisses. “My apologies.”
“Let’s just finish this.” Dean’s talking through gritted teeth. He’s barely made any noise, even with Cas’ inexpert touch, but he’s obviously getting tired. Cas doesn’t blame him.
He makes the first stich, wincing at the feel of the needle through flesh. He can do this. He has to, for Dean.
“Tell me about your life,” Dean says, and there’s a ragged edge in his voice that Cas doesn’t like. “You’ve barely said anything.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Two stiches down now, and there’s still the whole length of the torn skin to go.
“Just talk about whatever. What kind of coffee do you like? Did you know your neighbors? Anything.”
It’s hard to think of anything to say at first, but as he makes one careful stitch after another, the words and actions become easier. By the time he ties off the thread, he’s fairly sure he’s given Dean biographies of every person he’s encountered more than twice, the color of the carpet in his apartment, and his television schedule, which was built more around when he was home than what programs he actually enjoyed.
“Dean, I need you to sit up.”
Dean tries to obey, but he seems to have limited control over his limbs, and Cas has to help pull him into a sit. He sags against Cas as he wraps bandages around his torso and doesn’t appear to want to lie back down when Cas is done.
“I dunno, what that demon said about Sam…” Dean’s voice is barely more than a whisper. He tilts his head back against Cas’ shoulder, his mouth inches from Cas’ ear.
“Demons lie, that’s what you’ve always said.” Cas keeps his voice low as well. He’s not exactly comfortable like this, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed with all of Dean’s weight threatening to push him to the floor, but the closeness to Dean is amazing. He doesn’t even mind the alcohol on Dean’s breath.
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
Cas sighs. “You should go to bed now.” He carefully pushes Dean away from him and back down onto the comforter.
Dean groans, but buries his face in the pillow anyway. Cas finishes cleaning up the mess he’s made with his home surgery. Hopefully they’ll be long gone before the maid finds the bloody towel in the trash. It’s only after the last of the medical supplies are cleared away that he notices the obvious-the room only has the one bed.
“I’m fairly sure I asked for a double,” he says.
Dean mumbles something incoherent, then lifts his head up. “Who cares? It’s done, just get your ass over here and turn the light off.”
“I’ll-I’ll be right back.”
Cas grabs his toothbrush out of his duffle bag and escapes to the bathroom. He leans against the sink, the cheap ceramic cool under his hands. He doesn’t understand Dean. He’s sure he’d gotten a room with two beds at check in, he’d left Dean for a few minutes while he parked the car, and now they’ve got this. While he can come up with several other explanations, the most rational, when coupled with Dean’s attitude, is that Dean wants them to share a bed.
He exhales and straightens, squeezing out the toothpaste with a little more precision than he usually needs. If Dean would just reject him outright, Cas could manage it. He’d be hurt, well, actually it would probably be more like his world collapsing around him, but he’d live. It’s the indecision that’s killing him now.
It’s not like this push and pull from Dean is new. He’s been doing it for almost as long as they’ve known each other, ever since, perhaps unintentionally, Dean had stumbled on what a powerful motivating factor their friendship was. He called Cas in when he needed him, and when things grew too intimate between them, he’d pushed him away. Cas is fairly sure that something had shifted between them in the time Dean thought Cas was dead. They hadn’t had much time before Sucrocorp, and Cas is the first to admit he hadn’t exactly been in his right mind at the time, but it had felt different, like they were close to being back on equal footing. Now that he’s human, though, that adds a whole other layer to the mess.
He turns off the bathroom light, and pads across the floor to the bed. Dean’s still stretched out on his stomach, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. Cas slides in next to him as close to the opposite side of the bed as he can get. Dean mutters something into his pillow and shifts a little more towards his side of the bed, and Cas edges towards the middle enough that he probably won’t fall out of bed in the middle of the night. It’s actually fairly comfortable, and the adrenaline of the last few hours is wearing out quickly. He switches off the bed stand light and almost immediately falls asleep.
Cas is being suffocated. There’s a heavy weight on his chest pinning him to the bed and he startles awake before his brain can catch up with his reflexes.
To his left, Dean groans, and Cas freezes. The pressure across his chest is an arm, an arm that is still very much attached to the man who is somehow still asleep next to him. At some point during the night, he’d moved towards the center of the bed until they were hip to hip and thrown one arm over Cas to pull him even closer.
It’s tempting to just stay in bed. Dean is warm against him, and Cas has a suspicion they’re much closer together than they would have been if Dean hadn’t been in pain, not to mention drunk on cheap whiskey and endorphins. Still, that’s all the more reason to get up. The last thing Cas wants to do is take advantage of a weakened Dean, even when the contact is almost entirely innocent.
He eases out from under Dean’s arm and the blankets. It’s cold, again, but Cas guesses it probably will be for another four or five months. He starts coffee, wincing at the gurgle of the machine. Sam’s laptop is blinking accusingly at him from their bags, but looking for more fruitless demon omens doesn’t seem appealing. He sips at his coffee and waits for Dean to wake up.
It takes three cups for Dean to stir. Cas almost falls asleep again in his chair, but he jerks awake when Dean sits, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“Dude, I thought we’d lose the whole watching me sleep thing now that you’re not an angel. You need sleep too, you know.”
“I did sleep.” Cas frowns. “And I wasn’t watching. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
Dean snorts. “Yeah, right.” He tries to pull himself into a more conventional sitting position, but he’s barely moved before he’s wincing.
“How’s your back?” Cas stands quickly, almost knocking over the dregs of his coffee. It’s easy to reach out for Dean, steadying him and supporting more of his weight than Cas had expected. Clearly, even the night’s sleep hadn’t done much for Dean’s strength.
“It hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’ll survive.” Dean grimaces, but lets Cas stabilize him with one hand, while carefully stacking pillows behind him with the other.
“Try that.”
Dean leans back and makes a face that isn’t entirely disapproving. “Is there any new word on where they might be keeping Sam, or why they want him?”
Cas shakes his head. “I didn’t look for omens. It seemed pointless, given that everything we’ve done has played into the demons’ hands.”
“Come on, Cas, where’s that can-do attitude?”
“I did have an idea. You’re not going to like it.”
Dean doesn’t.
“Seriously, your idea is Crowley?”
“You may have noticed that we’re running a little low on options. We don’t exactly have a lot people to turn to.”
Dean rubs his hand over his face. “What about Kevin?”
Cas shakes his head. “Kevin’s purpose as a prophet was to decode the tablet. He doesn’t have the same insight into your and Sam’s life that Chuck had. Besides-” He sinks heavily onto the edge of the bed. “-Kevin had a chance to escape from this life and, to the best of my knowledge, he took it. It would be cruel to drag him back in now.”
“But Crowley? Come on, there’s got to be someone else, anyone else.”
“If anyone knows what the demons are planning, it would be him.”
“Yeah, for all we know, he could be the one planning it!”
As points go, it’s a decent one. Still, Cas likes to think that he’d grown to know Crowley rather well, and this just doesn’t feel like his work. The dramatic steps to whatever the demons are planning and the emotional torture could be him-he always did like to gamble-but the orchestration doesn’t feel smooth enough. Crowley’s made himself successful by using very little power to great effect-this is more like lots of power used clumsily. Still, it’s probably safer to not trust the demon any more than they have to.
“If he is, then we’ll be one step closer to finding Sam. I take it you’ll be able to contain and interrogate him if his demons are responsible?”
Dean smiles. “Oh yeah. I can do that.”
They leave the motel early, Cas packing the car while Dean makes abortive fluttering motions and tries to help without actually doing much. It’s obvious that Dean’s trying to hide that he’s in pain, but he’s failing miserably. That he lets Cas carry his duffle bag out without protest is probably as clear a sign as Cas can get.
Still, when Cas heads for the driver’s door, Dean cuts him off with a growled, “I’m not on my damn deathbed.” Cas doesn’t fight him. Frankly, he feels a little privileged that he’s driven the Impala as much as he has, and there’s no doubt that driving makes Dean feel better.
They head north, taking the quiet back roads towards the Colorado border. It’s slow going. A light dusting of snow had fallen in the night, and there were no plows on the roads they’re taking. It’s isolated, desolate, and perfect for summoning the ruler of Hell.
It still takes several hours of searching before Dean spots a promising abandoned barn that looks suitable. After pulling around behind it, Dean digs through the trunk looking for spray paint while Cas pries the bottom of the barn door free from the frozen earth.
Dean’s face is pale when he joins him, and Cas decides it’s probably best if he just ignores Dean’s winces. He asked once during the drive if Dean’s back was hurting, and all he got was a blatant lie and a cold shoulder. If Dean wants to be a willful idiot, then Cas will leave him to suffer. It isn’t easy, but it looks like the only option he has.
He remembers a time when there were other options, when he could stop Dean’s pain and probably find his brother in the space of a heartbeat, and hastily distracts himself with painting devil’s traps in front of the door. This, at least, he can still do.
Even though Dean’s moving slowly, it doesn’t take long to demon-proof the barn. Dean’s pale by the time he finishes, but his voice and hands are steady as he works the summoning. Cas stands with his back against Dean’s, gripping the angelic blade tightly.
What feels like a long time passes, and nothing happens. Cas’ breath clouds the air, but his hands are slippery on the metal of the sword’s hilt. Behind him, Dean is breathing shallowly. The unpredictability of a demonic summoning is nerve-wracking and Cas just hopes that they haven’t made a terrible miscalculation.
“Well, if it isn’t two-thirds of my favorite trio, all nicely returned from the dead, and wherever the Hell you’ve been hiding, Cas.”
Cas turns quickly. Crowley is leaning against a support beam a safe distance from Dean and Cas, hands in his pockets.
“You must have known we’d be coming for you sooner or later.” Dean smirks, and there’s no sign of the pain and weariness in his face that Cas had seen just a few minutes before. Sometimes, he forgets what a good actor Dean can be.
“But wait-” Crowley holds up a finger. “-Something’s missing here. Have you lost your moose?”
“That’s actually what we want to talk to you about.” Dean takes an easy step towards him, and Crowley’s eyes flick down to Ruby’s knife in his hand. For a second, Cas thinks he almost looks worried, but then his collected mask slides back into place. “Come on, you can tell me, were you the one that brought back me and Sam?”
Crowley scoffs. “What, you think I’d be idiotic enough to resurrect you two chuckleheads?”
“So you’re telling me you don’t know anything about these demons’ plans?” Dean says.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re blathering about.” Crowley sounds genuinely confused, and as far as Cas can tell, he’s being truthful. Of course, his ability to read the demon has already been proven less effective than he’d hoped.
Dean glances over at Cas, and he half-shrugs. Dean’s guess is as good as his right now.
“Sam’s been captured by a group of demons,” Dean says. “What do you know about it?”
“About the fate of your Sasquatch of a brother? Absolutely nothing.”
Dean takes another step towards him, but Crowley looks supremely unimpressed.
“But, if you ask nicely, I might know something about recent activity outside of my loyal soldiers. My powerbase is not as-solid-as I’d like. There are still a few demons who support the old regime.”
“And they’re planning something?” Dean’s frowning.
Crowley shrugs. “They could be. You know demons. We’re always scheming about something. I could look into it, but it could be dangerous. You still haven’t offered anything that might make your little dramas worth my time.”
“Then what the Hell do you want?”
Cas moves forwards until he’s level with Dean, not taking his eyes off of Crowley. “Be careful. Any deal you make with him will certainly not be to your advantage.”
“So the littlest angel still speaks after all. There I was thinking you’d given up your voice to be a real human.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten all that you’ve done,” Cas says. “You abandoned us to the Leviathan.”
“And I lost both the prophet and that skank Meg. Hardly the happiest ending for me, was it?”
Cas still isn’t convinced that Crowley’s sudden arrival at Sucrocorp and equally rapid departure were merely unexpected helpfulness followed by cowardice. With Dick Roman dead, Cas has no way of proving it, but he’s fairly sure that Crowley had decided that it wasn’t worth it working with the Winchesters after all and betrayed them to Roman. If it’s true, then he’s responsible for Sam and Dean’s deaths, and it burns to be in the same space as him and be unable to exact vengeance. Still, as deep as Cas’ hate for Crowley runs, both boys are alive again, and if Crowley can keep them that way, then he’ll have to let the past go.
“What do you want in exchange for information?”
“Well, let’s get straight to it, then.” Crowley shrugs. “I promise, it won’t be a bother at all. I just want immunity. I help you find Moose and it’ll be the end of our dealings. You stay away from me, and I’ll do my best to keep my demons away from you. Everyone wins.”
Dean exhales and turns to Cas. “What do you think?” He keeps his voice low, even though they both know that Crowley can still hear him. It’s the principal of the thing.
Cas closes his eyes, breathing through the conflicting storm of emotions. He already knows what Dean wants to do and that asking him is just a formality. He’s touched that Dean would even make that effort, but Dean’s mind is already set. He’s already made far worse deals than this.
He nods.
Crowley’s smiling when Cas turns back to him. In the end, he’s won this game and he knows it. “Lovely. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” He turns away, then glances back over his shoulder at them. “And by the way, stop poking your nose into it. It’s a delicate situation, and the last thing I need is you dunces buggering it up. Take a vacation. I recommend someplace warm. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed.”
“Wait!” Dean sheathes his knife and jogs up to him. “You’re king of Hell. You’ve got to have a bead on where souls go, don’t you?”
“Seriously? Don’t you realize I’ve got better things to do than play St. Peter at the fiery gates?”
“Me and Sammy. Do you know where we were? Up or down?” There’s an edge of desperation in Dean’s voice, and Cas tenses.
Crowley shakes his head. “You really do have no idea how it works, do you? Frankly, I wouldn’t want you or your brother within my kingdom’s walls, but it’s not up to me. With all you’ve done, where do you think you’d end up? And let’s not even get started on your brother.” His smile is infinitely condescending. “Still, you don’t need to worry about that now. Just focus on keeping Moose from turning into the next monster you’ll have to hunt-again-and making sure your little ex-angel over there stays out of trouble.”
Cas blinks and Crowley’s gone. Dean’s still standing frozen in the center of the barn, and barely reacts when Cas joins him.
“The bastard knows more than he’s saying,” Dean says, and it’s clear he’s trying to pretend he isn’t scared out of his wits. “Why else would he say that about Sammy?”
“We should go,” Cas says, and gently pulls on Dean’s arm. “Crowley knows where are, and I don’t think we should stay exposed. We need to move, go somewhere unexpected.”
“Good plan.” Dean’s moving slowly, and Cas doesn’t think it’s all from the pain in his back.
“You shouldn’t listen to him. Crowley knows what you fear, and he’ll use that to his advantage. He doesn’t know anything about what happened to you and Sam when you were dead.”
“Yeah, I know. He was talking bullshit, just like he always does.”
They clean up the remains from the summoning, and leave the barn behind them. They head east, Dean’s hands clenched on the steering wheel.
“Where are we heading?” Cas asks, voice raised a little to be heard over the AC/DC blasting from the radio.
Dean shrugs, then winces. “Wherever the Hell this road goes. Right now, I don’t fucking care.”
“You’re going to stop the hunt?”
“I don’t know what else we can do. Crowley has a point-so far all we’ve done is walk into traps and get farther and farther away from Sam. The damn visions they’re sending are worth squat and they’re probably setting up the omens deliberately.” His fingers tap a staccato dance against the leather. “We’ll hole up for a few days, regroup, and if Crowley doesn’t know where Sam is by then, we’ll go to Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Start nabbing all the demons we can find and hope one of them knows something.”
For a long time, the music is the only sound in the car.
They drive for the rest of the day, stopping only to refuel and cobble together lunch from whatever Cas manages to find in the convenience store. Dean’s back must be excruciating by now and Cas wants to get a look at his bandages. Night falls, but Dean keeps driving until they cross the border back into Kansas.
It’s late by the time they pull up into a motel, and Dean lets Cas get the room. The young woman behind the desk looks barely half-awake and she’s mumbling so badly that he almost misses the room number.
The room smells faintly of mildew when Dean opens the door, but Cas doesn’t even care. He pulls off his shoes and falls onto the bed closest to the door.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is tight, and Cas somehow summons the energy to lift his head. “I know you’re human now and need sleep and all, but I really need you to check my back.”
Cas exhales roughly. “Of course, Dean, I’m sorry.” He pushes himself off the bed and fishes the first aid kit out of Dean’s duffle bag while Dean pulls off his t-shirt. Underneath the bandage, the wound looks better than Cas had expected. He cleans and re-bandages it. Dean almost gasps when Cas’ hands brush his chest as he wraps the gauze around Dean’s torso, probably a reaction to the coldness of Cas’ hands.
When Cas is finished, he leaves Dean to pull his shirt back on, and goes into the bathroom to change. Dean’s still sitting up in bed when he comes out.
“Cas-”
He freezes, crouched by his bag. “Dean?”
“Look, I really don’t know how to say this. If I’m completely out of line here, just tell me and I swear I’ll never mention it again.”
Cas stands and walks over to the bed next to Dean’s. He has a feeling he’ll want to be sitting for this.
“Dean, you know you can tell me anything.”
“The other night-you know, when I went out and got tanked?” He raises his eyebrows at Cas and grimaces. “I, uh, I kinda forgot what happened that night the next morning, but it’s sort of starting to come back to me.”
This is it, then. Dean remembers the kiss, remembers that Cas encouraged him, took advantage of him when he was drunk out of his mind. Cas had still, perhaps foolishly, been hoping that if they succeeded in rescuing Sam, they’d stay together afterwards and be a team-a family-the way they’d been during the Apocalypse. While Cas would never admit it, he’s missed that. He’s missed the sense of purpose, the sense of belonging. He’s missed Dean.
There’s no chance of that now, though.
“Dean, my actions that night were reprehensible. You were intoxicated, and I-” It comes out in a tumble Cas isn’t sure Dean even understands.
Dean blinks. He frowns at Cas, then blinks again. “Dude, I wanted you to kiss me back. I may have been smashed, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t how I felt. I just didn’t want it to be something you didn’t want. I don’t want to, I dunno, taint you.”
“Taint me?” Cas is fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation a while back. It’s certainly not going the direction he’d imagined it playing out. “How could you possibly do that?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably. “You know. You’re an angel. I’ve been to Hell, and it wasn’t for the climate. Aren’t sex, lust-all those messy human things-beneath you? Wrong?”
Cas can name a dozen angels he’d known that hadn’t considered sex beneath them or wrong, Gabriel and Balthazar heading the list, but that’s not the point, or at least not the point Dean’s trying to make. It’s odd; Dean seems to be able to remember that he’s no longer an angel when it comes to the little things like eating and sleeping, but Cas is starting to wonder how deeply Dean has actually processed the change. Perhaps he’ll always think of Cas as an angel, something untouchable and vast. Cas is neither of those things now.
“Dean, I’m human now. If I wish to engage in sexual relations with a willing partner, I have every right.”
Dean blinks again. “Just-just don’t call it ‘sexual relations.’ It makes you sound like a politician. And why would you want that? I mean, sex is awesome, but it gets messy and complicated, and eventually someone gets hurt, and when it’s you, it’s fuckin’ painful.”
“Yet you find it worth it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a masochist.”
Cas can’t really think of anything to say to that. He can’t spend the rest of his life trying to convince Dean that he’s something special, that he’s worth every pain that Cas might experience-that he’s always been. He drops his eyes and studies the tasteless pattern of the comforter.
“Cas.” Dean says again, and this time he sounds a little desperate. Cas looks up, and Dean’s staring at him, eyes wide and pleading. His mouth is slightly open, and Cas unconsciously echoes the movement when Dean’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.
There are only a few feet between the beds, but it feels like an abyss as Cas carefully stands and moves towards Dean. Dean reaches for him, and their fingers twine as Dean pulls Cas onto the bed next to him. Cas’ heart is pounding, because this is insane. Just because he’s been wanting this for longer than he’d care to admit doesn’t make it a good idea. It’s taken a long time to rebuild the friendship he’d had with Dean, and if this destroys all their work-
Then he’s close enough to Dean that he can feel the warmth of Dean’s shallow breaths and smell the soap on his skin, and suddenly this feels like a very, very good idea. Dean’s lips are warm against his, and if he’d thought that first kiss had been good, it has nothing on this one. Dean’s confident and just pushy enough that Cas can melt into him and just let go.
He settles back against the pillows, and rolls Dean on top of him. Dean’s laugh is muffled by their kiss, but the sensation is enough to send another surge of heat to his already interested dick. His hands run down Dean’s back, careful to avoid the bandages, and pull him closer, until their bodies are almost flush.
Dean breaks the kiss first, but he stays a fraction of an inch away from Cas, and in the soft light from the bedside lamp, the flecks of gold in his eyes shine.
“Just-just tell me you want this,” Dean breathes, which Cas decides is stupid question. Their bodies are close enough that he can very clearly feel the heat of Dean’s erection against his hip, and he guesses his own is hardly less subtle.
“I want this,” Cas says, and his voice has gone even lower than normal, rough and broken. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”
“Fuck,” Dean says, and he sounds even more wrecked than Cas. “You know we can-we can stop if you need to. Just say the word.” He smirks. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with my sheer sexual magnetism, you being a virgin and all.”
Cas grinds his hips up against Dean’s and the smirk disappears as Dean moans. Dean pulls back, and Cas grabs for him, but his reflexes are dulled. Dean sits back on his heels, his knees bracketing Cas’ hips, and reaches for the hem of Cas’ t-shirt. “Can I?”
“Please.” Cas wriggles up and lets the shirt slide off over his head. Dean’s shirt follows quickly, and Cas is left with the wide expanse of Dean’s chest, bisected by the stark white of the bandage. It’s a reminder that Dean’s not at his full strength and that they need to be at least somewhat gentle. Cas hates it.
Dean’s staring down at him and he suddenly remembers that while he’s seen Dean’s naked form, albeit not in this context, Dean’s never seen him like this before. He shifts, for the first time feeling a little uncomfortable.
Dean drops back down onto his elbows, and though he ducks his head, Cas doesn’t miss his wince.
He lifts a hand to Dean’s shoulder, steadying him. “Are you alright? Do you need to stop?”
Dean smiles, but there’s still an edge of pain there. “Hey, I’ll be fine. Let’s just stay away from anything acrobatic.” He lowers his head again, and presses a hard kiss against where Cas’ jaw meets his neck. Cas gasps and throws his head back, arching up against Dean’s mouth, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder. “Anyway,” Dean whispers into his ear, “this is worth it.”
Cas’ hand slips a little lower, fingers pressing against the warmth of Dean’s bicep, and Dean starts, tensing under Cas’ hold.
“Is that alright?” Cas asks.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Dean’s eyes are closed, and he’s panting a little. Cas frowns, then realizes why it feels familiar. Oh. He squeezes Dean’s arm, and reaches between their bodies, cupping Dean’s groin. Dean moans and pushes forwards into Cas’ hand, his head dropping to rest against Cas’ shoulder.
It’s awkward through the fabric and the angle feels wrong, but Dean seems fine with Cas’ attempts. He smooths his hand along Dean’s length, pressing in with the heel, and Dean swears against Cas’ neck.
“Wait.” Dean pulls away again, but this time, he slides down Cas’ body. “Not like that.” He catches his fingers in the waistband of Cas’ sweatpants and drags them and his underwear down over his hips, then shimmies out of his own pants. For a second, the air is uncomfortably cold against his dick, but then the heat of Dean’s hand replaces the chill, and Cas gasps.
Every touch is easy and relaxed, like Dean knows exactly what he’s doing. Cas has grown more familiar with the different ways his body can experience pleasure since he’s been human. A good meal, clothes that fit just right, a hot shower after a long day, the spreading warmth of his own hand against his flesh-none of it has felt like this.
Dean is all around him, every twist of his wrist and brush of his thumb across the head of Cas’ dick sending shocks of pleasure that are slowly destroying his higher functioning abilities. He bucks up into Dean’s fist, moaning Dean’s name until Dean stops him with a kiss, the press of his tongue into Cas’ mouth mirroring the movements of his hand.
Still, there’s the nagging feeling that Dean’s own erection is going unattended. Cas reaches down Dean’s back, hands skimming across his skin, then cupping Dean’s ass. He pulls him up until Dean’s groin is level with Cas,’ and his dick is pressing against Cas’ stomach. Dean huffs in surprise, then rolls his hips experimentally.
“Like this?” Dean lets go of Cas for a second to line them up, then wraps his fingers around both of their dicks, and Cas’ eyes close from the sudden, almost overwhelming friction. He knows he’s close, but he tries to hold back until Dean’s ready.
Given from the noises Dean’s making as he thrusts carefully into his hand and along Cas’ length, it might not take long. Cas doesn’t have much space to move, but he tries, pushing up against Dean, and the moan that drags its way from Dean’s throat is worth it.
“Cas.” It sounds like a prayer, low and reverent, and with enough of something that Cas might call love in it to push him over the edge. He spills hot and wet into Dean’s hand, holding Dean tight as he comes, everything else dulled by the sensation.
Dean holds him through the shockwaves, then picks up speed, his movements becoming more and more irregular. “Let me,” Cas breathes, and Dean shifts enough that Cas can work his hand between them. Dean’s thrusts are desperate now, and it doesn’t take much for him to follow Cas over. His arms give and he collapses onto Cas. He’s a little heavy, but Cas doesn’t mind. He holds him, his arms wrapped loosely around Dean, as they both try and relearn how to breath.
“That,” Dean says after what feels like a long time, though Cas, still lost in the afterglow, can’t really be sure. “That was fucking awesome.”
Cas just presses a kiss against Dean’s head and hums agreement. They’re going to have to move soon and make an altogether too-long trip to get cleaned up, but for now, this is perfect. Dean moves, just a little, to shift some of his weight off of Cas, though he stays wrapped around him like an octopus. For the first time since Dean came back, it feels like everything is going to work out.
That night, nothing disturbs them.
The next morning, Cas still feels a little sweaty and sticky, but it’s inconsequential. Dean’s up and in the shower, singing loudly and surprisingly in-tune. He sounds happy, and Cas smiles into the pillow. He’d been a little worried, somewhere in between the last of the afterglow wearing off and falling asleep, that Dean would try and forget last night had happened. If he had, Cas isn’t sure if he would have been able to handle that. He’s got too many emotions wrapped up with Dean Winchester to be able to have one night of sex with him and then just return to being friends.
He slips out of bed and pads over to the bathroom door. It swings open at his touch, and he carefully steps inside.
Dean sees him immediately, and the grin on his face is enough to soothe away the last of Cas’ fears. There’s shampoo in his hair, shaping it into jagged spikes, and Cas smiles.
“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Dean gestures at the shower. “Want to join me?”
Cas considers it. It’s tempting, but the shower is a little on the small side, and the walls are grungy. While the idea of Dean pressing him against the wall and fucking him until he can’t remember his name-or vice versa-is a tempting image, he’d rather hold out for somewhere more sanitary. “Maybe later.”
He waits while Dean finishes showering, and he’s fairly sure that Dean preens a little under his gaze. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind Cas staying in the bathroom. As soon as he’s out, Cas pushes him back against the towel rack, careful of Dean’s back, and kisses him hard. Dean’s waist is slippery under his hands, and he shoves back against Cas eagerly.
It would be easy to take this further, but there’s something satisfying about kissing just for the sake of it, relishing the little electric brushes of skin against skin and the needy press of Dean’s mouth. They’re both panting for breath by the time they break apart.
“I-I should shower,” Cas gasps, and steps back to let Dean out. When he’s done, Dean’s still in the bathroom, wearing jeans and nothing else. He’s got the gauze off, and when Cas steps out of the shower stall, he’s twisted around trying to see the wound in the mirror. He smiles at the reflection of Cas.
“Do you think I’ll get a dashing scar?”
“I think you have more than enough scars to be sufficiently dashing.” Cas pulls on a clean t-shirt and surreptitiously sniffs his over shirt. It’ll work for another day.
“I think we should go out to get breakfast,” Dean says, and Cas looks up. Dean’s trying to redo the bandages, and Cas carefully takes them from him. “We’ve been living off of crappy drive-through breakfast burritos for days, and a man needs pancakes every so often.”
“Then we will find you pancakes.” Cas ties off the fresh gauze, letting his hand linger on Dean’s skin for just a little longer than he needs to.
There’s a little diner down the street from the motel. The outside is be-decked with cheerfully twinkling lights and Christmas music is blaring from the speakers by the door. Cas hadn’t realized how late in the year it was already. In the last few weeks since Dean came back, Cas feels like he’s been living outside of ordinary time.
Apparently, it’s been the same for Dean. “Crap, I don’t even know what day it is.” He reaches for the newspaper on the counter. “Wow, it’s almost Christmas.” Cas cranes to see the date and Dean obligingly angles the paper. It’s already the 18th of December. This time last year, he was in Spokane, wondering why he hadn’t decided to go to a warmer city for the winter and desperately trying to make ends meet by doing odd jobs.
They end up at a booth by the window. Dean orders pancakes that Cas is fairly sure have more merit as dessert than breakfast. For all that Dean argues that having fruit and milk with breakfast is good, Cas isn’t sure that apple pie filling and whipped cream count. Still, the look on Dean’s face when their food arrives makes up for its dubious nutritional quality.
“Did you do anything for Christmas last year?” Dean asks around a mouthful of pancake, and Cas looks up sharply. Dean shrugs. “It just seems like a holiday you’d be all over.”
Cas takes a sip of coffee. “There didn’t seem to be much worth celebrating,” he says carefully. “I was still adjusting to being human, and staying alive seemed like a greater priority.”
Dean purses his lips and nods. “Sammy and me never do much either. It just doesn’t feel as important when you’re fighting for your life. Hell, I think the last time we celebrated anything was the last Christmas before-” He breaks off, voice faltering. “-Before we met you.” Before I went to Hell hangs unsaid between them.
The food is better than anything they’ve had in a long time, and the rest of the meal passes mostly in silence punctuated by Dean’s happy-food noises. To his own surprise, Cas matches Dean bite for bite. It still feels a little strange to eat with Dean after so many years of just watching.
It’s bitingly cold outside so they hurry back to the motel. Their room is nowhere as well heated as the diner, but it still feels nice after the walk over.
“So,” Dean says as they’re stripping off their coats, “I’m thinking we give Crowley forty-eight hours. If the slimy bastard hasn’t come up with something by then, we’ll start taking on his minions.”
Cas nods. “Fair enough. Do you want to move on?”
Dean throws himself onto his unmade bed and the springs squeal in protest. “Nah, let’s hang out here. If it’s almost Christmas, then Die Hard is probably on at least one channel, and that’s one holiday tradition to stick to.”
Cas settles in next to him and Dean wriggles sideways to give him more room. Dean had carefully avoided touching him when they’d been out, but Cas had expected that. He’s been pleasantly surprised by how comfortable Dean is becoming in private, but it’s too much to hope that thirty-odd years of carefully avoiding public displays of affection would just be erased.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it,” Cas says, and he smiles at Dean’s indignant squawk. Dean fumbles for the remote and finds what Cas is assuming is the right film after a few minutes of frantic channel surfing. It’s apparently almost half way in, but Dean’s more than happy to fill him in on the backstory. Cas only half listens, letting Dean’s voice wash over him. Their bodies are barely touching, but it still feels intimate.
The movie ends and another begins. Dean’s seen this one too, and keeps up his commentary. At some point, his arm snakes up and wraps around Cas’ shoulders, pulling them just a little closer together. After that, Cas gives up trying to stay a respectable distance apart and leans against Dean.
The day slips away. They go back to the diner for lunch, then again for dinner. After they’ve finished dinner, their waitress brings them free slices of pie “for customer loyalty,” and Dean’s face lights up.
They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, legs tangled under the sheets.
Next
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They stop in Taos to check for directions. The air is thinner here and the change in pressure leaves Cas a little light-headed. The irony that he apparently has trouble with high elevations isn’t lost on him, but he keeps it to himself. Dean’s got a local map they picked up at the visitor center spread over the steering wheel and the sharp focus in his eyes that usually accompanies the death of something evil.
Their destination is another old farmhouse, this time on an abandoned horse ranch that’s far enough out that any strange activity should go unreported. Luckily for them, it hadn’t. The ranch’s nearest neighbor had called the police the day before, saying she heard strange noises in the night and that there was an odd smell when she drove by. The police had sent a car by, apparently finding nothing, but Cas knows there are a dozen ways the demons could hide themselves from prying eyes. It’s not much, but it is in the center of the demonic omens Cas found, and it’s the only lead they have.
There’s no snow, but the ground is frozen, making the thud of their footsteps seem unusually loud. Dean had been forced to leave the Impala outside the locked gate at the main road, but the walk up to the house doesn’t take too long.
When they get within sight of the house, Cas freezes. There’s a thin blue line of smoke floating up from the chimney and an old truck parked out front. Beside him, Dean mutters a quiet curse and Cas silently agrees. For all that he hoped they’d find Sam, he hadn’t really expected anyone to actually be here.
“What do we do now?” he says, voice low.
“Well, we can’t just go in shooting,” Dean says. “They could be demons, they could just be squatters, no way to tell.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a flask. “You ready?”
“Of course.” Cas takes a deep breath. The cold burns his throat, but it’s steadying. His hand finds the comforting weight of the sword stowed in his jacket.
The porch creaks loudly under their feet. Dean raises his eyebrows at Cas and knocks on the front door, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the cold air. The door opens almost immediately and, for a second, Cas thinks there’s no one there. Then he looks down.
“Hello?” It’s a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, with wild hair and an Iron Man t-shirt.
Dean hesitates, then bends down a little. “Hi, are your parents home? We’re with the police.”
The boy gives him a dubious look, but yells, “Mom!” over his shoulder anyway.
A woman appears a second later. She’s older, with steel-gray hair pulled into a messy bun, and she smiles when she sees them. “Come on in.” She nudges the boy out of the way and pulls the door open wider.
For a second, Dean’s eyes meet Cas,’ then he’s smiling broadly at the woman and stepping through the door. Cas takes a moment to acknowledge that this is probably one of the stupidest things he’s ever done as a human, and follows him.
The door slams shut behind them in a way that Cas is truly hoping isn’t ominous. Inside, it’s dark, most of the light coming from the massive fireplace on the far wall. The walls are lined with trophies, the glassy eyes of elk and mountain lions staring down at them, and Cas suppresses a shudder.
“We’ve been expecting you for a while,” the woman says, and the boy smiles, eyes flashing black.
Fuck.
“Just tell us where my brother is,” Dean growls, enough menace in his voice that the hairs at the back of Cas’ neck prickle and the demons lose a little of the smugness on their faces. “You know who we are, you know what we can do to you. Do you really want to cross me?”
The woman smiles and flicks her wrist. Dean’s thrown across the room, hitting the wall by the fireplace with a dull thud. She takes a few steps towards him, clenching her outstretched hand into a fist, and Dean’s punched-out breath tells Cas as much as a scream would have.
“Yes, the great Dean Winchester. See, the thing I always heard was how very fragile you are. Torture your brother, hurt your angel-it’s just a matter of finding your buttons, and there’s so very many of them. That’s the reason you broke so easily in Hell.” She smiles, cocking her head at him. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll see your brother again. Of course, by then it’ll be too late. There’s no way to tell if he’ll even be anything you’d recognize as your blood.”
Dean moans again, but Cas can’t afford to let himself get distracted. The demons are barely paying attention to him as they gloat over Dean, possibly assuming that Cas is the lesser threat. They’re probably right, but Cas has been underestimated for most of his very long life, and most of those that have doubted him are now dead. He intends to add these demons to that list.
He adjusts his grip on the angel sword and lunges, aiming for the female demon’s heart. She turns, just a fraction too slow, and the blade catches in her blouse, scraping along her ribs. She shrieks, louder and higher-pitched that any human lungs can manage, making the windows shudder in their frames.
It’s the boy that turns on him. Cas hits the wall hard and stays pinned to the wood. He’d lost his hold on the sword on impact and it skitters across the floor, finally resting far out of his or Dean’s reach.
“You hurt my mommy,” the boy says. His voice doesn’t seem natural, too singsong and exaggerated, like the demon has forgotten what a real child sounds like.
It hurts to talk past the weight on his chest, but Cas pushes past it. If they’re focused on him, then maybe Dean will have a chance to act. “We both know she’s not your mother.”
“She’s this useless sack of meat’s mother.” The boy shrugs. “Close enough.” He smirks at Cas, and raises his hand. Cas doesn’t have time to brace himself against the pain, but it doesn’t matter. He couldn’t have prepared himself even if he had. He knows it’s not real, that it’s just an echo of Hellfire that the demon has conjured, but it still tears through him, overriding every other thought. Dimly, he hears someone scream, but he doesn’t realize it’s him until the demons start to laugh.
“So this is what happens to an angel when you take out all the important bits,” the woman’s saying, but Cas can barely hear her past the roaring in his ears. The pain isn’t coming from any one place in his body-if it had, he’d have a chance to compartmentalize, shove it to the back of his mind and keep trying to fight-but it’s enveloping him, burning across his skin and through his bones.
Just when Cas’ vision is staring to darken around the edges, a voice breaks through the pain.
“Exorcizamus te-” it’s saying, and somehow, impossibly, it’s Sam, his voice weak but unmistakably him. Sam’s here. He’s alive. It’s enough to make Cas fight against the demons’ hold again, and then he’s free, the agony suddenly stopping as the demons’ attention turns to Sam and his steady, precise exorcism. He falls to the ground, his muscles still weak from the pain, and tries to remember how to breathe. In the distance, the exorcism rolls over him, mixed with the demon’s screams, but for now he’s happy to just lie here.
Then Dean cries out and Cas forces himself to focus. The exorcism is still going, draining the demons’ powers. The boy is on the ground, hands over his ears as if he’ll be safe from the words if he can’t hear them. The woman hasn’t given up yet. Dean’s still sprawled by the fireplace, and she’s straddling him, hands crushing his windpipe. There’s no sign of Sam.
Cas staggers to his feet and barrels at her. He manages a halfway decent tackle, knocking her off of Dean, but she’s still stronger than him, and rolls them until she’s on top, holding him down. Cas grabs for her wrists, but she bats his hand out of the way and wraps her fingers around his throat. He gasps for air, searching the floor around them for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon, but only finds empty air.
It’s Sam who saves him. The exorcism finishes with a forceful, “Audi nos!” and the demon screams. Cas watches, dazed, as the black smoke streams up through the ceiling. The woman crumples, falling half-off of Cas onto the floor. He’s not sure if she’s survived.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is shaky, but he’s alive. Cas basks in that for a second. “Cas? Dammit, Cas, are you okay?”
“I’m unharmed,” Cas manages. His skin still feels raw, but there’s no physical damage. He edges out from under the woman, trying to ease her gently onto the floor.
“Is she breathing?” Dean’s pulled himself up against the bricks of the fireplace. He’s pale, but Cas can’t tell if he’s injured or not.
Cas presses shaking fingers to her throat and breathes until he’s steady enough to feel for a pulse. “Barely.” He’d have thought she was dead, but he’s fairly sure there’s still a thready beat under his fingers.
“Can you check the kid?”
The boy’s breathing is stronger, and for the first time, Cas thinks that maybe both hosts might survive. “Should we take them to a hospital?”
Dean shakes his head, then winces. “We need to get out of here. Call 911, tell them there was, I dunno, a burglary, anything.”
Cas is already feeling for his phone. “Where’s Sam?”
Dean closes his eyes. “It was just a recording.” He holds up his own phone. “About a year before you came along, we took out a mess of demons by broadcasting an exorcism through the PA system, and Sam thought it might come in handy again sometime.” He slides the phone back into his pocket. “He wanted to be sure I was prepared.”
A recording. That explained the odd tinny quality that Cas had attributed to weakness. There’s a voice on the other end of the line, and he manages something, he’s not even sure what, except that he knows he was able to get in the address and that it was urgent. He gives what he’s fairly sure is the fake name Dean had given the police when they’d first got to town, then hangs up.
“Do you need a hand?”
Dean is still sitting hunched by the fireplace, holding his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “that might be good.”
Cas gets an arm around Dean’s chest and pulls him up, steadying himself with his other hand. Dean hisses and grabs at Cas’ shirt. Dean’s hand is stained red, and Cas swallows hard.
“I’ve got you, Dean.”
The walk back to the car, which had been bracing before, now feels like a marathon. Dean can walk, or that’s what he keeps insisting, but when Cas tries to let him stand on his own, he stumbles on the first step, almost falling to the hard ground. Somehow, they make it to the Impala before the ambulance arrives. Dean collapses into the passenger’s seat and Cas slides in next to him, fumbling the key into the ignition.
“Do you need medical attention?” He thinks Dean would be honest with him-after all he’s been injured so many times that he probably has a good grasp of what he can fix on his own-but he’s also prepared to knock Dean out and drag him to a hospital if he needs to.
Dean shakes his head. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Cas pulls out onto the highway, the tires kicking up dust. In the distance, there’s the wail of sirens somewhere behind them. He doesn't look back.
He drives faster than he generally likes, but Dean's face is still ashy-pale and he's keeping up a steady stream of curses under his breath.
"How badly are you injured?"
Dean shifts, then swears a little louder. "I think I hit one of those trophies. Something with horns. It feels like my back might have been kinda torn up."
Cas' jaw tightens. "Tell me the truth, Dean, do you need a doctor?"
"Can you handle sewing me up?"
"If that's what you need me to do." The prospect of stitching Dean back together like a broken doll is uninviting, but Cas hasn't yet found the limits of what he'll do for Dean. A few stitches should be nothing.
"Then I'll be fine. We should stop somewhere, get bandages, booze."
They reach the intersection with the highway and Cas turns north. Dean arches his back slightly and Cas glances over at him. "Shit," Dean says, "I'm bleeding all over the seat."
"I'm sure it's not the first blood it's seen."
"Yeah, but do you know how hard it is to get blood out of leather? It's a pain in the ass, that's what it is."
Before Cas can stop him, Dean pulls an old towel out from under his seat, and slips it behind his back. Cas just hopes the pressure will be enough to stem the bleeding until he finds somewhere they can stop. Dean goes quiet after that, his forehead leaning against the glass, and every few minutes Cas sends him a worried look that goes unanswered.
Returning to Taos doesn’t seem like a good idea, not with the police probably looking for whoever had called in the tip about the ranch house, so Cas keeps driving They should reach Colorado soon, but he isn't sure if that'll be soon enough. Around them the countryside is quiet and empty.
The next town they come to has a small drug store and a practically empty motel. Somehow, Dean manages to pull himself into something resembling normality when they reach the motel and Cas leaves him in the warmth of the lobby while he gets their bags out of the car. He gets Dean into a room, then drives the three blocks to the drug store. The cold is biting and, even with the heater going full-force, Cas' face is starting to feel numb by the time he gets back to the motel.
While Cas was gone, Dean had peeled his t-shirt off and flopped face- down onto the bed. He'd dampened a hand-towel and laid it over the wound, and when Cas gets back, he's got a bottle of whiskey.
"Did you find everything?" Dean doesn't lift his head.
"I believe I was able to locate what you required." Cas carefully lays out the contents of his shopping bags-sterilized bandages, more whiskey, a sewing kit, dental floss, and a lighter. He shrugs out of his coat, grateful for the heating in the room.
"Okay, I'll walk you through this." Dean lifts his head enough to throw back another mouthful of alcohol.
Cas is only shaking a little as he takes off his over shirt, rolling the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows, and washes his hands, lathering up his arms. Using tweezers, he dips one of the sewing needles in the liquor and holds it into the lighter flame. Threading it with the floss takes a few tries, but eventually the needle is ready.
He's holding his breath when he pulls back the towel. Underneath, it's not the deep puncture wound he'd feared. Instead, a flap of skin about four inches long has been neatly flayed from Dean's upper back. Cas swallows hard.
"Have-have you seen what it looks like?"
"You just need to clean it out and sew it back down," Dean says, and his words are starting to sound a little slurred. Good.
It takes Cas a few long minutes to clean out the wound. Finally, the silence, broken only by Dean’s soft grunts of pain, is too much.
“I thought we’d found Sam,” Cas says, before he’s really aware of what’s coming out. “Back at the house.”
There’s a long pause. Dean takes another swig of whiskey. “Sorry about that. He recorded that exorcism for me ages ago, but I’ve never had a chance to use it. Guess I’m not usually as off my game as I’ve been.” He snorts. “Also, most times demons don’t hold still enough for a whole exorcism when they’re not in a trap. We’re lucky you were so much fun to torture.”
Yes, very lucky. Cas finishes cleaning the gash and picks up the needle. This is the part he had been dreading.
“You’ll be fine, man,” Dean says, and he sounds almost soothing. He must have realized Cas had finished the first step. “Sammy and me were sewing each other up since we were little. It’s a piece of cake.”
“I’m sure it is.” Cas carefully tips some of the new liquor he’d bought out onto the wound and Dean hisses. “My apologies.”
“Let’s just finish this.” Dean’s talking through gritted teeth. He’s barely made any noise, even with Cas’ inexpert touch, but he’s obviously getting tired. Cas doesn’t blame him.
He makes the first stich, wincing at the feel of the needle through flesh. He can do this. He has to, for Dean.
“Tell me about your life,” Dean says, and there’s a ragged edge in his voice that Cas doesn’t like. “You’ve barely said anything.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Two stiches down now, and there’s still the whole length of the torn skin to go.
“Just talk about whatever. What kind of coffee do you like? Did you know your neighbors? Anything.”
It’s hard to think of anything to say at first, but as he makes one careful stitch after another, the words and actions become easier. By the time he ties off the thread, he’s fairly sure he’s given Dean biographies of every person he’s encountered more than twice, the color of the carpet in his apartment, and his television schedule, which was built more around when he was home than what programs he actually enjoyed.
“Dean, I need you to sit up.”
Dean tries to obey, but he seems to have limited control over his limbs, and Cas has to help pull him into a sit. He sags against Cas as he wraps bandages around his torso and doesn’t appear to want to lie back down when Cas is done.
“I dunno, what that demon said about Sam…” Dean’s voice is barely more than a whisper. He tilts his head back against Cas’ shoulder, his mouth inches from Cas’ ear.
“Demons lie, that’s what you’ve always said.” Cas keeps his voice low as well. He’s not exactly comfortable like this, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed with all of Dean’s weight threatening to push him to the floor, but the closeness to Dean is amazing. He doesn’t even mind the alcohol on Dean’s breath.
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
Cas sighs. “You should go to bed now.” He carefully pushes Dean away from him and back down onto the comforter.
Dean groans, but buries his face in the pillow anyway. Cas finishes cleaning up the mess he’s made with his home surgery. Hopefully they’ll be long gone before the maid finds the bloody towel in the trash. It’s only after the last of the medical supplies are cleared away that he notices the obvious-the room only has the one bed.
“I’m fairly sure I asked for a double,” he says.
Dean mumbles something incoherent, then lifts his head up. “Who cares? It’s done, just get your ass over here and turn the light off.”
“I’ll-I’ll be right back.”
Cas grabs his toothbrush out of his duffle bag and escapes to the bathroom. He leans against the sink, the cheap ceramic cool under his hands. He doesn’t understand Dean. He’s sure he’d gotten a room with two beds at check in, he’d left Dean for a few minutes while he parked the car, and now they’ve got this. While he can come up with several other explanations, the most rational, when coupled with Dean’s attitude, is that Dean wants them to share a bed.
He exhales and straightens, squeezing out the toothpaste with a little more precision than he usually needs. If Dean would just reject him outright, Cas could manage it. He’d be hurt, well, actually it would probably be more like his world collapsing around him, but he’d live. It’s the indecision that’s killing him now.
It’s not like this push and pull from Dean is new. He’s been doing it for almost as long as they’ve known each other, ever since, perhaps unintentionally, Dean had stumbled on what a powerful motivating factor their friendship was. He called Cas in when he needed him, and when things grew too intimate between them, he’d pushed him away. Cas is fairly sure that something had shifted between them in the time Dean thought Cas was dead. They hadn’t had much time before Sucrocorp, and Cas is the first to admit he hadn’t exactly been in his right mind at the time, but it had felt different, like they were close to being back on equal footing. Now that he’s human, though, that adds a whole other layer to the mess.
He turns off the bathroom light, and pads across the floor to the bed. Dean’s still stretched out on his stomach, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. Cas slides in next to him as close to the opposite side of the bed as he can get. Dean mutters something into his pillow and shifts a little more towards his side of the bed, and Cas edges towards the middle enough that he probably won’t fall out of bed in the middle of the night. It’s actually fairly comfortable, and the adrenaline of the last few hours is wearing out quickly. He switches off the bed stand light and almost immediately falls asleep.
Cas is being suffocated. There’s a heavy weight on his chest pinning him to the bed and he startles awake before his brain can catch up with his reflexes.
To his left, Dean groans, and Cas freezes. The pressure across his chest is an arm, an arm that is still very much attached to the man who is somehow still asleep next to him. At some point during the night, he’d moved towards the center of the bed until they were hip to hip and thrown one arm over Cas to pull him even closer.
It’s tempting to just stay in bed. Dean is warm against him, and Cas has a suspicion they’re much closer together than they would have been if Dean hadn’t been in pain, not to mention drunk on cheap whiskey and endorphins. Still, that’s all the more reason to get up. The last thing Cas wants to do is take advantage of a weakened Dean, even when the contact is almost entirely innocent.
He eases out from under Dean’s arm and the blankets. It’s cold, again, but Cas guesses it probably will be for another four or five months. He starts coffee, wincing at the gurgle of the machine. Sam’s laptop is blinking accusingly at him from their bags, but looking for more fruitless demon omens doesn’t seem appealing. He sips at his coffee and waits for Dean to wake up.
It takes three cups for Dean to stir. Cas almost falls asleep again in his chair, but he jerks awake when Dean sits, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
“Dude, I thought we’d lose the whole watching me sleep thing now that you’re not an angel. You need sleep too, you know.”
“I did sleep.” Cas frowns. “And I wasn’t watching. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
Dean snorts. “Yeah, right.” He tries to pull himself into a more conventional sitting position, but he’s barely moved before he’s wincing.
“How’s your back?” Cas stands quickly, almost knocking over the dregs of his coffee. It’s easy to reach out for Dean, steadying him and supporting more of his weight than Cas had expected. Clearly, even the night’s sleep hadn’t done much for Dean’s strength.
“It hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’ll survive.” Dean grimaces, but lets Cas stabilize him with one hand, while carefully stacking pillows behind him with the other.
“Try that.”
Dean leans back and makes a face that isn’t entirely disapproving. “Is there any new word on where they might be keeping Sam, or why they want him?”
Cas shakes his head. “I didn’t look for omens. It seemed pointless, given that everything we’ve done has played into the demons’ hands.”
“Come on, Cas, where’s that can-do attitude?”
“I did have an idea. You’re not going to like it.”
Dean doesn’t.
“Seriously, your idea is Crowley?”
“You may have noticed that we’re running a little low on options. We don’t exactly have a lot people to turn to.”
Dean rubs his hand over his face. “What about Kevin?”
Cas shakes his head. “Kevin’s purpose as a prophet was to decode the tablet. He doesn’t have the same insight into your and Sam’s life that Chuck had. Besides-” He sinks heavily onto the edge of the bed. “-Kevin had a chance to escape from this life and, to the best of my knowledge, he took it. It would be cruel to drag him back in now.”
“But Crowley? Come on, there’s got to be someone else, anyone else.”
“If anyone knows what the demons are planning, it would be him.”
“Yeah, for all we know, he could be the one planning it!”
As points go, it’s a decent one. Still, Cas likes to think that he’d grown to know Crowley rather well, and this just doesn’t feel like his work. The dramatic steps to whatever the demons are planning and the emotional torture could be him-he always did like to gamble-but the orchestration doesn’t feel smooth enough. Crowley’s made himself successful by using very little power to great effect-this is more like lots of power used clumsily. Still, it’s probably safer to not trust the demon any more than they have to.
“If he is, then we’ll be one step closer to finding Sam. I take it you’ll be able to contain and interrogate him if his demons are responsible?”
Dean smiles. “Oh yeah. I can do that.”
They leave the motel early, Cas packing the car while Dean makes abortive fluttering motions and tries to help without actually doing much. It’s obvious that Dean’s trying to hide that he’s in pain, but he’s failing miserably. That he lets Cas carry his duffle bag out without protest is probably as clear a sign as Cas can get.
Still, when Cas heads for the driver’s door, Dean cuts him off with a growled, “I’m not on my damn deathbed.” Cas doesn’t fight him. Frankly, he feels a little privileged that he’s driven the Impala as much as he has, and there’s no doubt that driving makes Dean feel better.
They head north, taking the quiet back roads towards the Colorado border. It’s slow going. A light dusting of snow had fallen in the night, and there were no plows on the roads they’re taking. It’s isolated, desolate, and perfect for summoning the ruler of Hell.
It still takes several hours of searching before Dean spots a promising abandoned barn that looks suitable. After pulling around behind it, Dean digs through the trunk looking for spray paint while Cas pries the bottom of the barn door free from the frozen earth.
Dean’s face is pale when he joins him, and Cas decides it’s probably best if he just ignores Dean’s winces. He asked once during the drive if Dean’s back was hurting, and all he got was a blatant lie and a cold shoulder. If Dean wants to be a willful idiot, then Cas will leave him to suffer. It isn’t easy, but it looks like the only option he has.
He remembers a time when there were other options, when he could stop Dean’s pain and probably find his brother in the space of a heartbeat, and hastily distracts himself with painting devil’s traps in front of the door. This, at least, he can still do.
Even though Dean’s moving slowly, it doesn’t take long to demon-proof the barn. Dean’s pale by the time he finishes, but his voice and hands are steady as he works the summoning. Cas stands with his back against Dean’s, gripping the angelic blade tightly.
What feels like a long time passes, and nothing happens. Cas’ breath clouds the air, but his hands are slippery on the metal of the sword’s hilt. Behind him, Dean is breathing shallowly. The unpredictability of a demonic summoning is nerve-wracking and Cas just hopes that they haven’t made a terrible miscalculation.
“Well, if it isn’t two-thirds of my favorite trio, all nicely returned from the dead, and wherever the Hell you’ve been hiding, Cas.”
Cas turns quickly. Crowley is leaning against a support beam a safe distance from Dean and Cas, hands in his pockets.
“You must have known we’d be coming for you sooner or later.” Dean smirks, and there’s no sign of the pain and weariness in his face that Cas had seen just a few minutes before. Sometimes, he forgets what a good actor Dean can be.
“But wait-” Crowley holds up a finger. “-Something’s missing here. Have you lost your moose?”
“That’s actually what we want to talk to you about.” Dean takes an easy step towards him, and Crowley’s eyes flick down to Ruby’s knife in his hand. For a second, Cas thinks he almost looks worried, but then his collected mask slides back into place. “Come on, you can tell me, were you the one that brought back me and Sam?”
Crowley scoffs. “What, you think I’d be idiotic enough to resurrect you two chuckleheads?”
“So you’re telling me you don’t know anything about these demons’ plans?” Dean says.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re blathering about.” Crowley sounds genuinely confused, and as far as Cas can tell, he’s being truthful. Of course, his ability to read the demon has already been proven less effective than he’d hoped.
Dean glances over at Cas, and he half-shrugs. Dean’s guess is as good as his right now.
“Sam’s been captured by a group of demons,” Dean says. “What do you know about it?”
“About the fate of your Sasquatch of a brother? Absolutely nothing.”
Dean takes another step towards him, but Crowley looks supremely unimpressed.
“But, if you ask nicely, I might know something about recent activity outside of my loyal soldiers. My powerbase is not as-solid-as I’d like. There are still a few demons who support the old regime.”
“And they’re planning something?” Dean’s frowning.
Crowley shrugs. “They could be. You know demons. We’re always scheming about something. I could look into it, but it could be dangerous. You still haven’t offered anything that might make your little dramas worth my time.”
“Then what the Hell do you want?”
Cas moves forwards until he’s level with Dean, not taking his eyes off of Crowley. “Be careful. Any deal you make with him will certainly not be to your advantage.”
“So the littlest angel still speaks after all. There I was thinking you’d given up your voice to be a real human.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten all that you’ve done,” Cas says. “You abandoned us to the Leviathan.”
“And I lost both the prophet and that skank Meg. Hardly the happiest ending for me, was it?”
Cas still isn’t convinced that Crowley’s sudden arrival at Sucrocorp and equally rapid departure were merely unexpected helpfulness followed by cowardice. With Dick Roman dead, Cas has no way of proving it, but he’s fairly sure that Crowley had decided that it wasn’t worth it working with the Winchesters after all and betrayed them to Roman. If it’s true, then he’s responsible for Sam and Dean’s deaths, and it burns to be in the same space as him and be unable to exact vengeance. Still, as deep as Cas’ hate for Crowley runs, both boys are alive again, and if Crowley can keep them that way, then he’ll have to let the past go.
“What do you want in exchange for information?”
“Well, let’s get straight to it, then.” Crowley shrugs. “I promise, it won’t be a bother at all. I just want immunity. I help you find Moose and it’ll be the end of our dealings. You stay away from me, and I’ll do my best to keep my demons away from you. Everyone wins.”
Dean exhales and turns to Cas. “What do you think?” He keeps his voice low, even though they both know that Crowley can still hear him. It’s the principal of the thing.
Cas closes his eyes, breathing through the conflicting storm of emotions. He already knows what Dean wants to do and that asking him is just a formality. He’s touched that Dean would even make that effort, but Dean’s mind is already set. He’s already made far worse deals than this.
He nods.
Crowley’s smiling when Cas turns back to him. In the end, he’s won this game and he knows it. “Lovely. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” He turns away, then glances back over his shoulder at them. “And by the way, stop poking your nose into it. It’s a delicate situation, and the last thing I need is you dunces buggering it up. Take a vacation. I recommend someplace warm. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed.”
“Wait!” Dean sheathes his knife and jogs up to him. “You’re king of Hell. You’ve got to have a bead on where souls go, don’t you?”
“Seriously? Don’t you realize I’ve got better things to do than play St. Peter at the fiery gates?”
“Me and Sammy. Do you know where we were? Up or down?” There’s an edge of desperation in Dean’s voice, and Cas tenses.
Crowley shakes his head. “You really do have no idea how it works, do you? Frankly, I wouldn’t want you or your brother within my kingdom’s walls, but it’s not up to me. With all you’ve done, where do you think you’d end up? And let’s not even get started on your brother.” His smile is infinitely condescending. “Still, you don’t need to worry about that now. Just focus on keeping Moose from turning into the next monster you’ll have to hunt-again-and making sure your little ex-angel over there stays out of trouble.”
Cas blinks and Crowley’s gone. Dean’s still standing frozen in the center of the barn, and barely reacts when Cas joins him.
“The bastard knows more than he’s saying,” Dean says, and it’s clear he’s trying to pretend he isn’t scared out of his wits. “Why else would he say that about Sammy?”
“We should go,” Cas says, and gently pulls on Dean’s arm. “Crowley knows where are, and I don’t think we should stay exposed. We need to move, go somewhere unexpected.”
“Good plan.” Dean’s moving slowly, and Cas doesn’t think it’s all from the pain in his back.
“You shouldn’t listen to him. Crowley knows what you fear, and he’ll use that to his advantage. He doesn’t know anything about what happened to you and Sam when you were dead.”
“Yeah, I know. He was talking bullshit, just like he always does.”
They clean up the remains from the summoning, and leave the barn behind them. They head east, Dean’s hands clenched on the steering wheel.
“Where are we heading?” Cas asks, voice raised a little to be heard over the AC/DC blasting from the radio.
Dean shrugs, then winces. “Wherever the Hell this road goes. Right now, I don’t fucking care.”
“You’re going to stop the hunt?”
“I don’t know what else we can do. Crowley has a point-so far all we’ve done is walk into traps and get farther and farther away from Sam. The damn visions they’re sending are worth squat and they’re probably setting up the omens deliberately.” His fingers tap a staccato dance against the leather. “We’ll hole up for a few days, regroup, and if Crowley doesn’t know where Sam is by then, we’ll go to Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Start nabbing all the demons we can find and hope one of them knows something.”
For a long time, the music is the only sound in the car.
They drive for the rest of the day, stopping only to refuel and cobble together lunch from whatever Cas manages to find in the convenience store. Dean’s back must be excruciating by now and Cas wants to get a look at his bandages. Night falls, but Dean keeps driving until they cross the border back into Kansas.
It’s late by the time they pull up into a motel, and Dean lets Cas get the room. The young woman behind the desk looks barely half-awake and she’s mumbling so badly that he almost misses the room number.
The room smells faintly of mildew when Dean opens the door, but Cas doesn’t even care. He pulls off his shoes and falls onto the bed closest to the door.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is tight, and Cas somehow summons the energy to lift his head. “I know you’re human now and need sleep and all, but I really need you to check my back.”
Cas exhales roughly. “Of course, Dean, I’m sorry.” He pushes himself off the bed and fishes the first aid kit out of Dean’s duffle bag while Dean pulls off his t-shirt. Underneath the bandage, the wound looks better than Cas had expected. He cleans and re-bandages it. Dean almost gasps when Cas’ hands brush his chest as he wraps the gauze around Dean’s torso, probably a reaction to the coldness of Cas’ hands.
When Cas is finished, he leaves Dean to pull his shirt back on, and goes into the bathroom to change. Dean’s still sitting up in bed when he comes out.
“Cas-”
He freezes, crouched by his bag. “Dean?”
“Look, I really don’t know how to say this. If I’m completely out of line here, just tell me and I swear I’ll never mention it again.”
Cas stands and walks over to the bed next to Dean’s. He has a feeling he’ll want to be sitting for this.
“Dean, you know you can tell me anything.”
“The other night-you know, when I went out and got tanked?” He raises his eyebrows at Cas and grimaces. “I, uh, I kinda forgot what happened that night the next morning, but it’s sort of starting to come back to me.”
This is it, then. Dean remembers the kiss, remembers that Cas encouraged him, took advantage of him when he was drunk out of his mind. Cas had still, perhaps foolishly, been hoping that if they succeeded in rescuing Sam, they’d stay together afterwards and be a team-a family-the way they’d been during the Apocalypse. While Cas would never admit it, he’s missed that. He’s missed the sense of purpose, the sense of belonging. He’s missed Dean.
There’s no chance of that now, though.
“Dean, my actions that night were reprehensible. You were intoxicated, and I-” It comes out in a tumble Cas isn’t sure Dean even understands.
Dean blinks. He frowns at Cas, then blinks again. “Dude, I wanted you to kiss me back. I may have been smashed, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t how I felt. I just didn’t want it to be something you didn’t want. I don’t want to, I dunno, taint you.”
“Taint me?” Cas is fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation a while back. It’s certainly not going the direction he’d imagined it playing out. “How could you possibly do that?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably. “You know. You’re an angel. I’ve been to Hell, and it wasn’t for the climate. Aren’t sex, lust-all those messy human things-beneath you? Wrong?”
Cas can name a dozen angels he’d known that hadn’t considered sex beneath them or wrong, Gabriel and Balthazar heading the list, but that’s not the point, or at least not the point Dean’s trying to make. It’s odd; Dean seems to be able to remember that he’s no longer an angel when it comes to the little things like eating and sleeping, but Cas is starting to wonder how deeply Dean has actually processed the change. Perhaps he’ll always think of Cas as an angel, something untouchable and vast. Cas is neither of those things now.
“Dean, I’m human now. If I wish to engage in sexual relations with a willing partner, I have every right.”
Dean blinks again. “Just-just don’t call it ‘sexual relations.’ It makes you sound like a politician. And why would you want that? I mean, sex is awesome, but it gets messy and complicated, and eventually someone gets hurt, and when it’s you, it’s fuckin’ painful.”
“Yet you find it worth it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a masochist.”
Cas can’t really think of anything to say to that. He can’t spend the rest of his life trying to convince Dean that he’s something special, that he’s worth every pain that Cas might experience-that he’s always been. He drops his eyes and studies the tasteless pattern of the comforter.
“Cas.” Dean says again, and this time he sounds a little desperate. Cas looks up, and Dean’s staring at him, eyes wide and pleading. His mouth is slightly open, and Cas unconsciously echoes the movement when Dean’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.
There are only a few feet between the beds, but it feels like an abyss as Cas carefully stands and moves towards Dean. Dean reaches for him, and their fingers twine as Dean pulls Cas onto the bed next to him. Cas’ heart is pounding, because this is insane. Just because he’s been wanting this for longer than he’d care to admit doesn’t make it a good idea. It’s taken a long time to rebuild the friendship he’d had with Dean, and if this destroys all their work-
Then he’s close enough to Dean that he can feel the warmth of Dean’s shallow breaths and smell the soap on his skin, and suddenly this feels like a very, very good idea. Dean’s lips are warm against his, and if he’d thought that first kiss had been good, it has nothing on this one. Dean’s confident and just pushy enough that Cas can melt into him and just let go.
He settles back against the pillows, and rolls Dean on top of him. Dean’s laugh is muffled by their kiss, but the sensation is enough to send another surge of heat to his already interested dick. His hands run down Dean’s back, careful to avoid the bandages, and pull him closer, until their bodies are almost flush.
Dean breaks the kiss first, but he stays a fraction of an inch away from Cas, and in the soft light from the bedside lamp, the flecks of gold in his eyes shine.
“Just-just tell me you want this,” Dean breathes, which Cas decides is stupid question. Their bodies are close enough that he can very clearly feel the heat of Dean’s erection against his hip, and he guesses his own is hardly less subtle.
“I want this,” Cas says, and his voice has gone even lower than normal, rough and broken. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”
“Fuck,” Dean says, and he sounds even more wrecked than Cas. “You know we can-we can stop if you need to. Just say the word.” He smirks. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with my sheer sexual magnetism, you being a virgin and all.”
Cas grinds his hips up against Dean’s and the smirk disappears as Dean moans. Dean pulls back, and Cas grabs for him, but his reflexes are dulled. Dean sits back on his heels, his knees bracketing Cas’ hips, and reaches for the hem of Cas’ t-shirt. “Can I?”
“Please.” Cas wriggles up and lets the shirt slide off over his head. Dean’s shirt follows quickly, and Cas is left with the wide expanse of Dean’s chest, bisected by the stark white of the bandage. It’s a reminder that Dean’s not at his full strength and that they need to be at least somewhat gentle. Cas hates it.
Dean’s staring down at him and he suddenly remembers that while he’s seen Dean’s naked form, albeit not in this context, Dean’s never seen him like this before. He shifts, for the first time feeling a little uncomfortable.
Dean drops back down onto his elbows, and though he ducks his head, Cas doesn’t miss his wince.
He lifts a hand to Dean’s shoulder, steadying him. “Are you alright? Do you need to stop?”
Dean smiles, but there’s still an edge of pain there. “Hey, I’ll be fine. Let’s just stay away from anything acrobatic.” He lowers his head again, and presses a hard kiss against where Cas’ jaw meets his neck. Cas gasps and throws his head back, arching up against Dean’s mouth, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder. “Anyway,” Dean whispers into his ear, “this is worth it.”
Cas’ hand slips a little lower, fingers pressing against the warmth of Dean’s bicep, and Dean starts, tensing under Cas’ hold.
“Is that alright?” Cas asks.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Dean’s eyes are closed, and he’s panting a little. Cas frowns, then realizes why it feels familiar. Oh. He squeezes Dean’s arm, and reaches between their bodies, cupping Dean’s groin. Dean moans and pushes forwards into Cas’ hand, his head dropping to rest against Cas’ shoulder.
It’s awkward through the fabric and the angle feels wrong, but Dean seems fine with Cas’ attempts. He smooths his hand along Dean’s length, pressing in with the heel, and Dean swears against Cas’ neck.
“Wait.” Dean pulls away again, but this time, he slides down Cas’ body. “Not like that.” He catches his fingers in the waistband of Cas’ sweatpants and drags them and his underwear down over his hips, then shimmies out of his own pants. For a second, the air is uncomfortably cold against his dick, but then the heat of Dean’s hand replaces the chill, and Cas gasps.
Every touch is easy and relaxed, like Dean knows exactly what he’s doing. Cas has grown more familiar with the different ways his body can experience pleasure since he’s been human. A good meal, clothes that fit just right, a hot shower after a long day, the spreading warmth of his own hand against his flesh-none of it has felt like this.
Dean is all around him, every twist of his wrist and brush of his thumb across the head of Cas’ dick sending shocks of pleasure that are slowly destroying his higher functioning abilities. He bucks up into Dean’s fist, moaning Dean’s name until Dean stops him with a kiss, the press of his tongue into Cas’ mouth mirroring the movements of his hand.
Still, there’s the nagging feeling that Dean’s own erection is going unattended. Cas reaches down Dean’s back, hands skimming across his skin, then cupping Dean’s ass. He pulls him up until Dean’s groin is level with Cas,’ and his dick is pressing against Cas’ stomach. Dean huffs in surprise, then rolls his hips experimentally.
“Like this?” Dean lets go of Cas for a second to line them up, then wraps his fingers around both of their dicks, and Cas’ eyes close from the sudden, almost overwhelming friction. He knows he’s close, but he tries to hold back until Dean’s ready.
Given from the noises Dean’s making as he thrusts carefully into his hand and along Cas’ length, it might not take long. Cas doesn’t have much space to move, but he tries, pushing up against Dean, and the moan that drags its way from Dean’s throat is worth it.
“Cas.” It sounds like a prayer, low and reverent, and with enough of something that Cas might call love in it to push him over the edge. He spills hot and wet into Dean’s hand, holding Dean tight as he comes, everything else dulled by the sensation.
Dean holds him through the shockwaves, then picks up speed, his movements becoming more and more irregular. “Let me,” Cas breathes, and Dean shifts enough that Cas can work his hand between them. Dean’s thrusts are desperate now, and it doesn’t take much for him to follow Cas over. His arms give and he collapses onto Cas. He’s a little heavy, but Cas doesn’t mind. He holds him, his arms wrapped loosely around Dean, as they both try and relearn how to breath.
“That,” Dean says after what feels like a long time, though Cas, still lost in the afterglow, can’t really be sure. “That was fucking awesome.”
Cas just presses a kiss against Dean’s head and hums agreement. They’re going to have to move soon and make an altogether too-long trip to get cleaned up, but for now, this is perfect. Dean moves, just a little, to shift some of his weight off of Cas, though he stays wrapped around him like an octopus. For the first time since Dean came back, it feels like everything is going to work out.
That night, nothing disturbs them.
The next morning, Cas still feels a little sweaty and sticky, but it’s inconsequential. Dean’s up and in the shower, singing loudly and surprisingly in-tune. He sounds happy, and Cas smiles into the pillow. He’d been a little worried, somewhere in between the last of the afterglow wearing off and falling asleep, that Dean would try and forget last night had happened. If he had, Cas isn’t sure if he would have been able to handle that. He’s got too many emotions wrapped up with Dean Winchester to be able to have one night of sex with him and then just return to being friends.
He slips out of bed and pads over to the bathroom door. It swings open at his touch, and he carefully steps inside.
Dean sees him immediately, and the grin on his face is enough to soothe away the last of Cas’ fears. There’s shampoo in his hair, shaping it into jagged spikes, and Cas smiles.
“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Dean gestures at the shower. “Want to join me?”
Cas considers it. It’s tempting, but the shower is a little on the small side, and the walls are grungy. While the idea of Dean pressing him against the wall and fucking him until he can’t remember his name-or vice versa-is a tempting image, he’d rather hold out for somewhere more sanitary. “Maybe later.”
He waits while Dean finishes showering, and he’s fairly sure that Dean preens a little under his gaze. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind Cas staying in the bathroom. As soon as he’s out, Cas pushes him back against the towel rack, careful of Dean’s back, and kisses him hard. Dean’s waist is slippery under his hands, and he shoves back against Cas eagerly.
It would be easy to take this further, but there’s something satisfying about kissing just for the sake of it, relishing the little electric brushes of skin against skin and the needy press of Dean’s mouth. They’re both panting for breath by the time they break apart.
“I-I should shower,” Cas gasps, and steps back to let Dean out. When he’s done, Dean’s still in the bathroom, wearing jeans and nothing else. He’s got the gauze off, and when Cas steps out of the shower stall, he’s twisted around trying to see the wound in the mirror. He smiles at the reflection of Cas.
“Do you think I’ll get a dashing scar?”
“I think you have more than enough scars to be sufficiently dashing.” Cas pulls on a clean t-shirt and surreptitiously sniffs his over shirt. It’ll work for another day.
“I think we should go out to get breakfast,” Dean says, and Cas looks up. Dean’s trying to redo the bandages, and Cas carefully takes them from him. “We’ve been living off of crappy drive-through breakfast burritos for days, and a man needs pancakes every so often.”
“Then we will find you pancakes.” Cas ties off the fresh gauze, letting his hand linger on Dean’s skin for just a little longer than he needs to.
There’s a little diner down the street from the motel. The outside is be-decked with cheerfully twinkling lights and Christmas music is blaring from the speakers by the door. Cas hadn’t realized how late in the year it was already. In the last few weeks since Dean came back, Cas feels like he’s been living outside of ordinary time.
Apparently, it’s been the same for Dean. “Crap, I don’t even know what day it is.” He reaches for the newspaper on the counter. “Wow, it’s almost Christmas.” Cas cranes to see the date and Dean obligingly angles the paper. It’s already the 18th of December. This time last year, he was in Spokane, wondering why he hadn’t decided to go to a warmer city for the winter and desperately trying to make ends meet by doing odd jobs.
They end up at a booth by the window. Dean orders pancakes that Cas is fairly sure have more merit as dessert than breakfast. For all that Dean argues that having fruit and milk with breakfast is good, Cas isn’t sure that apple pie filling and whipped cream count. Still, the look on Dean’s face when their food arrives makes up for its dubious nutritional quality.
“Did you do anything for Christmas last year?” Dean asks around a mouthful of pancake, and Cas looks up sharply. Dean shrugs. “It just seems like a holiday you’d be all over.”
Cas takes a sip of coffee. “There didn’t seem to be much worth celebrating,” he says carefully. “I was still adjusting to being human, and staying alive seemed like a greater priority.”
Dean purses his lips and nods. “Sammy and me never do much either. It just doesn’t feel as important when you’re fighting for your life. Hell, I think the last time we celebrated anything was the last Christmas before-” He breaks off, voice faltering. “-Before we met you.” Before I went to Hell hangs unsaid between them.
The food is better than anything they’ve had in a long time, and the rest of the meal passes mostly in silence punctuated by Dean’s happy-food noises. To his own surprise, Cas matches Dean bite for bite. It still feels a little strange to eat with Dean after so many years of just watching.
It’s bitingly cold outside so they hurry back to the motel. Their room is nowhere as well heated as the diner, but it still feels nice after the walk over.
“So,” Dean says as they’re stripping off their coats, “I’m thinking we give Crowley forty-eight hours. If the slimy bastard hasn’t come up with something by then, we’ll start taking on his minions.”
Cas nods. “Fair enough. Do you want to move on?”
Dean throws himself onto his unmade bed and the springs squeal in protest. “Nah, let’s hang out here. If it’s almost Christmas, then Die Hard is probably on at least one channel, and that’s one holiday tradition to stick to.”
Cas settles in next to him and Dean wriggles sideways to give him more room. Dean had carefully avoided touching him when they’d been out, but Cas had expected that. He’s been pleasantly surprised by how comfortable Dean is becoming in private, but it’s too much to hope that thirty-odd years of carefully avoiding public displays of affection would just be erased.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it,” Cas says, and he smiles at Dean’s indignant squawk. Dean fumbles for the remote and finds what Cas is assuming is the right film after a few minutes of frantic channel surfing. It’s apparently almost half way in, but Dean’s more than happy to fill him in on the backstory. Cas only half listens, letting Dean’s voice wash over him. Their bodies are barely touching, but it still feels intimate.
The movie ends and another begins. Dean’s seen this one too, and keeps up his commentary. At some point, his arm snakes up and wraps around Cas’ shoulders, pulling them just a little closer together. After that, Cas gives up trying to stay a respectable distance apart and leans against Dean.
The day slips away. They go back to the diner for lunch, then again for dinner. After they’ve finished dinner, their waitress brings them free slices of pie “for customer loyalty,” and Dean’s face lights up.
They fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, legs tangled under the sheets.
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