Chaos With Better Lighting [7/7]
Michael is there. Dean stares at him like he's a ghost or something. Or not; a fucking ghost would be welcome. Anything besides this dick, who's cloaked all in back and wearing his stupid "official" crown, the golden halo with the cross symbol on it. And that must be Lucifer next to him, wearing some weird horned, three-spiked crown. Both of them look all kingly. Both of them look pretty pissed.
Castiel straightens up in his hands. Dean only needs to glance at him to see how pale he is, even in the reddish light from the torches. He squeezes his shoulders. Stay standing. This changes things. It doesn't end them.
"Did you really think you could just run away, you fool?" Michael stalks forward until they're an inch apart. Castiel, still in his arms, suddenly feels kind of like a shield, and Dean releases him, lets him step to the side so that they stand with their shoulders almost touching. Cas's hand manages to find his; he grasps it without looking. "Did you, Dean?"
"Sure as fuck seemed like I could," he tosses back. Castiel's hand tightens around his, a warning. Dean doesn't bother heeding it. "With you just sitting on your ass up in Heaven, not like you cared much what was going on down here, did you?"
"I cared very much," Michael replies coolly. "You realize that the only possible thing that could make me stand side-by-side with my brother without throttling him, the only thing that could make us reunite, would be to prevent you and your brother from performing some asinine stunt like this?"
"And let me tell you," says Lucifer, who looks way too amused by all this, "that getting our underlings to agree? Not an easy task. Turns out undying loyalty doesn't mean much when it comes to working with your mortal enemies." He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. Dean thinks-no, he knows-that he hates him. "Who knew? Oh, and who would've thunk that my littlest brother, quiet, timid Castiel would end up in a gay romance with the heir to Heaven?" He nods at Castiel. This time, it's Dean's hand that tightens the grip into a vise just short of bone-crushing. "Hey, Cassie."
"Hello, brother," Castiel says icily. There's no tremble, no fear in his voice. He's standing straight and tall. Dean loves him for it.
"I will deal with Castiel later," Michael growls. The look he throws at Castiel could whither roses, cause kittens to curl up into little fluffy balls that are too scared to ever move again, but Castiel takes it all. Dean would turn and kiss him long and messily right now, if not for that he doesn't want to be distracted. The room is still deathly silent, but that could change in seconds. Anything could happen; he needs to be on his feet.
"We're leaving," Sam says suddenly. His chin juts out and he glares at Lucifer, all the deadly hatred that comes from having been kidnapped and raised in Hell for twelve years boiled up in there. "And you can't stop us."
"Oh, really?" Lucifer raises an eyebrow. As if it's a cue, he and Michael step forward, and the doors from which a cold night breeze was blowing snap shut untouched. There's not a soul in the hall that doesn't jump at the sound.
"Please." Lucifer smirks at what Dean guesses are fearful faces. He knows that right now, he feels kind of like ice water has been poured down his back from some satanic pitcher. It's not very pleasant. "Like the priestesses and prophets are the only ones with a few tricks up their sleeves."
Michael raises his voice. "If you cooperate and stand down, all of you will leave here alive. You are the future leaders of our kingdoms, and we have no desire to harm you."
"But we will if we have to," adds Lucifer. His lips twitch up, and why the hell does he look so amused by all of this? What the fuck is wrong with him? "See, there's a little prophecy out there, made by a good man called Azazel-"
"'There comes a time when south and north/comes together as two from Earth/brothers and brothers, marked by fire/and but one will have their heart's desire-"
"Right, Mikey. 's about Sam and Dean. Needing to fight each other, probably to the death. And winner takes all. Including one of our lives." He raises his eyebrows and throws his hands up in an obscene parody of fear. "How scary! Anyway, we intend to see that happen. Got it? No one leaves this place until two Winchesters have fought each other."
It's very silent. Someone coughs. One of the string-quarteters thumbs his instrument, and it echoes with an inappropriate, out-of-tune loudness.
"I won't let you," Castiel says suddenly. His eyes are blue and clearly reflecting his disdain for his higher-ups, in the place where polite submissiveness might once have been. His shoulders are set strong. "I will fight you to the death myself if I have to."
Again, it's very quiet, and then Lucifer laughs. Michael doesn't; he just looks furious and like he's a moment away from socking Cas, but the king of Hell apparently thinks this is right up there with the best shows that the traveling minstrels put up. "Oh, he's a comedian? I like this one."
"I don't joke." Castiel lets go of Dean's hand, turns his arm ever so slightly, and suddenly he's holding something sharp-looking and shiny. It takes Dean a moment to realize it's one of the Heaven-made swords, the one he's shown himself to be adept with time and time again in Caleb's class. "If you force me to, brother, I will fight you. Without reservation."
Lucifer is still laughing as he raises his hand and twists, and then Castiel goes flying back, slams hard into the stone wall. He slumps forward, not moving, and the sword falls from his limp hand. Dean's world turns red, Sam yells, "Cas!" and Michael looks completely impassive even though that's his brother lying on the floor and not moving, with a trickle of blood flowing from his nose-
He throws himself at Lucifer; Sam reaches out to grab him, hold him back, but he doesn't manage in time. "You bastard! If he's hurt, I'll fucking kill you-"
Lucifer shoves him off with one of his mind-pushes, one considerably softer than what he used against Cas. He's not laughing anymore. "Dean. Fight your brother and I'll fix Cas right up. Might not even be any permanent danger," he adds.
"No." Flat out. Easy. Dean doesn't think about it, and part of himself hates him for that, the way that he so easily makes the choice-but his brother is his to protect. He made that promise when he was young and promises still meant something, and he'll be damned if he breaks it now.
"We'll start killing them." Michael nods at the onlookers. "If you force us to that. You will fight. Whatever we need do to make that happen, we will do it. There is no life in here more valuable than seeing the prophecy properly fulfilled."
Quiet. Total quiet. Dean glances at Castiel's deathly pale form, and at Sam, who meets his eyes. Then, like a signal was given, they both turn very slowly and look at all the people that they've spent the past month with, plus the entire class of Harvelle's. Dean spies Sam's Jess in one corner; he can't tell what she's thinking or even make out her expression at all from the distance. He sees Bobby, standing tall in the center. Andy, a foot or two away from Raphael, who was wrestling with him not ten minutes ago. The other teachers like Caleb, Rufus, who've done their best to prepare him for a future he never intended to have.
If he has to choose, he'll choose Sam. That he knows with utter certainty. But at what cost? Who's going to have to die before they can walk? And what of Cas, who might just be knocked out, but who could currently be dead a matter of feet away from him? What's he supposed to do?
Dean thinks he's going to spend the rest of his life standing like this, caught on the brink of unquestionable loyalty to his brother and uncertainty as to what the consequences of that will be. He thinks that nothing else can happen, nothing can move him-
At least, he thinks that until a small voice from seemingly far away calls out, "Like fuck we're gonna stand for that!" and before he knows it, Andy is turning around and decking Raphael on the nose. Raphael stumbles back, swearing-
And suddenly, just like that, everyone's fighting. This time it's easier divided, and Dean realizes that his friends, the people who weren't all that bad to him this year-Ash, Andy, the Ghostfacers-are fighting against those who are most loyal to Heaven and Hell. The Harvelle students too seem to have caught on to the unwritten divide; he sees Jess fighting one of the Heaveners he knew to be a loyalist-
He turns to Sam and leans in so that Michael and Lucifer can't here, which probably won't be much of a problem, because he thinks that's Caleb and Rufus and Bobby and Victor coming up right now like pissed off fathers who have just seen their kids get shoved down at the park. "Get in there, okay? Fight. Disguise yourself. But don't. Fight. Me."
Sam nods. "Of course."
He runs into the fray, and Dean loses sight of him right as Bobby throws the first punch at Michael. He smiles. Sam'll do well for himself. And maybe it'll be long enough for Michael and Lucifer go down, because come on, four to two? Bad odds, even if one of them can toss people like sacks of potatoes. And Dean is going to go over and fight them too, he is. Just as soon as he makes sure Cas is coherent.
With that knowledge warm in his heart, Dean ducks out of the way of the teachers converging on the kings and moves as quickly as he can to get to Castiel's side. "Cas?"
Castiel's mind feels like someone has taken his usual clear reasoning and stirred some sort of paint into it, hazing it up. Making it into a dark, swirled mess. And also making him really dizzy, which is a highly unpleasant sensation.
"Cas?"
Dean? With effort, Castiel furrows his brow and focuses. He tries to clear out his head through sheer will, and it somewhat works. Not really, because he knows that head trauma doesn't quite work like that, even in his muddled state. But he gets clear enough so that he can flex his fist, try to push himself up into a sitting position.
He fails, and would crash completely back onto the hard stone floor, were it not for Dean, who grabs hold of his shoulders and helps him up. "Hey. Focus. Open your eyes, Cas. Let me see your pupils."
Castiel complies, because it's Dean asking and he doesn't think he's entirely capable of refusing Dean anything. He does regret it, though, when he's assaulted by torchlight and the sight of two Harvelle's students punching each other about a foot away from his head.
"Keep 'em open. Come on."
Castiel frowns and makes the effort. Manages to focus on Dean's face. Which, granted, is one of the more pleasant things to be looking at.
"You're not dilated," Dean says, sounding relieved. "Do you feel dizzy?"
"A bit," Castiel says. The words come out easier than he thought they would, and he thanks his Father for small miracles. "I think that's more the effect of being thrown, though. Not a head injury."
Dean nods. He's balancing on the tips of his toes, biting his lip and looking really, really concerned. He reaches out a hand a feels Castiel's forehead, of all things-it's weird and a bit bizarre of a thing for Dean to be doing, but the touch feels nice, so Cas lets him. "Sam?"
"He's fine. In the fray. I doubt Michael or Lucifer'll be able to catch him there, and he can hold his own. He'll be fine." Dean nods down the hall, and Castiel observes with surprisingly little surprise that there's not one person here who is just standing around peacefully. No, civilization seems to have fallen apart. Students fight student; Heaven versus Hell versus Hell versus Earth…loyalties are gone. Even the members of the terrible string quartet are yelling at each other; zigging and zagging their bows to produce an effect that's akin to the caterwauling of a cat in heat. There are no serious injuries, not that Cas can see, but that could change.
"Dean. We have to stop this." Castiel rubs at his eyes, blinks again, and forces himself to have a clear head. There's a throbbing at the base of his skull that almost certainly testifies to a bruise, and although he doesn't think his nose is quite broken, it most definitely is bleeding. But that's hardly the worst of the wounds that could come up if Michael and Lucifer don't act now, don't call an end to this madness. They're humoring the teachers who are sparring with them now, but oh, that could change very quickly. "Is there anything you and Sam can do? Anything at all?"
"I don't think so." Dean sits back on his heels. His hand is wrapped solidly around the hilt of Castiel's sword. "Cas, even if I went up to Sam and punched him, and then he punched me and we tried to pass that off as fighting, they wouldn't buy it. They want one of us dead, you heard them."
There's a sudden sharp crack as a body hits the floor; Dean whips away from Castiel to look. Cas doesn't need to move. Caleb, the loyal sword-fighting instructor, is lying on the ground. Threw a punch that landed too close to Lucifer, perhaps, and made the King of Hell decided to drop the front of caring about whether or not anyone else lives. And Lucifer looks completely unmoved by the fact that he just possibly killed someone. If anything, Caleb's still body makes him look mildly amused.
"Fuck," Dean says. His hand tightens around the sword. "I can't fight Sam, Cas. I can't."
"I understand."
"But Mike or Lucifer? I can do that."
"What?" Castiel jerks forward, grabs Dean's wrist. "You can't. Dean, they'll slay you!"
"No they won't. They need me to fulfill the prophecy, remember?" Dean shakes his head, glances back down the hall. The fighting hasn't stopped; no one seems to have noticed how Caleb lies, unconscious if not dead. "Things are just gonna get worse, and we both know that they're not going to let anyone out until two Winchesters have fought. Heaven and Hell and Earth and all their future leaders are just gonna kill themselves in here if I don't do something. I can't sit by and let that happen. I can't."
Castiel drops Dean's arm so that he can push himself to his feet, bracing off against the wall. His vision briefly gives way to a gray haze, but then is kind enough to shape itself back into reality. Dean follows him onto his feet, looking wary. "Dean. I didn't rebel from Heaven and doom myself to a life on the road forever for this. I didn't walk away from my higher-ups and Balthazar and whatever old life I had to watch you kill yourself."
"I just told you, it's not gonna-"
"That's beside the point, and you know it. Give me the sword, Dean. I will do it."
"Like fuck you will." Dean glares at him, his jaw set hard. "You might not be concussed, but you're pretty damn shaken. You're staying here and not getting yourself killed."
"I'm stronger than you," Castiel replies. And it's true-Dean and Sam are good fighters; very good ones, even. He won't discredit them of that. But, to be entirely blunt, Castiel is better. And he knows that he is.
"Not like this you're not." Dean turns away, done with the discussion, and Castiel automatically grabs arm, forces him to turn. He sets his jaw, summons up all of the strength that he has.
"You. Are. Not. Fighting. Michael and Lucifer. By. Yourself."
"What, are you gonna come? There's only one sword, and it's in my hands." Dean raises an eyebrow and shrugs off his hand. "You can't stop me."
Castiel punches him in the jaw.
Dean reels back, dropping the sword. Castiel snatches it out of the air, not giving it time to clatter against the ground. He doesn't think about what he just did as he strides forward, ready to die so that Dean doesn't have to be injured. Because Michael and Lucifer, they're ruthless and they're senseless. They'll hurt Dean, even if they don't off him.
"Don't you even think about it," Dean snarls from somewhere behind him. Castiel is close to Michael and Lucifer now, and he doesn't bother turning around. He just strides forward, past Professor Victor Henricksen who is clutching his stomach and spitting something vile whilst glaring ferociously at Lucifer; past Bobby Singer, who is cautiously circling an irate Michael. He goes straight by Rufus Turner, who holds a short knife not too different from his own sword. He ignores them all, focusing only on his brothers.
Castiel slows his steps until he's about a foot away from his brothers. They both meet his gaze head on. Lucifer raises his eyebrows. "Have to admit, it's kinda cute to see a guy go out of his way to defend his boyfriend's honor. Makes you think that chivalry isn't quite dead."
"Stand down, Castiel," Michael snarls at him. "Drop the sword now, and your punishment will not be as severe. Renounce your foolish decisions, your…relationship with my heir, and I will go lightly on you, brother."
"I don't think I can do that," Castiel replies calmly. His hand is very sweaty, and he's kind of worried that the sword is just going to slip out of his slick palm. "You must stop this. Let us out. Let Sam and Dean go, and I'll gladly do whatever you ask of me."
"Cas, shut the fuck up." And then Dean is standing next to him, palpable waves of fury rolling off of him like a bad stench. Castiel closes his eyes, damning Dean's stupidity. "What is it about Heaven that breeds assholes? Does it, like, run in the family or something?"
"I bet you know an awful lot about Castiel's-I'm sorry, that's just too easy," Lucifer says, somehow keeping a straight face. "Really, I think it's sweet. Young love and all that. So innocent." He shakes his head.
"Innocent?" Dean stalks forward until he's nose to nose with the King of Hell. Castiel lays a warning hand on his shoulder; Dean shrugs it off like it's a hot poker. "Fuck innocence. I think I lost mine when you decided to kidnap my brother when I was eight, you assfuck. I think I lost it when you tore apart my family for the sake of your fucking prophecy."
"I raised you better than that, Dean," Michael begins, chastising, but he doesn't get a chance to finish because Dean spins around and slams his fist into his nose. Michael snarls, blood drips down his face, and he raises his hand threateningly. "How dare you!"
"Don't touch him," Castiel warns, stepping forward. The sword is out and ready in his hand-
"Castiel, I'm afraid I can't let you do that." And then he's flying backwards again (and really, how exactly is it that he's gone his entire life without being magically thrown backwards, and now it's happening twice in a day?) and landing on his shoulder, and oh, oh fuck, that hurts-
"You fucking bastard!" Dean is snarling from somewhere above and behind him, "If he's hurt I'll fucking kill you, and you better bet that I'll enjoy doing it!"-
And that godawful string quartet is still playing-
And then the doors swing open, knocking both Michael and Lucifer down onto the floor, and a wind is coursing in, and suddenly everyone is still. And Castiel thinks that there's some deeper significance to all this, but he's not entirely sure what, because his arm is throbbing like hell, and all he really wants is an ice-pack.
Sam has just finished fighting some kid whose name he doesn't know when the door swings open. Michael and Lucifer give twin yelps of pain, and Dean's voice-which wound frighteningly above the fray a few moments ago-falls quiet. Most of the voices do, actually, Sam's included. He can't explain why, because it's certainly not so that he can stand still and savor the early spring breeze which is causing all the torches to dance and flicker about. Although that's kind of what he's doing right now.
Michael, to no surprise, breaks the silence. "I thought you had bound the doors," he snaps at Lucifer. He sounds every bit the arrogant dick that Dean always described him as.
Lucifer's answer is as blithe as always. "I did. Not sure what happened, unless Sam and Dean have suddenly started to telepathically mind-wrestle." He snorts to himself. Sam hates him.
"I think we all know that's not what occurred," Michael growls. "Samuel? Dean? What have you done?"
"I haven't killed you yet, but I will if I have to," Sam hears Dean say. Which apparently isn't what they were looking for, because all of a sudden all eyes are on him.
He glances at Dean for strength, at Castiel, who's pushed himself up into a sitting position despite the intense grimace he's got on. "I didn't do anything," he says, raising his hands. "I swear. I was just fighting…"
Sam turns, glances around until he finds the kid that he was just fighting. Tallish, sandy hair. Nondescript. Sam has the vague idea that he had most of his classes with him, but he's not sure what his name is. "…him!"
"And who is 'him?'" asks Michael. He strides down the length of the hall, the only one moving. Well except for Dean, who slips over to kneel down beside Castiel, although his eyes never leave Sam. "Son. State your name and patronage."
The guy who was just trying to pummel Sam with all his strength, and who had a burgeoning black eye to show for it, clears his throat. "Adam Milligan, your Heavenly Highness. Of Earth."
"Adam?" Dean asks, and although it's probably supposed to be said softly and privately to Cas, it, uh, it kind of carries. "Who the fuck is Adam?"
Which is kind of callous. But Sam has to admit that he's wondering that too. Adam is the sort of guy who just kind of slips away from you; you would have to make a conscious effort to remember him in order to be aware of his existence.
"My mother was a woman named Kate Milligan. She was one of the lower princesses of a small kingdom on Earth, called…"
Sam tries to listen. He really does. But Adam's words all just sort of fade to an incoherent buzzing not unlike that of the string quartet. It's only when a familiar name comes up that he's able to focus again.
"…my mom told me that I was conceived by a traveler passing through. A man named John Winchester. But he never claimed me as his, so I don't know how true that is." Adam coughs politely, finished with his story. "Your Highness."
It's very quiet as everyone contemplates this. Sam turns over the information in his head. So…he has another brother? Or, well, half-brother. Conceived while his dad was on a quest for revenge against Azazel, the one that he went on after Lucifer and Michael had taken him and Dean. Sam's heard that story often enough from Lucifer, about how damn dedicated and determined his father was when it came to hunting down the man who'd made the prophecy that led (supposedly) to Mary's death. He never mentioned another brother.
And then something else occurs to Sam, something which probably should have come to him first. "Wait a minute. So… doesn't that mean that I just fulfilled the prophecy?"
Sam's words echo through the hall. Dean takes them in, frowns, thinks.
Did Sam just fulfill the prophecy?
He looks at Cas. Cas looks back, and nods. "I believe it does."
"No, of course it doesn't!" Michael snaps. He's pacing back and forth, his face a furious red. Lucifer, on the other hand, is leaning against the open door. His hair is being mussed up from the wind coming in, and he looks annoyed. "It had to be between Sam and Dean. And one of them has to be dead."
"And where did it say that?" Dean asks. He rises to his feet, still staying near Castiel. "It said that two brothers from Earth were marked by fire. It said only one could have their heart's desire, and yeah, I can get why that could be interpreted as 'they need to fight.' But where did it say anything about death?"
"It didn't," Sam calls from the other end of the hallway. "It didn't say anything about death, did it, Lucifer?"
Lucifer glances up from where he was carefully examining his fingernails. "Not technically."
"Exactly!" Sam grins triumphantly.
"But Adam wasn't marked by fire! And he wasn't split between Heaven and Hell. It doesn't work at all." Michael glares at Adam, and Dean feels something for the guy. Who is technically his brother, even if Dean never really noticed him before. Despite the classes they had together, and all that.
"Actually, I was," Adam volunteers timidly. He lifts up his sleeve, showing a red scar that stretches from his shoulder to his elbow. "I got burned when I was, like, three. And my mom had a mom from Hell and a dad who was a renegade from Heaven, so. I don't know much about the prophecy, but I kinda am split between them."
"Shut up!" Michael is spitting now, his face the color of a ripe tomato. Dean wouldn't be surprised if steam were coming out of his ears, or if fire started pouring from his fingers. Lucifer, on the other hand, just looks mildly amused. "It can't be like that! The battle between Heaven and Hell must culminate! We must crush Lucifer and his dissenters into the ground!"
"But I won the fight," Sam retorts, "and that's not my heart's desire. I want to leave. I want me and Dean and Cas to get on our horses and ride out of here, and I want us to be able to make our own destinies. Oh, and I want everyone in here to be allowed to leave safely, okay?"
Michael is very definitely about to protest that, but Sam has turned and it walking away, walking up the long space from where he was to where Dean is, and he's not paying any attention to what some humiliated king of Heaven has to say.
Once Sam is standing next to Dean and Castiel, he looks out over their silent audience. "Jess, I'm sorry things didn't work out," he calls. "Maybe…maybe later? Once everything settles down?"
From somewhere in back, a voice calls, "It's okay, Sam. I get it… and maybe. I don't know, but I'm not going to forget you any time soon."
"Good enough," he answers, grinning. "And Adam, sorry we didn't know about you. Hope things work out for you."
Adam probably says something in response. Dean doesn't pay much attention.
Sam calls out one last goodbye, this one directed at Andy, who calls out with instructions for Sam to 'stay awesome.' Once all that's done, Sam turns to him and Castiel, who's on his feet again, although he's still holding his shoulder tenderly. "You guys ready?"
"I am." Dean glances at Castiel. "You?"
"More than ready."
They walk to the door, every eye on their back. From somewhere, Michael yells shrilly, "You can't just let them walk away! It's not allowed!" and Bobby answers, "Like fuck you're telling me how to run my school! Far as I'm concerned, you just attacked a bunch of innocents, you and your brother. That's grounds for interkingdom arrest."
Dean is sorely tempted to turn around and see what, exactly, comes out of that. But he doesn't, because he wants to walk away from this mess, and turning around would just pull him way back in.
Lucifer is still near the doors, but now he's straightening up. Probably going to try to run. Dean hopes the bastard doesn't get very far. "Dean. Sam. Very well played. And Castiel, you've quite the backbone, for one raised in Heaven."
"If you come near us again," Dean says, not bothering to look at him, "I'll kill you. I will." He's never killed someone before, and right now, he's on the downward rush of his adrenaline spiral. Not to mention that his younger brother is standing right next to him, and his, um, boyfriend isn't exactly in the shape needed for being a witness to a crime that could launch a war.
But if he ever meets Lucifer again at night in a dark, deserted lane? Only one of them's gonna be walking away. And Dean is confident that it will be him.
Lucifer just laughs, and then he's not there anymore, no matter where Dean looks. Like he just became part of the night. Or maybe he just magicked himself out of there.
"He does that," Sam says tiredly. "Don't worry about it. Come on, let's get to the barn."
The barn is well-lit, the stable boys from Singer's and Harvelle's engaging in mildly drunken revelries. They ignore Sam and Dean and Cas; in turn, they are ignored.
The three of them tack up their mounts in relative silence. Or, well, Sam and Dean outfit Charger and Impala; Castiel just kind of sits next to their bags and hold his arm carefully, looking rather sore. Dean resists the urge to lean over and kiss him.
When the horses are suited up, saddle bags and all, and they're each wearing the bags that they packed, they're ready. It feels so small, so far from momentous, that Dean expects something to happen. Lucifer to pop in and stab him, Castiel back out at the last moment and say that no, he doesn't care at all for Dean, and would much rather be living back in Heaven with Balthazar (which, okay, maybe Dean has been worrying about. A little).
But…it doesn't. As they lead the horses out of the barn, past a bunch of drunken stable-workers who are apparently really bad at their job, seeing as they don't see anything wrong with three students taking two horses outside at midnight, the only unplanned variable is that Bobby is standing out there. He's got a bit of a black eye, but all in all, looks pretty damn good for a guy who just faced down two of the most dangerous men in all the world.
"Michael's being locked up now," he tells them by way of greeting. "In the dungeons. He acted against me on my property, means I got a right to defend myself." He shrugs. "God only knows who's gonna be leading Heaven now. Or Hell, for that matter. Lord knows Lucifer isn't gonna be showing his face in public after what he did here. All Heaven and half of Earth'll be on his ass. . Could be there's a council called between kingdoms-that hasn't happened in a long time. We live in interesting times, boys."
"No shit," Dean agrees. "No idea about Heaven or Hell? Their leaders, I mean?"
"Not really. Could be Raphael and Crowley-they took flight, the both of them, before we could get them under lock. But who knows if they'll be accepted. As it is, I bet one of you could jump in and take over right now, if you were pining for a king position." Bobby laughs, although there a kinda fake quality to it that makes Dean wonder how serious he is. "But in case you don't…here."
He thrusts something into Dean's hands. A book, one that Dean can feel to be loosely bound, and overflowing with extra sheets. "What's this?"
"Little something of your daddy's. He left it to me just before he killed Azazel. Said it should be yours one day, if I should ever happen to meet you." He shakes his head, something unreadable on his face. "It's his journal, 'bout what he was doing after you two were taken, during the couple of years it took him to track down Azazel's ass. And, well, a bit about what we did when we were young and stupid. Not something I'd have you know about, but if it's what your dad wanted…"
"Sure." Dean nods and tucks the book into the pack he's wearing. It's probably just nothing, probably stories of how his dad and Bobby got drunk at every tavern or inn across three kingdoms, but who knows? He'll look at it as some point. "Take care of yourself, Bobby."
"You too, boy." And then Bobby pulls him in for a gruff hug that's about as surprising as it is awkward. But Dean hugs him back out of respect, and out of thanks. Bobby's been pretty awesome over the year. Dean kinda wishes that they could take him with them, although he seems pretty attached to the school.
He hugs Sam next, muttering a few words of advice in his ears that Dean can't hear, and then turns to Cas. There's a pause, and then Bobby hugs him too. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen Castiel been hugged by someone who isn't him, when they're not in bed. And it's kind of awesome, the way Cas tenses up, frowns confusedly, and then stiffly lifts his one good arm to pat Bobby on the back.
They break apart. Dean resolves to see to it that Cas gets hugged by other people more often, since he really doesn't seem like he's used to it.
"Well, I guess that's that," Bobby says, stepping back. He looks at them, then at their horses. "You even gonna get on those things?"
"Right now, old man." Dean grins, strokes Impala's mane, and then swings himself up. Next to him, Sam mounts Dodger (stupid ugly asshole colt that he is), and Cas stands patiently next to Impala.
Dean reaches down. "Ready?"
"Of course." Castiel gives him his typical, half-done smile and extends his hand to meet Dean's. "I've been ready for a very long time."
He swings up behind Dean, only wincing a bit as he does. Impala dances under the weight, but she can take both of them. She's a strong and reliable old horse; there's no one else Dean would rather ride as he embarks on the journey of his lifetime. "G'bye, Bobby."
"Bye, boys." Bobby nods at them, and there really isn't much else to say, so Dean just gently taps Impala with his heels, and off she goes, Charger by her side. It's a beautiful night to be running away from destiny, cool and breezy, but clear as a sunny day. Except, well, less sunny and all of that.
They ride into the night, into the woodsy trails that surround Singer's. It feels like hours go on like this, quiet and peaceful, and just Sam and Dean and Castiel on their own, without the weight of some predetermined fate hanging above their heads. It's silent and perfect, just the way life changing moments should be.
They slow when the sun starts to come up. Dean glances around at Cas, and then they both look at Sam. A conference in gazes. And when that doesn't work out (mostly, Castiel assumes, due to his inability to understand body language) Dean speaks. "What should we do? Should we still go on to those safe houses Bobby told us about, or should we just, I don't know, keep on going?"
A momentary quiet; he and Sam ponder there choices. Then Sam says, "I say we keep going. Let's see where this road brings us." He pats Charger's neck. "Maybe we ride until the sun's all the way up? And that we stop for a break."
Dean nods. "Sounds good to me. Cas?"
Castiel leans in, brushes his lips over Dean's. His arm is throbbing, and his ass is intensely sore from having ridden for all these hours-but none of that matters. "I'll go wherever you go," he says, and Dean blushes red at that, but he's grinning too. The air has already begun to warm up, and the first bird of morning calls out from somewhere in the woods around them. There are no prophecies out here, no Dick Roman to be married to. There's just him and Dean and Sam, and their horses, and a few items necessary for survival. And as they begin to ride into the sunrise, a million and one possibilities stretching out around them, Castiel thinks that things are perfect as they are.