Chapter Text
(14,337 words)
Let it be known that Dean hates witches.
Admittedly, that news is older than the Tupperware container of what might've been meatballs at some point he'd found in the back of Bobby's fridge once, but the point still stands. If anything, it's more meaningful now because now, Dean has a new experience to bitch about; now he's stuck to Castiel like a barnacle on a whale.
Okay, maybe he isn't stuck, but he can't exactly let go when not having some sort of contact means both of them being in pain that only gets worse the longer they're apart (shut up, Sam, it's not funny). And Dean honestly wouldn't mind it half as much if Cas hadn't been acting so squirrelly lately, but that's a whole 'nother can of worms.
This whole thing started as a regular case that was supposed to be a milk run but wasn't, because their life can never be simple.
"Hey," Sam had said, turning his laptop around to present an online news article—the beginning of the end. "Got a case. The last few weeks, multiple people were found dead, curled up and grabbing their chests. Sounds like our kind of thing."
Bored out of his mind from the lack of cases lately, he didn't even question it, too eager to get back on the road. "All right. Let's go."
He'd live to regret those words, but not before they drove to freakin' Oklahoma to gather intel on the victims. There wasn't much to go on, and they fumbled and squirmed enough to call Cas down from whatever the hell he was before—Dean tries not to think about it.
Ordinarily, Dean wouldn't mind calling Cas down, of course. Though he'd rather see Bobby in a Speedo than admit it, he always feels…lighter when Cas is around, like everything's gonna be okay. But ever since Cas got back in the game after the mess with the apocalypse, he's been…different. And yeah, he's fighting a losing war in Heaven against that douchebag Raphael, who'd killed Cas way back when, but this seems like it goes beyond just stress.
Somehow, Cas has seemed…different. He was way too guilty about Sam's soul being gone, and has been even more off than this new 'usual' since he'd flambeed Crowley's bones, and Dean can't figure out why. Whenever he meets Cas' eyes these days, he can just tell there's something he's not saying, something he seems to desperately want to spill, but doesn't.
Admittedly, that might be Dean's fault. He hasn't been all that receptive in the past whenever Cas tried bringing up his war efforts, but Dean just…can't, not when every little update just makes him picture his best friend strung up and battered in some new way with his wing prints seared into the ground, not when Dean can do nothing but wonder if he'd even know if Cas got hurt or killed, if he could even help him or know the ultimate fate of his best friend or…anything.
So yeah, he's been a dick, but that doesn't mean he's not worried about the guy, and that worry only grows by the day. One of Cas' angel soldier pals telling them point-blank that Cas has other things to worry about than whatever case they're on a while back was a wake-up call, but not enough of one to stop Dean from calling the angel when they got stuck.
As usual, Cas was nothing but efficient and direct with his help, though he was noticeably distant and distracted, pausing all the time to use his built-in headset to talk shop on angel radio, and that was the catalyst of the whole thing. They had the witch cornered, and Cas paused because one of his angel buddies wouldn't stop ringing the bell and jabbering away in his skull.
It was just for a second, but that was more than enough time for the witch to throw a spell at Cas, but Dean, images of those scorched wing prints forever marking the ground flashing in his mind a mile a minute, jumped at the angel to try to get him to move. Instead, they both got hit just before Sam was able to kill the witch, who lowered her guard while attacking them.
Any thoughts about a job well done flew out the window when Dean stepped away from Cas, only for his chest to ache like it wanted to burst like an overfilled water balloon; Cas, on the other hand, was doubled over in pain in a way Dean had never seen before, and if Dean's first instinct hadn't been to support the guy, they'd probably still be trying to find a cure.
Okay, 'cure' is a stretch. A band aid is more accurate—one made out of Jenga blocks arranged in a nifty little tower just begging to fall, and that's where they are now, sitting side by side on a bed in a crappy motel room in Oklahoma…holding hands…
"It's a spell made to cause pain, but for some reason, the pain is nullified when you guys are touching, even just a little bit," Sam explains later, nose stuck in a book so thick it makes Dean dizzy just thinking about reading it. "It seems like it's affecting you guys on a spiritual level and not a physical one, which is probably why Cas is so much more affected by it. His true form would be a lot more powerful than a soul, so there's more to hurt, I guess."
"Anything in there about a cure?" Dean asks, weirdly awkward as he eyes Cas, who's frowning at the ugly motel bedspread and periodically squeezing Dean's hand in a way that seems accidental. He knows there's a good chance a cure isn't nicely written anywhere or Sam would have mentioned it first, but he has to ask.
"Haven't found anything yet. But I'll keep looking," Sam offers, bordering on puppy-dog eyes, all big and earnest. "Until then, at least you already know how to stop it from being painful, right?"
It's pretty telling that Sam isn't even giggling about this anymore; the humor of the whole thing is overshadowed by the look of pain on Cas' face that Dean doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. As horrible as being forced to touch should sound, Dean…doesn't hate the thought, even though Cas probably does. Still, he'd rather any contact be voluntary anyway, which seems unlikely since neither of them are all that touchy-feely.
Aloud, he just says, "Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I'm looking forward to needing to take a leak."
"I can mitigate your body's needs if that would help you, Dean," Cas offers, looking at him and speaking up for the first time since they got back to the motel (which was not a good trip, freakin' Sammy riding the brakes the whole way, disrespecting his baby). "Whatever you wish."
Two fingers are already rising towards his forehead, but Dean lightly bats them away. "I'm…I'm good for now. And I'll deal, y'know? Kinda been pissing for a long time and all."
Apparently not all the amusement of this situation is gone since Sam snickers at that, but Cas just drops his hand. "All right.
Dean should probably be used to Cas' inability to give anyone (read: literally just Dean, though he chooses not to acknowledge that) more than the bare minimum as far as personal space goes, but this is…different. They usually just stand about three inches apart and stare—the touching is new…and welcome, if only to him.
He shifts, releasing Cas' hand to flex his fingers, feeling tiny sparks of pain creep up his spine and hearing the angel's pained little gasp before Dean swiftly grabs his hand again. "Sorry. Sweaty."
"It's all right," Cas says, voice a little shaky, and Dean sighs. It's gonna be a long day…
"I'll keep looking," Sam promises again, gathering up his laptop and bag and scurrying out of there, only to pause with one foot out the door. "I'm gonna pick up some more books and some food."
"Don't forget the pie," Dean calls, more for show than anything; any hunger he'd felt during the witch hunt died when Cas made that first noise of pain. Sam just nods, casts one last look around the room, then disappears. "Well. Now what?" He turns, but the angel's got that distant look on his face that means he's on angel radio again. Distant even when they're incapable of being more than a few inches apart. Figures. "Awesome…"
With one possible distraction down the tubes, his eyes scan the room for the TV remote, finding it on the nightstand. It's clearly not in reach of his arm, so Dean kicks his boot up on the small table and drags, knocking the remote, clock, lamp, and a brochure to the floor with a clatter. Dean spares Cas a glance, but the angel doesn't react. Great.
Flexing his hand in Cas', Dean stretches as far as he can without moving the angel, but his hand still slips out of Cas' hand. The damage is done, so he snatches up the remote as fast as he can before fumbling for the angel's hand as his entire arm tingles.
Cas is squinting at him in confusion, free hand rubbing his chest absently. "Dean?"
"Just…grabbing the remote," he says weakly, feeling like a dumbass now. The look Cas gives him is far too much like one Sam would be giving him if he were here. Also great. "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything, Dean," Cas replies, distinctly bitchy.
"You didn't have to—I know that face."
"What face?"
"That…face!" He turns away, huffing, "Forget it. Just go back to your little angel gossip circle."
He flips on the TV without a word, browsing the channels in search of something decent to watch, all too aware of Cas' eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, which Dean pointedly ignores in favor of pretending to be interested in the home renovation reality show on the screen.
"You're upset," Cas states, and Dean just hums noncommittally. "Why? I apologize for getting hit by the witch's spell, although this is partially your fault as well, seeing as how you stepped in the path of the spell."
He shoots the angel an unimpressed look, standing up instead of acknowledging the truth in the statement. "C'mon. I gotta take a leak."
And that sets off a whole new set of challenges as Dean dances around the toilet and Cas watches with a tilted head, puzzled. In the end, he just orders Cas to turn around and shut his eyes, only to realize he can't get his zipper down. Fantastic. And that's how Dean ends up peeing with Cas' hand up the back of his shirt (which definitely doesn't give him goosebumps, shut up), because the spell apparently only cools down when there's skin-to-skin contact.
The immediate fire put out, they head back to the other room, where Dean kicks off his boots so he can lay down, crossing his feet so that Cas can grab his ankle, which is more than a little weird, but at least he has other options that go beyond losing a hand for the foreseeable future.
Sam returns eventually with food, way too many books, and a grim look on his face that changes the second he sees them. "No more hand holding?"
"Shut up." He sits up and makes grabby hands at Sam until a burger wrapper is dropped in his hands. "Oh, baby. Let's see what we got here…"
As soon as he takes a bite of the cheeseburger, Sam tells him, "I didn't get any pie. Sorry."
Damnit, Sam. He's entirely not sorry about it too, but Dean can't yell at him too much when he's got a burger halfway down his throat, even if the way Cas is eyeing him up goes beyond his usual creepy staring. That's probably what causes the next challenge of this new and hopefully temporary…arrangement to come.
Those intense baby blues distract him long enough that he doesn't notice the glob of ketchup dripping off his burger until it's too late and there's a smear down his shirt and pants. He's not generally a messy eater, so this is just terrific, made even worse by the fact that his instinct is to grab the area, which only makes the strains worse.
"Son of a bitch…" Cas looks at him curiously, so Dean offers, "Ketchup."
"Ah. Vinegar, sugar, salt, water, and what might've once been tomato. The molecules are very unusual, but not altogether unappealing."
"Uh…right."
Just as he's debating whether to change before or after finishing his meal, Cas offers, raising two fingers, "I can fix that."
"Know what? Knock yourself out."
And just like that, the stain is gone, and Dean's left reconsidering his stance on letting Cas magic away some of the worse things he's going to have to face. On one hand, he doesn't want to take advantage of his friend's abilities, especially for something as stupid as not wanting to take a shower in front of him later. On the other hand, Cas' powers are pretty limitless, and the last thing Dean needs is to get caught with a stiffy in front of the angel.
In the end, it's a problem for later. Right now, they're more concerned with motoring up to Bobby's house since Sam's most recent hoard of books was useless. Dean refuses to relinquish control of the car keys for such a long drive, but that means Cas has to sit right beside him on the bench seat, squished up against his side with one hand looped around his arm.
He won't admit to picturing this scenario a little differently before, but judging by the looks Sam keeps giving him from the backseat—where his brother was more than happy to scamper off to—he's not fooling anybody but Castiel the Oblivious, who just stares at him the whole time until Dean glances over and the angel quickly looks away.
In other words, they have a situation that's just enough out of the ordinary for Bobby to make a comment, but not weird enough for any actual concern. Instead, they focus on tracking down Eve so they can shoot her with a bullet stuffed with phoenix ashes they'd gotten from the past and pray that it works. No pressure, right?
-
With more than a little effort, they manage to get Eve's location: Grants Pass, Oregon, which is a surprisingly nice place for all the trouble brewing in its underbelly thanks to the mother of all monsters setting up camp there.
Getting the address of Eve's latest hidey-hole is both a good and a bad thing. It's good to know where she is, but she now knows that they know where she is, which is definitely not ideal. That and the fact that he and Cas can't be more than a few feet from each other and can't stand to go more than a few minutes (or seconds, if he's being more realistic) without touching makes it worse, and the other fact that they only have five bullets that may or may not affect Eve is just the cherry on top for the crappy situation. So yeah, Dean's not walking in with his head or his hopes held high…
"All right. I finally got the police database, no thanks to this," Bobby bitches, giving the iPad in his hand a light smack. "I asked for a computer."
Sam doesn't even glance up. "It is a computer."
"No, a computer has buttons!"
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, wishing he didn't have a 'free hand' as he turns to the angel that's sitting entirely too close in their shared booth. "I don't suppose you can just fly off and do a little recon, right?"
"No. Not like this. But maybe I can…"
Cas gets a weird look on his face, and Dean quirks an eyebrow. "Well, now it just looks like you're pooping."
The angel's frowns at the table. "Something's wrong. My grace—it's blocked. Something is affecting me…I'm powerless."
"How? From Eve?" Sam asks, looking all intrigued for all the wrong reasons, reminding Dean of when his brother goes off to fuel his serial killer fetish mid-case.
Cas nods a little, and Dean's shoulders drop. "Well, that's great, because without your powers, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat."
Cas' mouth opens like he's going to respond, but he just closes it and turns to look out the window, which would have a whole lot more impact if he didn't have to look over Dean to do so. As is, it just makes a smile tug at his lips, because Cas looks an awful lot like a petulant toddler right now.
"I think you hurt his feelings," Sam surmises quietly.
"I got something here," Bobby butts in before Dean can fire anything back or do more than offer the pouting angel a hand squeeze. "Maybe. Had to go federal to get it. Call went out from the local office to the CDC last night."
Sam's forehead gets all crinkly with his newfound focus. "About what?"
"A Dr. Silver called in an illness he couldn't identify. Patient's a twenty-five year old African-American. Name—Ed Bright."
Bobby flips his iPad around to show them the guy's driver's license, and Dean frowns. "Well, that's not much to go on."
"Well, it's our only lead, so—"
"So beggars can't be choosers, right?" Dean finishes for him, and Bobby huffs and huddles over the iPad, like he can will it into revealing something useful. "I get it. All right, let's finish and split up."
"I'll go with Bobby to check out the house," Sam says, giving Dean a look like the little bitch that he is. "I'm guessing you and Cas are gonna go together?"
"We'll check out his office," Dean snaps, inadvertently giving Cas' hand a squeeze, eyes widening when Cas squeezes back. "Push comes to shove…I'll say Cas is sick and, uh, needs moral support."
"A hand to hold, even," Sam says with a tad too much delight.
"Yeah, shut up." So with that, they split up and head off to their respective targets. Driving the Impala is no easier now than it was before, but Dean's nothing if not stubborn; problem is, so is Cas, so it's always a shock when the angel actually listens to him. "We gotta get in and talk to this guy. Whatever happens, just…follow my lead, okay?"
"All right," Cas agrees surprisingly easily, and Dean nods.
When they get to Dr. Silver's office, which still looks far too nice and quaint considering what they're there for, there's a woman outside that might be another doctor, so Dean throws on his best sympathetic face and approaches. "Excuse me. Hi, is Dr. Silver in today? My friend is very sick."
He nudges Cas with his elbow, and the angel blinks. "I have a…uh, painful burning sensation."
Dean tries to keep a straight face, but then the woman's eyes drop to where they're holding hands and—oh great, now she probably thinks he gave Cas the clap or something… "Oh, well…he's out. Sorry."
"Do you happen to know where he is?" Dean asks as she swiftly finishes locking up and goes to leave—freakin' homophobes…
"He hasn't called in," she replies simply before giving Cas a tight smile. "You might want to find yourself some ointment."
She leaves like the place is on fire, and Dean suppresses a sigh, shaking off the interaction. "What kind of a doctor calls the CDC and then goes AWOL the very next day?" He fishes in his pocket for a lockpick, sending the angel a grin. "Let's have a look, shall we?"
After a little dancing, Cas sticks a hand up the back of his shirt like he does during obligatory bathroom breaks while Dean starts picking the lock, only to pause. There's a tiny drop of blood on the ground, and given the reason they're at this guy's office at all (which has nothing to do with STDs, Cas), he's guessing it's not from a nosebleed.
That's when he notices another door leading to a little shed with more blood dotting the lock. After a quick glance around, he breaks in, only to immediately notice what's clearly a body wrapped in plastic. Dread in his gut, he flips back the top and immediately recognizes the body as Ed.
"It's the patient, Ed Bright," Captain Obvious states needlessly while Dean recoils from the stench of the rotting corpse, Cas' hand returning to his.
"Well, what kind of a doctor calls the CDC and then stashes the gooey corpse in the shed?" Dean asks rhetorically, covering the head back up.
"I don't understand what's happening here."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, I know one thing about the body: we need some kerosene."
That earns him a squinty look, but Cas is nothing if not helpful, even when he's clueless (which is a majority of the time, endearingly enough). They burn the body as quickly as possible before meeting Sam and Bobby outside of Ed's house, where they look through the window and see…someone who looks just like Ed. Shapeshifter. Awesome…
Sam's usually his go-to partner for things like this, but he doesn't have much of a choice but to drag Cas along instead and leave Sam and Bobby to watch the door. Inside, they find dozens of Eds, all dead except for one, who doesn't have much to say beyond confirming Eve's got her hand in the cookie jar somehow. Cas tries to use his mojo on the guy, but he's still powerless, and the one surviving Ed (who's actually named Marshall) dies anyway.
"I don't get it," Dean says as they leave the house, still hand in hand. "What, a bunch of regular Joes wake up shifters? What the hell?"
"Shifters usually run in families. This looks like an infection." Bobby gives the two of them scrutinizing looks like they're bugs under a microscope. "Nobody touched nothing?"
Shuddering at the thought, he says, "Well, I'm bathing in Purell tonight." And that makes him realize he's gonna have to shower and endure this spell all at once, a thought he's been decidedly ignoring, so he changes the subject before anyone can point this out. "He said they met a girl. It's gotta be Eve."
"But why would she do this?" Cas asks, and Bobby huffs, face grim.
"Mommy monster—to make more."
Dean considers it, but shakes his head. "No, no, no, no, Cas has got a point. I mean, if she's gonna make a shifter army, why make one that's sick, gooey, and dying?"
Bobby just shrugs. "Add that to the pile of crap that don't make sense."
"So, should we hit the bar?" Sam asks eventually, and Dean's not sure whether he means to investigate or get drunk, but both options have their appeal at this point.
Naturally, they find the entire bar covered in the decomposing remains of Eve's shifter army, only to discover that they're something else entirely: hybrids, which Dean dubs Jefferson Starships due to them being so horrible and hard to kill (shut up, Sam, it makes sense).
That's when the cops bust in to bust them and book him, Cas, and Bobby for the massacre, with Sam luckily managing to slip away by somehow hiding his ginormous body behind the bar.
"Hands where I can see them!" one of the cops yells, and for the first time, Dean wishes he were able to comply. The cops aren't playing games though and waste no time in pulling them apart. "I said hands in the air!"
The pain is immediate. Dean curls in on himself and barely manages to remain upright. Cas is worse, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes within seconds, writhing in pain. Dean tries to reach for him with flailing arms that only want to clutch at his own chest, but he can't easily find the angel.
"What the hell's wrong with them?!" the cop yells, but neither of them can answer.
Bobby huddles to the floor beside Dean's head, looking more worried than he can ever remember seeing him. "Dean, what's happening? Dean!"
"C-Cas!" he gasps out as the pain only gets worse, every inch of his skin erupting into goosebumps. "T-the spell—"
Luckily, Bobby's computer skills are only a reflection of his age and not his intelligence, and he figures out enough that within a few seconds, Dean's got Cas' surprisingly sweaty hand in his again, and he tightly squeezes around the angel's fingertips. For the first time, Cas doesn't squeeze back, and worry overshadows any concern about the cops.
"Cas? Cas, hey, wake up, buddy. Cas?"
"They're Starships!" Sam yells, jumping out of hiding to kill one of the shifters.
Bobby spins around to kill another one, and Dean crawls closer to Cas' dangerously pale face, feeling for and finding a weak pulse. He can't keep the relief of his face at that, even if an angel being unconscious isn't exactly a comforting thought.
Preoccupied by worry, he forgets all about the other situation at hand until he hears his brother say, "No, wait. Keep him alive."
Dean glances up at Sam's words just in time to see him and Bobby knock the shifter out to interrogate later, but Dean's still focused on the unconscious angel in front of him, patting his cheek and calling his name—even giving him a wet willy, but no dice.
It seems to take forever for Cas to open his eyes again, and when he does, Dean's right there to see it—not that he can be anywhere else with the spell, but it's the thought that counts. "Cas? You okay?"
"I…yes." The angel looks around quickly from where he's laying on the floor, looking more confused than Dean's ever seen him, which is saying something considering 'confused' is the guy's default. "What happened?"
"The Jefferson Starship made me let go," he offers weakly, squeezing Cas' hand and delighting in that soft squeeze he gets in return, his heart rate finally slowing down again. "You just…dropped. Passed out for a while."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. Dumbass," Dean says fondly with an eye roll, relief making him all gooey. "C'mon, let's get you up." The angel lets himself be pulled upright, and when he stumbles a little, Dean takes the opportunity to pull him into a short hug that Cas seems too puzzled to return. "All right. Let's go find Sammy, huh?"
"Where are they?"
"Still pulling teeth with the sheriff, I'm guessing." His theory is confirmed when they turn the corner to find Bobby cutting into the shifter while Sam watches nearby. Nudging his brother, he asks, "Get anything?"
"Not really. Bobby can't get anything serious out of the guy. He's been at it for a while now…"
"I could try," Cas offers after a moment of the three of them watching Bobby in action—the most he's moved since he got a beer out of the fridge the other week.
"No," Dean says a little too quickly, earning him a head tilt from Cas and a bitchface from Sam. "You-you were just conked out, man. Why don't you rest a little, huh? Besides, you don't have your powers right now."
"I am not an infant without my powers, Dean," Cas replies, all grumpy over that one throwaway comment. "I'm capable of being useful regardless."
"Look, useful or not, you earned a break, so take a load off and rest for a sec, okay? And anyway, you can't get anywhere near the guy without dragging me along, so…"
"You're acting like a jealous wife, Dean," Sam tells him, raising an eyebrow, but Dean doesn't budge, and his brother eventually sighs and finds a barstool to plop on. "It's gonna be a long day…"
Turns out Sam's right. It takes forever to get anything useful out of the sheriff, and when they do, it's to discover that Eve is hiding out in the very same diner they were in earlier, listening to Bobby bitch about iPads and discovering Cas has been temporarily powered down. Well, that and that they had two kids chained up in the police department, who they drove up to their uncle's place before going to the diner.
Because he and Cas are each going to be fighting one handed, Sam and Bobby get three of the five bullets, with Dean getting one for his gun and a mouthful of phoenix ash as a backup plan. They all decide it's best if Cas, who's never shot a gun before, doesn't get one of their limited bullets. Then there's the question of who's going in.
Dean wants to go, of course, but he's got Cas as the rubber to his glue, so he's boned. Taking care of Sammy works until he becomes a liability, but it's such a way of life by now that he can't help but hate the idea of not jumping in. But he can't, not this time.
Reluctantly, he steps down and hangs back with Cas as Sam and Bobby head in. In the meantime, he presses his ear to the door and tries to eavesdrop while Cas plays with his angel blade and eyes up the door, like he's thinking of smiting it for standing in their way.
Then the door bursts open and a bunch of what are clearly more Jefferson Starships drag him and Cas in, thankfully not bothering to pull them apart. Inside, the diner is crawling with the things, occupying every booth seat and table in the place, which doesn't bode well for their plan to take out Eve.
They got too cocky. Seeing Eve's army of shifters burned up from the inside out like they'd had a high fever that fried their brains made them stupid and reckless, thinking that they could just bust in and shoot her. She's older than any of them could ever fathom—it's just plain stupid to think they could outsmart her.
In the middle of all the Jefferson Starships is none other than Eve, visually unassuming in her choice of meatsuits, though there's something distinctly…'other' about her in a way most monsters don't even have. That alpha vampire had that otherworldliness to him with that ever-calm demeanor and those damn fingernails, always scratching and scratching but never getting upset.
Eve gives off the same vibe to some degree, like since she's old enough to have seen humans come into existence, she decided against trying to fit in with them, like it's just not worth the effort to blend in. It reminds Dean of Raphael actually, back when he and Cas had trapped the douchebag in a ring of holy fire. Raphael made his disdain for humans clear and didn't give a crap about fitting in or conforming.
It's the opposite of Cas in a lot of ways. Since the beginning, Cas has worked his little angel butt off to get ingrained in human society, to try to act human and fit in, even if he's still kind of horrible at it. Cas is just a weird guy, to the angels and to the humans, and Dean wouldn't have him any other way.
"Well, so much for your plan B," Eve says as a greeting, turning to them and showing off her bloodied dress. "And you—wondering why so flaccid? I'm older than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. As long as I'm around, consider yourself unplugged."
Cas gets all stiff at that, and Dean steps ahead furiously, only to see Sam swiftly shake his head. Right, right, they have a plan, and him stomping up and showing their cards too soon will only mess things up, especially since Eve already knocked their phoenix ash bullets out if the smashed up guns against the wall are any indication. The way she's eyeing up their joined hands still puts him on edge though, which doesn't make logical thinking easy.
"So, to recap, here's the deal: you help me get rid of Crowley and protect my babies, and in return, you and your little friends can walk free."
Cas gets even stiffer now, and Dean glances at him curiously before fixing Eve with a glare. "Yeah, well, you're a little late on that one. Crowley went up in flames a few months back."
"Your dimwitted brother said the same, but I can see through my babies. I can see what they see, and I see Crowley stringing them up and torturing them, and I can't let that go. No, I'll have to deal with him directly, and I'll make sure he pays. We'll see how much he likes Hell when there's not a soul around for the king to rule over."
"You're talking about taking over the world?" he asks hoarsely. "Taking every soul and bringing them to, what, Purgatory? Why?"
"Souls are power, Dean. You have enough of them and they'll turn the tide in any war."
"You mean the war in Heaven?" Sam asks with a frown. "Why's Crowley getting involved in that, anyway?"
"His intentions are no concern of mine," Eve replies sharply. "I'm going to turn every human on this planet and make sure each and every soul goes to Purgatory. If he wants to siphon off my power, I'll return the favor. I'm giving you the chance to help and spare yourselves, all for the price of killing Crowley. I'll even let your boyfriend have his puny powers back if you uphold your end of the deal."
"All right, look," Dean begins, carefully picking his words. Years of practicing his silver tongue have made him good at knowing just where, when, and how to provoke someone. "The last few months, we've been working for an evil dick. We're not about to sign up for an evil bitch. We don't work with demons, we don't work with monsters, and if that means you gotta kill us, then kill us!"
Cas gives him a sharp look that he ignores in favor of leveling Eve with a firm, unrelenting glare, and Eve stalks closer. "Or I turn you, and you do what I want anyway."
"Beat me with a wire hanger, answer's still no."
With that, Eve grabs him from behind and pulls him away from Cas, hissing in his ear while Sam and Bobby struggle against the Jefferson Starships restraining them, "Don't test me."
Trying to keep the pain from showing on his face, he manages to get out through gritted teeth, "Bite me." Then, all according to plan, Eve bites him in the neck, only to immediately stumble back and look at him in horror. "Phoenix ash," he explains with a grin, hand landing on the bare skin on the back of Cas' neck from where the angel is against the wall. "One shell, one ounce of whiskey, down the hatch. Little musty on the afterburn. Call you later, Mom."
And then, unbelievably, Eve actually dies. A bright light shines from her chest before this goo starts pouring out of her nose and mouth and she drops to the ground. Then all Hell breaks loose and the Jefferson Starships swarm in, but since Eve is dead, Cas has his mojo back and yells at them to close their eyes.
It's like a bomb of pure white light goes off, killing all the monsters in the diner and leaving just bodies behind. There's a long moment of silence that makes Dean's ears ring before a car alarm goes off in the distance, and Dean might have laughed at the unexpectedness of it if his body didn't decide at that time to remind him of his injury.
"We gotta take you on more monster hunts," Bobby voices after a moment, and Cas just nods a little, looking like he just got off a rollercoaster from Hell when he was expecting the Teacups.
Sam clears his throat. "Hey Cas, Dean's bleeding pretty good."
"Yeah, I think she turned me into a Jefferson Starship. Could you clear that up, too?" Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, and just like that, all the pain goes away, and Dean's shoulders slump a little in relief. "Thanks, Cas."
That gets him a little smile, at least, even if Cas is still visibly a little shaky. "Of course."
"Not that this ain't cute, but we got bigger problems than your love life," Bobby interrupts bluntly. "Eve said she made the perfect monster that we couldn't detect—that boy you rescued. He was one of them."
Dean's eyes widen. They dropped the kid off a while ago; he's had the time to turn half the town by now! "Son of a bitch…"
To save time, they hitch a ride on Angel Airlines and have Cas fly them to the house they dropped the kids off to, only to find both boys and their uncle dead. Worse yet, it's apparent that demons are responsible for the crappy cleanup crew act, which just opens a whole new can of worms stuffed to the brim with questions he never thought he'd be asking.
Why are demons getting involved at all, and exactly how dead is Crowley? It's like freakin' Schrodinger's cat (what? He reads)—is he alive or isn't he? And if he is, then whose bones did Cas burn?
It's that thought that carries Dean all the way back to Bobby's, where they settle in for a beer or six. He's tempted to ask Cas to clean him up, but after a good hunt, Dean's always in the mood for a long, hot shower to unwind, and they'll have to jump over this hurdle anyway, so he doesn't see any point in beating around the bush and just tugs at Cas' hand.
"Hey. I wanna shower."
Those two raised fingers make an appearance again. "I could—"
"Uh, maybe next time," he interrupts. "Post-hunt funk is something only a good shower can wash away, even with Bobby's crappy water pressure."
"I don't see you payin' extra for a stronger stream," Bobby grumbles, knocking back another beer. "If you're both gettin' in, I need pictures."
"Payback for that picture of you and Crowley making out?" he quips, not missing a beat.
"Kiss my ass."
"Now that's a scary thought," Sam mutters to himself, and Dean leaves the room with a smirk that fades as soon as he comes face to face with the shower.
"Just…turn around or something," Dean tells him awkwardly, and Cas obeys with an eye roll. Dean strips as quickly as possible and jumps behind the curtain, but it's still weird holding Cas' hand through a gap in the partially see-through barrier. Then the water heats up and all that worry melts away. "Mmm…that's good…"
"What is?"
The angel pokes his face in, and Dean shoves it away with a shriek, wincing at the tingling going up his arms when they're disconnected for all of two seconds. "Dude, I said don't look!"
"Dean, I rebuilt your body from ash. I have seen every single inch of you, inside and out," Cas grumbles back in his grumpy angel lecture mode. "Your strange, binding standards are incredibly infuriating and inconsistent."
"It's just—different, okay? It's just creepy." Cas huffs at that, but Dean ignores him in favor of focusing on the water beating down on his neck, awkwardly switching between which hand is sticking out the curtain every time he wants to turn around. He feels a little bad, so he explains, "I meant the water pressure. Before. It feels good."
"But you just complained about it moments ago to Bobby."
"Yeah, well, I'm just a dick sometimes, and hot water's hot water."
As predicted, showering with one good hand is awful. Washing is a nightmare, and he's pretty sure he's still got shampoo in his hair, so he's really dreading each day that goes by if that means another shower. Drying off is a little easier, but only when Dean gets frustrated enough to tell Cas to grab somewhere else; unsurprisingly, the angel zeros in on the handprint he himself had left there not so long ago.
There's something weirdly…intimate about the whole thing. Since the moment he asked Cas to grab a towel for him and their hands touched during the transfer, there's been a buzz in the air. And yeah, big whoop, they touched hands—it's not like they haven't been doing that all day already, right?
But that time, it was…different. Maybe because it was accidental, maybe because they were looking into each other's eyes during the transfer (which, again, they do all the time), Dean doesn't know. What he does know is he's sweating bullets now despite having just got out of the shower and simultaneously has never felt more relaxed, so he's pretty confused right about now.
It's weird, because none of it is new. The hand holding, the staring, the shoulder touching—it's all pretty standard by now. Cas has just never looked at him like that before, all big and earnest and pleading, and Dean's trying really damn hard not to make a dick joke that'll just make everything weirder.
Speaking of dicks…
"Hey Cas," he begins as he pulls on a shirt, now in the guest room in Bobby's place that's been his since he was a kid, "how'd Crowley trick you with those bones, anyway?"
"I…I don't know," the angel replies stiffly—all tense at the jabs at his abilities, probably—though when their eyes meet, he finds something else there. "I…suppose I've been very distracted lately. With the war in Heaven. It's been nice to spend time with you, Dean, even if the circumstances are not ideal."
Some of that blunt, open honesty Dean is used to returns, but something's still off… "Yeah, it's been a ball. And hey, sorry about before, in the diner. You're more than just your powers, man. Not just a hammer and all that. You're…you're my buddy, y'know?"
Cas' whole face softens. "Thank you, Dean."
Dean nods and pats his shoulder. "No problem, pal. And hey, we'll look into those bones, okay? Crowley's nothing if not a slimy bastard. Maybe he just got lucky and accidentally one-upped an angel."
Said angel gets tense again before sighing heavily, suddenly looking very tired. "I'd look into it myself if I could."
"Yeah, I know," Dean says, even if some tiny part of him is questioning that. "You're a good guy, man, and I… Well, it's good to have you in our corner."
Cas nods a little, but won't look at him, and Dean's not sure what to do about that growing doubt in his mind that he wants to stomp out, but can't. But why would Cas lie to him?
-
Cas gets weirder and weirder by the day. While Sam and Bobby pore over research about Purgatory and Eve and everything in between, Dean watches Cas and his reactions to things. Anything involving Crowley gets him all stiff, and Dean can't help but wonder why, trying his best not to fall into the trap of Occam's razor because it's Cas.
Sam and Bobby obviously already have their suspicions. They haven't told Dean anything of course, either because he'd probably just deny everything or because he can't exactly talk about Cas behind Cas' back right now, but he can tell by the way they both look at him, like Cas is something that can't be trusted.
Even if he is…doing something, Dean knows Cas and knows he'd have to have a damn good reason, because it's Cas. He trusts Cas with his life, and if the guy says he's not working with Crowley, then Dean will believe him. He just…has to grow a pair and actually ask. Which he will do. Eventually. But they're searching for Crowley now, so surely Cas would've said something by now if he and Crowley are bosom buddies, right?
Yeah, well, apparently not.
Instead, they get a visit from a horde of pissed off demons who are clearly sick of them sniffing around for Crowley, and though Cas wipes them out easily with a puff of his angel mojo, something seems…off. Sure, Cas is as protective as any of them, but he's never been so outright angry before, not like this.
"It just means we're getting close to finding Crowley," Dean says later when they're laying in bed side by side, aiming for reassurance and unsure if he stuck the landing. "We're getting close, so he's running scared and sending out the troops to try to stop us. But he doesn't know about our secret weapon—you."
Cas doesn't look appeased by that. In fact, he looks kind of like he just drank some bad milk. Trying a different method to unruffle the angel's feathers, he gives Cas' hand a good squeeze, and as usual, Cas squeezes back.
"We'll get him, Cas, don't worry. Nobody crosses the Winchesters and gets away with it."
Cas looks even less appeased, eyes suspiciously watery. "Dean, I…"
The door opens, and Sam pokes his giant head inside. "Hey. I think I found a lead if you guys are done snuggling."
"Bite me, Sam. You try laying in a twin with someone you can't not be touching."
"I haven't been able to fit a twin since I was shorter than you," Sam fires back, shaking his head and finally leaving, though not before one last snide comment. "I'll leave you two to get dressed."
"I don't understand. We're clearly already dressed, and we're laying on top of the blankets. How did Sam not realize that we're clothed?"
He closes his eyes on a sigh for a second before sitting up. "He was just being a dick. Ignore him."
When they head down, the first thought that crosses Dean's mind is that they look more like they're sitting in for a funeral than uncovering something that'll help them track down Crowley. Bobby's sitting on the couch with a bottle of his good whiskey while Sam's standing there waiting, face grim.
"Uh, hey. Who died?"
"We got a visitor earlier. When you guys were in the shower," Sam begins, and Dean has half a mind to correct him, but doesn't bother. "Cas, why would demons come here looking for you?"
And just like that, Cas goes stiff as a board again and Dean looks at him suspiciously. "Cas?"
"How long have you been working with Crowley? How many lies have you been kicking around to hide this? Those bones, the demons…" Bobby prompts from the couch, sounding so tired, but Cas still doesn't say a thing. "Cas, why?"
"Okay, just wait. I…I don't know what you're talking about," Cas finally fumbles out, sounding about as convincing as a salesman who forgot what they were even selling. "I'm not… I can explain—"
"Explain what, Cas?" Dean interrupts with growing anger, turning to face him and getting a grim sort of satisfaction when he realizes Cas can't flutter off thanks to the spell. Finally an upside… "Seems to me like there's not much to explain. Either you're working with him, or you're not. So which is it?"
"Dean, it-it's hard to understand—it's hard to explain—"
"You gotta look at me, man," he cuts in again. "You gotta level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley." Big blue eyes meet his for a second, but then flicker away, and Dean feels something in him break. "You son of a bitch…"
"Let me explain," Cas all but pleads, but Dean shakes his head, not wanting to hear any more lies from the guy he thought was his best friend.
"You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time?"
"I did it to protect you," Cas insists. "I did it to protect all of you."
"Protect us how?" Sam asks harshly . "By opening a hole into Monster-Land?"
"He's right, Cas," Bobby agrees, scrutinizing the angel in a way that makes Dean bristle on instinct before realizing it's warranted. "One drop got through, and it was Eve, and you wanna break down the entire dam?"
Cas rushes to say, "To get the souls. I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me."
"Trust you?!" Sam looks like he caught somebody taking a whiz in his salad bowl. "How the hell are we supposed to trust you now?!"
"I'm still me. I'm still your friend," Cas says with obvious desperation, and Dean has to look away. "Sam…I'm the one who raised you from perdition."
Dean's head snaps towards the angel in shock, having never expected that one. Then again, he also never expected to be interrogating his best friend about his deal with the devil, so this has been a bit of an off day for him. He'd give just about anything to still be in Bobby's too-small guest room twin bed right about now…
"What?" Sam's the first one to recover. "Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it. Wait…did you bring me back soulless…on purpose?"
The hurt on Cas' face is tangible and would be heartbreaking if Dean weren't so mad, but he at least can tell just from a glance that Cas didn't mean to screw that up, at least, even before the angel asks softly, "How could you even think that?"
"Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam replies shortly, and Cas' face falls just a little further, and Dean just can't.
He shakes his head and huffs and goes to pace but he doesn't make it two steps before pain shoots up his arms and straight to his chest, where it feels like somebody's trying to dig his heart out with a plastic spoon. He stumbles, and sees Cas doing the same out of the corner of his eye.
Some part of him delights in that, even though he's sure to feel horrible about it later. Cas has been such a cold, emotionless bastard lately that seeing him express anything seems like an improvement, even if what he's expressing is hurt and pain and misery that's so obvious Dean can't help but feel bad.
It's not a few seconds later that Dean feels bad about it though, just like he predicted, and he grabs Cas' hand again with an annoyed huff, even as he strokes the back of the angel's hand apologetically while Cas struggles to regain his bearings.
"Why, Cas?" he asks hollowly in the room that's gone too silent since Cas first stumbled and sucked in a sharp breath from their short separation. "Why did you go to Crowley? What were you thinking?"
Cas still sounds desperate, but his voice lost that edge to it to make some elbow room for good old-fashioned resignation, like he thinks nothing he says now will make a difference. "Dean, Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I…I had no choice…"
Dean tries to meet Cas' eyes, but the angel won't look at him. "No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one."
"You don't understand," Cas says, pleading. "It's…complicated."
"No, actually, it's not, and you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret—huh?—unless you knew it was wrong?" Cas glances up at him and then just keeps on looking, and Dean squeezes his hand, trying to appeal to him. "When crap like this comes around, we deal with it—like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go around and make another deal with the devil!"
"It sounds so simple when you say it like that," Cas replies quietly, eyes a little wet. "Where were you when I needed to hear it?"
"I was there. Where were you?" Cas goes to look away, but Dean doesn't let him, releasing his hand to grab his chin. "No, seriously. Where were you, Cas? Did you even think to come to us?"
"Of course I did." Cas shuffles around enough obvious guilt to sound something close to offended for a second before his shoulders drop and he continues, "I went to you. You were…raking leaves outside the house of Lisa Braeden, and I…"
"You what?" he presses gently, anger fading a little at the news that Cas was there after all.
"I couldn't bring myself to pull you back into this life after you worked so hard to escape it, Dean. It was right after I brought Sam back, and I immediately realized something was wrong, so I went to you for help and…"
The angel's eyes drop, but Dean doesn't release his face and let him look away, instead moving his hand to Cas' cheek. "When did Crowley pop in?"
"While I was watching you. He wanted to propose a deal to split the souls in Purgatory to stop the civil war in Heaven—to stop Raphael."
"Why does Crowley even care about some war in Heaven?" Sam asks, but neither of them so much as glance at him, eyes locked on each other. "Isn't that kind of a whole world away?"
"The civil war is creating unrest and turmoil in more than just Heaven," Cas answers. "Depending on the outcome, it could be the end of Earth as you know it, and once Raphael is finished with that, he'll move on to Hell. That, and Crowley wants to secure his place on the throne."
"Figures…" There's a long silence before Dean sighs and takes Cas' hand again. "So, what now?"
That earns him a tilted head. "What do you mean?"
"How are we gonna get you out of this deal?" He freezes. "Wait, you didn't promise that slimy bastard your soul, did you? We just got Bobby's back! And Sam's!"
"Angels don't have souls," Cas replies calmly, and Dean's shoulders drop a little of their tension.
"Oh. Well. Good."
"And Dean—I don't like working with Crowley, but I have no choice. Balthazar was able to collect a few angelic weapons, but it won't be enough. We need the souls to defeat Raphael."
Dean crosses his arms as much as he can while still holding the angel's hand; across the room, Bobby mutters before throwing back a mouthful of whiskey, "Here we go…"
"Cas, there's gotta be another way. This ain't right and you know it, or you wouldn't have tried to hide it. There's a better way, and we'll find it. Together."
"Dean, try to understand," Cas begins, and Dean already knows he's not gonna like what the angel has to say. "Raphael is an archangel, one of Heaven's most powerful weapons, and I'm only a seraph. My army is substantially smaller than Raphael's, and many of my soldiers have already defected in my absence. We am losing, and badly. If Raphael wins, he's going to destroy the Earth and restart the Apocalypse. None of us can afford to lose this war, and if I have to rely on-on less than ideal methods to succeed, I will."
Dean stays quiet while listening, his thoughts racing. He understands why Cas did it, understands that the guy is trying his best to fight in a battle he probably won't win, but Dean just knows there's gotta be some other way to go about this.
Before he can ask about it, Sam pipes up, "Why does it have to be you that's doing all this?"
"I don't want to fight," Cas admits with a weary sigh. "I don't like conflict, and I never have. But the angels need someone to lead them. They can't lead themselves in this. They…we were never created to have free will, and many do not understand the concept. I'm only beginning to understand it myself, and only with all of your help."
Dean bites back a comment about what exactly Cas did with that free will, not wanting the angel to clam up again when he's finally talking. "You sure there's not some power trip involved?"
The angel looks offended, then resigned, like he's smothering a sigh. "Yes, I suppose there is. As I said, God is gone, and the angels need a leader. Without any of the other archangels, someone needs to 'step up,' as they say."
"And you're thinking you're the guy for the job?" Bobby asks flatly.
This time, Cas doesn't even hide his tired sigh, just this side of exhausted. "I only want to prevent the Apocalypse from being restarted. Many angels want it to begin again, as was foretold for hundreds of thousands of years. They crave…stability and certainty. They won't stop until the Apocalypse progresses as it was written, or until they are given a new cause to follow. I'm only trying to help, Dean."
Even when he's talking to all of them, he's really only talking to Dean, looking to him for approval, for guidance. Dean can give one of those, at least, even if only in the form of arching an eyebrow. "Do your angel pals know you're working up close and personal with the king of Hell?"
"Some," Cas hedges, and Dean sighs.
"Cas, if you wanna be a good leader, you can't do all kinds of sneaky stuff that'll just end up biting you in the ass, buddy. You gotta do the opposite of what politicians do, which means no deals with the devil. C'mon, that's the wrong move and you know it. I mean, do you really think that dick should be getting so much power? Like, ever?"
"I know it's wrong," the angel admits, "I just…don't know what else to do. I need the souls, Dean, if I ever want to defeat Raphael."
"And I'm telling you to give me a chance to find another way," Dean counters—and yeah, maybe giving Cas' hand that familiar, comforting squeeze is cheating, but he can't help it, and he knows he's won when Cas gives a little squeeze back, big blue eyes never leaving his. "We'll find another way, Cas. Just let us try."
"All right."
Dean nods a little, and Cas nods back, biting his lip. Like a magnet, Dean's eyes are drawn right there as new and dangerous thoughts invade his mind, thoughts about reaching over and grabbing onto the lapels of Cas' coat and pulling him close and just leaning in to—
"If you two are done undressing each other with your eyes," Bobby begins, and their heads snap up so fast it almost hurts, "why don't you start thinking up ways to tell Crowley where exactly to shove it?"
"Or you could, given your history," Sam chirps helpfully, and Bobby throws a pillow at his head and starts grumbling out empty threats.
Dean watches the scene fondly before meeting Cas' eyes again. He has no idea how they're gonna outsmart the king of Hell with his demonic black belt in manipulation, let alone an archangel who isn't far behind on that front, but when he looks into those eyes, he can't help but think that everything will end up being okay. Somehow.
-
Finding Crowley is a bitch. Not that it wasn't before, but something seems different now that they know that Cas was working with the guy. Emphasis on was, thankfully, because Cas can't fly off to meet with Crowley anymore, and more importantly, he specifically said that he didn't want to work with him. Dean's weakness has always been his family, and he's powerless to do anything but believe the guy even after all the months of half-hearted lying by omission.
Still, this whole thing explains why Cas had been acting so squirrelly before, always under an insane amount of pressure with all his sneaking around and fighting a losing war on top of it. The guy has never been a good liar when confronted directly, but he's able to hide stuff with the best of them with that angelic poker face.
Either way, Dean's glad for the change, and glad to have his angel back, even if Cas is a lot more tired and weary these days, the stress of taking on a war he probably can't win taking its toll.
"Dude, relax," Dean says for what feels like the hundredth time, looking over to where Cas is laying stiffly beside him, their elbows touching. "You look like you're trying to smite the ceiling, man."
"I'm, uh…using 'angel radio'."
"Did you just air quote that? Actually, nevermind. C'mon, sit up a sec. And ditch the coat." The angel looks like he wants to argue, but doesn't. "Suit jacket and shoes, too. And, uh, belt." Cas grumbles under his breath, but still obeys, suddenly looking a lot more…naked. "There, now lay back down. Under the blankets this time."
"I don't see the purpose of this," Cas huffs as he slips under the blankets beside Dean.
"C'mon, humor me. Isn't it nicer now?" The angel stays down for all of three seconds before sitting back up. "Cas."
"I'm unaccustomed to laying down," Cas tells him all at once, looking ruffled. "It reminds me of being unconscious. I find it…disconcerting."
Yeah, okay, he can get that. So they don't teach angels to lay down in celestial obedience school—that's fine. That just means he'll have to teach Cas to enjoy it, because what's better than laying in bed and doing nothing when things seem horrible and way too stressful?
"Just try it. I'll, uh, watch over you or whatever." Those must be the magic words. Cas looks at him, hesitation obvious, but eventually nods a little and lays down again. Dean goes over to pat his arm, trying to get the guy to take that stick out of his ass for a little while. "Cas, just relax, buddy. Sometimes it helps to step away for a bit, come back to a problem later."
"That seems counterproductive."
Despite his grumpy words, Dean can feel the angel relax a little, and just like that, his hand doesn't end up retreating at all, instead moving to wrap around Cas' shoulders so he can touch the bare skin of Cas' neck—only to satisfy the spell, of course. Little by little, the tension in Cas' body fades, and that feels like as much of a win as anything.
The spell has changed things between them. Nothing huge, but personal space isn't nearly as much of a concern anymore (to Dean, at least, since Cas never cared about it at all anyway). How can it be when Dean can't even take a dump without Cas hovering outside the door?
For his part, Cas' lack of awareness or concern about stuff like that actually helps, surprisingly. Things are only awkward as long as one of them makes it awkward, and if Dean can ignore it, then any awkwardness more or less disappears. Or so he pretends, since he's not exactly all that great at ignoring the way Cas is even closer than usual these days.
He scoots closer to push an arm under Cas' head and around his shoulders, the bare skin of his arm on the angel's neck. "Not so bad, huh?"
"It's still very strange…but I suppose it has its appeal."
That's a yes if he ever heard one, which brings a grin to Dean's face. Cas can complain all he wants, but it's pretty clear he doesn't exactly hate this spell. In the safety of his mind, Dean can admit that he doesn't either. And anyway, Cas needs to take a load off every once in a while, and what better way to ensure he does just that than to use Dean's own human sleep schedule as an excuse?
But no matter how much he delays everything, the fact that Crowley's still out there continues to haunt them all every minute that they spend not finding him, and it presents as anxiety over just what the hell the King of Hell might be up to ramps up with every day of radio silence.
Then, unbelievably, Crowley shows up in the middle of Bobby's front yard when Dean (and, by extension, Cas) is sitting there nursing a beer and dodging research.
"Hello, boys. Word on Elm street is you lads are looking for me."
Dean's on his feet in an instant, but Cas is faster, blade dropping from his sleeve in a way Dean definitely doesn't think is hot, growling, "Crowley."
"Evening, feathers. I'm not disturbing date night, am I?" Crowley keeps on standing and smirking, and Dean has to hold Cas back from storming forward while he fishes around in his pocket for his phone to call for backup. "Not that I'm surprised, mind you. After all, everyone knows when it's Castiel you're looking for, you need not look further than his comparatively weaker other half."
"Thanks," Dean replies flatly, trying to type out a message to Sam as discreetly as he can. "What do you want?"
"Heel, squirrel. I'm not here for you," Crowley scoffs, and Dean's face darkens.
"If you're here for Cas, you're here for me." Literally, really, though he has no urge to tell the demon that.
"I'm merely here to inform you that you've been outbid."
He can practically see Cas' feathers ruffle. "By who?"
"Only a certain archangel by the name of Raphael." At that moment, Sam and Bobby stomp up, which doesn't seem to upset Crowley one bit. "Ah, I was wondering when the other half of your foursome would appear."
"Why are you here?" Bobby demands with a huff.
"Not to see you, if that's what you're hoping. Don't call me, I'll call you, darling," Crowley quips. "I was merely informing your dear friend Castiel that in light of his obvious and very predictable betrayal and defection to the side of the Winchesters, I've been approached by Raphael, and he's willing to give me a portion of the souls in Purgatory."
"If you have a new partner, why are you here?" Sam asks, going into full lawyer mode. "Do you think he's going to betray you?"
"Please. It's practically a given. After all, no self-respecting angel would be caught dead making a deal with a demon."
The jab makes Dean shoot said demon a death glare. He might still be pissed about Cas making a deal at all, but like hell is he gonna stand here and listen to Crowley badmouth his best friend. Squeezing Cas' hand, he hisses, "Get to the point."
Crowley rolls his eyes, but actually listens, finally saying, "I'm here to negotiate. I don't think it's too far from left field to suspect that you boys might not be in favor of Raphael being the one with all the money in the pot, is it? So I'll make it simple: kill Raphael before he kills the world, and I'll have my black-eyed boys back off from your pocket of the globe."
"And what do you get?" Bobby huffs, eyeing the demon.
"If all goes well, hopefully living to fight another day," Crowley replies simply, glancing towards all the weapons pointed right at his face. "I'll leave you to think. Do keep in touch. Ciao."
And just like that, the demon they've been spending so much time looking for is gone, leaving them all to think about his deal.
"He's scared of Raphael, I think," Sam comments, breaking the silence that had settled over them with the subtlety of a brick wall. "He must really be at the end of his rope to come to us, especially with, uh…everything that happened with Cas."
Sam softens the unintentional blow with an awkward smile at Cas, but Dean steps right past it. "Cas, what can kill an archangel?"
"Only the blade of another archangel, but since Michael and Lucifer are in the Cage and Gabriel is…deceased…" the angel offers, voice unexpectedly heavy by his words, and Dean feels for the guy; no matter how much of a dick as the angels are, they're still Cas' family. "God could stop him, of course. Perhaps nephilim, but they're all extinct."
"So in other words, we're boned," Dean surmises with a sigh. "Awesome."
It's a familiar spot to be in—stuck between multiple rocks, and with hard places caging them in from all sides. He wonders why they always get the short end of every stick when they're only trying to protect the world and everybody in it. Seriously, why can't they ever catch a break?
"Well, no use sitting here on our asses," Bobby begins after a moment. "We gotta find out where Raphael's going and how to stop him. This ain't gonna be light reading…"
"Awesome," Dean repeats, suddenly feeling exhausted, but he soldiers on anyway.
-
By some miracle, they actually do get a break in a few of those things. Eleanor Visyak, someone Dean knows as the lady with the cool dragon killing sword and one of Bobby's exes, calls in to say Raphael half killed her for her blood, one of the ingredients for opening Purgatory, and that the only reason she's still alive at all is to be a walking blood bank.
The other ingredients are apparently the blood of a virgin and the know-how to put all this together in time for the lunar eclipse in a few days. Calling Crowley back gives them the location of where it's all going down, and just like that, they have a plan…and a reluctant deal with Crowley, but only because they have the same goals for now. It still feels like they're betraying Cas since they were so upset about the same thing just a little while ago, but they have bigger fish to fry than a potful of guilt.
So they lay in wait outside a crappy little building, and know they're in the right place when a literal black cloud rolls in and the place is suddenly crawling with demons, which is probably Crowley's first line of defense. It's not a great one either, given that demons are selfish cowards, but whatever helps him sleep at night.
The sight makes them stalk closer, but they wait to burst in until the lunar eclipse begins, only for the four of them to trip over their own feet in the doorway. A female vessel who can only be Raphael stands in front of a grey brick wall, a jar of nasty blood in his hands as Crowley hedges somewhere off to the side.
"Castiel. I was wondering when you'd come crawling back," Raphael says as a greeting, overly intense eyes dropping to where their hands are joined (as usual these days, apparently), making Dean swallow. "And, as always, you've brought your human pets. Why am I not surprised?"
"Stop this now, Raphael," Cas commands with a surprising amount of conviction for a guy who clearly doesn't have the upper hand here.
"I don't think you're in any position to be making demands, gentlemen," Crowley replies, and with a flick of his wrist, Sam and Bobby go flying and Dean stumbles a little, though his grip on Cas keeps him from crumbling to the floor completely. The perks of being angel-soft. Or…tough. Whatever. "We'll be with you in a moment."
The room is getting darker and darker as more and more of the moon is covered up, a weird reddish glow filling the room now. The lunar eclipse is dangerously close, and both angels must feel it since they both stare up at the ceiling, Raphael with anticipation and Cas with obvious worry.
"It's time," Raphael eventually says calmly. "Ready the blood."
Crowley visibly hesitates, though he plays it off. "Of course, Your Highness. Just leave me with all the heavy lifting, hm?"
Raphael takes the blood from Crowley and starts drawing sigils on the wall with it. Dean and Cas exchange an anxious look and take one joint step forward, but they're immediately stopped when the douchebag archangel quirks an eyebrow at them. Dean returns the look and crosses his arms as best he can with only the one usable hand.
"You're right about one thing, Castiel. Humans are pitifully determined to their feeble causes. You have that in common," Raphael tells them, shaking his head and turning away, because all they're apparently worth is a few flimsy insults and a freakin' raised eyebrow. "Begin the incantation."
With that, Crowley starts chanting some mumbo jumbo that makes the sigils on the wall glow orange before the wall seems to split down the middle. All this white junk can pour out and flow right into Raphael, who's looking a little…illuminated himself. In the midst of it all, Sam creeps close in the shadows to chuck an angel blade at the archangel, but it drops to the ground like he'd thrown a paper airplane.
Even when the lightshow on the wall is over, Raphael just keeps on glowing, now staring down at his hands in a way Dean decidedly doesn't like. The dude's being way too quiet after all that, and he can only wonder what that means. Everyone else seems equally on edge, which isn't exactly comforting…
"I feel so…powerful," the archangel breathes, flexing his fingers; beside Dean, Cas goes all stiff as Raphael looks at him. "Castiel. You've been a pain in Heaven's ass since the moment you came into existence. I think it's time we put an end to this. Remember when I took you apart on a molecular level when you tried to ruin the apocalypse?"
Dean doesn't hear anything else after that, because the next thing he knows, they're somewhere else entirely, then in another new place. Again and again, Cas island hops somewhere and Dean is dragged along behind him until his stomach feels like it's been turned into a pretzel.
"Wait, time out," he wheezes. "We need a better plan, Cas."
"Dean, Raphael is an archangel. I'm known in Heaven for my flight abilities, but I cannot win in a race against an archangel. If he finds us…"
"Hey, I hear ya, pal. We just need a better strategy than flapping off every five seconds." As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, they're off again, and Dean gives Cas a look. "Really?"
"I don't have another plan, Dean. I can feel the different dimensions all rippling with Raphael's power…" Cas squeezes his hand, initiating for the first time, and Dean squeezes back. "Our problems could've been solved if you allowed me to proceed with the ritual instead, Dean. Raphael could've been dealt with—"
"And then what, huh?" he interrupts harshly. "When does it end, Cas? You kill him, then you'd go after his goons, then anyone sympathetic to his cause, then before you know it, you're the only angel left standing." At Cas' ruffled look, he dials it down. "Look, I know this looks bad right now, but we'll pull this off, buddy. You just gotta trust me."
"I trust you," Cas replies effortlessly, like he's talking about jelly preferences. "I'm just…weary. How will we stop Raphael?"
"Still working on that part—" Dean bites his tongue when they go flying again, continuing, "but we'll figure it out, Cas. We always do. And we'll do it right—no demon deals or sneaking around behind each other's backs. Just the four of us, together."
It's always kind of humbling how much value Cas places in him, hanging off his every word like it's gospel. They still keep flying around every time the Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel gets close, but Raphael eventually finds something better to do than hunt them down. People to see, worlds to destroy and all that. Only then does Cas beam them back to the place the ritual went down to find Sam and Bobby waiting for them and Crowley loitering in the corner.
"You guys okay?" Sam asks when he sees them, pretending that he totally didn't jump.
"Yeah, we're good. Just had to wait it out until the guy got bored." Dean's eyes scan the room, landing on the cracked wall still caked in blood. "So…I don't suppose any of you guys were looking into fail-safes before Raphael went all Hungry Hungry Hippo? Namely a way to get him to purge?"
"When are things ever that easy?" Bobby sighs, preaching to the choir.
"There is something…" Cas pipes up quietly. "When an angel is forced into a vessel that's not strong enough to contain them, the vessel will slowly deteriorate until it breaks down entirely. Archangels are more prone to this problem because their grace is so much stronger than many vessels can handle."
Dean nods along slowly, remembering when they looked in on Raphael's old abandoned vessel-turned-vegetable, or Lucifer's old vessel that was literally falling apart at the seams, skin flaking off. "I have the same problem with women."
That earns him an epic eye roll from Bobby and a confused look from Cas that only deepens when Crowley hums, "And men?"
Sam ignores them both and stays on topic as always, the nerd. "So since souls are just like giant batteries, Raphael has a lot of energy coursing through him right now, right?"
"He's practically radiating it," Crowley agrees. "Makes me all tingly."
"Raphael has absorbed so much energy that he's at risk of overloading not just his vessel, but his grace. Angels feed off the energy naturally given off souls, but there's a limit to this," Cas explains. "He has far surpassed that level. Whatever Raphael is going to do, he's going to need to do it quickly before he's forced to release the souls."
"And how long'll that take?" Cas can only give Bobby a helpless look that has the older man shaking his head. "No time to waste, then…"
"Well, I believe that's my cue. It's been lovely doing business with you gentlemen. I trust you'll hold up your end of the deal somewhere along the line, knowing how stubborn and stupid you lot are." Crowley gives them a nod, then pauses. "If Raphael drops a line sometime in the future, I'll pass it on."
With that, the demon disappears, leaving the four of them alone. It's not until they're all crowding in the Impala that Dean realizes, "Wait, this means we're gonna have to research more ways to take out an archangel, doesn't it?"
"'Fraid so. And anything you can find on Purgatory. That, and a whole lotta whiskey."
Dean sighs and starts the Impala with one hand, the other stretched across the bench seat to hold Cas', because they're still dealing with this stupid spell on top of this other mountain of crap on their plate. "Awesome…"
-
It takes way less time than anyone thought it would for Crowley to pop in and say Raphael purged the souls. Unfortunately, there were some sticky remains that go by the name of Leviathan, black goo-monsters who are really pushing against Raphael's wavering control and waning strength, a discovery that makes Cas' quiet grumblings about his foiled plans halt to a stop—and for good reason.
The all-powerful archangel is now totally vulnerable, and the revelation of the Leviathan blindsides them all. There's not much info on them either, and since they're even older than Cas, their angel encyclopedia comes up dry. That's when they discover that the Leviathan are messing with the food, making people all fat and sluggish by targeting stuff like burgers and pie, which really sucks considering that's three-quarters of Dean's preferred diet.
Naturally, Sammy and his salads and fruit are left untouched, because even monsters know that nobody sane decides to call a plateful of leaves 'lunch'. The next few weeks are a whirlwind of activity with the Leviathan trying to take over the good old USA by turning people with a craving for cholesterol into zombies and the four of them breaking into slime monster HQ to steal a fancy slab of clay from right under Raphael's nose and subsequently discovering that said slab of clay is something called a Leviathan Tablet.
That's where some poor sap named Kevin comes in. In the beginning, Cas just suddenly sat up on what has rapidly become his side of the bed and announced, "A prophet has been awoken."
What a buzzword, but nothing compared to actually meeting the kid when the angel promptly flew the both of them over there to grab him before anyone else could. Now Charlie, who swiped the Leviathan Tablet from Raphael thanks to her role as the tech whiz of the company she used to work at (stealing from her new evil boss kind of made still working there a pipe dream), was weirdly cool with the whole monster thing, unlike Kevin who freaks out at every little thing.
Part of Charlie's calm might've just been that she was too busy processing the fact that she was possibly going to become monster food, or she just got that much of a kick out of the situation with him and Cas (nothing will make him forget the look on Sam's face when Dean had to walk Charlie through flirting with a dude, all while holding Cas' hand and trying his best not to meet Cas' piercing blue eyes), he doesn't know, but she processed the whole thing quickly and moved on, which Dean is thankful for. Trauma can be so inconvenient to deal with…
Kevin does nothing of the sort, though given that the most exciting thing the kid's ever done is probably skip out on a cello lesson, Dean shouldn't be surprised. Still, Kevin manages to interpret the tablet and give them a way to ice Raphael's freshly gooey body, and all they need is a bone from somebody righteous coated in three different types of blood: a fallen angel's, the ruler of a fallen humanity, and that of an alpha monster.
The third one was a real bitch to get, but Crowley surprisingly cooperated for the second as per their deal before Raphael got all souped up, and Cas wasted no time in jumping in to help, just like he always does. So, fancy blood now soaking a bone (well, two, since they need a backup plan), they stalk closer to where Raphael is supposedly hiding out, only to discover the whole building is full of carbon copies of the dick that look completely identical.
Obviously, Raphael heard they were coming, but luckily, they still have an ace in the hole: Castiel, who can easily spot angel grace from a mile away, meaning it's no problem for Dean and Cas to sneak up on the guy while Sam and Bobby deal with the other Leviathan and bust out Kevin, who'd been captured after Raphael realized that prophets mean power.
The only downside to this is that if Cas can see Raphael, Raphael can see Cas, and since they're kind of a package deal these days, the idea of stealth is followed by a big fat question mark. But hey, when are things ever easy for them? So they burst in the door with a machete, an angel blade, and all the power cleaner they can carry, and Raphael turns to them immediately.
"Castiel," the archangel greets, voice tinged with exhaustion, though he puts on one hell of a mask. "I see you've brought your pet. Why am I not surprised?"
"We're not really here to chat," Dean says flatly, pulling out his sharpened nun bone, freshly coated in three kinds of blood.
That makes Raphael chuckle a little, low and condescending. "I see someone's done their research, but do you really think that will work on me? No matter how much sludge is roiling inside me, I'm still more of an angel than you could ever dream to be, Castiel. That won't work on me any more than a twig would."
Dean's blood always boils whenever anybody dares to insult his family, and now is no exception. He just tries to rein it in for now and gives Cas' hand a squeeze. Just a little longer… "Oh yeah? Cas?"
"His grace has been weakened significantly," Cas reports dutifully, sounding weirdly…sad. Then again, no matter how much of a dick Raphael is, they're still brothers. "It's like…something chewed apart by animals, covered in holes that stretch and strain what little remains."
Just as they suspected. Dean licks his lips, tightens his grip on the bone, and flashes the archangel a grin. "You feeling lucky?"
He doesn't give Raphael a chance to respond before he's jerking forward and stabbing Raphael in the chest. It's obvious that Raphael's not at his best since Dean isn't immediately blown to smithereens. Instead, it takes an amazing three seconds for Dean to go flying across the room, and that's when the pain starts up.
They've been pretty careful to always keep touching at all times, so the sudden pain surprises him, and Cas drops to the ground too before flying over with a puff of those invisible wings to snatch up his hand again. Meanwhile, Raphael is looking down at his chest with a deep frown before tugging the bone out.
"It must be my lucky day," the archangel muses aloud.
"Yeah, don't count on it," Dean grits out when Cas grabs the guy's head to tip it back, and that's when Dean whips out the real bone and stabs Raphael through the neck. "Figured we'd have to catch you off guard."
Raphael's eyes go wide and he clutches his chest as gross black sludge drips from his mouth and nose while his eyes glow a bright blue, making this horrible gurgling sound before his face splits in half into a giant mouth right out of nightmares. On the other side of the room, Sam and Bobby pop in with Kevin and they all stop short in the doorway, eyes like saucers.
"Dean," Cas says urgently with a tight hand squeeze, but that's as much as he gets out before everything goes dark.