Nothing Else Matters Part 3

[vinib]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

A/N: This chapter contains mention of male rape when Dean was in captivity, and a very vague reference to… Well, it’s very vague, so if you don’t get it… well, keep reading it’s not really of much import anyway. Just a bad dream. And if you do get it, try not to think too much and move on… lots of good things follow.

P.S. In case you’re wondering what Castiel was humming while making pancakes, it’s “Today My Life Begins” by Bruno Mars

Their first day as official roommates went well. Or at least as well as Dean could’ve hoped for.

By the time Dean got up, which by the way was 6.30 AM, Castiel was already up and about. When Dean rolled himself towards the bathroom, he saw Cas flipping pancakes in the kitchen. He stopped to take the sight before him. Cas, freshly showered - Dean realized this because his hair was still glistening and his skin had reddish tinge to it. Damn observational skills - was wearing a pair of faded denims and a black tee, looking perfectly at home on his knees before the lowered stove, humming contentedly. Dean watched as Cas poured a cupful after cupful of batter into the greased pan, expertly flipping the half-cooked pancakes with a flick of his wrist, before flipping them again onto a neat little stack on the plate beside him. As he watched the slow progressing scene before him, his thoughts wheeled themselves to far off and exotic places where he imagined even better scenarios for Cas to be on his knees, looking up at him with those wild blue eyes and humming quietly in that low rumbling voice.

And then Cas coated two of his fingers with the last of the batter, slowly sucking them into his mouth. Dean flinched as his cock gave a slight twitch. If Dean hadn't been as quiet as he thought he was, or if Cas had given any indication that he knew he had an audience, Dean would have sworn he was being a tease. Instead the poor guy had no idea he was playing the lead in his roommate's lewd fantasies. It kinda made Dean feel like a Peeping Tom, but damn if it wasn't hot. So he sat quietly as Cas put on a damn good show, alternately swiping his fingers across the mixing bowl and licking and sucking on them, making pornworthy noises.

It was only when his cock started screaming for attention that Dean grunted loudly and shook himself out of his daze to find Castiel, still on knees, staring at his crotch, the last remnants of batter on his lower lip and an amused smile on his face. Dean glanced down to look at the horribly obvious tent in his boxers and flushed tomato red as he looked back up and his eyes met Cas', waiting for him to bolt towards the nearest exit. Instead Cas stood up, slowly swiped his tongue across his lower lip to suck the batter in - Dean's cock gave another scream - then pointedly smiled at his crotch and said, "You should take care of that." Dean gulped loudly and nodded, before turning in direction of the bathroom, to finally finish the task he had set out to perform, mentally cursing Alistair for taking away any chance he had of having anything normal. Ever. "Hurry up," he heard behind him. "Breakfast's a-waiting."

-x-x-x-

When Dean came back to consciousness, he was still strapped on the rack, butt naked. It was like after Gabe was gone they hadn't even bothered to take him down. He saw the blood bag on the pole beside him, the tube trailing to his strapped arm, ensuring he did not pull it out like last time, and felt stitches pull across his abdomen and chest. The past few sessions had been all about getting acquainted with the Devil's Knife. Yellow Eyes has been busy, he thought. As was his standard ritual when he became conscious, he wiggled his limbs to check whether or not they were all functioning. He was surprised to find that all his limbs were, in fact, working. How the hell had Alistair avoided damaging any major organs, was a mystery to him. The bodies they'd been "gifted" had always been mutilated beyond recognition. So why the heck was he still in one piece?

"Oh! Hello, Major," Alistair said coming into the room, shaking the crumbs of his shirt. "Glad to see you've finally decided to join us for tea," he said cheerfully.

"Alistair…" Dean groaned. He was sure his vocal chords had been damaged permanently. "Nice to know you offering me some," he replied cockily. "Can I have some biscuits to go while you're at it?"

"Sure… sure," Alistair smiled happily. "I'll make you a deal, Major. You tell us what we need to know, and you can have all the biscuits you want," he smirked.

"I've already told you what need to know, Alistair," Dean replied hoarsely, the conversation taking a toll on him. "You can take your deal, and stick it where the sun don't shine."

"I meant to bring that up," Alistair replied, pleased that the conversation was going where he wanted. "Y'see…" he said turning to Yellow Eyes who had appeared behind him. "'I always wondered why Major doesn't give a shit about our personal sessions," he mused. "But then I discover that Major here is a swinger." Dean grimaced, knowing what he was talking about. "I never realized our personal sessions were as pleasurable to him as they are to me," he smiled sweetly at Dean. "Isn't that right, Major?"

"Fuck you!" Dean spat mustering all his strength. Ever since his capture, he had been raped more times than he cared to count. It didn't bother him. Like everything else, he could endure it. But this… the way Alistair was smiling like he was the fat kid in an all-you-count-eat candy store… bothered Dean more than anything that'd ever been done to him.

"Ah… so you do know what I'm talking about," Alistair nodded happily. "Now Major… I'm gonna ask you one last time, is there anything… anything at all… you wish to share with us?"

"Do your worst," Dean whispered draining the last of his energy.

"Be careful what you wish for Major," Alistair warned, as Dean felt the pressure on his ankle straps release and saw his knees being pushed up against his chest. His mind found purchase in the memory that he always fell back on during these times… him at 4 years old, sitting on his bed at night, while his mother cradled new born Sam at her breast, singing 'Hey Jude.' Then she tucked him in his crib and turned to Dean, on his tiny little cot, whispering, "Remember, love, the angels are watching over you," as she tucked the blankets in under his chin and kissed him good night.

"The Angels are watching over me." That's what he prayed every time Alistair came at him with a new toy. And that's what he was praying when he saw Alistair maliciously cradling his Devil's knife. His eyes widened and he swallowed a gasp, as he realized what was going to happen. His nails scraped hard against the cold metal surface and his entire body convulsed in blinding pain, as he shut his eyes tightly, and went back in time to see his 9 year old self clutching to his mother's wasted body for the last time.

That was the last time he felt his legs.

-x-x-x-

But now when he lowered himself butt naked into the hot tub, his thoughts weren't of evil white eyes, or mocking yellow ones. His thoughts were centered on the warm pair of blue eyes, belonging to the man in his kitchen.

His hand gripped his erection, as he thought of Cas kneeling on the floor, and started stroking to the image of Cas sucking pancake batter off his fingers. The more batter he sucked, the faster the strokes became, and louder their moans… until the Cas of his imagination was practically begging for the batter and Dean in the bathtub was fucking his own hand, tittering just along the edge. But it was only after Cas of his imagination acknowledged Dean's presence and gave him that crazy smile and huskily said, "come for me, Major," that Dean felt his balls tighten and erupted all over his hand. He waited in the tub, filled with water and his cum, for his breathing to settle, then drained it and filled it afresh.

He heaved himself upwards and reached for the shampoo and bath gel kept within an easy reach, blaming Carmen for burdening him with useless Natural shit like Jojoba shampoo and Sandalwood-Turmeric bath gel. Why couldn't he have simple chemical-ridden 10 dollar crap like a normal person? He was surprised to find the bottles almost wet, and realized that Cas must've used them when having his bath. It alone was enough for his dick to come back to life. As Dean poured a dollop of shampoo on his palm, he imagined Cas' fingers gently massaging his scalp. Gel replaced shampoo as lean fingers moved down his torso, skillfully, expertly caressing each and every part of his body like he flipped the pancakes.

When he finally reached for the washcloth, he noticed that apart from his own, there was another slightly wet one belonging to Cas, and chose it without hesitation. He roamed the rough fabric all over his body, scrubbing softly. He knew he was acting like a total pervert, but this was probably the closest he would ever get to the blue-eyed enigma, that was Castiel. He rinsed the washcloth and replaced it back in its place. He drained the tub again and reached for the state-of-the-art hand-held shower that Sammy had installed. It was one of the few things that made him glad that his baby brother had the means and the will to spoil his elder brother.

He drained the tub for the last time, raised himself onto the edge of the tub to reach for one the towels and was surprised to find them straightened and neatly folded in exact half across the bar, like the way you find in high-class luxury hotels. He dried himself thoroughly then carefully using his useless legs as support, leaned back and raised himself just enough to wrap the towel around his waist, mentally blessing Lisa, his therapist, once again for having enough patience to make him independent enough to have a semblance of normal existence.

He moved from the edge of the tub to his wheelchair, when he saw his reflection in the full length mirror - one of the few things that made him uneasy that his baby brother had the means and the stubbornness to overindulge his elder brother - and noticed that he was naked from the waist up. He grabbed another towel from the bar and draped it across his shoulders. Even with all the plastic surgeries he'd had, his body still had enough scars to make Evel Knievel blush. He tucked the loose corners into the towel wrapped around his waist and making sure it did not fall off, quickly wheeled himself towards his room.

It was a combination of his upbringing and his job that Dean never selected his clothes before heading for the bath. That way no one could possibly mess with them. One can never be too careful in the hostile territory. But today, as he wheeled himself inside his room, he found that not only his clothes had already been selected for him, they were neatly laid out on his bed… warm and pressed. Evidently someone had wasted no time to go through his stuff without any consideration of personal space. And where the heck had Cas found an iron?

But even though he wanted to call and chastise Castiel for going through his dresser without his permission or so much as a forethought, another, more desperate and very vocal part of him longed for this… whatever it was… and against his better judgement and with million reasons of "why this is a very bad idea" going through his head, he quietly dressed himself in the clothes - a black tee-shirt and dark green short-sleeved shirt, faded blue overshirt and a pair of faded denims - Castiel had laid out for him.

-x-x-x-

When he wheeled himself into the kitchen/dining for the second time that day, Dean made sure he was as loud as possible, so Cas wouldn't feel like he was being snuck up on. But Cas stayed still until Dean took his place opposite him, then silently stood up and started serving. He didn't comment on Dean's clothes except "green brings out the colour in your eyes" and Dean felt very happy with himself.

The breakfast - pancakes served with Blackberry jam and Blueberry honey-and-Maple syrup, because "experimentation is the key to happiness" - was a quiet affair. Cas had no qualms tucking into his plate with gusto, but Dean couldn't stop relishing each bite and moaning his approval, and sounding like Meg fucking Ryan in the process because it really was fucking amazing. The tastes meshed perfectly as the whole thing melted on his tongue and tingled the senses he had no idea existed. He felt like that fat rat in Ratatouille - Dee was a bad influence - tasting his first cheese. He could see the tastes and smell the colours and all that jazz. By the time he cleaned off his plate, fighting a severe urge to lick it clean, he was left breathless… wanting more.

Shit! If Cas kept cooking for him like this, he would have to ask for his hand in marriage. Pushing that thought aside, he looked up to find the intense blue eyes and a complacent smile looking back at him, and he was thankful he was in a wheelchair or he'd be down on one knee right this second. Instead, he forced himself to return the smile and said, "That was amazing, Cas."

"Well, they do say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Cas replied with a tilt of his head.

Dean had no idea how to respond to that, so instead he said, "We have to get going, else Bobby will tear me a new one."

Cas nodded, pushed back his chair, cleared up the plates and washed them in the sink, giving him a stinking eye in the process because "I don't do anything I don't want to", and went out to sit on the couch waiting for him to finish up. Dean, meanwhile, locked all the windows, checked then rechecked them - he knew he was being paranoid, everyone told him so, but that's how he was… deal with it - then retrieved his keys from the bowl by the door and went to his car. Cas quietly followed him, waited until Dean was perfectly settled in the driver's seat, before opening the passenger door and climbing in.

-x-x-x-

They arrived at the shop with barely 10 minutes to spare. Dean parked in his allotted space beside Andy's mobile home… a dark blue van with "Barbarella riding a Polar Bear". Cas got down and, as usual, waited until Dean was firmly on the ground before following him indoors.

As soon Dean entered he knew something was wrong. Everyone was sitting in his office, just as they did every day before opening, but Bobby was sitting behind Dean's desk, the phone askew, eyes bloodshot, hand pressed to his temple and breathing rapidly like he did when his blood pressure became too high, Andy had paled and was blinking rapidly, looking very guilty and, if Dean didn't know better, sober, and Max was on the verge of tears. Dean took in the scene before him, before silently wheeling himself to his desk, taking out the prescription bottle from the false bottom of the second drawer, and handing a pill to Bobby. He waited until Bobby had gulped it down, mentally reminding himself to change the hiding place, before asking the obvious question, "what's wrong?"

"We're overbooked," Bobby replied wearily. "Apparently someone," he glared pointedly at Andy, trying to burn holes through his skull, "can't keep their friggin' trap shut. The phone's been ringing off the hook. The entire town has cropped up car trouble overnight. We have," he consulted the roster before him "10 tire bursts, 8 overheated radiators, 1 broken axle, 5 oil changes, 4 dented fenders, 3 minor paint jobs… Oh, and Mrs. Cage managed to crash her car. Again. Her front needs the works." Andy chuckled at the childish joke and Bobby shot him a look. He went back to examining his shoes. "And this is just 'urgent'. You want me go on?"

Dean shook his head. The people never ceased to surprise him. Just when he thought they couldn't get any crazier… he turned to look at Cas who was gaping at them. "Earth to Castiel," he called. Castiel snapped up and looked at him. "Can you handle the tires?" he asked. Cas nodded in affirmative. "Good," Dean replied.

Cas looked in wonder as Dean took charge of the situation, transforming from the blushing, moaning guy of the morning into a seasoned warrior, leading his men into straight into the battle. He could swear Dean had grown an inch or two in the last two minutes - back straight, arms steady, determined look on his face, crisp no-nonsense attitude - as he issued orders to the eager ears, everyone trusting him to lead them on the right path.

"Andy, you go do your thing. And stay away from the varnish. If I find you high or passed out again, I swear to God I'm gonna graffiti on your Barbie," Andy looked horrified but nodded in understanding. "Max… Max! Pull yourself together. You're handling the oil changes and radiators. And Bobby," he turned to his boss, "Call Jo. Tell her I need her here. Pronto. And then go upstairs, shut the door and put on Beethovan, or Mozart or whatever it is you like to hear, on full volume and go to sleep. If I find you lurking around in the garage before closing time, I shoot you in the leg. Capish?" Bobby slumped further in his chair, but nodded in understanding. "Good. I'll handle Mrs. Cage myself," Dean continued resolutely. "This is the last time she's screwing around with my men," with that he turned and wheeled himself outside. He looked over his shoulder to see everyone still standing, looking at each other. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Gold embossed Invitations? MOVE IT PEOPLE," he clapped his hands, raising his voice as he barked his final order. "WE HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY."

Suddenly the garage erupted in activity. Bobby picked up the receiver and dialled. Andy disappeared inside. Max still shaking, but with a determined look on his face, walked past Dean to the working area. Cas followed after him, but was stopped by a firm hand on his wrist. He looked down at Dean, who sighed, then with one hand still holding Cas singlehandedly steered them both into Max's corner behind Bobby's truck. Cas looked at him questioningly.

"Look," Dean said quietly. "Everyone who's gonna walk in through these doors today has only one mission in mind. You. So be careful," Cas had no idea what was going on, but he nodded. "If anyone presses for anything… from details of the rescue to your current address or anything… just say you're with me. They don't need to know anything else. And if anyone bothers you too much, just call me, alright?"

"But I don't understand," Cas finally spoke up after all the morning madness. "I met a few people around town yesterday. Pretty much everyone was cool with me."

"That's coz they thought you were just passing through. Y'see… they thought you'd be gone in a day or two, so they really didn't give it much thought, but now that you're staying…" he fell into silence. "Let's just say, the people mean well… but they can get a little… uh… intense, if you know what I mean. And if it gets too uncomfortable, you can go home. I'll handle the work load today."

"That's alright, Major," Cas replied cheekily. "I fought in the war. I sure can handle a few crazy people."

Dean grinned. "You are so gonna eat your words, Novak."

-x-x-x-

The morning started slow, with a couple of "burst tire" and "overheated radiator" college girls casually asking for his phone number. Apparently everyone had heard of Castiel, the mysterious blue-eyed stranger who had moved in with the elusive Dean Winchester. After brushing them off with "I'm sorry. I don't have one", wherein one of them actually offered to buy him the new Iphone that was hot on the market, he was hounded by a couple of middle-aged housewives who "just wanted to talk" and could have put the greatest of interrogators and gossip mag reporters to shame.

Thankfully Jo appointed herself as his PR agent, fielding off any the unnecessary gossip mongers, when she wasn't trapped under one of the cars, and offering helpful titbits about who was hounding him at the given time. All in all Cas was pretty sure he could more or less handle his new found status as a celebrity.

Then came a strange old man in a black fedora, looking like a villain out of a 40s movie, who kept asking about his time in the army and the missions he'd worked on. "I'm sorry, sir. That information is classified, and frankly… above your pay-grade," Cas replied curtly.

"Don't use that tone with me, boy. I fought in the Vietnam when you were suckin' on your mama's tits," the man growled.

"Then I'm sure you're aware why I can't tell you anything, Sir," Cas retorted and the man walked away grumbling.

"That's Mr. Ness," Jo commented from under the Blue Dodge. "Mr. Elliot Ness," she added with a devilish smile, pulling herself out.

Cas gaped, "For real?" Jo smirked and ducked under the hood.

It only went downhill after that - Mothers who wanted to set him up with their daughters, bored housewives looking to have some fun, one very shy college boy who more or less stood there gaping at him until Jo poked him in the ribs and told him to move it, one very slutty high school cheerleader who couldn't stop cupping his ass until Jo threatened to call her mother and rat her out, and a few of her friends… the list went on and on.

As if that wasn't enough, a few more - both male and female - wanted to know what living with Dean Winchester was like. "We call them 'Dean boys and girls'," Jo commented helpfully. "They have only one mission in life, bed Dean Winchester." Cas tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "Y'see, Dean's out at the bar most nights and flirts with anything with a pulse. My pet cat has a crush on him. But he never takes anyone home. And you my dear," she said eyeing him head to toe, "are the special cookie he did. They just want to know what you have that they don't."

"What about you?" Cas asked. "Dean said something about…"

"My crush on him?" Cas nodded. "Well… He's always been my hero… more like a big brother I never wanted. But I guess Dean more or less made his choice when he started dating Carmen."

"Carmen? You mean Ash's wife?" Cas inquired.

"Yup. The very same. They had been together on-and-off since college. Golden couple… destined to be together… yada yada," she waved a hand dismissively. "Believe it or not, even when he was gone away on missions, she was faithful to him."

"So what happened?" Cas' curiosity got better of him.

"The news came that his team was captured. We thought he was gone forever, you know. Carmen was devastated. I guess Ash always had a thing for her, but never acted on it because she was so in love with Dean. But when she turned to him as a friend… and the rest as they say is history," she finished.

"Dean must've been devastated," Cas turned to look at the man who was hammering at the bonnet like no tomorrow.

"He was… at first," Jo accepted. "But I think he was also a bit relieved. Happy that she had found someone who really loved her… gave her the stability he never could." Cas looked at Dean again, working with fierce concentration, and went back to his car.

By lunch time, Cas had officially decided to throw in the towel. He had been groped, pinched, manhandled and hit upon more times in a day than he had in his entire life. And that was saying a lot.

He took a brown bag Jo handed out and joined her and Andy on the wooden bench outside, squeezing between both of them. Max was nowhere to be seen and Dean had chosen to eat at his work desk, beside a Silver Prius with squashed front, keeping an eye on the old lady, who looked more like she was attending a high class charity bash than visiting a garage, sitting in the plush office chair Cas dragged out for her, shooting daggers at them. Jo had towed in the car when she came in, along with its too smug owner, "because she says she doesn't trust her precious car with strangers, but it's just a pretense to ogle at your lily-white ass".

"Dean's not joining us?" he asked as Dean stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth, stretched himself as far he could and went back to work, still keeping one eye on the lady.

"Nah, man… Rusty's just lookin' out for us, y'know," Andy replied.

"Rusty?" Cas asked… the day was getting more and more interesting.

"Rusty as in Brad Pitt… from Ocean's Eleven," Jo explained. "Y'see Bobby owns the garage, but Dean's the one who runs the show. He's our very own Rusty. You got any problem, any time of the day, you go to him."

Cas nodded. "So your… uh... Rusty," the name felt strange on his tongue, "he likes crime capers, huh?"

"Anything that even smells like con and backhandedness, really," Jo replied. "And horror… Godfather's his favourite. Hates ghost movies though. Or anything with too much gore. Oh… and," she bent her head really really close to Cas' and whispered in his ear, "Titanic. The dude cries every time." Cas looked at her in surprise. She straightened. "But you didn't hear it from me."

Cas nodded, trying to hide the smile at the thought of Dean crying as Kate Winslet let go of Dicaprio's hand. "So… what did you mean by looking out for you?" he asked finally dragging the conversation back to its original topic.

"Well… let's just say the old lady is the female version of Jerry Sanduski. She has at least 10 sexual harassment cases against her, 3 from Bobby's previous employees."

But what about…" Cas asked, horrified at the thought of that cougar pawing at Dean.

"Cap?" Cas nodded. "Ever since he got back, she's more or less kept her distance from him. He can get a bit… explosive," Jo replied. Andy nodded in agreement, "As long as you are on his good side, you're safe. Hell hath no fury like Dean Winchester pissed."

After lunch, Cas met a few more prospective dates and 'Dean fans'. And then came her. Mrs. Lilith Saunders, the owner of cherry red Camaro Convertible Andy had painted yesterday. Cas had always prided himself a bit of a pacifist… but there was something about this woman that made him want to commit hara-kiri on her.

"Call me Lily," she said extending her bony well-manicured hand towards him. Looking to Jo for assistance, who was nowhere to be seen, he reluctantly accepted it, and was promptly awarded with a blood red fingernail scratching on it. He shuddered involuntarily and pulled his hand away. "So… Castiel," she said rolling her tongue around the "-el" part, "my husband's out of town till Monday. Come over tonight."

Cas gaped. He had had lots of housewives hit on him, but more often than not they skirted around the issue, dropping hints... expecting him to flirt back. No married woman had ever come on to him so directly. He decided to return the favour. "I have plans," he replied.

"You mean with the cripple?" She asked looking distastefully at the lone figure huddled over his work desk. Mrs. Cage had left sometime after lunch, hitching a ride with some guy named Colton because she was bored of watching Dean beat out the dents with no "hot-buns" in sight.

Castiel felt his blood boil. She had no right to call Dean a cripple. "Yes," he gritted through his teeth.

"Ditch him," she asserted, scratching a finger along his arm. "I'll show what you're missing out on."

'Are you fucking kidding me?' he thought as he gruffly yanked her hand away. "I don't think you have anything I'd miss out on," he threw back.

"Oh… you are one of those," she said rolling her eyes, dragging 'those' as if she was talking about a leper or something equally revolting. "Well… your loss. If you want to waste your time with that cripple…" Cas wanted to strangle her, but managed to restrain himself, "'sides, I've heard he can't even get it up anymore."

"I'll have you know…," a voice quipped behind Cas. He turned to see Dean behind him, a fake cocky grin plastered on his face. "I have a very healthy, voracious sex drive. Or did you forget that time in Illinois?"

"Dean…" Lilith turned her sickeningly sweet smile on him, "I just was telling your boyfriend herehow lucky he is," she glided towards Dean as he extended the bill to her, running a red finger nail along his arm, before plucking it off fingers.

Then she leaned forward, her face barely an inch from his, and huskily whispered, "I'll send the check by mail." Dean cringed inwardly. Her eyes reminded him of Alistair. Lilith straightened, making a show of adjusting her bra, in his face - Dean's eyes sought Cas' and held - then added, "Give my love to Sam" before gliding to her car which Jo had brought around.

-x-x-x-

"Hey Castiel," Jo called. Cas turned around to find Jo grinning at him. He grinned back.

With last of their customers gone, Dean had gone back in to lock up and inform Bobby they were leaving. Max had left with Andy and he was waiting for Dean to finish locking up so they could go back home. He was very tired and he suspected Dean had pulled a muscle or two from the way he winced while wheeling around and massaged his left neck and shoulder every ten seconds.

"So Cas…" Jo asked hesitantly "do you have any plans for tonight?"

Cas smiled. Apparently the poor kid had missed the memo. He leaned forward, beckoning her closer, then cupped a hand to his mouth and lowered his voice, as if letting her in on a secret, and said, "I'm gay. And only Dean's allowed to call me Cas." Jo's eyes widened in question but before she could say something, he straightened, returned his voice to its normal level and answered, "No, I don't think I have any plans for tonight," just as Dean wheeled himself towards them.

"What are you two talking about?" Dean asked innocently, smiling first at Cas then turning to bestow the same smile to Jo. Jo made fake gagging noises, but Dean ignored her.

"Are you coming over?" Jo asked. Dean looked at Cas questioningly and he shrugged. More gagging noises followed. "What?" Dean asked irritatedly. "Nothing," Jo snapped.

Dean sighed. "Well, I could use a drink," he said more to himself than anyone else. "Where's Baby?" he asked Jo.

"Back at the Roadhouse. You gonna introduce her to Cas?"

Dean looked at Cas, who had his trademark "lost-puppy" face on. He grinned, "Yeah… I think I will. Why don't you go on ahead? Me and Cas - Jo sniffed - will follow in our car. That alright, Cas?"

"Yeah," Cas repeated. He had no idea who Baby was, but apparently she was very important to Dean and Cas was determined to like her.
[Continued...]