Coming Back To You part 1

[xephwrites]

Title: Coming Back To You part 1
Author: xephwrites



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Dean has not seen Castiel since the day he almost said yes to Michael. They were standing outside of the warehouse, and Dean was carving the Enochian sigil onto the angel’s chest. It had been hard for him to keep a steady hand as he did it. It brought back too many memories.

Before the angel entered the building, he grabbed Castiel’s arm lightly and stared at his intense blue eyes.

“You better bring your feathery ass back,” he growled. The angel gave nothing more than a nod before entering the building.

Later, when they had stopped for the night, Dean kept staring at his phone.

“He’ll be fine,” Sam mumbled from the other bed. Dean tossed his phone onto the nightstand and lay back on the bed.

That night, Dean dreamed of Hell again. Before, they were just a jumbled string of memories. Instead of one of the thousand faceless souls on his rack, it was Castiel. It started off as someone else, but the image of the poor soul morphed into that of a sad angel. In the morning, there were not enough bottles of Jack Daniels to wash the image from his mind.

He left countless voicemails and text messages, always updating the angel on their whereabouts. His panic really began to take hold when the automated voice on the other end of the phone said that the voice mail box was full.

A week went by, and nothing. They were holing up at Bobby’s, trying to finish what they had started. It was a shit-storm unlike any other. But it wasn’t called the Apocalypse for nothing.

Every night, Dean dreamt of the angel being tortured. The piercing screams echoed in his head during the day. He could not handle the words that he heard himself saying in a voice that was not his own.

“Disgrace to God.” “No better than a sinner.” He saw Castiel fight tears as the words spewed forth. The angel only ever had one reply. Broken and desperate, he only cried out, “Dean!”

Like everything else in his life, he pushed it deep inside himself. Yes, Sam and Bobby knew about the dreams, but knew better than to bother him about it. Every day, he bucked up, and moved on.

As much as Dean hated it, Crowley had tossed his lot in with them. Pain in the ass as the demon was, he proved on more than one occasion to be useful. Sam was right to be so adamant in not accepting his help. If anyone knew how badly help from a demon could bite you on the ass, it was him. But beggars can’t be choosers, and no one else was rallying to their side.

Like always, when Dean didn’t want to think, he worked on the clunkers in the yard. Dean had been doing it since he was a teen, and it helped keep Bobby’s business going. Everyone knew the rules. When Dean was working on a car, you didn’t bother him unless you had food or beer. The demon had neither when he materialized beside him, looking under the hood.

“At least when this Apocalypse mess is over, you could make a decent living as a mechanic,” the demon said as he handed Dean the wrench he was about to grab.

“Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested,” Dean said, not even looking away from the engine. Crowley sighed and rested his back against the car.

“I can help you, you know,” he said as he started picking at his nails.

“Already are, aren’t you?” Dean removed a rusted bolt and dropped it in a margarine container.

“That is helping the greater good,” Crowley lowered his voice. “I am telling you that I can help you.” Dean stood up and stared at him.

“And what do I need help with?” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and began wiping his hands. “You know your way around a carburetor?” Crowley laughed.

“Ah, the cute ones are always so oblivious,” the demon chuckled. He leaned towards the hunter. “I can help you get him back.”

Dean froze. Anger surged in him.

“You think that I would actually sell my soul, again, to find him?” Dean threw the rag at the engine. “Fuck you!” He spat. Crowley backed away from him, his hands up.

“Just saying that I could possibly help.” He eyed the hunter. “I don’t know where he is, but I’m sure I could find out easily. There are several demons around that owe me favors. You are all wanted men, you know.” Dean picked up the wrench from where he had put it down. “Everyone has their eyes open.”

“No,” Dean growled. He thought about the hunk of metal in his hand. It would do nothing to the demon, but it would at least make him feel better by hitting him. Crowley took a few more steps back towards the house.

“Just think about it.” And the demon blinked out of sight.

The wrench sailed over the hood of the car he was working on, and smashed through the windshield of another car.

One night the following week, as Crowley was helping Bobby translate some of the older books hidden in corners, Dean considered it. He actually considered selling, or lending as Bobby had done, his soul to Crowley to find Cas. It was stupid, yes, as he’s already sold his soul once before, and that had started this mess. But he knew that if he did that, Cas would hate him even more.

The angel had already lost his faith in Dean. Dean had to make it right.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks, and no one had heard from Castiel. No one even mentioned him either. Sam was the last brave one to say his name. That earned him the reply of a slamming front door.

Every night, the dreams continued. The torture inflicted on the angel got worse. After seeing the angel’s feathers plucked out one by one, Dean barely made it to the toilet in time to heave out the contents of his stomach.

After they had their game plan set for Death, they set to work. They were sitting around the kitchen table cleaning their weapons when Crowley stopped midsentence. Which made them all stare, as Crowley shutting up was a fucking miracle. He fluttered out of existence without any word of parting. The three hunters shrugged and continued to clean their guns.

“One broken, bloodied and bruised angel of the Lord,” Crowley said as he reappeared in the dining room, holding Castiel. He laid him on the cot and brushed his jacket off. “Didn’t know that I delivered angels as well, did you?” The demon winked.

“Shut up,” Dean growled as he ran to Castiel. His breathing was ragged, and he was bleeding in several spots.

Breathing. Castiel was breathing. Angel’s don’t need to breathe. Dean set his jaw and touched the angel’s shoulder gently.

“Cas. Cas man, wake up,” the hunter said. Castiel’s only reply was a pained whimper. Dean looked to his brother, who was staring at the angel.

“Don’t just stand there, get the fucking med kit!” He shouted. Sam said nothing and headed towards the bathroom. Bobby hovered near the doorway.

“You’re welcome,” Crowley huffed, walking back into the kitchen. Bobby followed him. Sam came back with the kit and handed it to Dean, along with some warm wet facecloths. Sam helped his brother remove the tattered scraps of what was left of the angel’s clothing. They both stared in horror.

There was so much blood. The Enochian sigil was still on his chest, bleeding still in some spots, and infected looking in others. Bruises and other scrapes and cuts covered nearly every inch of skin.

“What the hell happened to him?” Sam whispered, his large hands moving gently to not aggravate the wounds.

“I don’t know,” Dean said back quietly. He picked up one of the damp cloths and began to wipe up the blood. Castiel writhed and cried out at every touch. Dean crooned softly to him in his ear.

They heard heated words coming from the kitchen, but ignored them. Dean kept watching Castiel’s reaction to every touch. He noticed how the angel kept whimpering every time his shoulders came back into contact with the mattress.

“Something wrong with his back,” Dean muttered, standing up. “We gotta turn him over.”

Gently, the brothers rolled the angel onto his stomach. The back of the white dress shirt was soaked in red. Taking his boot knife, Dean carefully cut the fabric away from the skin.

“Oh my God,” Sam whispered, covering his mouth and turning away. Dean pushed down his anger and stared at the angel’s back.

Between his shoulder blades were two jagged cuts. A few pieces of black down clung to the wounds.

“His wings,” Dean said in shock. “Whoever did this ripped out his wings.” Dean took one of the cloths and gently wiped at the blood around the wound. Castiel screamed at the contact. Dean placed a hand on the small of Castiel’s back, which was unharmed.

“See if Bobby has any kind of liquid painkiller. Make sure it’s strong.” As he spoke to his brother, his eyes never left the angel. He didn’t even notice Sam had left until he was handing him a syringe and an alcohol wipe.

“Morphine,” Sam said, staring down at the angel. Dean wiped at the skin on the meatiest part of the shoulder. Carefully pinching the skin, he injected the shot. Castiel whimpered again.

“Give it a few minutes to kick in.” Dean stood up and looked towards the kitchen. Bobby and Crowley were still exchanging heated words. “Might as well see what Fred and Ethel are bitching about.”

“How in the hell did you know where to find him?” Bobby bellowed. Crowley was leaning nonchalantly against the counter.

“Like I said, I sensed him at the edge of your property. I don’t know who had him, or who brought him here,” Crowley sighed. “Would you like to hear it again? In Latin perhaps?”

“Doesn’t matter who did it, right now,” Dean interrupted. “We can deal with that son of a bitch later.”

“Dean’s right,” Sam started. “We need Death’s ring. After that, we can deal with Cas’ situation.” Dean held up his hand.

“You can get Death’s ring. I’m staying here with Cas.”

The other three men in the room stared at Dean. “It’s my fault he got caught up in this mess.” He gave them all a look that dared them to challenge him. Not waiting for any response, he walked back into the other room.

Castiel looked more relaxed and breathing better. Dean knelt beside the angel once again and picked up the abandoned cloth. Once again, he started cleaning the wounds on his back. Castiel did not react.

Dean worked quickly and carefully. Cleaning wounds was one thing that Dean hated. He didn’t like it before Hell, and he liked it even less now. He heard the scraping of chairs from the kitchen. They were leaving to get Death.

Dean was torn. He knew that he should be the one to get the ring from the last Horseman. It should be him driving the Impala with Crowley riding shotgun to Chicago.

But Cas was broken, and in need of someone. It was Dean’s fault that the angel did what he did. It was Dean’s fault that the angel had gone on the suicide mission. This was his chance to show the angel how much he really mattered to Dean.

“We’re going,” Sam said from the doorway. “Crowley is coming. Bobby’s left everything that you should need to patch him up.” Sam shifted his weight between his feet. “You sure you wanna stay here? I could look after him for you.” Dean shook his head, threading a sewing needle with dental floss.

“I should be the one here for him when he wakes,” Dean said softly. “I’ve got to make this right.” He added even lower, hoping Sam wouldn’t hear. Sam nodded, giving no parting words.

Dean heard the rumble of the Impala and Bobby’s van as they pulled out of the scrap yard. After the noises faded, he took the needle to the first gash in Castiel’s back.

As he stitched, Castiel made some soft pained noises. Dean worked as quickly as he could, not wanting to prolong the pain. After covering them with fresh gauze, he turned the angel onto his side. He began cleaning the angry wounds that were the sigil.

Someone had been reopening the marks from the looks of it. The cuts were much deeper than Dean remembers making. He covered every line with antibacterial cream, hoping to prevent any future infections.

And he sat on the floor, watching Castiel sleep. His mind reeled with all of the things he wanted to say to him, and all the questions he needed answered. But he sat silently, counting the steady breaths.

The images from his dreams of the last two weeks came rushing back to him. He felt nauseous as he realized the dreams were not dreams. They really happened to Cas.

Almost four hours had passed before the angel stirred. Dean rubbed his eyes, trying to perk himself up.

“Dean?” Castiel whispered hoarsely. Dean straightened up and gave him a small smile.

“Take it easy,” Dean said. “You’ve got stitches.” Castiel winced in pain. “Let me know when you need more morphine.”

“Where is she?” Castiel asked, his eyes roving wildly over the room.

“She who?” Dean asked, leaning in closer.

“Simiel,” Castiel whispered. “Simiel is the one who found me and held me captive.”

Castiel rolled his shoulders and bit back a pained moan. Dean could see the angel’s face contort, as if he was unable to do something. Castiel sighed and closed his eyes.

“What?” Dean asked, leaning forward. When Castiel opened his eyes, they were glassy with holding back tears.

“She stole it. She took the rest of my Grace; along with my wings,” Castiel gasped in pain again. Dean reached for the morphine.

“She took your Grace, and your wings?” Dean questioned as he prepared the syringe. Castiel nodded.

“Two weeks, every day, she tortured me, bleeding out my power, and pulling out my wings.” Dean froze.

“Tortured you?” He whispered, setting the syringe down. Castiel nodded.

Dean swallowed back bitter bile. He had all the confirmation he needed. They weren’t just dreams. This angel, Simiel, had made him watch. It wasn’t his own guilt that had made him see that.

What Dean didn’t understand was why.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly. Dean held back tears of his own. He would not cry in front of Castiel. He took a steadying breath.

“We tried,” he said. “We wanted to find you.”

Castiel winced and nodded.

“You couldn’t have found us anyways,” Castiel panted. “We were not anywhere where humans could have found us.”

“Who is Simiel?” Dean asked.

“From a higher order,” Castiel said. The blue eyes fluttered shut. Dean knew that was the only explanation that he would be receiving tonight.

Castiel nodded towards the needle on the floor. “Please,” He whispered.

Dean picked up the morphine and found the spot where he had injected it the first time. Carefully pinching the skin, he jabbed the needle in and depressed the plunger. Castiel winced at the pinch.

“I owe you an apology,” Dean said, sliding a bit closer. “I have been stupidly selfish all this time.” Castiel shook his head.

“No apologies. I understand.” He smiled a bit. “But I am sorry for losing faith in you.” Castiel’s hand came out to cup the side of Dean’s face. Dean pulled away from the contact.

“You have no reason to have had faith in me in the first place.”

Castiel’s expression drooped a bit. “Get some more sleep,” Dean whispered. Castiel gave a weak nod and closed his eyes.

Dean stood from his place by the angel’s side and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he saw there was plenty of beer. He should save that for the victory drinks they will want when they get Death’s ring.

He needed something harder anyways. The cupboard above the ancient fridge served as a liquor cabinet; in it he found an unopened bottle of rye. It was a good sized bottle as well. There was still one of the overstuffed chairs in the dining room. He could drink in comfort and keep an eye on the former angel.

He settled into the chair, propping his feet on an old space heater. He broke the seal on the bottle and started to drink.

About an hour into his second round of sleep, Castiel started thrashing. He was whimpering, trying to fight an unseen assailant. Dean left the bottle forgotten on the floor and went to him. As he leaned over the now human angel, he caught a punch in the jaw.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Cas, man. It’s okay. It’s just a dream,” he said as he tried to catch the flailing arms. Dean wondered if this was how he looked when he had his dreams. He caught both hands and held them lightly to the injured chest and pressed forward.

“Dean! Help me,” Castiel whimpered. Dean leaned as close as he dared.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Sapphire eyes fluttered open. Dean released the hands, knowing that there should be no more swings. But he stayed close to the angel. With sad eyes, Castiel looked like he was about to say something.

“No, Cas. Don’t apologize,” Dean said softly. “Believe me; I know what it’s like.” One of Castiel’s hands came up to grip at his shirt.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Dean said. A familiar feeling swept through him. It’s the same feeling that he got when Sam was hurting. He needs to make this better. “And I have no plans of going anywhere.”

A look Dean has seen more times than he could count covered Castiel’s face, and only now did he realize what it was. He’d seen it several times on Sam’s face when he was younger.

Castiel closed his eyes, and his hand fell from Dean’s chest. Dean sat on the floor, resting his back against the cot.

Love. Castiel loved Dean.

Why wouldn’t he? Castiel put everything he had on the line to help Dean; even rebelled against Heaven. He did anything Dean asked, sometimes before he needed to ask. All evidence pointed to Castiel loving Dean.

Dean turned his head to look at the now sleeping angel. Former angel, he corrected himself. There were still small creases of worry on his face, and he was snuffing slightly. But he looked content. As content as he could be, really.

Dean’s mind wandered to their talk about Simiel. Anger coursed through him. He wanted nothing more to hunt that bitch down and gut her with that silver sword. How dare anyone do that to his angel, the one who pulled him out of Hell, remade his body, and selflessly gave everything.

Bobby was right. He really was an idjit.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean was a tiny little bit in love with Castiel.

Dean let his head fall back against the cot and closed his eyes. He timed his own breaths with Castiel’s. It was rhythmic, soothing, and if he concentrated on the steady in and out, his mind wouldn’t wander.

He didn’t sleep. He let himself drift in that in between space where he was resting, but still aware. Sam and Bobby crashing through the kitchen door snapped him out of his trance.

Opening one eye, he looked at them both. He had no idea how long both of them had been out of it. Castiel was still sleeping, and would probably need another round of morphine soon.

Sam held up an odd contraption that looked like rings, and he was smiling. It wasn’t his happy smile, it was his “we did good but...” smile.

“Mind coming in here, son?” Bobby asked. Dean rubbed his eyes and stood. He gave one last look to Castiel. He’d be fine without Dean right there.

Sam was leaning against the counter, nursing a beer. Bobby handed Dean a beer and opened one himself.

“Spit it out,” Dean said, putting his unopened beer on the table. Sam sighed.

“I have to say yes,” Sam said, looking at Dean. Dean shook his head.

“Absolutely not!” Dean barked. “No. You are not saying yes. We’ll find another way to stuff him back into his box.”

“Dean,” Bobby said pleadingly. “Hear your brother out.”

“Dean, it’s the only way,” Sam said quietly. “I think I can wrestle control from him. But I need your help to open the cage.” Dean shook his head.

“There needs to be another way,” he said, opening his untouched beer. “We’ve fought too hard for you to just roll over and give up.”

“It’s not giving up!” Sam snapped. “It’s the only way to get him back in there, and you know it.” Sam stormed out of the kitchen. Bobby looked at Dean.

“What is it?” Bobby asked. “What are you more afraid of? Losing the battle, or losing your brother?” Bobby followed Sam out of the kitchen. Dean slumped on the floor, drinking his beer.

“It’s true, Dean,” Castiel’s gravelly voice said from the doorway. Dean looked up.

Castiel had himself braced on the doorframe. He was still shirtless, and one of the cuts on the sigil had reopened. He looked pale.

“What are you doing awake?” Dean asked, standing and moving closer towards the angel. Castiel tried to shrug, but only managed a wince.

“Couldn’t sleep anymore,” he said. Dean reached out to help the angel back to the cot. “But they’re right. That is the best choice to beat Lucifer.” Castiel held a hand up. “Is there somewhere that is more comfortable for me to rest?”

“Upstairs bedroom,” Dean said. Castiel pushed himself away from the doorframe. “Need help?” The angel looked at Dean with pleading eyes. Dean nodded.

Dean wrapped an arm around him. “Lean in to me,” he said softly. Castiel pressed against Dean. Castiel’s skin was warm. Dean tried not to think about it as they walked together towards the stairs.

“Last time we were like this,” Castiel puffed, “I was carrying you.” Dean laughed a bit before they went to climb the stairs.

Castiel took each step carefully, with Dean supporting his weight. Dean mentally kicked himself for not checking to see if there was any damage to his legs.

Once they made it to the second floor, Dean guided him into one of the many bedrooms. Dean had claimed it as his several years ago. Bobby didn’t care, because Dean spent more time sleeping on one of the couches or the floor.

The room had basic furnishings and a large window. Dean walked the angel over to the large bed and sat him down. The hunter picked through the chest of drawers that he always kept spare clothes in. He found a pair of soft worn plaid pants with a drawstring waist.

“Cas, uh. You need to take your pants off,” Dean said. “I forgot to check for injuries.” Castiel undid the belt on the dress pants and began to take them off.

“My legs are not hurt,” he said. Dean shrugged and walked back to the bed. He placed the pajamas beside Castiel.

Apparently the angel wore jockey shorts. Small world.

Dean looked over the deceptively long legs, searching for any sign of injury. He had a few bruises, but nothing more. He realized that he was starting to stare. Shaking his head a bit, he stood.

“Here’s a pair of comfortable pants for you,” Dean said. He turned a bit to let Castiel dress.

“Will you be going back downstairs to sleep?” Castiel asked. Dean shrugged.

“I guess. Well, I’ll try to sleep at the least.” He eyed the angel on the bed. Even though his usual stoic face was in place, Dean could see nervousness in his eyes.

“When your dreams were at their worst, I would lie beside you,” Castiel looked up at Dean. “By me being there with you, the dreams seemed to lessen.” The angel began to shift uncomfortably. The corners of Dean’s mouth twitched softly.

Dean wouldn’t say it, nor would Castiel ask. But Dean nodded. He stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and turned off the bedroom light. He tripped over his own boots walking back to the bed.

Castiel was already lying down on his side when Dean crawled on to the mattress. He could make out where he was with the starlight coming in through the window.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly. “You need to let Sam do this. You need to have faith in your brother to beat Lucifer.”

“I can’t lose him,” Dean whispered, rolling on to his back. “I just can’t.”

Castiel’s hand came out of the darkness and touched the side of Dean’s face.

“No matter what, you will still have me,” Castiel whispered as drew his hand back.

“Thank you,” Dean replied softly.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel yawned.

Dean sat in the darkness, listening to Castiel’s breathing. His mind was screaming a million different things at him. Their time was pretty much up against Lucifer. They had already lost Adam after getting him in the first place. He was going to lose Sam.

His stomach clenched. He needed to relax, to try and sleep. Castiel’s breathing was steady and deep. Dean closed his eyes, and matched Castiel’s breathing for the second time that night.

Mom was cooking, humming a Beatles song. Dean walked through the kitchen, calling her. She did not reply, or even look his way.

“Nice house,” a cool female voice said from behind him. He turned around and came face to face with a tiny blond woman.

“Simiel,” Dean said. The angel smiled.

“You are smart, contrary to what I’ve been told.” She crossed her arms across her navy blue pinstripe suit jacket.

“What the hell do you want?” Dean snapped. She took a step towards him.

“To finish what I started,” she said, eyeing her nails absently. “Castiel still needs to pay for what he’s done.”

“Pay for what he’s done?” Dean stepped closer to her. “Making him human and pulling out his wings feather by feather wasn’t enough?”

“No,” She said with venom in her voice. “I want him to suffer, to pay for what he’s done. He turned his back on God and killed his brethren. For that, he needs to die.”

“He only turned his back on God after God ignored him!” Dean shouted. “God doesn’t give a shit! Don’t you dare say that you’re doing it for Him.”

She pointed a long red fingernail at Dean’s nose.

“Rest assured that if the two of you survive trying to take down Lucifer, I’ll be back to finish up.”

Dean’s eyes flew open to see sunlight filtering into the room. Castiel was still sleeping beside him. He could hear movement downstairs. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

“Dean?” Castiel said, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Just getting up,” Dean said. “Sleep okay?” Castiel stifled a yawn and nodded.

“Thank you for…” Castiel trailed off. Dean nodded.

“Anytime, man,” Dean said. He stood up and grabbed his jeans. Castiel slipped out of the bed, looking a little lost. Dean nodded towards the dresser.

“Help yourself to anything in there. When we get some time, we’ll get you some clothes.” Dean grabbed a shirt from the top of the dresser and headed downstairs.

Bobby and Sam were sitting at the kitchen table, looking at newspapers.

“Which one of these do you think is him?” Bobby asked. Dean looked at the headlines. He pointed to the one that was about Detroit.

“He always said it would go down in Detroit,” Dean said. He poured a cup of coffee. “I try to avoid Detroit on general principal.”

“We need to leave now,” Sam said. Dean stared at him over his coffee cup. “How’s Castiel doing?”

“Don’t think he can do much,” Dean said. “He’s still pretty rough.” The other men in the room nodded.

“I do wish to join you,” Castiel said from the doorway. All eyes in the room turned to the former angel in the doorway.

“Can you shoot a gun?” Dean asked. Castiel went to lift his arm, but winced in pain. “I’ll take that as a no. You stay here.”

A look of hurt and anger crossed Castiel’s face.

“Dean is right,” Sam jumped in. “We would really like to have you with us, but you’ve got to take care of yourself.” Sam gave the angel his best pleading look.

“He’s right, son,” Bobby added. Castiel nodded, looking at the floor.

“Will you be leaving soon?” He asked.

“In about twenty,” Dean said. Sam walked towards Castiel.

“Need to talk to you for a moment,” Sam said, nudging him down the hallway.

Dean stared at Bobby, who was giving him one of his you’re-an-idjit looks.

“What, Bobby?” Dean snapped. Bobby just shook his head and walked out into the scrap yard.

Sam and Castiel returned to the kitchen, Castiel nodding at something Sam was saying. Castiel looked up at Dean.

“I wished him luck,” Castiel said. “I promised to keep you and Bobby out of trouble as well.” Dean shook his head and smiled slightly.

“Ready, Sam?” Dean asked. Sam nodded and picked up the duffel by the door. Castiel walked up to Dean, standing in the hunter’s way of the door.

“You better bring your stupid ass back,” Castiel said. The angel leaned forward and gave Dean a chaste kiss on the lips. “I mean it,” he said.

Dean was dumbfounded. Castiel had just kissed him, and used the parting words Dean gave him just two weeks ago. Sam was looking everywhere but at them. A warm feeling spread through Dean’s chest.

Fuck it, he thought.

He cupped Castiel’s cheek and kissed the angel. It was short, but passionate. He pulled away, stroking his thumb over Castiel’s cheek.

“I will,” He whispered. “I promise.”

Castiel nodded and pulled away. Sam cleared his throat and opened the door.

Torn, Dean walked out the open door. Dean wanted to drag Castiel with them. But the angel could barely stand, let alone fight.

Silently, Dean and Sam loaded the trunk of the Impala. Bobby nodded from behind the wheel of his van and pulled out of the scrap yard.

They got a few miles away from Singer Salvage before Sam broke the silence.

“Before I do this, I want you to promise me something,” Sam said, not making eye contact.

“Anything, Sammy,” Dean said, his eyes not wavering from the road.

“If this goes bad,” Sam swallowed harshly. “I don’t want you to bring me back.”

“Not happening,” Dean said. “You’re going to make it.” Sam sighed and faced his brother.

“We don’t know that. Hell, I’m doubting that I’m going to make it out of it,” Sam sighed. “I want you to just let me go.”

“What, is this the point where you tell me to shack up with Lisa or something?” Dean snapped. “Want me to live some apple pie life? Ain’t going to fucking happen, Sam.” Sam hardened his face.

“No you jackass! I don’t want you throwing yourself in after me, or doing something stupid to bring me back!” Sam shook his head and looked out the window. “I’d like to see you live a normal life, but I know you. It won’t happen.” Dean shrugged in agreement. “I just don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said sincerely. “I won’t follow you in, I won’t drag you back, and I won’t do anything stupid.” Sam nodded and stared out the window again.

The drive from Sioux Falls to Detroit was a long silent one for the brothers.

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Part Two