Hearts Are Made Of Broken Glass 12/13 (Crowley, Castiel, Dean, rated PG-13)
Title: Hearts Are Made Of Broken Glass
Chapter:12/13
Author: pink_bagels
Genre: humour, drama
Pairing(s): Castiel/Crowley (eventually...kind of...), Dean/Crowley (eventually...kind of? o.O)
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2502
Disclaimer: You kidding? I own nothing.
Warnings: Some spoilers for the seventh season and some deviation from canon at the end of the sixth.
Note: This story did go on hiatus for a number of months, but I do think I've mentioned I'm a stubborn completionist--there's more done offline, so it will be finished :) Hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Hell is no place for a brooding, guilty angel. So, Crowley sends Castiel on a crossroads mission. Big mistake.
HEARTS ARE MADE OF BROKEN GLASS-chapter twelve
They stood in the grey blank of the In Between, the stretch of nothingness muzzling Balthazar's usual chatter. He remained aloof from Castiel, his foot tapping against the rippling grey, their physical forms an intrustion against the onslaught of infinity. His brother and friend had a right to be nervous, Castiel thought, but he himself was steeled for battle, his sword ready to slide out from beneath the sleeve of his trenchcoat to meter out the justice that was so rightly owed. Balthazar may still have his doubts, but Castiel knew the toll such a deal from an angel could make and it had been a reckless, destructive choice. Daniel had tempted the very fabric of creation to rip itself apart.
"What do you know of him?" Castiel asked, but Balthazar only shook his head.
"He's young, that's obvious, and from what I could discover nothing more than some low level foot soldier, not even academy material if you get my meaning." Balthazar shifted where he stood, his concentration broken by every rippling invasion of his angelic pulse against the stark landscape. "Rumour has it he's fallen, and with this little stunt I'm guessing that's sealed it. I know he got my message, but you know how it is with these younger ones, they don't understand ceremony the way we do. He never answered my call. We can't be sure he'll show up."
"He will," Castiel said.
Perhaps it was arrogant of him to be so self-assured, but Castiel knew the inner workings of the angelic mind, and a summoning by one of their bretheren was not to be ignored. He kept his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, his blue gaze staring out into the vast emptiness that surrounded himself and Balthazar, a wavering sense of confusion edging its way into his consciousness. This was what Daniel's actions were set to create, this land of In Between, an empty spot looking for a faith to fill it with its version of the hereafter. It was like a parking lot, Castiel thought. All it was missing were yellow lines and the lonely reach of a steel lamp post shining a cloudy spotlight onto damp tarmac.
They both heard the strike of a match. In the misty gloom both Castiel and Balthazar could make out the red ember in the distance, its approach taken in lazy strides towards them. As the black clad figure approached them, the waft of smoke hit Castiel betraying that it was no cigarette poised at the lean lips. The angel Daniel wore a leather jacket with tight black jeans, a Clash t-shirt proclaiming 'London Calling'. He had short, black spiky hair, and eyes so green and deep they rivalled any astroturf on a human golf course with impunity.
"This better be good," Daniel said, the halo of smoke curling around him with the scent of an acrid lawn. "I got places to be."
"Considering what you have done, being pressed for time is one symptom of a very serious crime." Castiel was the one who fixed him in his sights, with Balthazar holding back, unsure of this rebellious brother whom they knew nothing about. "You allowed putrescence into Heaven. You denied grace to a man who deserved it. You understood that this would rip the universe apart." Castiel's harsh blue eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."
Daniel let out a small laugh at this, his brow raised at the lurking form of Balthazar who stood behind Castiel. "This is about that little tailor who could, isn't it? The one with the missing link thanks to that visit from his old friend, Bishop Corsicas?" He laughed at the way Castiel set his jaw, his mirth a poison in the air around them. "I don't know about you, but it looks like it's all worked out in the end. What did you think that poor miserable guy deserved...Heaven?"
"Denying a deserving human being Grace is not only a serious crime, it was a cruel omission," Castiel said.
"No." Daniel's green eyes flashed in the grey gloom. "What's cruel is a child, then a man suffering his entire existence thinking there's nothing at the end of it, nothing but a big blank space where he once was and wishing he'd been a blank space to start with. You guys, you're just so big on rules, but life on that Earthly plane, it doesn't follow them. It's all choices and other people's actions imposing on them. It's all personal." Daniel shook his head. "There I am, feeling like some shitty damned guardian angel watching him, and all I can think is the guy has a point. Best of all never to have been born, that's what the Sybils said, and Fergus had that philosophy in spades. His life had no value, and his death even less, and all because of one rotten piece of shit's faith that an innocent's suffering was what was going make Bishop Corsicas a wealthy, powerful jackass."
Daniel took a long drag of his spliff, sending the smoke into Balthazar's choking face. "A black magic bishop. No way, man. I wasn't letting Corsicas get away with that. A small slice of heaven wasn't going to be enough for Fergus McLeod and there was no way I was going to let all that shit go down without something really special coming out of it." He gave Castiel a knowing grin. "Everyone thinks it's so black and white. Good versus evil. Someone suffers then they get their reward. But it's not like that. It's all random and strange and what someone calls heaven doesn't even come close to the possibilities still waiting." Daniel licked his lips and took another puff. "So I took some artistic license with the guy's hereafter. Big deal."
"You can't just walk out of Heaven and rewrite the rules!" Balthazar exclaimed.
"Oh, really?" Daniel said, sneering. "Looks like I just did."
"There are serious repurcussions," Castiel warned him. "You placed everyone on all planes in danger. You will be duly punished for your actions."
"So I get to suffer needlessly as well. We all get to suffer for rules that don't apply." Daniel finished his toke and tossing it into the vast grey nothingness. "So the circle remains unbroken. Give me a break. There is no circle. There is no map. It's all like Fergus McLeod believed, one stupid evil moron after another, living in a world named 'Simplicio'." His green eyes were filled with malicious mirth as he looked on his brothers. "You want to punish those who believe in evil? You give a suffering man that job. He'll make sure all that he's gone through is passed along, and he'll feel good about it. You wanted me to give Fergus McLeod his heaven? Trust me, 'bro, I already did."
Castiel was through arguing, and he was ready to meter out his accustomed justice in the form of his sword diving deep into Daniel's heart. But a sudden, stabbing pain in his chest interrupted his effort. He doubled over, fighting it, but it was to no avail.
"I'm being summoned, " he explained to Balthazar, the pain of his refusal to go where he was needed making his eyes bulge and water. "You need to finish this."
"No," Balthazar stated.
Castiel gave his brother a tortured glare. "You must! Justice must be exacted, he cannot go free!"
"No," Balthazar repeated, quietly, his voice as soft as the grey around him. "No more of our brothers and sisters need to die, Cas. He made a mistake, leave it at that."
"He is unrepentant!" Castiel exclaimed, but he could only watch helplessly as a whistling Daniel sauntered out of the In Between, his form fading into the grey blanket as though he were a distant memory. "He is not of our member, he is lost to us!"
Balthazar didn't hear him. Castiel had been summoned, and the In Between had always been a weak point of reference. Before he could even explain to Balthazar where he was going, he found himself standing in Bobby's living room, a chaotic mess of emotions swirling in black lines throughout the crowded space. The symbol that had called him here had been hastily scribbled in lamb's blood above the fireplace mantle, and it was Bobby who told Castiel what happened.
"Sorry 'bout the interruption, but there's a serious problem here," he said, gesturing to Sam. "He just went crazy when he saw it. Screaming and howling and crying, never saw the like of it in anyone before. So scared he damn near pissed himself. I thought I seen everything there is to see but this here's got me damned spooked."
Castiel frowned as soon as Sam turned around, the familiar outline of the grimacing lips on his forehead giving the angel pause. When the mouth began spewing its poison, Castiel reached out and dug his fingers deep into Sam's flesh, tearing the offensive tumor off with one quick yank. The pulsing piece of flesh in his grip still tried to talk, but its voice was silenced as Castiel's grip burned the vicious remnant of evil to ashes in his palm. Sam was left with an ugly gash on his forehead, but it was better than the chatty alternative.
"Where is Crowley?" Castiel asked.
"Bobby already told you, he went crazy," Sam said. He let out a breath of air he didn't realize he'd been holding. "My God, Cas, some of the things that mouth said...It's not true, is it?" He winced in sympathy when Castiel refused to answer him. "My God."
"Crowley is in the basement, with Dean," Bobby said, keeping his eyes steeled on Sam. "Sam and I had enough of Hell for one day. Your turn."
***
"Look, I get it, you're real upset." Dean held up his hands, doing all he could to signal he wasn't a threat, at least not now. "But you're going to blow up Bobby's house, and nobody wants that. I mean, yeah, he's got a rat problem, and there's issues with the plumbing and there's holes in the roof that need repairing and the electrical's a mess and...Scratch that, never mind the house, this is about you, Crowley. Dude, you need to calm down." Dean tried to reach out, to somehow soothe the tortured mess that Crowley had suddenly become, but his outstretched hand was brusquely swept away, residual flames from Crowley's fingertips burning Dean's knuckles.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
The empty bottles of rotgut exploded into further shards, their remnants reduced to amber sand, the walls of the bomb shelter scorched. Dean tried to make his way out, but the metal door was red hot, the heat from it siphoning out all oxygen. "I'm going to cook in here," Dean thought, a sense of panic brewing within him. The books lined against the wall caught fire, as did the small cot, the interior now a raging inferno that lined Dean's lungs, burning his throat with sulfer and choking him with its otherworldly smoke. "Dude, quit it!" Dean shouted, but Crowley couldn't see him, not now, his own fury boiling inside of him so deep his eyes had become the windows of a furnace, flames licking out from them towards his cheeks.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.
With one hand, Castiel arrested the flames and put them out. Smoke rose from the inert ashes of books, and though Dean could still feel the smarting heat from where his skin was burned, at least he was alive, yet again miraculously spared serious damage. Crowley was staring at Castiel with a mixture of what looked to Dean like hatred and fear, only for both emotions to vanish as the man crumpled into himself and began sobbing. Dean was grateful for it, even if it was strange that Castiel was the catalyst. At least they hadn't become a molten crater in the middle of Bobby's junkyard.
"I have taken care of the problem," Castiel said.
"Bullocks," Crowley spat. He rubbed at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, but his tears wouldn't cease. "You lie like all the rest of them."
"That's not true," Castiel calmly said.
"You went into my soul without asking."
"I had to make sure you had one." He took a step closer to Crowley, who did not back away. "The putrescence is now where it belongs. You will not be tormented by it again."
Crowley's eyes flashed fire. "Says you."
Castiel closed the remaining gap between them, standing very much in Crowley's personal space. "I have spent time in your employ for a while now, as well as being your adversary on occasion and your ally. You know of me from when you were Fergus McLeod. I must ask you, Crowley, have I ever been one to shirk my responsibilities?"
Crowley's ire dampened at this, his panic slowly subsiding, the close proximity of Castiel seeming to offer some respite. Dean had the uncomfortable feeling he was standing in the middle of a very private exchange, but he was still trapped in the bomb shelter, his efforts to leave hampered by the locked door. "If I tell you that you are no longer in danger it is because I have personally made sure of it. Do not doubt me, Crowley." Castiel cast a glance Dean's way, and the elder Winchester had to turn his head, stubborn resolve still over-riding his guilt. "I will go to any length to protect this universe and those who exist within it from destruction. That does include you."
Crowley tugged at the shirtsleeves of his jacket with a trembling hand, his voice so small Dean had to fight to hear him. "I lost a button," Crowley said around a choked sob, his strength completely evaporated.
"Then we'll get another one."
"It won't be the same."
"Then we'll replace them all."
Uncertain, inch by nervous inch, Crowley leaned ever closer until finally his head rested on Castiel's shoulder, his face hidden in the crook of the angel's neck. Castiel draped his arm over the man's shoulders, his touch clearly welcome. An angel embracing a broken man.
"What do you want to do, Crowley?" Castiel asked.
Crowley's voice was muffled, his need for Castiel's strength so severe he wouldn't dare let go. He took the lapels of Castiel's trenchcoat into his fists, his grip white-knuckled. "I want to go home," he said.
There was the flutter of a sparrow's wing, and they were gone.
Dean stood alone in the darkness of the bomb shelter, the toxic scent of burnt foam rubber lining his lungs.
"Uh...Guys? I'm still down here."
Silence.
"Cas?" He tried to open the bomb shelter door, but it was sealed shut thanks to Crowley's panicked welding job. "Crowley? Dammit!" He kicked the wall, the metal singing from the effort. At least that would alert Sam and Bobby, but it was going to be a long day with a blowtorch to get him out.
"Aw, c'mon!" Dean shouted into the dark.
Chapter:12/13
Author: pink_bagels
Genre: humour, drama
Pairing(s): Castiel/Crowley (eventually...kind of...), Dean/Crowley (eventually...kind of? o.O)
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2502
Disclaimer: You kidding? I own nothing.
Warnings: Some spoilers for the seventh season and some deviation from canon at the end of the sixth.
Note: This story did go on hiatus for a number of months, but I do think I've mentioned I'm a stubborn completionist--there's more done offline, so it will be finished :) Hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Hell is no place for a brooding, guilty angel. So, Crowley sends Castiel on a crossroads mission. Big mistake.
HEARTS ARE MADE OF BROKEN GLASS-chapter twelve
They stood in the grey blank of the In Between, the stretch of nothingness muzzling Balthazar's usual chatter. He remained aloof from Castiel, his foot tapping against the rippling grey, their physical forms an intrustion against the onslaught of infinity. His brother and friend had a right to be nervous, Castiel thought, but he himself was steeled for battle, his sword ready to slide out from beneath the sleeve of his trenchcoat to meter out the justice that was so rightly owed. Balthazar may still have his doubts, but Castiel knew the toll such a deal from an angel could make and it had been a reckless, destructive choice. Daniel had tempted the very fabric of creation to rip itself apart.
"What do you know of him?" Castiel asked, but Balthazar only shook his head.
"He's young, that's obvious, and from what I could discover nothing more than some low level foot soldier, not even academy material if you get my meaning." Balthazar shifted where he stood, his concentration broken by every rippling invasion of his angelic pulse against the stark landscape. "Rumour has it he's fallen, and with this little stunt I'm guessing that's sealed it. I know he got my message, but you know how it is with these younger ones, they don't understand ceremony the way we do. He never answered my call. We can't be sure he'll show up."
"He will," Castiel said.
Perhaps it was arrogant of him to be so self-assured, but Castiel knew the inner workings of the angelic mind, and a summoning by one of their bretheren was not to be ignored. He kept his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, his blue gaze staring out into the vast emptiness that surrounded himself and Balthazar, a wavering sense of confusion edging its way into his consciousness. This was what Daniel's actions were set to create, this land of In Between, an empty spot looking for a faith to fill it with its version of the hereafter. It was like a parking lot, Castiel thought. All it was missing were yellow lines and the lonely reach of a steel lamp post shining a cloudy spotlight onto damp tarmac.
They both heard the strike of a match. In the misty gloom both Castiel and Balthazar could make out the red ember in the distance, its approach taken in lazy strides towards them. As the black clad figure approached them, the waft of smoke hit Castiel betraying that it was no cigarette poised at the lean lips. The angel Daniel wore a leather jacket with tight black jeans, a Clash t-shirt proclaiming 'London Calling'. He had short, black spiky hair, and eyes so green and deep they rivalled any astroturf on a human golf course with impunity.
"This better be good," Daniel said, the halo of smoke curling around him with the scent of an acrid lawn. "I got places to be."
"Considering what you have done, being pressed for time is one symptom of a very serious crime." Castiel was the one who fixed him in his sights, with Balthazar holding back, unsure of this rebellious brother whom they knew nothing about. "You allowed putrescence into Heaven. You denied grace to a man who deserved it. You understood that this would rip the universe apart." Castiel's harsh blue eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."
Daniel let out a small laugh at this, his brow raised at the lurking form of Balthazar who stood behind Castiel. "This is about that little tailor who could, isn't it? The one with the missing link thanks to that visit from his old friend, Bishop Corsicas?" He laughed at the way Castiel set his jaw, his mirth a poison in the air around them. "I don't know about you, but it looks like it's all worked out in the end. What did you think that poor miserable guy deserved...Heaven?"
"Denying a deserving human being Grace is not only a serious crime, it was a cruel omission," Castiel said.
"No." Daniel's green eyes flashed in the grey gloom. "What's cruel is a child, then a man suffering his entire existence thinking there's nothing at the end of it, nothing but a big blank space where he once was and wishing he'd been a blank space to start with. You guys, you're just so big on rules, but life on that Earthly plane, it doesn't follow them. It's all choices and other people's actions imposing on them. It's all personal." Daniel shook his head. "There I am, feeling like some shitty damned guardian angel watching him, and all I can think is the guy has a point. Best of all never to have been born, that's what the Sybils said, and Fergus had that philosophy in spades. His life had no value, and his death even less, and all because of one rotten piece of shit's faith that an innocent's suffering was what was going make Bishop Corsicas a wealthy, powerful jackass."
Daniel took a long drag of his spliff, sending the smoke into Balthazar's choking face. "A black magic bishop. No way, man. I wasn't letting Corsicas get away with that. A small slice of heaven wasn't going to be enough for Fergus McLeod and there was no way I was going to let all that shit go down without something really special coming out of it." He gave Castiel a knowing grin. "Everyone thinks it's so black and white. Good versus evil. Someone suffers then they get their reward. But it's not like that. It's all random and strange and what someone calls heaven doesn't even come close to the possibilities still waiting." Daniel licked his lips and took another puff. "So I took some artistic license with the guy's hereafter. Big deal."
"You can't just walk out of Heaven and rewrite the rules!" Balthazar exclaimed.
"Oh, really?" Daniel said, sneering. "Looks like I just did."
"There are serious repurcussions," Castiel warned him. "You placed everyone on all planes in danger. You will be duly punished for your actions."
"So I get to suffer needlessly as well. We all get to suffer for rules that don't apply." Daniel finished his toke and tossing it into the vast grey nothingness. "So the circle remains unbroken. Give me a break. There is no circle. There is no map. It's all like Fergus McLeod believed, one stupid evil moron after another, living in a world named 'Simplicio'." His green eyes were filled with malicious mirth as he looked on his brothers. "You want to punish those who believe in evil? You give a suffering man that job. He'll make sure all that he's gone through is passed along, and he'll feel good about it. You wanted me to give Fergus McLeod his heaven? Trust me, 'bro, I already did."
Castiel was through arguing, and he was ready to meter out his accustomed justice in the form of his sword diving deep into Daniel's heart. But a sudden, stabbing pain in his chest interrupted his effort. He doubled over, fighting it, but it was to no avail.
"I'm being summoned, " he explained to Balthazar, the pain of his refusal to go where he was needed making his eyes bulge and water. "You need to finish this."
"No," Balthazar stated.
Castiel gave his brother a tortured glare. "You must! Justice must be exacted, he cannot go free!"
"No," Balthazar repeated, quietly, his voice as soft as the grey around him. "No more of our brothers and sisters need to die, Cas. He made a mistake, leave it at that."
"He is unrepentant!" Castiel exclaimed, but he could only watch helplessly as a whistling Daniel sauntered out of the In Between, his form fading into the grey blanket as though he were a distant memory. "He is not of our member, he is lost to us!"
Balthazar didn't hear him. Castiel had been summoned, and the In Between had always been a weak point of reference. Before he could even explain to Balthazar where he was going, he found himself standing in Bobby's living room, a chaotic mess of emotions swirling in black lines throughout the crowded space. The symbol that had called him here had been hastily scribbled in lamb's blood above the fireplace mantle, and it was Bobby who told Castiel what happened.
"Sorry 'bout the interruption, but there's a serious problem here," he said, gesturing to Sam. "He just went crazy when he saw it. Screaming and howling and crying, never saw the like of it in anyone before. So scared he damn near pissed himself. I thought I seen everything there is to see but this here's got me damned spooked."
Castiel frowned as soon as Sam turned around, the familiar outline of the grimacing lips on his forehead giving the angel pause. When the mouth began spewing its poison, Castiel reached out and dug his fingers deep into Sam's flesh, tearing the offensive tumor off with one quick yank. The pulsing piece of flesh in his grip still tried to talk, but its voice was silenced as Castiel's grip burned the vicious remnant of evil to ashes in his palm. Sam was left with an ugly gash on his forehead, but it was better than the chatty alternative.
"Where is Crowley?" Castiel asked.
"Bobby already told you, he went crazy," Sam said. He let out a breath of air he didn't realize he'd been holding. "My God, Cas, some of the things that mouth said...It's not true, is it?" He winced in sympathy when Castiel refused to answer him. "My God."
"Crowley is in the basement, with Dean," Bobby said, keeping his eyes steeled on Sam. "Sam and I had enough of Hell for one day. Your turn."
***
"Look, I get it, you're real upset." Dean held up his hands, doing all he could to signal he wasn't a threat, at least not now. "But you're going to blow up Bobby's house, and nobody wants that. I mean, yeah, he's got a rat problem, and there's issues with the plumbing and there's holes in the roof that need repairing and the electrical's a mess and...Scratch that, never mind the house, this is about you, Crowley. Dude, you need to calm down." Dean tried to reach out, to somehow soothe the tortured mess that Crowley had suddenly become, but his outstretched hand was brusquely swept away, residual flames from Crowley's fingertips burning Dean's knuckles.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
The empty bottles of rotgut exploded into further shards, their remnants reduced to amber sand, the walls of the bomb shelter scorched. Dean tried to make his way out, but the metal door was red hot, the heat from it siphoning out all oxygen. "I'm going to cook in here," Dean thought, a sense of panic brewing within him. The books lined against the wall caught fire, as did the small cot, the interior now a raging inferno that lined Dean's lungs, burning his throat with sulfer and choking him with its otherworldly smoke. "Dude, quit it!" Dean shouted, but Crowley couldn't see him, not now, his own fury boiling inside of him so deep his eyes had become the windows of a furnace, flames licking out from them towards his cheeks.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.
With one hand, Castiel arrested the flames and put them out. Smoke rose from the inert ashes of books, and though Dean could still feel the smarting heat from where his skin was burned, at least he was alive, yet again miraculously spared serious damage. Crowley was staring at Castiel with a mixture of what looked to Dean like hatred and fear, only for both emotions to vanish as the man crumpled into himself and began sobbing. Dean was grateful for it, even if it was strange that Castiel was the catalyst. At least they hadn't become a molten crater in the middle of Bobby's junkyard.
"I have taken care of the problem," Castiel said.
"Bullocks," Crowley spat. He rubbed at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, but his tears wouldn't cease. "You lie like all the rest of them."
"That's not true," Castiel calmly said.
"You went into my soul without asking."
"I had to make sure you had one." He took a step closer to Crowley, who did not back away. "The putrescence is now where it belongs. You will not be tormented by it again."
Crowley's eyes flashed fire. "Says you."
Castiel closed the remaining gap between them, standing very much in Crowley's personal space. "I have spent time in your employ for a while now, as well as being your adversary on occasion and your ally. You know of me from when you were Fergus McLeod. I must ask you, Crowley, have I ever been one to shirk my responsibilities?"
Crowley's ire dampened at this, his panic slowly subsiding, the close proximity of Castiel seeming to offer some respite. Dean had the uncomfortable feeling he was standing in the middle of a very private exchange, but he was still trapped in the bomb shelter, his efforts to leave hampered by the locked door. "If I tell you that you are no longer in danger it is because I have personally made sure of it. Do not doubt me, Crowley." Castiel cast a glance Dean's way, and the elder Winchester had to turn his head, stubborn resolve still over-riding his guilt. "I will go to any length to protect this universe and those who exist within it from destruction. That does include you."
Crowley tugged at the shirtsleeves of his jacket with a trembling hand, his voice so small Dean had to fight to hear him. "I lost a button," Crowley said around a choked sob, his strength completely evaporated.
"Then we'll get another one."
"It won't be the same."
"Then we'll replace them all."
Uncertain, inch by nervous inch, Crowley leaned ever closer until finally his head rested on Castiel's shoulder, his face hidden in the crook of the angel's neck. Castiel draped his arm over the man's shoulders, his touch clearly welcome. An angel embracing a broken man.
"What do you want to do, Crowley?" Castiel asked.
Crowley's voice was muffled, his need for Castiel's strength so severe he wouldn't dare let go. He took the lapels of Castiel's trenchcoat into his fists, his grip white-knuckled. "I want to go home," he said.
There was the flutter of a sparrow's wing, and they were gone.
Dean stood alone in the darkness of the bomb shelter, the toxic scent of burnt foam rubber lining his lungs.
"Uh...Guys? I'm still down here."
Silence.
"Cas?" He tried to open the bomb shelter door, but it was sealed shut thanks to Crowley's panicked welding job. "Crowley? Dammit!" He kicked the wall, the metal singing from the effort. At least that would alert Sam and Bobby, but it was going to be a long day with a blowtorch to get him out.
"Aw, c'mon!" Dean shouted into the dark.