Disclaimer: Kripke and the CW own Supernatural and the characters in this story.  No infringement was intended and no profit made in the writing of this story.

Date: First posted October 27, 2010.

Word Count: 32000~ish

Warnings: kidfic (sort of), time travel.

Spoiler alert! – Takes place directly after the events of Season 5, Episode 18 “Point of No Return”.

***

Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang challenge, and my undying gratitude goes out to Otterling, who not only did a kick-butt job as my beta, but also created some brilliant artwork for my story!  Please, check out her artwork here, and shower her with the praise she so richly deserves!  

***

 

 

The crickets were in fine voice in Bobby’s scrap yard as the Impala rolled to a stop, gravel crunching and popping under the tires as if the car itself was groaning with the relief of once again returning home.  It was unusually warm and muggy, and as Dean climbed out of the driver’s seat and stretched out his aching legs and back, he took a moment to indulge in a fragrant lungful of South Dakota air. 

The passenger door clunked shut, and under the yellow glow from Bobby’s front porch light, Dean could clearly see the deep-etched lines of exhaustion and worry on his brother’s face.  It had been another fruitless trip, chasing down vague rumours of unusual white fire and the sudden appearance of a stranger in a little town just outside Gary, Indiana.  It had turned out to be nothing more than a homeless man setting off some homemade pyrotechnics nearly putting an end to his own existence.  The poor guy had set fire to himself on Main Street, and was now in the hospital in critical condition.  Sad, true, but not even close to the angel they’d been hoping to find.  But despite all the dead ends Dean refused to give up on finding Cas and Adam – he owed it to them to keep searching, keep fighting.  He needed to show them that he hadn’t given up.

Feeling more than a little road weary himself, Dean went through the motions of pulling their duffle bags out of the trunk, tossing one of them to Sam who caught it mid-air without even looking, used to the ritual from their years of travelling together.

Despite the fact that it was almost midnight, the light in Bobby’s living room was on, and there was the tell-tale blue flickering of the television indicating that their friend had been waiting up for them.  The porch step creaked under Dean’s boot, the weathered wood dipping slightly as it bore his weight.  A flurry of moths and mosquitoes fluttered around the hanging porch light, the occasional fly making a tapping sound as they buzzed and knocked against the fixture.  Sam drew up next to him, pulling open the squeaky screen door without bothering to knock.

Dean sighed peacefully.  This place was the closest thing he’d had to a home since he was a little kid, and all the familiar sights and sounds served as a soothing balm to his tattered nerves.  He followed his brother inside, letting the door squeak and bang shut behind him in a very satisfying way.  Inside, he could hear the grumbled insults and greetings being tossed back and forth between Bobby and Sam, and he felt himself loosen up just a little bit more.  A cold beer, some friendly conversation and a soft guest bed awaited him.  He smiled contentedly and wandered into the living room to join the others. 

“Hey, Bobby, what’s up?” Dean asked with a grin before making a beeline for the refrigerator.

“Not me, I can tell you that much,” Bobby groused out of habit, knocking his fists on the armrests of his wheelchair.  His eyes were smiling, though, so Dean knew he was just griping as a way of making small talk.

“Right now I’d gladly park my ass in that chair of yours and let you do all the running around,” Dean groused back at him, pulling three beers from the fridge.

“Let me guess –‘nother dead end?” Bobby asked.

Sammy slumped down onto the couch, grabbing at the beer Dean held out to him, twisting off the cap with more concentration than was really necessary.  “I hate to be the one to say it...”

“Then don’t,” Dean interrupted, as he tossed Bobby his beer and opened his own.  “They’re out there somewhere, and we’re gonna find them.  End of discussion.”

It was clear from Sam’s sour expression that he didn’t agree, but at least for now he was keeping his big yap shut.  They’d already beaten this argument to death a few days ago when they were driving out to Boston on another wild goose chase.  It was pushing two weeks now since Michael had made off with Adam and Cas had gone supernova on them – he didn’t need reminding that the chances of finding them alive and well were slim at best.  But he also knew on some deep, instinctive level that they weren’t dead, and there was no way in hell he was going to give up the search until he had hard proof otherwise.

***

 

It had taken a full six-pack for Dean’s mood to be restored to its previous state of contentment, but by the time Bobby had fallen asleep sitting up in his chair, he and Sam had come to an unspoken agreement to let the matter drop and enjoy what was left of the evening.  It was Sam who dug out the worn deck of cards Bobby kept stashed away in his kitchen utensil drawer, and they’d played poker until they couldn’t see straight. 

Dean floated up the stairs on his beer high, savouring the drunken numbness of his legs.  It was his week to take Bobby’s old bed, while Sam was stuck roughing it on the couch downstairs.  The room was exactly as he’d left it, right down to the dent his head had left in the plump feather pillow.  The sight prompted an exhausted groan to rasp from his throat.  Like a scene from one of those cheesy old 3-D movies, the bed loomed towards him, the pillow growing to fill his entire field of vision, and the next thing he knew, he was asleep.  Blissfully, blessedly asleep.

He slept the whole night without budging an inch – dead to the world and all the horrors in it – which was why it was all the more disorienting to wake up to the feeling of grass tickling his nose and sun on his face.  Smacking his lips a few times, Dean stretched his limbs, certain that he was still sleeping.  However, he could still feel the blades of grass poking at his cheek and nose, and the heat of the sunlight on his face was pretty realistic. 

With a sense of dread, Dean risked opening one eye.  Staring him straight in the face was the biggest, reddest ladybug he’d ever seen.  Of course, it was only a few inches from his face, casually picking its way down one of the tall blades of grass, so it probably wasn’t as huge as it appeared to be. 

A few years ago, he might actually have been surprised to find he’d gone to bed in one place only to wake up somewhere completely different.  But that was before he’d run into Castiel and his merry band of time bandits.  With a weary sigh, Dean rolled into a sitting position and had a look-see at where he’d been dropped this time.

It was a city park; lush green and well-groomed, dotted here and there with uncomfortable looking wrought iron park benches.  Not surprisingly, Sam was sprawled out, fast asleep, on the grass a few feet away, his eyelids squinched up tight against the bright sunlight pouring down on him.  Dean peered out into the distance.  The park seemed to stretch for miles in every direction, with the occasional water fountain and brightly blooming gardens nestled amongst the trees.  It all looked a bit familiar, but it wasn’t until his eyes came upon a large body of water and, spanning it, probably the most famous bridge in America that he realised they’d been mojoed across the country to San Francisco. 

As his gaze completed the full 360 degrees, Dean saw that they weren’t alone.  He followed the black shoes and khaki pants upward until he was confronted with the patronizing glare of one of the park’s underpaid rent-a-cops.  The guy was gripping his flashlight like it was a deadly weapon and Dean could tell by his amused expression that finding them on his turf was going to be the highlight of his day.

“Move it along, pal; this is a public park,” he said, his eyes sparkling with the prospect of asserting his authority with force, if needed.  Or even if it wasn’t needed, for that matter.

“Dean?  What the hell?” came Sammy’s voice from behind him.  “Where are we?”

The guard chuckled darkly.  “Musta been some night!  Don’t get me wrong, here – I don’t give a crap what you guys do in private, but we got kids in this park.  So take your business elsewhere.”  He smacked the palm of his hand with the flashlight, as if that was supposed to be threatening somehow, and glared at Dean.

Dean looked over at his brother who was already getting up and brushing the damp grass off his clothes, looking perplexed.  They needed to get their bearings, and that meant getting away from the putz with the flashlight fetish ASAP.

“We were just leaving,” Dean replied, pushing himself off the ground.  “Come on, Sam, you heard the man.”

Sam quickly read the situation and followed his lead, turning to the security guard with those killer puppy eyes of his.  “Of course.  We don’t want to be any trouble.”

Together they skirted around the guard and his pimped-out bicycle and headed down a paved path that looked like it might lead out of the park.  Dean looked back over his shoulder, smiling and waving at the guard who half-scowled at them as they left, most likely frustrated that they hadn’t given him a hard time, providing him the opportunity to demonstrate his mad fighting skillz.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Sam as the Golden Gate Bridge came into view as they rounded a bend in the path.

“Yep.”

Sam waited until a pair of early morning joggers passed them heading in the opposite direction before speaking again.  “Angels?”

“Who else?” Dean replied.

“You think maybe it was Cas who zapped us here?” Sam asked, sounding hopeful.

“Dunno.  Maybe,” Dean answered gruffly, doing his best to hide his own spark of hope at the suggestion.  With Zachariah now out of the picture, there weren’t as many likely candidates.  It was possible that Lucifer or Michael had found them, but then why transport them to San Francisco?  Why not just duke it out at Bobby’s place?  The only explanation that made sense to Dean was that they’d been nabbed for their own protection, and the only angel who would do that was Cas.  Still, it could just be wishful thinking on his part, and hope could be a dangerous thing.

As they drew closer to the park’s entrance they were bombarded by a herd of joggers in sweat pants and hoodies, half of them wearing ginormous walkmans and headbands, some of them sporting leg warmers.  It was like the entire cast of ‘Flashdance’ had decided to go for a run at the same time.  Cyclists in brightly coloured track suits zipped by on the fast lane of the park’s path, some with fanny packs and fluorescent water bottles attached to their hips.  Dean eyed them curiously as they passed.  Some trends should never make a comeback, he decided.

When they finally made it out to the city streets, both of them had noticed that something was out of whack, and the two of them stood dumbstruck on the street corner watching as girls with spandex pants and Cyndi Lauper hairdos chatted at the nearest bus stop and a couple of young men in skin-tight jeans and pastel-coloured polo shirts walked hand in hand down the sidewalk.  Okay, granted, it was San Francisco, so the gay couple wasn’t much of a surprise, but the outfits… And then to top it all off, Dean spotted a movie theatre down the block, and the marquee proudly announced that they were playing “Back to the Future II”.

“Oh, Sammy, I don’t think we’re gonna like this,” Dean grunted, walking towards the bus stop.

“What is it?” asked Sam, catching him up in handful of freakishly long strides.

“We need to find a newspaper.  I got a bad feeling about this.”

All of the girls at the bus stop eyed them appreciatively, the blonde one twirling her fingers in her overly teased hair as she blew an enormous bubble with her bright pink bubblegum.  The others giggled and whispered amongst themselves, not as blatantly flirtatious as their pack leader.

Dean smiled at them uneasily and edged towards the metal newspaper box.  On display in the box’s window, the paper’s headline screamed “A’S CRUSH GIANTS, 5-0”, and in small print, tucked away in the top right corner was the date: Monday October 16, 1989.

“Aw, crap,” Dean sighed and straightened up from the crouch he’d been in.

Sam pushed him aside and had a look for himself.  “Aw, crap,” he echoed and he ran his hands through his hair as he took in his surroundings with renewed anxiety.  “Well that’s…great.  Just great.”

“You’re telling me!” Dean agreed and started pacing.  “All right,” he shouted at the sky, hands out at his sides like he was carnie trying to take in a crowd, “whichever one of you dicks did this, you better show your face this second, or so help me…”

“You’ll what?  You’ll throw a tantrum?  Oh, wait, you’ve already done that.”

Dean and Sam spun around in time to see the blonde girl with the bubblegum morph into the Trickster.  Or rather, Dean reminded himself, the Archangel Gabriel.  The other girls disappeared with a snap of the angel’s fingers and it was just the three of them standing at the bus stop, twenty years out of their time zone.

“Gabriel,” said Sam, voicing his surprise.

“You were expecting someone else?” the angel asked, blowing a large bubble which popped with a loud snapping sound.

“More like ‘hoping’ for someone else,” Dean replied with a snarl. 

“Let me guess…you send my poor shlub of a brother on a suicide mission, and then assume he’ll just waltz back into your lives without a scratch and all eager to be your BFF again.  Well sorry, it doesn’t work that way,” said Gabriel, his eyes glinting dangerously, making his smile look all the more menacing.

Dean swallowed hard – not because the Trickster scared him all that much, but because he’d kind of been right.  There was a part of Dean that truly did believe that Cas was just going to slide back into his life as if nothing had happened.  It stung a little to be called out on it.

“You know what happened to Castiel?” Sam asked, towering over Gabriel in a way that most people found imposing.  Gabriel simply smirked up at him.

“Yes, I know what happened to him.  I’m the one that saved his sorry ass when his so-called friends left him for dead with the vultures circling overhead.”  The smile was gone, now, replaced with a disdainful snarl.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for him,” Sam replied defensively.  Dean was glad Sammy was holding up their end of the conversation, seeing as all he could think about was Cas and just how bad off his angel must have been to need Gabriel to come to his rescue.

“If you’d listened to me in the first place, my kid brother wouldn’t have felt the need to take a bullet for you guys!”  Gabriel and Sam were squared off against each other, and neither of them looked like they were willing to back down.  As proud as that made Dean of his brother, the archangel could reduce him to a pile of charcoal with a snap of his sticky little fingers, which meant it was time for Dean to step in.

“Cool it, the both of you,” Dean barked at them.  “What’s done is done – there’s no point bitching about it now.  So would you just tell us what the hell we’re doing here and where we can find Cas?”

It took a moment for Gabriel to back down from the pissing contest he was having with Sammy, but eventually the angel broke eye contact and turned his attention to Dean.  “There wasn’t much left of him to save by the time I got there,” he said, his voice cracking with something that sounded suspiciously like emotion.  “He’d used up nearly all of his life force clearing the way for you two morons to rescue your baby brother.  Hear that went well, by the way,” he added, snidely.

“What happened to Cas?” Dean bit out through clenched teeth.  He was quickly losing what little patience he had.

“He zapped Zachariah’s guards to a little village in Zimbabwe where they beat the royal crap out of him.  That’s what happened.”  That spark was back in Gabriel’s eyes, and Dean took an involuntary step away from the archangel.  “They were dead set on finishing him off for good…Zachariah’s final orders, apparently.  If I hadn’t shown up when I did…”

“Yeah…about that,” Sam interjected.  “I thought you weren’t taking sides?”

Gabriel flashed Sam a venomous glare, but he answered him, nonetheless.  “What can I say?  I have a soft spot for the kid.  And he was just starting to loosen up enough to become fun.”

Dean had had enough stalling.  He needed answers before he started throwing punches.  “Where is Cas now?” he demanded.

Gabriel looked at him like he was sizing him up – deciding if he was worthy.  “I stowed him away somewhere safe.  But Zach’s guards are still looking for him, and Castiel is in no shape to fend them off if they find him.  That’s where you two mutton-heads come in.”

“Where.  Is.  Cas?” Dean ground out impatiently.

“His vessel is lying in a hospital somewhere, brain dead and barely breathing,” Gabriel said, rubbing in the guilt.

“Gabriel…Where is he?” Sam asked, going for the soft entreaty method of extracting information from dick-weeds.

“He was a sitting duck – so I had to find him a new vessel.  Or, in this case, same vessel, different year.”  Gabriel’s eyebrow lifted comically.

“You’re saying you hid Cas inside Jimmy when he was a kid?” asked Dean, still pissed off at the archangel for messing with them.  “Are you even allowed to do that?  I thought angels needed to get permission in order to wear someone.”

“And Jimmy Novak gave his permission.”

“Yeah – in 2008!” Dean snapped.

“Time is a fluid thing, Dean-o.  Once a vessel gives his permission, he’s ours to use wherever and whenever we see fit.”  The archangel looked so smug that Dean very nearly clocked him.  Thankfully his brother stepped in just in time.

“So Castiel is in Jimmy in 1989?” Sam asked, his brows riding up on his forehead.  “Won’t that kind of mess with the timeline?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes disdainfully.  “I didn’t just pick a date at random.  The kid disappeared for a few weeks in October of 1989.  Apparently he was going through a ‘rebellious phase’ and he ran away from home.”

“Okay,” said Dean, trying to make sense of it, “so Cas is safe and sound inside a runaway teenager.  What do you need us for?”  Sam came up alongside him, crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, clearly wanting an answer to that one himself.

“Castiel is too weak to take control of his vessel.  He needs time to regain his energy, and that’s when he’ll be most vulnerable.  Zachariah’s guys will track him down soon enough unless he has some protection.  I need you two to babysit until he’s ready to take the training wheels off and ride with the big boys again.”

Dean scowled at the angel, his hands on his hips like his mom used to do when she was mad.  “Why us?  He’s your brother – why don’t you babysit him?”

Gabriel laughed, wiping non-existent tears of mirth from his eyes.  “Me babysit?  Please!  I’ve got better things to do.  Now run along, or you’ll miss him,” he added, pointing across the street and a block away where a boy wearing a dirty white t-shirt and grubby jeans was just starting to turn the corner.

“That’s him?” Sammy asked.  But he might as well have not bothered, because Gabriel had skipped out on them, leaving them stranded in 1989 with a runaway vessel to look after.

“Wonderful.  The ‘80s sucked ass the first time around – now I gotta go through it all over again?” Dean griped.

Sam simply shrugged and started off after the kid.  What did he know, Dean thought ruefully – Sam was too young to be traumatised by the horror of yuppies and Valley girls.

 

***

 

Dean had to hand it to him – the kid could really move!  By the time Dean and Sam rounded the corner in pursuit of the teenaged mini-vessel, Jimmy was already turning the next corner.  Sam, with his mondo giraffe legs was pulling ahead of Dean without even making an effort.  So it was Sam that was the first to catch up with the kid.

As Dean closed the gap between them, he watched as his brother snagged Jimmy by the shoulder, spinning him around.  Not surprisingly, the boy didn’t take kindly to being manhandled that way by a stranger, and before Dean could call out a warning, a well-placed kick to the happy sac had Sammy balled up on the sidewalk, his face contorted with pain.

Dean skidded to a stop, hands raised out in front of him to show he wasn’t a threat – the last thing he wanted was for the kid to hightail it.

“Hold on, Jimmy.  We just want to talk,” Dean said, panting slightly.  In the back of his mind, he decided that he needed to lay off the bacon cheeseburgers.  There was no way chasing down a teenager should get him so winded.

Jimmy’s blue eyes were wide, darting all around like a cornered animal.  But he stayed put, his whole body wound up like a spring, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.  Now that he was closer, Dean could see the cut lip and the beginnings of a nice shiner on Jimmy’s face.  He was obviously learning the hard way that life on the street was not all it’s cracked up to be.  Dean inched closer, chancing a glance at Sam, who was very slowly starting to uncurl on the ground.

“How’d you know my name?” Jimmy asked, his voice higher and softer than Dean expected.  The kid squinted at him distrustfully and licked at the cut on his lip. 

Crap.  Barely out of the gate and he’d already messed things up.  “Doesn’t matter – you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

 “You’re right.  I wouldn’t believe you,” Jimmy replied, eyeing Dean with suspicion.  “Who sent you?  Was it my dad?  ‘Cause if my dad sent you, you can go suck eggs!  I’m not going back there.”  The kid stuck out his chest, like that would somehow make him look more dangerous.  Dean just thought it made him look kind of adorable, like a cat when its tail gets all puffy.

“I promise you, you’re father didn’t send us; we never even met the guy. We’re just here to keep you safe.” said Dean, trying a smile on for size.  Jimmy cocked his head to the side, and for the first time, Dean saw the resemblance to the angel he knew so well. 

“Carlos sent you, then.  Right?” Jimmy asked, fishing.

It sounded like a safe option to Dean, so he took it.  “That’s right – Carlos wanted us to keep an eye on you for a while.”

Jimmy sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.  “I told him I can take care of myself.  I swear, the guy worries too much.”

“Looks like he’s got good reason to,” Dean said, pointing out the mess someone had made of the kid’s face.

“What, this?” Jimmy laughed, prodding his bruised cheekbone like it was a badge of honour.  “That’s nothing – you should see what I did to their faces!”

By now Sam was on his feet again, and his face had lost some of the chalky whiteness that had been there after his run-in with Jimmy’s Doc Marten’s.  “We should take this conversation somewhere a little more private,” Sam suggested, having noted a few passers-by taking a concerned interest in their dealings with their noticeably underage charge.

“Good idea,” Dean agreed.  “Where you staying, kid?”

“Carlos is letting me use his back room,” Jimmy answered sullenly.  “And I’m turning fifteen in a week.  I’m not a kid.”  Sadly, he chose that moment to blow his bangs out of his eyes, completely ruining whatever street cred he thought he had.

Dean smirked.  “Whatever you say, kid.  Lead the way.”

***

 

It turned out Carlos ran a kind of shelter in one of the seedier neighbourhoods bordering The Castro District.  Jimmy led Dean and Sam through a dimly lit hallway with random rooms branching off on either side.  All the rooms were shabby and dirty and the doors had only beaded curtains separating them from the busy hallway.  They had to step over a handful of people, mostly boys Jimmy’s age or a little older, and from the looks of them a patch of threadbare carpet in a hallway was a real step up for them.  The whole place reeked of urine and stale vomit.  If Dean had had a weaker stomach it would have been enough to make him gag.

“You live here?” asked Sam, aghast.

Jimmy nodded proudly and pointed to a beaded-off room at the very end of the hall.  “That’s my room down there.  Well, it’s not just mine – I share it with Mitch and Kyle.”  With a rattling swish, Jimmy swept into the room, which was just as dirty and depressing as all the others they’d seen.  There was a young man slouched against the wall on a cot in the corner.  His hair was dyed black and spiked into a Mohawk, and he was dressed in a black faux-leather vest and a pair of black jeans so tight you could tell what religion he was.  His eyes were dull under the caked on eye shadow and mascara.  Jimmy introduced him as Kyle, but the young man didn’t even bother looking in their direction when he waved a pale, listless hand at them.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Jimmy said as an excuse for his roommates’ behaviour.

Dean took one long look at the squalor around him and stated: “Okay – there is no way in hell we’re leaving you here.  Come on, we’re taking you home.”

Grabbing a fistful of Jimmy’s t-shirt sleeve, Dean began dragging the kid along behind him.  He was expecting a struggle, and he wasn’t disappointed.  Jimmy lay into him with fists flying, kicking and squirming for all he was worth.  The whole time, Kyle simply remained slouched on the bed, watching the proceedings with little or no interest.  Jimmy might have gotten the better of him if Sammy hadn’t decided to chip in on the manhandling duties.

Leading the teenager back to the building’s entrance like prison guards frog-marching a death row inmate, they finally made it to the door.  The curses that spewed from the kid’s mouth were truly inspired, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder at what point this kid became the God-fearing vessel of Heaven they’d meet in the future.

“What do we do with him now?” asked Sam, stalling them before they went out the door.

“We take him home, that’s what,” Dean answered bluntly.

Sam raised an eyebrow at that.  “And where’s that?”

Dean’s mouth flapped open and shut for a second.  Sammy was right – this was 1989 – there was no reason to assume that Jimmy’s home was in Pontiac, Illinois now, just because that was where he would eventually end up.

“Where are your parents, Jimmy?”  Sam asked, doing his best to calm the young man down.  All he got in response was an evil scowl and a kick to the shins.  “Okay…ow!”

“Look, kid; whatever it is that’s going on at home, it’s gotta be better than living here…like this,” said Dean.  “And what about your folks?  They’ve gotta be going nuts, worrying about you.”

Jimmy jutted his chin out defiantly.  “You don’t know my dad – he couldn’t care less what happens to me.”

“Okay, but what about your mom?” asked Sam.

At the mention of his mom, Jimmy stiffened in their grasp and his face lost all its colour.  It was like someone had clicked the light off behind his eyes and there was nothing left but a dark, haunted void inside him.  Dean knew that look intimately.  He’d seen it on his own face in the mirror just after their mother had been killed.  Judging from the rawness of the kid’s grief, he was guessing he’d lost him mom not too long ago, and things must have gotten pretty rough at home afterwards to make him run off.

Dean took pity on him, giving Jimmy’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before letting go of his grip.  He shot Sammy a look, communicating to him that the kid was no longer a flight risk.  Sam hesitated a moment, and then he, too, relaxed his grip on Jimmy’s arm.

“How about this: why don’t we go have some breakfast – our treat – and we can talk about it.  Okay?”  Dean held his breath as Jimmy thought it over, only letting it out when the kid dropped his eyes to his shoes and gave him a dejected nod.

***

 

They found an IHOP within walking distance and Sam and Dean sat opposite Jimmy, watching in amazement as the boy wolfed down a stack of pancakes, four rashers of bacon, a pile of scrambled eggs and a side order of hash-browns.  It was a strangely familiar scene, and Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Slow down – no one’s gonna steal your plate between bites,” said Dean.  Jimmy looked slightly abashed and heeded Dean’s advice, taking the time to chew one forkful before shovelling in the next.

“So...” Sam said, bravely starting things off.  “Does your dad still live in Pontiac?” he asked.  The shocked look on Jimmy’s face confirmed it, even though he hurriedly back-pedalled and shook his head.

“Where’s that?  Never heard of it before,” Jimmy declared, keeping his eyes lowered.  Dean and Sam shared a knowing look.

Dean decided to change topics, keep Jimmy from getting too suspicious.  “Who did that to your face?” he asked, pointing his fork at the kid’s bruised eye.

Jimmy’s chest puffed out proudly as he replied, “It was a bunch of guys.  They cornered me in an alley, trying to mug me, but I was too fast for them.”

“Uh huh,” said Dean in disbelief.  “You took on a bunch of muggers all by yourself, and all you ended up with was a shiner and a bust lip?”

“Never said I was alone,” Jimmy mumbled and poked at the remains of his eggs.  “Some guy showed up outta nowhere and they took off running.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in his head.  “This guy…did you notice anything …unusual about him?”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes and stared back at him.  “Yeah, actually.  At the time I just thought it was the way the streetlight hit his face, but when he got closer, I could swear his eyes were solid white, like a blind guy, but also kind of glowing, sorta.  It kind of gets fuzzy after that.  Next thing I knew, the guy was gone, and I went home.  Funny, I didn’t really think anything about it at the time, but it was kind of weird.”

“Gabriel,” Sam whispered his suspicion, and Dean nodded.  That must have been when the archangel had paid Jimmy a visit, leaving behind a nice parting gift.

“Look, kid – this is gonna sound all kinds of crazy, but that guy in the alley?   He gave you something very precious.  It’s something that a lot of very bad people would kill to get their hands on, and if we don’t hide you away somewhere nice and safe, they will track you down and rip you to shreds to get at it.”

Jimmy smirked at him.  “If that guy in the alley gave me anything at all, it was probably an STD, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that asshole roofied me.  Trust me; I’ve got nothing worth killing for.  Now, are we done talking?”

Sam was still a little gobsmacked over the STD comment, so it was up to Dean to be the heavy.   “Whether you like it or not, it’s the truth.  So if you want to stay alive you’ll come with us.”

In hindsight, Dean realised his mistake.  Making threats like that in a public place with a kid who had no problem making a scene was not the best idea in the world.  One second Jimmy was sitting all nice and complacent in the booth, the next he was yelling at the top of his lungs about creepy perverts and threatening to call the cops.  Every pair of eyes in the IHOP was glued to the scene, and a hairy, burly-looking man suddenly burst out of the back room and stomped over to their table.  In the midst of all the activity, Jimmy made his escape, leaving Dean and Sam to smooth the ruffled feathers of the IHOP staff.

“That went well,” Sammy retorted fifteen minutes later when they’d finally managed to talk their way out of having the cops called on them.

“Slippery little bastard,” Dean agreed.

“Think he went back to that dive again?” asked Sam as they ambled down the busy sidewalk.

“Where else would he go?” Dean replied, more out of wishful thinking than any real conviction.

The two of them set up surveillance of Jimmy’s flop house, and sure enough, the kid left the building ten minutes later carrying an army duffle over his shoulder and peering up and down the street anxiously.  He was obviously expecting them to show up and confront him again.  But Dean motioned to Sam to stay put.  They were well hidden and they hadn’t been spotted.  It was the perfect opportunity to follow Jimmy without scaring him off.  All they really needed to do was stake out wherever the boy ended up and place a few hex bags in key locations around him to keep the angels and demons away.

When Jimmy was far enough down the street, Dean broke cover and began to follow him, Sam tagging along behind him.  The kid was fast enough to almost give them the slip more than once, but eventually they followed him out to a highway overpass where a mini village of homeless people had set up camp.  The brothers kept their distance, watching as the teenager weaved through the makeshift neighbourhood until he found a vacant spot near the far end of the ramp.  From what little Dean could see, it was not a prime location – the ramp was so low overhead that there wasn’t room to stand, and too close to the open sky to be spared from the elements.

Dean sighed.  It hurt to watch Jimmy hunker down in the dirt, pulling out what few belongings he had with him and setting them up to stake his claim.  Part of Dean was beginning to wonder how Jimmy’s life would have played out if he and Sammy hadn’t been there to intervene.  Would he still have ended up here?

***

 

It was pushing dinner time and Dean’s stomach was growling like a werewolf.  He’d been parked under the overpass a good distance from Jimmy all day, keeping tabs on him and making sure he didn’t run off again.  Dean had quickly gathered what they needed to make their hex bags and placed them all around the underpass, and Sam had decided to do a little research to see if he could pinpoint the whereabouts of Jimmy’s father.  He’d been gone pretty much the whole day.

Just when Dean was starting to worry he spotted Sam ducking around the corner so no one else would see him.  He was not-so-subtly hissing at him to get his attention.  James Bond he was not.  With a frown, Dean nonchalantly got up and dusted off his jeans before moseying over to where his brother was hiding.

“Well?  Whaddaya got?” Dean asked.  Sam had on his ‘troubled’ face, which usually meant that food was not in the immediate future.  He sighed and waited for the bad news.

“First of all, I can’t tell you how much I miss the internet.  I had to bribe the librarian to make a few calls for me.  Turns out the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree,” Sam started, pulling out a neatly folded paper from his jacket pocket.

Dean snatched it from his brother’s hand and scanned it for the important information.  It was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping announcing the new Baptist minister for the First Baptist Church in Pontiac, Illinois.  The grainy photo attached to the article showed the happy, smiling faces of Reverend and Mrs. James Novak and their son James Novak, Jr.  It was the usual fare: the community welcomes the esteemed Reverend into their fold, blah, blah, blah.  But it did have a date and an address for the church, and if they had any luck on their side at all, the good Reverend was still preaching there.  Unfortunately it meant taking young James Novak, Jr. on a road trip across the country.

Dean frowned.  It wasn’t exactly the bad news he’d been fearing upon seeing his brother’s expression.  “So?  This is good, right?  We know where he lives – now all we gotta do convince the kid he needs to go back there.”

Sam’s grimace deepened.  “Dean, I don’t think we’re gonna have time to talk him into it.  We gotta get him out of here fast – tonight if possible.”

“Why, what’s up,” Dean asked, getting that prickly feeling at the back of his neck.

“The date,” Sam stated, as if that explained everything.

“What about it?”

“San Francisco, October 17, 1989.  Ring any bells?”  Sam’s eyes were wide and a little wild.

Dean wracked his brain, trying to remember his history.  It was never his best subject.  And then it all fell into place and his eyes went wide, too.  “Shit!  You’re kidding me, right?”

“Afraid not,” Sam huffed, seeming to deflate now that the burden of bearing the news was off his shoulders.

“The freakin’ San Francisco earthquake?  No freakin’ way!”

“Oh yeah,” said Sam, grimly.  “And the highway overpass that collapses…” his eyes darted to the concrete roof above their heads.

Dean hung his head.  It figured.  Since when did anything go smoothly for them?  “Okay, so we nab him tonight when he’s asleep and get as far the hell away from here as we can before he wakes up.  We’ll need wheels, but that shouldn’t be too hard in this neighbourhood.  And provisions – we need food and supplies to last a week at least…”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted.  “We can’t just kidnap him.  You don’t think he’ll dodge us the first chance he gets?  What are you gonna do, handcuff him to the car?”

For a second Dean thought that sounded like a half decent plan and it must have shown on his face because Sam smacked him in the arm for it.  “What?”

Sam just shook his head and rummaged through his jacket pockets again.  This time he retrieved a small plastic bag.  He pulled out two Mars bars and tossed one to Dean.  Dean didn’t even bother with a thank-you – he ripped open the wrapper like it was last shred of clothing between him and a stripper.  The moans that emanated from his throat were downright pornographic, and Dean smiled at his brother’s look of disgust.

They ate in silence for a while, each of them trying to come up with a solution to their problem.  In the end, Dean merely shrugged and said, “I say we grab the kid tonight and deal with the fallout later.  We can’t just leave him here, Sam.”

“I guess,” Sam agreed reluctantly, and they settled in for a dull evening of surveillance.

While Sam went off to get a car and whatever they needed for their trip, Dean was left to tail Jimmy, who only left the camp twice: once to go pilfer some fruit from an outdoor market several blocks away, and later to use the little boy’s bush.  Otherwise, he stayed put, hulking down against the chill of the evening and looking absolutely pathetic and miserable.  On the plus side, the poor guy was exhausted, and they didn’t have to wait long for Jimmy to fall asleep.

Rather than pick their way through the lean-tos and campfires between them and Jimmy, Dean and Sam chose to drive the car Sam had recently expropriated to the other end of the overpass, where the kid was curled up in a ball against the cold concrete support.  The plan was to leave the car running with the doors open and snatch Jimmy before he had a chance to wake up and put up a struggle.

As it turned out, Jimmy was so soundly asleep that Dean was able to pick him up without so much as a fluttering eyelid in response.  Passed out in his arms, Jimmy looked far younger than his years, and Dean instantly knew that they were doing the right thing in bringing him home.  As Sam gathered the teen’s belongings, Dean slid the boy into the back seat of the Old’s Regency Brougham that was going to be their home for the next week and watched as he tucked his arms and legs up to his chest to stay warm.  Feeling generous, Dean peeled off his leather jacket and draped it over Jimmy, who instantly burrowed into it with a contented sigh.

They managed to get into the car and close the doors without disturbing their new charge, and although they may have received a few strange looks from the other residents of the makeshift campsite; no one tried to stop them. 

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning by the time they came across a motel that was the right combination of cheap, clean and off the beaten track.  The Sleep Away Inn boasted colour television in each room, an outdoor pool (which looked like it hadn’t seen anything but rainwater in years), and an arcade (now closed for repairs).  It was perfect.  And God knew Dean was tired enough collapse on the spot, so the timing couldn’t have been better.

Thankfully the sweaty-faced man behind the reception desk didn’t look closely enough at their money to notice most of the bills had been printed in the future.  He simply grunted, grabbed the cash and slapped a key on a big plastic key-ring into Sam’s open palm.  Dean drove around to the side of the building where their stolen car wouldn’t be spotted from the highway and he let Sam go ahead and open their room door while he fished their sleeping mini-angel out of the backseat of the car.

As he shifted Jimmy into his arms, leather jacket and all, the boy began to stir.  Dean upped the pace, hoping to get the kid into the motel room without waking him up.  But before he could lay him out on the nearest bed, a blue eye cracked open from behind bruised eyelids, followed quickly by the other one.

“Dean?”

There was something about the befuddled look in Jimmy’s eyes and the gruff way he said his name that sent a jolt through Dean.  “Cas?  Is that you?” he asked.

“Where am I?  What’s happening?” the angel inquired, peering around without moving his head.  “Why are you carrying me?”

Dean surprised himself by actually blushing and he dropped Cas onto the bed, which squeaked noisily with each bounce.  “It’s a long story,” Dean answered in an overly gruff voice.

That was the moment Sam returned from the suite’s tiny washroom, dropping the duffle bags he’d purchased earlier onto the mouldy-carpeted floor.  “Okay, we’re good to go with the hex bags, and the windows are salted,” he stated, and then he stopped short, seeing that Jimmy was awake on the bed nearest the door.  “Um...Dean?”

“Sam?” asked Cas, straining to see him out of the corner of his eye.  “Would you please tell me what’s happening?  Why can’t I move?”

Dean and Sam shared a look of concern, and Dean was glad Cas had asked Sam that, because his head hurt whenever he tried to think about what Gabriel had done.

“You were badly injured in Van Nuys, do you remember any of that?” asked Sam.

“I remember it too well,” the angel answered darkly.  “What I don’t remember is what happened afterwards.  Was my vessel destroyed?  This one feels different...sounds different...and yet it’s familiar somehow.  Am I in Claire?”

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  A part of Dean was secretly pleased to see that thinking about it was giving his brother a headache, too.  “As I said, you were badly injured, and according to Gabriel, Jimmy is being kept alive by life support, waiting for you to recover enough to go back to him.  But Gabriel was worried that Zachariah’s thugs would come after you while you were too weak to fight them off, so he hid you back in 1989.”

“Then I am still in Jimmy,” said Cas with notable relief, and he attempted to move his head again, with no more luck than the first time.  “1989: that was the year Jimmy ran away from home.”

“Yeah,” Dean commented.  “Any idea what made him run off to San Francisco, of all places?  You know, he probably would have been killed in the earthquake if we hadn’t grabbed him in time.”

Cas frowned and managed to nudge his head in the direction of Dean’s voice enough to look at him directly.  “From what I remember of the events of 1989, Jimmy met with some unsavoury acquaintances who gave him a serious scare – literally put the fear of God into him.  He was on a bus heading back to Illinois when the earthquake hit San Francisco.”

“You mean the muggers that gave him the shiner you’re sporting?” asked Dean.

Cas rolled his eyes upwards, as if that might make it possible to see the bruises.  “No.  It was after the mugging.  A man by the name of Carlos Baptista had taken Jimmy under his wing and given him a place to stay, only to demand that he then pay for his room and board by offering sexual services to certain of Carlos’ friends.”

“Wait – are you telling me that this Carlos guy Jimmy was singing praises about is a goddamn pimp?” Dean demanded, feeling a deep rage building inside him.  “That’s it – he’s a dead man.”  Dean was all set to drive on back to San Francisco to gank the son of a bitch, grabbing his jacket off the bed and nearly making it to the door before Sammy could stop him.

“Dean, hold on,” said Sam, trying to reason with him, which only made Dean angrier.  “I understand how you feel – I do – but we have more important concerns right now.”

And damn it if Sammy wasn’t right, thought Dean.  As much as he wanted to ventilate the ass-wipe that cornered kids into selling their bodies for a place to stay, Sam was right; their priority had to be getting young Jimmy home safe and sound.  He took a moment to calm his breathing, gripping the door knob so tightly it nearly broke off in his hand.

“If it eases your mind at all, in three years’ time, Carlos is killed by a drug dealer to whom he was in debt,” Cas called out from the bed.

As far as Dean was concerned, three years was way too long to have a dick like Carlos contaminating the Earth with his presence, but it did kind of make him feel better knowing his days were numbered.  He eased his grip on the door knob and issued a sigh of defeat.  For a moment they remained frozen like that in an uncomfortable tableau, with Sam hovering uncertainly between Dean and Cas, until the paralyzed angel cleared his throat, grabbing their attention.  Dean strode back to the bedside, looking down at the teen who now housed his angel.  It felt all wrong, having such young eyes staring up at him with such stoic intensity.  It made Dean feel strangely uncomfortable, and he looked away, feigning interest in the faux ‘60’s décor of their motel room.

“I fear I will not be able to maintain control much longer,” Cas said to the ceiling.

“Are you okay?” asked Sam, volunteering to take Dean’s place at the side of the bed.

“It is an effort to remain conscious, and far more difficult to impose my will upon this vessel, even while Jimmy is sleeping.  I will need to rest soon.”

“Terrific,” Dean grumbled, dropping into the hard, wooden chair opposite the bed.  “So you’re saying we’re stuck babysitting a teenager who thinks he’s been kidnapped while you’re snoozing in there?”

A tiny frown puckered Cas’ forehead.  “Are you saying Jimmy is unaware of my presence?” he asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Dean responded.  “And it’s not like we can drop a bomb like that on the kid and not mess up the timeline, right?”

Cas’ frown deepened.  “I fear the timeline may already have been altered by your interference, Dean.  If Jimmy returns home without first accepting the role fate has laid out for him, it is likely he will continue to rebel.”

“So?  A little rebellion is a good thing in a kid his age,” Dean replied with a cocky grin, remembering some of the ways in which he’d rebelled as a teen.

“Not if it keeps him from embracing his faith,” Castiel pointed out.  “Jimmy is my true vessel; if he continues down the road he’s on, it is doubtful he will consent to be my vessel.”

“But he’s already your vessel,” Dean argued, starting to get a headache.

“Only while his future remains uncertain.  Dean, it is imperative that you convince Jimmy to obey his father’s wishes.”

Whatever comeback Dean had died on his lips when the angel’s eyes drooped shut, effectively putting an end to their conversation.  “Always have to have the last word, don’t ya, Cas,” he mumbled, receiving a perplexed eyebrow lift from his brother.

***

 

The next morning Dean’s crusted eyes cracked open to the sound of a gun being cocked right next to his head.  He looked up to see a shit-scared Jimmy staring down the barrel of the gun Dean had tucked away under his pillow the night before.  Jimmy licked his lips nervously and shifted his feet, his eyes flicking lightning-fast over to the next bed where Dean noted with some annoyance that his brother had fallen blissfully asleep when he should have been keeping watch.

Jimmy’s hand was shaking, but his grip on the gun was white-knuckle tight, and Dean was pretty sure it wouldn’t take much to scare the kid into pulling the trigger.  Dean lifted his hands in front of him very slowly and spoke in as soothing a voice as he could muster with the morning gravel still grinding at his throat.

“Jimmy, I know you’re freaking out a little, here, but I swear, I can explain everything,” Dean began.  It wasn’t until he heard Sammy stirring on the other bed that he realised his mistake.  Within seconds, the terrified young man with the gun was facing two wide-awake hunters, and the need to divide his attention between them made him all the more jittery and dangerous.

“I don’t suppose you would consider lowering the gun while I explain?” Dean asked, thankful that Sam was smart enough to not make any sudden moves.

For a moment, Jimmy’s deer-in-the-headlights look smoothed into something oddly Zen-like, and much to everyone’s surprise, he lowered the gun.  Dean wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he quickly snatched the weapon out of the boy’s loosened grasp.

Jimmy seemed to snap back to attention all of a sudden, and he appeared to be shocked that he was no longer holding the gun.  In his head, Dean said a silent thank-you to Cas, who must have been lending a hand from behind enemy lines.

Dean emptied the bullets out of the gun and placed them on the bedside table, not once taking his eyes off of Jimmy.  “See?  We’re all friends here,” he said with an easy smile.  “Now why don’t you have a seat and relax while we fill in the blanks for you.”

Jimmy’s eyes locked onto the door, but he must have realised his chances of reaching it without getting stopped by his captors were slim at best.  With his shoulders slumped almost comically, he slouched his way over to the tiny table and sank into one of the wooden chairs there.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked, and he sounded so small and defenceless that it made Dean feel like a complete scumbag.

“Believe it or not, we’re trying to save your life,” Dean answered honestly.  It must have rung true, because the kid blinked up at him with watery blue eyes and a flicker of hope on his expressive face.

“It’s true,” Sammy added earnestly.  “This is gonna sound crazy as hell, but you’ve got something that some very bad people desperately want to get their hands on, and you need our protection.”

“I told you yesterday, that creep didn’t give me anything,” Jimmy replied, sounding far less cocky than he had at breakfast a day earlier.

“I don’t suppose you believe in angels, do you?” asked Dean, figuring they had nothing to lose in telling Jimmy the truth.  He got a warning glare from his brother, but that was hardly going to stop him from laying it all out for the kid.

Jimmy looked at him blankly, waiting for the punch line.  When it didn’t come, he finally ventured to ask, “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Dean replied, schooling his features into a grim scowl for added effect.

“Look…I don’t know what you guys are on, but if this is about ransom money, you can forget it – my dad wouldn’t pay two cents to have me back, and I got no one else.”

“Oh, we’re taking you home, alright,” Dean answered, “but not for any ransom.  We just need to keep you below the radar for a little while and keep the angel bottled up inside you safe until he’s feeling better, and then you’re going back to dear old Dad to play nice and go to Sunday school and all that crap.”

“An angel.  Inside me.”  Jimmy wasn’t buying it, not surprisingly.  He was out of his chair, nervously backing away from them until his back hit the far wall of the motel room.  “You’re as nutty as my old man, you know that?”

“Just…have a seat, okay,” said Sam, and he proceeded to tell the young man their whole lives’ story, somewhat abridged, granted, but hitting all the important beats, right down to Castiel, Lucifer, the Apocalypse, and the showdown in Van Nuys that led them to their current predicament.

Amazingly, Jimmy sat quietly the entire time, caught up in the story, sitting up just a little bit straighter when they came to the parts that involved him and Castiel specifically.  Dean watched, seeing doubt and scepticism slowly morph into acceptance and belief as his brother piled on the gory details.  But what really clinched it was when Sammy predicted the earthquake in San Francisco, and the earth shook right on cue.  They watched the aftermath on the news, seeing the crumbled remains of an overpass that was frighteningly familiar, swarming with rescue crews to help dig out any survivors. 

As they watched the news and Sam wet his parched throat with a well-deserved beer, the brothers sat back and waited while Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck, lost in his own thoughts.  When he finally spoke, it was clear he’d made up his mind.  “So…this Castiel guy is trapped inside of me now because some time in the future I’m supposed to become his vessel?”

“That about sums it up,” Dean agreed, letting out a breath of relief.  It had been easier than he’d anticipated convincing the kid.

“And the reason he chose me was because I’m all holier-than-thou with a wife and kid and the going to church and all that crap?”  Jimmy sounded less convinced about that part of the story than the whole Apocalypse thing, and Dean frowned, confused, leaving it to Sam to confirm it for him.  “Then that’s where your fairytale falls apart.  No pun intended.”

Now it was Sam who was frowning in confusion, but a tiny bulb went off above Dean’s head.  He decided to test his theory.  “What’s wrong – don’t see yourself as the Bible-thumping, God-fearing church-goer we painted you out to be?” asked Dean with a sly grin.

Jimmy smirked, like they’d just shared a private joke.  “Oh, Jimmy Novak senior is all that and more…but according to dear old Dad, people like me end up burning in the fires of Hell for all eternity.  Somehow I don’t think I qualify as angel-vessel material.  Hell, I don’t even qualify as husband and father material.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked, still not getting it.

“I’m saying, when I ran away from home, I didn’t choose San Francisco by randomly sticking a pin in a map.”  Dean joined Jimmy in watching Sam’s face until the moment of realisation hit.  The wide-eyed shock it caused was rather amusing, in Dean’s opinion.

“You mean you’re…you know…”

“Gay?” Jimmy supplied, helping Sammy out.  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“But you’re only fourteen.  Maybe it’s just a phase?” Sam suggested, grasping at straws.  “You haven’t…you know…”

“Had sex with a guy?” Jimmy added bluntly.

“Jesus!” Sam blurted, caught off guard by the kid’s candour.

“The answer’s no.  But if you play your cards right…”  Jimmy was getting his back up and things were quickly going downhill.

“Cool it, Casanova,” Dean interrupted, seeing his brother spluttering and turning an unhealthy shade of red.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering if Gabriel knew what he was getting them into and cursing the archangel for it whether he did or not.  “Okay, so nothing’s changed.  You go back home, tell your dad you’re sorry and you were wrong, and live the rest of your life on the straight and narrow.”

“Very funny,” Jimmy snarked and crossed his arms defiantly across his chest.  “You seriously expect me to spend the rest of my life pretending to be something I’m not?”

“Sucks, I know,” Dean admitted, walking over to the cooler and grabbing a beer for himself, tossing a fresh one to Sam while he was at it.  “But it’s either that or live with the guilt of bringing on the end of the world just so you can have your way.”

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“Well it’s true.  Without Jimmy, Castiel has no vessel.  And if he has no vessel, he can’t help us out, and we both know we’d be dead a few times over if it wasn’t for him, so…” Dean took a long, satisfying swallow of beer, the cold liquid knifing an icy path down his dry throat.

Jimmy sighed like an old man and rubbed his forehead.  Dean didn’t envy the kid – it was a lot to absorb in one afternoon, and he was dealing with it remarkably well.  “Look,” he said, “I’m not saying no, here, but…can I think about it for a while?  It’s getting late and I haven’t eaten anything today.  Can we go out for food?  Or order something in?”

Dean looked out the window.  He hadn’t realised how late it was.  They’d been talking all day, and after the excitement of the earthquake and the aftershocks that followed, his adrenalin high was bottoming out.  He figured Sam had to be doubly worn out seeing as he was the one flapping his gums all day.

“Pizza sound good?” Dean asked.

“You seriously need to ask?” Sam quipped and began searching the table near the phone for the ubiquitous junk food flyers.

Jimmy remained silent and sullen throughout their meal, doing some heavy soul searching.  It didn’t stop him from shovelling half a pizza down his throat or guzzling a full litre of Coke on his own, though.  It wasn’t until they were getting ready to go to sleep that he finally spoke.

“If I do this – if I go crawling back to my dad and get married and shit? – I deserve a fucking sainthood.”

“Jesus, kid – language!” Dean scolded with more respect than disapproval.

“Sorry.  I had to get that outta my system,” Jimmy responded with a bashful shrug.  “Especially if this is it; my last few days of freedom.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder.  “It won’t be so bad, I promise.  I’ve met your daughter – she’s a great kid.”

“That’s just weird,” Jimmy replied with a twist of his lip.  “Don’t suppose there’s any chance she’s adopted?”

“Nada,” Dean answered.  “Cas used her as a vessel for a while.  Said it was in the blood.  Sorry.”

“Sainthood.  Seriously.  How do you apply for sainthood?”

Dean gave a mock-scowl and shoved Jimmy playfully, knocking him onto the bed furthest from the door.  “Shut up and go to bed.  We got a long day of driving tomorrow.”

***

 

That night, Dean took first watch, making sure their slippery Cas-vessel didn’t pull a Houdini on them again.  As Sam softly snored on his bed, Jimmy tossed and turned on the other, his dreams no doubt plagued by images of Satan and demons and angels bent on taking over his body and driving him around like a sports car headed over a cliff.

During a particularly spastic bout of tossing and turning, Jimmy’s eyes sprang open and fixed on Dean with the kind of intensity Dean would know anywhere.  Then he became utterly still, only his head shifting slightly on the pillow to face him.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, taking a seat on the bed next to him so they could talk quietly and not wake up Sammy.

“Dean,” Castiel replied flatly.  “Jimmy is aware of my presence now, and he is resisting me.  We will not have long to talk.”

“Yeah – he’s a headstrong little muppet, ain’t he?” said Dean, getting a reproachful glare from Cas.  Dean cleared his throat and tried again.  “So…how’re you doing in there?”

Castiel rocked his head back and forth once or twice.  “I’m getting stronger.”

“I can see that.  So when do you think you’ll be ready to zap us back to the future?” Dean asked, knowing he was being unnecessarily abrupt.  He felt a twinge of guilt for picking on the angel who was only in this mess because of him.  He couldn’t help it; it went against the very fabric of his being to show how much he actually cared about someone.

“If I don’t strain myself, I should be able to manage it in about a year,” Castiel answered with a heavy sigh.

“You’re joking, right?” Dean squeaked in what he hoped was a manly way.

“I would not joke about something like this, Dean.  Taking out Zachariah’s guard nearly destroyed my grace.  An injury like that is not something one can easily bounce back from.”

“Yeah…about that…” Dean hedged.  “Look – I know you went way above and beyond back there in Van Nuys, and I’m sorry I was being such a royal prick.  You have every right to be seriously pissed with me, I know that.”

“I am not angry with you, Dean.”  Cas sounded so despondent that it sent a sympathetic pang of guilt through Dean’s chest .  “If anything, I should be the one to apologise to you.  You didn’t say ‘yes’ to Michael.  I should never have doubted you.”

“Not like I didn’t give you every reason to,” Dean pointed out.

“True,” Castiel agreed a little too readily.  “But it was unfair of me to add the burden of my disappointment onto your shoulders at a time when you most needed my support.”

Dean looked away from the angel’s intense gaze and studied the water stains on the motel room ceiling.  One of them kind of looked like a clown with fangs.  A psychologist would have a field day with him and a pack or Rorschach cards, he decided.  “Well that’s wonderful.  I’m sorry, you’re sorry.  Can we please do away with the Hallmark moments from now on?”

That earned him a tiny quirk of a smile from the angel, which went a long way in easing Dean’s guilt.  However, the smile quickly faded and his eyes dulled, staring off into the middle distance.

“Cas?  You okay?” Dean prodded, both verbally and physically, nudging his shoulder.

“I’m losing him,” Castiel explained apologetically.  “I fear I won’t be able to help you again the way I did today.  I will need all my remaining strength to recuperate.”

“So that was you working your mojo on Jimmy when I took the gun from him?” Dean asked.

“Yes.  Although I am mostly unaware of what is happening to Jimmy, I was able to sense his extreme distress, and I did what I could to calm him,” Castiel replied.  “It was not an easy task.”

“Well, we owe you one,” Dean said.  “Now go on and get your beauty rest.  We’ll deal with the time travel thing when you’re back on your feet again.”

Cas smiled warmly at him and let his borrowed eyelids slide shut.  The tossing and turning resumed full-force with Jimmy now reinstated behind the wheel, and Dean sighed – it looked like they would be on their own for the rest of the trip. 

***

 

The next two days were tense, with Jimmy reluctantly along for the ride, but sinking into a serious funk over the shape of his future.  Sam kept trying to engage the kid in conversation, but the long hours in the Olds passed with all the slow awkwardness of a high school production of Romeo and Juliet. 

Castiel hadn’t reared his head again, and Dean was too afraid of freaking Jimmy out to ask him if he could sense the angel inside him.  There were times when Jimmy appeared to be lost inside his own head, and often during those times he seemed happier than usual, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Castiel had anything to do with it.

On their third day of driving, they passed through a tiny speck of a town called Wyatt’s Pass.  In all their travels, Dean couldn’t remember ever having heard of it, and neither had Sam.  It was small but quaint, like the place had hit its heyday in the 1950s and had clung to that decade with all the tenaciousness of a pit bull.

It was only midday, and they were planning on simply having lunch there and heading out on the road again, but a massive storm front hit them from out of nowhere, with hail big enough to dent the tough shell of their stolen ride.  That, plus the incredibly good food and friendly service at the diner convinced them to stay for the night.  After all, another six hours cooped up in that car together could very well result in a vicious murder/suicide.  It didn’t help matters that Sam had had beans and bacon at breakfast and the air in the Olds was bordering on toxic.

The only downside was that there was only one motel in town and as they drove up to it, Dean was pretty sure it was out of their price range.  It was immaculate.  All whitewashed and shiny, and a large outdoor pool with built-in water slides sat abandoned next to the parking lot, the water dancing with the continuous pelting of hail stones. 

“What the hell – you only live once,” Dean muttered and climbed out of the car, leaving Sam behind to babysit.

A barrel-chested man, who bore a striking resemblance to the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island, greeted him from behind the reception counter.  “Heard you boys might be looking for a room for the night,” he said with a wide smile.  He stuck his hand out to Dean who shook it, mildly stunned at the overt friendliness of the man.  “The name’s Gilbert O’Malley.  Me an’ my wife Jill own this place and the car wash on Main Street.  Took the liberty of airing out the VIP suite for ya.  Hope that wasn’t too forward of me.”

Dean finally managed to extricate his hand from Gilbert’s grasp.  He did his best to look grateful instead of creeped out, but it was tricky.  “You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble,” Dean answered, wondering if maybe they should skip Wyatt’s Pass and find another town to hole up in for the night.  “Truth is, I don’t think we can afford it.  It’s a little out of our league.”

“Nonsense.”  Gilbert pooh-poohed the idea out of hand, snatching a key ring from the pegboard behind him.  “Room 237.  It’s our best, but we get so few visitors we just charge the usual rate.  Rather have some heads on our pillows than an empty room!  Jill’s already set up a cot for the boy, and she’s baked one of her special bumbleberry pies for dessert tonight.  You wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would ya?”

Dean’s mouth watered at the mention of pie.  Pavlov’s dogs had nothing on Dean when it came to pie.  “Well…I suppose we could splurge for one night.”

Gilbert beamed, handing over the room key as if it was made of precious metal instead of plastic.  “Wonderful!  That’ll be $35.00.”

“Thirty-five dollars?” Dean nearly choked on the words, his eyes watering.

“I assure you, it’s worth every penny, and what the heck – I’ll even throw in the pie for free!”

Dean didn’t have to be told twice.  He quickly dug through his jeans pocket and paid the man.  He knew it had to be too good to be true.  There was always some catch.  But for the moment he didn’t care; there was a cheap, clean, classy room and free pie on the horizon.

When he got back to the car, he noticed that Sam had his sour face on, and that meant his parade was about to get officially rained on.  Still, he slid in behind the wheel slapping a big ole grin on his face, determined to enjoy the moment.

“Can you believe it’s only thirty-five bucks a night for this joint?” Dean declared triumphantly.  “And free pie, too!”

“Dean…” Sammy started, his brow all puckered up with concern.  “I think there’s something going on in this place.  Haven’t you noticed it?”

“Don’t.  Okay, Sammy?” Dean pleaded.  “We can’t drive in this weather, and I just got us a sweet deal for a great room in a place where everyone’s really friendly…and…free pie…” Dean petered out, realising how ridiculously idyllic it sounded.  “Damn you!  You couldn’t just let me enjoy it, could you?”

“Sorry,” Sam replied.

“So what do you think we’re looking at here?” 

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s big – like someone or some thing put a whammy on the whole town.  This place is like Mayberry meets the Twilight Zone!”

Dean craned his neck to look back at the street.  Sammy was right, the whole town was too perfect, like it was plucked straight out of the pages of Better Homes and Gardens; a series of ma and pa shops and quaint little cottages that would have made Martha Stewart drool in envy.  There wasn’t a single broken-down truck on blocks or ramshackle house with more weeds than grass in the front yard.  Hell, there wasn’t even a single boarded up shop – and that was saying something what with the current economy.

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean barked.  “You think we’re dealing with a pact with a demi-god or something?” he asked Sam.  “Did we pass an apple orchard on the way into town?”

Sam shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’s a big job, and there’s no way we have time to deal with it, Dean.  I say we call in some help on this one; pass it along to another hunter.”

Dean reluctantly nodded his head and got back out of the car, Jimmy happily following suit, stretching his lanky legs with a groan.  Sam gathered their things as Dean led Jimmy to their motel suite.

“Whaddaya think, Sammy?  Might as well enjoy all the comforts while we’re here?” Dean asked his brother, not bothering to lift a finger to help him with their duffel bags, choosing instead to test the springs on one of the inviting-looking queen sized beds.  No squeaks, no lumps…and just the right amount of firmness.  He was going to sleep like a baby tonight.

An appreciative ‘whoa’ came from the suite’s bathroom, and a wide-eyed Jimmy popped his head through the doorway.  “You should see all the free soaps they got in here!”

“Oooh!  Have they got those little bottles of shampoo?” Dean asked, ignoring the amused look on his brother’s face.

“And conditioner,” Jimmy confirmed excitedly and popped back into the bathroom again, closing the door behind him.  “I might be a while!” he yelled through the door.

Dean smiled and kicked his feet up onto the bed, punching the overstuffed pillows into compliance before deigning to lay his head down.  Sam chucked Dean’s duffle at him, the heavy bag impacting his gut like a meteor hitting the earth, knocking the breath out of him.  “Hey!”

Sam merely shot him a pissy frown as he sat on the edge of the other bed, one hand reaching towards the phone, pulling it onto the bed.  “Pass me Dad’s journal, would ya?”

Dean obligingly fished through the inner pockets of his jacket and freed the bulging journal he always kept with him.  It was now being held together with elastic bands, and as soon as it was tossed into his hands, Sam snapped them off and scoured the pages, looking for something.  At last he found what he was looking for and he grabbed the phone onto his lap, dialling a number that had been scrawled in thick black ink in John Winchester’s journal.

Sam jabbed at the phone’s keypad and waited until someone picked up on the other end.  “Hello?  Bill Harvelle? ...My name’s Sam – you don’t know me, but a very good friend of ours said you’re an amazing hunter. … John Winchester. … Yes, Sir, known him pretty much all my life. …”

Dean sat up and leaned in closer, like that would make it possible to hear what was being said on the other end. 

“Thing is, me and my brother were passing through a town called Wyatt’s Pass on our way to another job, and it looks like there’s some serious evil brewing here.  The whole town’s suspect, but we don’t know the cause, and we can’t stick around long enough to take care of it.  So we thought, if you were in the area…”  Sam’s face brightened and he snapped his fingers at Dean, pointing to the pad of paper and pen sitting on the bedside table.  Dean handed it to him and tried to read upside-down what his brother was hastily scribbling on the paper.  “No, six o’clock is great!  There’s a diner called ‘Sally’s’ on Main Street right in the center of town.  We’ll meet you there and give you whatever information we can dig up to help you out. … Thanks, this means a lot. … Yeah, see ya.” 

Sam placed the receiver back on its cradle and lifted his brows at Dean.  “This should be interesting.”

“Jo’s dad?  I don’t think ‘interesting’ is the word I’d choose.  ‘Nuts’, maybe,” Dean grumbled.

“Who else did you want me to call, Dean?  It’s not like I could call Dad or Bobby – it had to be someone we’ve never met.  And we know Dad trusted him.  That’s good enough for me.”

Dean conceded the point with a semi-shrug and flopped back onto the bed again.  “I guess that means we’ve got some work to do before he gets here?”

“Yeah.  I say we freshen up a bit and head on into town; see if we can get a better idea what’s going on.”

“I call dibs on the next shower,” Dean blurted when the bathroom door opened and a huge billow of steam preceded the arrival of a squeaky clean teenager wrapped up in a supersized bath towel.

Exasperated, Sam gave in with a sigh.  “Fine – just save me some hot water, okay?”

Dean cast an evil grin over his shoulder and disappeared into the fragrant, humid world of the bathroom.  Thankfully, there was still plenty of hot water left, and the shower’s spray was strong, if a little spiky.  Jimmy had been thoughtful enough to leave behind enough shampoo and conditioner for him and Sam, and Dean used more than his share of both as he hummed to himself in the luxuriating heat of the shower.

Towelling off, Dean stopped humming long enough to hear voices coming from the other room.  When he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw that Jimmy and Sam were sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, gabbing like a couple of girls at a slumber party.  At seeing him, Jimmy’s face turned a spectacular shade of pink, and he bolted from the bed to go sit on the little cot that had been set up for him at the far end of the room.

“What ya talking about?” Dean sing-songed, ruffling his hair dry with one of the smaller towels he’d found stacked on the bathroom counter.

“Nothing,” Sam quickly proclaimed, as much to ease the kid’s embarrassment as to throw Dean off the scent of some juicy gossip.

If it had just been Sammy, Dean would have poked and prodded until he called ‘uncle’, but Jimmy looked mortified, so he generously let it slide.  “Bathroom’s all yours, Sammy.  I even saved you one of those little soap bars you like so much.”

Sam brushed past him, muttering “jerk” under his breath, and Dean responded with the usual “bitch”.  From the surprised look on Jimmy’s face, it was obvious the kid never had a brother to snark with.

“Why do you do that?” Jimmy asked, sounding as baffled as Castiel did in his first few days working together.

“It’s a brother thing,” Dean answered casually and headed for the mini fridge in the little kitchenette.  It was stocked with bottled water, juices, single-serve milk cartons and three different kinds of beer.  Evil or not, this hotel officially kicked ass in Dean’s humble opinion.  He cracked one open, hesitated, then cracked open another one.  Yes, it probably cost a fortune, and he’d regret it when he had to pay the tab, but it sure beat the hell out of making a run to the liquor store.

He sauntered over to the gently-used pleather couch next to Jimmy’s cot and handed the second beer over to him.

Jimmy eyed him suspiciously.  “Is this some kind of test?” he asked, holding the beer bottle at arm’s length, like it might explode on him. 

“Nope,” said Dean with a sad smile, “it’s only another day’s drive until we get to Pontiac.  Thought you might like to live it up a little before you get locked up in the ivory tower again.”

A bright smile bloomed on Jimmy’s face and he raised the bottle in cheers before taking a long pull on it.  Dean tried not to laugh when Jimmy’s expression twisted and puckered at the bitterness of the drink.  Another first, apparently, thought Dean.

Once he’d recovered from that first sip, Jimmy took another, smaller one and seemed to enjoy it a bit better.  “Castiel thinks you drink too much,” Jimmy blurted from out of the blue.

“Oh, does he, now?” Dean shot back, only belatedly realising the important kernel of information buried in the tossed-out statement.  “Wait a minute…you talk to Cas?”

Jimmy looked down at his beer and ducked his head.  “Sort of: if I concentrate, I can talk to him.  He doesn’t really answer me in words…it’s more like I feel what he’s thinking.”

Dean shook his head, imagining what that would be like.  He knew it wouldn’t be the same as playing meat suit for Michael, but he was still curious.  “Doesn’t that freak you out a little?”

Jimmy snorted out a laugh.  “Totally!  But it’s not so bad, really.  Castiel’s…nice.”

“Nice?” Dean smirked, finding it hard to pair the hard-edged Cas that he knew with the term ‘nice’.

“Yeah.  He’s… I don’t know – comforting, I guess.  When I talk to him, when I reach in and feel him there, I feel safe.  It sounds stupid, I know.”

“Naw, it’s not stupid,” Dean replied honestly.  In a way, he felt relieved that his angel friend was a comfort to Jimmy.  The kid didn’t know how lucky he was to be Castiel’s vessel – he couldn’t imagine how much it would suck to be stuck with someone like Zachariah or Uriel.  “So,” Dean’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “what else can you tell me about Cas?  I want all the juicy details.” 

Dean took a long swig of beer and nearly choked when Jimmy blithely reported, “Well, I know that he loves you.”

“He WHAT?!” Dean exploded, sputtering and wiping the beer foam from his chin.  It wasn’t until his brain registered that Jimmy was giggling himself sick on the cot that he realised he’d been had.  “Oh ha ha, very funny.”

It took a minute for the giggles to die down and when Jimmy was composed enough to speak again, it was with a tone of deep respect.  “Seriously, though,” he said, “Castiel thinks the world of you.  I get nothing but warmth when he thinks about you.  Hell, you said it yourself – the guy got himself kicked out of Heaven for you – that’s saying something.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean petered out awkwardly.  As if it wasn’t bad enough having Sammy around to bring on the chick-flick moments, now he had two of them!  “Sammy!  You almost done in there?” Dean yelled towards the closed bathroom door.

In response, the door cracked open and Sam’s dripping head peered around the corner.  “Thanks to you there was no hot water left.  I think that was the fastest shower I’ve ever taken.”  His head disappeared again, and Dean was left alone with the teenage version of Oprah. 

Dean squinted at him, and when it looked like Jimmy was about to start talking again, he made a pre-emptive strike.  “So help me, if you start in with the mushy Care Bear crap again, I’ll gag you and tie you to a chair.”  Dean refused to acknowledge the dirty smirk Jimmy shot his way.  How this kid was ever gonna fly straight was beyond Dean.

***

 

It was four-thirty by the time they’d cleaned up and rested enough to hit the road again.  Sam had decided the best way to figure out what was going on was to mingle with the locals, since the internet wasn’t going to be an option for several more years.  It was his idea to leave the Olds parked and hoof it through the rain to the town square where they were scheduled to meet Bill Harvelle in an hour and a half.

Along the way, they passed an old-style barber shop.  It had one of those old red and white striped poles out front and two of those straight-backed leather barber seats inside.  Even the barber was kickin it old-style with his silvering hair neatly cropped and Brylcreemed into submission and a moustache that would make Jamie Hyneman jealous.  Sitting in one of the chairs was a middle-aged man with red curly hair and shaving cream covering half his face.  Unbelievably, the barber was scraping stubble off the guy’s face with an honest-to-God straight razor!

“I swear, it’s like these guys got stuck in the past or something,” Sam commented as they stood in front of the shop to watch. 

“Could be a witch or a god?” Dean suggested.  “Some powerful mojo trapping the town in a time loop?”

“I was thinking…” Jimmy piped up, then waited for Dean’s questioning glance before he got the nerve to keep going, “what if the town’s magical – like Brigadoon?”

“Brigadoon?” asked Sam, his lips pursed in confusion.

“You know,” Dean answered, “Brigadoon – that musical where a whole town appears out of nowhere once every hundred years, or something, then disappears again.  What?”  That last remark was directed at Sam, who was openly smirking at him.

“Dude – so help me, if you start singing show tunes…”

Dean smacked his brother in the arm hard enough to illicit an ‘Ow!’  It also won him a rare grin from Jimmy.

“Whaddaya think, Sammy?  Does cousin Jimmy here need a haircut?” asked Dean with an evil glint in his eye.  That wiped the grin off the kid’s face pretty fast.

“He’s definitely looking shaggy to me,” Sam agreed and prodded Jimmy through the door, ignoring the teen’s vociferous complaints.  A happy bell tinkled above the door as they entered, and the two men in the barber shop turned their heads in unison to watch them.

“Well if it isn’t the newcomers!” the thin-faced barber said, his face breaking into an enormous smile.  Gilbert said you were staying.  Come for the big town festival have ya?  Tonight’s the barbeque!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dean responded amiably, shaking the rain from his jacket. 

“I should hope not!” said the red-haired man with the half-shaved face.  “Best eats and treats in this great state of ours!”

“He ain’t lyin’,” the barber added eagerly.  “I, myself, bring a chilli to the table that’s so hot it’ll melt a hole clean through your palate! But I’m sure you didn’t come in here to listen to us old guys bragging,” he added leadingly.

Sam nudged Jimmy in front of him, his hands clasped on the boy’s shoulders to keep him from bolting.  “Our cousin Jimmy could really use a trim.”

Jimmy scowled back at them as the exuberant barber led him over to the empty barber chair and shoved him down into it.

“Yes…can’t have the boy showing up at the big shindig looking like some sort of hoodlum,” said the barber.  “Specially not when the Reverend is gonna be there, officiating.”

“The Reverend?” asked Dean.  There was something in the way the guy said it that raised the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.  His gut was telling him this was important.

“You don’t know the Reverend?” the barber gawped as he finished shaving his first customer.  “Heck, that’s the evening’s main attraction!  The Reverend’s the one who founded this town.  Not a person here who doesn’t owe everything they got to that man.  And tonight he says he’s got something really special planned for us.  Promised to show us a piece of Paradise.”

Dean glanced over at Sammy, who obviously got the same vibe off the barber and the other two men.  From the looks of awe-filled adoration on the townsfolk’s’ faces, this Reverend was the type of preacher who instilled the kind of blind worship that historically leads people to do stupid, violent things in the name of faith.  Dollars to doughnuts they’d find their answer at this barbeque.

As the barber finished with his first customer and started in on Jimmy’s unruly mop of hair, Dean did some snooping at the front of the shop.  There was a little waiting area with a long leather bench and a coffee table stacked high with magazines.  Picking through them, Dean was more than a little relieved to find that most of them were dated from various months in 1989.  At least that ruled out having to deal with another time travel issue.

When he was done, the barber escorted a miserable looking Jimmy to the waiting area and spun the teen around – proud as peach at his handiwork.  “Neat as a pin, now, don’t ya think?” he asked, fishing for a compliment and probably a bigger tip.

Dean kept his smirk in check.  “Yep.  Nothing like a good army cut to get the girls, right?”  This earned him an evil glare from their young ward.  Dean pulled some cash out of his wallet and paid the man.  He had no idea how much the guy was going to charge him for the cut, but he must have given him way too much, because the barber nearly had a heart attack, babbling his thanks like he’d just been handed the bulk of the royal treasure.

“May I just say how much I’m looking forward to having some fresh blood at the barbeque tonight?  I can’t remember when we last had outsiders visit for the festival.  Seems like forever!”  And on that creepy note, the Winchesters and their junior sidekick took their leave.

***

 

The clouds had been wrung dry and were shredding above to let some sunlight through.  Dean, Sam and Jimmy continued their walk down the last few remaining blocks to the town square.  Stopping at every store along the street, the three of them played their roles and chatted with shop owners and other customers.  However, they didn’t learn anything new.  Everyone was so…pleasant.  It wasn’t right!  And more people sang the praises of the Reverend when they asked about him.

It was five-thirty by the time they reached the centre of town.  Even this early it was packed with people – probably the entire population of Wyatt’s Pass had come out to partake in the evening’s festivities.  There were colourful booths set up all along the perimeter of the square selling everything from hand crafted doilies to fresh fruits and vegetables.  Those that weren’t swarming the booths were gathering around a long, rectangular table that stretched from the centre of the town square and out into Main Street.  It was easily long enough to seat a hundred people.

Roughly halfway down the length of the table, Gilbert O’Malley sat with a rotund, pink-faced blonde who was undoubtedly his wife.  When Gilbert caught sight of them he waved them over, pointing towards a set of chairs he appeared to have reserved for them.

“I guess there’s no getting out of this now, hey Sammy?” Dean whispered out of the side of his toothy grin.  He took a swift glance at his watch and saw that they still had more than a half an hour to kill before meeting Bill at Sally’s Diner.

Sammy waved back at Gilbert.  “Just be polite.  Try to blend in,” Sam whispered back and began leading the way through the crowd to join the hoteliers. 

Dean glanced back at Jimmy to make sure he was following, but the young man was frozen on the spot, his face had gone grey.  Dean headed back to him, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.  “Hey, Jimmy, you okay?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Jimmy couldn’t speak; he just stared dead ahead and pointed.  Dean followed the direction his finger was pointing, but all he saw was a preacher ladling punch into little plastic cups.  He had a kind face and a warm smile, and he was laughing at the antics of a clutch of children running circles around his legs.  Seemed innocuous enough to Dean.

“What?  What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“You don’t see it?” Jimmy spoke in a low, cracking voice.

Dean looked again, straining to see anything that might have spooked the kid.  There were a lot of people doing normal, small-town stuff.  Nothing seemed hinky to Dean except the weird ‘perfect town’ thing.  “Come on – they’re waiting for us,” he said, goading Jimmy along with a hand to the small of his back.  At times he practically had to push him to keep him moving.  By the time they arrived at their designated seats, Jimmy’s eyes were as wide as saucers and he looked about ready to pee himself.

“Son, are you alright?” asked Gilbert.

Jimmy jumped a bit at being addressed directly, but he recovered quickly and numbly nodded his head, taking the seat next to Dean.

More and more people began taking a seat along the table and it wasn’t long before all the seats were full.  The folks left standing had drawn closer, creating a barricade of flesh encircling the entire table.  At the head of the table the Reverend tapped a fork against a glass and the chatter slowly died away, leaving the crowded square in an eerie silence.  Not even the smallest children disturbed the quiet. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes panning the crowd and taking in all the mindless devotion painted across each and every face as they looked upon the preacher.  Okay, he thought, this is where they were about to take a giant step out of Mayberry and into the Outer Limits.

“My people,” the Reverend began in a deep, resonating voice.  “Since I first came to this town I have watched it grow and prosper under your hands.  On this day every year we celebrate the fruits of your labour with one glorious night of revelry, for even God in all His glory took a day of rest after toiling to create this world.  So I bid you all – eat, drink and let the party commence!”

Raucous applause erupted all around the square, the Winchesters half-heartedly joining in so as not to draw attention to themselves.  Only Jimmy remained silent, seeming to shrink against Dean’s side as if to make a smaller target of himself.

Meanwhile, trays of fruit punch and beer were being passed around the crowd, and platters stacked high with barbequed chicken and hamburgers found their way through the throng and were being placed at regular intervals down the long table.

One of the platters ended up directly in front of Dean, and the delicious aroma of grilled meat wafted tantalizingly in his direction.  Powerless to deprive himself of one of the tastiest looking burgers he’d ever clapped eyes on, Dean joined the others at the table in reaching for the platter.  His fingers were just about to graze the nearest freshly baked sesame seed buns when he was brutally kicked in the shin under the table.

“Ow!” he barked, shooting an angry glare at Jimmy, who was the most likely suspect.  “What’d you do that for?”

“You were gonna eat that!” Jimmy said in a horrified stage whisper.

“Yeah – that’s what they’re there for,” Dean snapped back, looking at him like he’d lost his one remaining marble.  He noticed, however, that Sam had aborted his own impulse to grab the beer that had been placed before him.

“What’s wrong, Jimmy?” Sam asked, eyeing the food warily.

“Well, for one thing, it’s all mouldy and sludgy, and whatever is in those cups is black.  Plus, that Reverend guy?  I don’t think he’s even human!  His face is all weird and his eyes are like solid red.”

Dean found Sammy’s eyes and saw reflected in them the same dreaded thought.  They had a demon on their hands, and somehow Jimmy could see its true form beneath its hijacked meat suit.

Chicken and burgers were being devoured by everyone around them, being washed down with punch or beer.  No one seemed put off in the slightest by the allegedly tainted food, but Dean knew better than to doubt Jimmy – after all, he clearly had some heavenly insight in this matter.  And everybody knew there was no such thing as a free beer.

“Boys, aren’t you gonna have any?” asked Gilbert O’Malley from down the table.  “It ain’t gonna cost ya!”  He winked and sank his teeth into a drumstick.  To Dean’s eyes, it looked juicy and tender, and he could almost taste the seasoned meat from the delectable scent that drifted his way.  But sitting next to him, Jimmy shivered and turned a decidedly sick shade of green around the gills.

“The chicken’s bad, too?” Dean whispered, silently hoping for a negative when he knew he wasn’t going to receive one.

“Crawling with maggots,” Jimmy replied, his mouth turned down in a grimace.

That was enough to make Dean push away from the table.  He got to his feet, and Sam and Jimmy followed suit, gathering questioning glances from the people surrounding them.

“Just remembered that we were supposed to meet a friend of ours,” Dean explained to Gilbert and his wife, whose chin glistened with chicken grease.  He really didn’t want to know what it was that was actually slicking up the lower half of her face – that would probably be enough to make him lose his appetite permanently.

Sam smiled and apologised as Dean tried to find a chink in the wall of people surrounding them.  They were truly penned in, and the effects of the demon’s all-you-can-eat buffet were already beginning to manifest.  Twisting around, thinking to squeeze between the good folks behind them, Dean saw that their eyes were manic.  Food and drink were being consumed with all the frenzy of a school of piranhas attacking some poor cow trying to cross the river.

“Uh, Sammy…” Dean warned, but it was too late; a bony fist slammed into his brother’s stomach as an overzealous librarian fought to take his spot at the table.  Sam went down, landing with a painful crack of the knees on the gum-speckled pavement.  But rather than attempt to regain his feet, he crawled under the table.

As more fists began flying, with all-out brawls breaking out in spots, Dean instantly saw the merit in Sam’s decision and he yanked Jimmy down under the table with him.  They formed a line with Sam in the lead and Dean bringing up the rear, and together they slowly crawled their way down the long length of joined tables.

Dean chanced a peek past the draping table cloth now and then, and it was not at all encouraging.  He witnessed a young woman being held, kicking and screaming, as half a dozen crazies forced some of the punch down her throat.  Almost immediately she stopped struggling and started groping her attackers.  Clothes started coming off – not just in that little clutch, but all over the place – and Dean froze, transfixed and mortified by the sight of writhing masses of pasty white flesh.  Old and young alike were stripping off and abandoning their inhibitions to get it on in one massive, unsightly orgy.  Only the youngest children seemed uninterested in the party, preferring to run amok like rabid monkeys, destroying everything in their path.

“Dean?” Jimmy asked, looking back at him over his shoulder in concern.

“Keep your eyes on Sammy.  Whatever you do, don’t look out there!” Dean shouted back.

So naturally, that’s exactly what Jimmy did.  His jaw literally dropped open as he took his first real look at what was going on beyond the safety of the table legs. 

“What did I just tell you?” Dean barked at him, startling the teen into moving again.  He was moving a helluva lot faster too, Dean noticed.

They were just coming up on the last table when it suddenly collapsed in a pile of splintered wood and bent metal.  Three of the heavier town members had decided the table top would be a nice place to get horizontal, and the table had vehemently disagreed, spilling them and the leftover food onto the ground. 

Sam, Jimmy and Dean had been exposed under the adjacent table, and the effect was like a bucket of chum being tossed into a pool of sharks.  In a heartbeat the table they were hiding under was flipped over, making them easy targets.

“Run!” Dean yelled, although it was unnecessary.  Jimmy and Sam were already bolting for the makeshift stalls lining the street where they might be able to take cover. 

Dean was right on their heels until he suddenly wasn’t anymore.  It happened so fast that Dean’s brain took a second to catch up; he was pinned beneath a naked biker and a granny wielding a rolling pin like a ninja with a set of nunchuks.  As the granny laid into him, the biker shoved a hunk of chicken meat in Dean’s face, trying to push it past his clamped lips.  And all he could think was ‘maggots, maggots, maggots’.  With the added strength of disgust spurring him on, Dean bucked hard and dislodged the biker, who landed hard on his ass with a bellow of pain. 

Grabbing the rolling pin out of the granny’s hand was a piece of cake, and Dean allowed himself a smug smile before he noticed that someone was breathing hot, fetid puffs of air against the back of his neck.

“Dean!  Behind you!” Sammy shouted from halfway down the block, already sprinting back to help him out.

Dean spun around and came face to face with the red-eyed Reverend, who was no longer trying to hide the fact that he was a demon.

“Well, hell,” Dean grumbled and ducked down and to the left, narrowly avoiding the knuckle end of the demon’s arm hitting him in the jaw.  While he was down there, Dean took a page out of Jimmy’s book and struck below the belt, pounding his fist into the Reverend’s holy trinity.  Unfortunately, that only seemed to make him angrier.

The demon hefted Dean off the ground and hurled him into a mound of middle aged orgy enthusiasts several feet away.  As the demon casually stalked his way over, flabby arms engulfed Dean and pulled at his clothes, trying to tear them off.

Staring up at the red-eyed arrogant dick standing above him, Dean tried not to give away the fact that he’d just seen his brother sneaking up behind him.  Just as the bastard was about to open his slimy mouth and prove he was an arrogant dick, the pointy tip of Sam’s blade burst through the front of the demon’s throat.  Orange light spilled over the silver knife’s edge and lit up the Reverend’s skull, bleeding out through the eyes, nose and ears like water from a cracked vase.

With one hand to the back of the dead demon’s head, Sam dislodged the Enochian-engraved knife from his neck and let him slump to the ground.  Dean accepted the bloodied hand his brother held out to him and together they freed him from the amorous grasp of his new friends.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Dean asked the second he was on his feet again.  He scanned the crowd and spotted the boy fighting off the affections of a lecherous old man.  From what Dean could see, he was doing a half decent job of defending himself. 

Coming to Jimmy’s rescue, Dean and Sam made quick work of sending the old creep packing, and the three of them took a moment to regroup near a quaint little stall that sold weaved rugs and hand-crafted pottery.  It was now unmanned, as were all of the other stalls along the perimeter of the square – the proprietors having gone wild side and joining in on the fun. 

Without the demon fuelling the fire, some of the townsfolk were already starting to snap out of it.  They wandered aimlessly, naked and confused while the rest of their families and friends continued to indulge in all manner of vile acts.  It was a depressing sight, but it was also a good sign.  It looked like the effects would wear off on their own over time.

“All right, here’s the plan,” Dean said, brooking no argument.  “Me and Jimmy will head to Sally’s Diner – Harvelle should be there soon, if he’s not there already.  Sammy – you go on back to the hotel and get our stuff together in the car – I don’t want to spend one second longer in this place than we have to.”

Sam looked around and seemed to decide that they’d be safe enough without him, then nodded once and jogged off down the street towards their hotel.  Dean yanked Jimmy by the sleeve and the two of them plucked their way through the mass of preoccupied townsfolk to get to the diner.  Dean no longer bothered trying to shield Jimmy from the live-action porn – the poor kid was so desperate not to look directly at anything going on around him that he nearly tripped a dozen times or more as he tried to navigate the vast sea of fighting and fornicating people.

Sally’s Diner was deserted, but that was hardly unexpected.  Dean was just glad Sally, or whoever owned the place, hadn’t bothered to lock up before abandoning it to go commune with nature or whatever.

Jimmy pulled up a chair at a table in the middle of the restaurant, sitting facing the door and the large plate glass window overlooking the town square.  It was a good move, strategically speaking, and it made Dean feel kind of proud for some reason.

Under a glass lid on the diner’s counter sat a pecan pie with a couple of pieces missing.  Honing in on it almost out of instinct, Dean made a beeline for it, freeing the dessert from its glass prison before remembering what Jimmy had told him about the food at the long table – that stuff had looked delicious, too.

“Hey, Jimmy – this pie look okay to you?” he asked, lifting the glass lid off the pie.  The aroma wrapped warmly around him, making his mouth water.

Slightly shell-shocked, Jimmy turned his head in the direction Dean was indicating and gave the confection a cursory once-over before numbly nodding his head. 

Dean frowned –in the middle of all this madness and mayhem, he forgot that Jimmy wasn’t Cas – he was no soldier or hunter, and he had to be scared out of his wits.  Figuring ‘what the hell’, Dean nabbed the whole pie and brought it back to the table, thinking a little sugar couldn’t hurt the kid. 

Jimmy’s eyes lost some of their blankness when the pie was pushed across the table towards him.  Dean unfurled a napkin from the pile on the table to reveal the cutlery hidden within, and without hesitation Jimmy did the same, and it wasn’t long before they were both fully engrossed in shovelling the pie down their throats.  It was a marvel of pastry technology, as far as Dean was concerned, and judging from the moans of appreciation coming out of Jimmy, he thought so too.  Between the two of them, the moans and groans were loud enough to have made any onlookers blush – if they weren’t, you know, screwing each other to death outside.

They were battling over who should get the last slice of pie when the bell above the door tinkled to life with a happy jangle.  It was Sam, returned from fetching the Olds, and another man was entering behind him.

“Look who I ran into trying to book a room at our hotel,” Sam announced, stepping aside so Dean could see the man behind him.  “Bill Harvelle, I’d like you to meet my brother, Dean, and this is our cousin Jimmy.”

Dean stood up, scraping his chair across the linoleum floor, and he jutted a hand out to his dad’s old friend.  It was bizarre to think that somewhere out there, maybe in a small town like this one, his dad and a younger version of Sammy and himself were going about their business like usual, completely unaware of their existence.  They would probably laugh themselves silly if someone told them that time travel was even remotely possible.

“Bill, nice to meet you.  John’s told us so much about you,” Dean greeted the man, hoping he wouldn’t see through his blatant lie.

“Sam and Dean, huh?” Harvelle asked, his eyes narrowing as he shook Dean’s hand.  “Doesn’t John have two boys named Sam and Dean?”

Well shit, Dean thought, his mind doing cartwheels to think of some excuse for the coincidence.  It was only then that Dean heard the panicked wheezing from beside him.  As Sam picked up the slack and made up some crap about how they were related and how a lot of people in their family had those names, Dean tuned him out and focused on Jimmy, who was nearly hyperventilating where he sat.  The last time he got so freaked out it was because he’d seen a demon, so Dean knew it had to be something equally bad now.

Dean caught the boy’s eyes and in a silent communication, he asked if Harvelle was the reason behind his meltdown.  An almost imperceptible nod confirmed it before the boy ripped his terrified gaze away and resumed staring at the evil thing that had entered their lives.

Mentally going through his pockets, Dean silently cursed, realising that he didn’t have the Colt, and Sammy was carrying the demon-killing knife.  He’d have to improvise, and it would have to be damned good or they didn’t stand a chance.

“Have a seat, Bill,” Dean said cordially.  “There’s one piece of pecan pie left, and it’s the best thing you’ll ever put in your mouth, I promise you that.”  He pushed the pie plate across the table and motioned with his hand for him to sit.

By this time, Sam had also noticed Jimmy’s reaction to Harvelle, and as the older hunter settled into his chair, Sam remained standing behind him.  A glint of silver tipped Dean off to the fact that his brother was no slouch when it came to winging it.  In a heartbeat, the knife was pressed to the imposter’s throat, the sharp edge breaking skin, which burned and smoked on contact.  Definitely a demon, then.

Harvelle’s face contorted with unbridled hatred.  “Dean, Dean, Dean…it’s been a while.  And this time you brought your baby brother.  How sweet.  It’s a family reunion.”

“Dean?” asked Sam, wondering what the demon was on about.  Dean had no answer.  All he could do was shrug and let the hell-scum continue monologuing.  All demons were the same – they all loved the sound of their own voices – and this one was apparently no exception.

“This other one I don’t know.  Is he another brother, or is he really your cousin?”  The bastard sniffed the air, his eyes widening with discovery.  “Oh, this is a special one.  An angel vessel?”

Dean stiffened in apprehension, and that was all the proof the demon needed to assume he was right.

“So…an angel vessel.  But where’s your angel little boy?  I can smell the rancid sweetness of him inside you, so why doesn’t he come out and play?”  Harvelle’s tongue snaked out and wet his lips in a sickeningly lascivious way.

“You listen to me, you evil son of a bitch,” Dean rasped angrily.  “You so much as think about touching the kid and I’ll rip your head off!”

The demon tisked, shaking his head in a way that dug the knife into his throat a little deeper, causing inky black smoke to escape in thin wisps from edge of the open wound.  “You keep threatening to kill me, Dean, but I’m beginning to think it’s all just for show.  You couldn’t kill me in ’73, and you can’t kill me now.”

It was Dean’s turn to go wide-eyed.  It couldn’t be, “Azazel?”

Harvelle’s eyes blinked and when they opened it was the demon’s yellow eyes that stared fixedly back at him.  “In the flesh.”

“Harvelle is your meat suit?” Sam asked, his mouth gaping at the turn of events.

“One of many,” the demon answered smoothly, seemingly oblivious of the knife digging into his throat.  “I use this one to keep an eye on your father, and to keep tabs on you boys.  You know, I even saved his worthless hide once, just so I could make sure my Sammy could get the kind of upbringing he deserves.  Now look at you,” he added, craning his neck to get a glance of Sam behind him.  More smoke roiled from the thin slash at his throat.  “All big and strong.  I bet your daddy is really proud.”

Dean couldn’t help it; he clocked the bastard with a hard right hook to the jaw.  It was a mistake, of course – just the kind of distraction Azazel was waiting for to make his move.  The punch had momentarily thrown Sam off balance, and for a split second, the knife slipped away from the demon’s throat.  It was all he needed to throw Sam off him, hurtling him across the diner and pinning him to the wall with an invisible grip.  The knife clattered to the floor at Sam’s feet, spinning in lazy circles before coming to a stop.

Azazel casually got to his feet, adjusting the lapels of his jacket as if being held at knifepoint was an everyday occurrence warranting no more consideration than what he should have for lunch.  He circled the table, coming up behind Jimmy’s chair, the boy frozen in his seat, eyes focused straight ahead and tearing up with fear.

“I wonder what would happen to the angel if I killed the boy,” Azazel wondered out loud and ruffled Jimmy’s hair.

That was it; Dean snapped.  In a moment of suicidal rage, he lunged at the demon, bowling him over onto the scratched linoleum floor.  They rolled a couple of times, but in the end it was Azazel who ended up on top, using his weight to pin Dean down.  A large, calloused hand closed around Dean’s throat, slowly squeezing until he could no longer breathe.  Dean felt his eyes bulge as he scrabbled to get purchase on the slippery flooring.  He was starting to grey out, black splotches swimming across his vision, blurring the smug features of the yellow-eyed son of a bitch straddling him.

Just as he was resigning himself to his fate, Dean became aware that the pressure around his throat was suddenly gone.  Blinking up in confusion, he saw that Azazel was leaning back on his knees, smoke billowing out of his mouth, and standing over him, his hand pressed palm down against the demon’s forehead, was Jimmy.  Enochian phrases tripped off his tongue like it was his first language, and a very faint glow radiated around his outstretched hand.

Not Jimmy, then – this was Cas.  Dean muttered a tiny prayer of thanks and then blissfully passed out.

***

 

When Dean came to again, he was staring up into a massive pair of sky blue eyes.  He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.  He knew those eyes…

“Dean?  Are you alright?” The voice was wrong.  Dean wasn’t sure why, but the voice should have been much deeper and kind of gravelly.  As it was, the voice didn’t match the eyes, and that was unnerving.

Dean raised a hand to his pounding head, just to make sure it was still attached to the rest of him.  He tried to speak, but his throat felt like someone had shoved a broken bottle down it.  Bit by bit, his memories came back to him.  He was sprawled on the floor of a diner, half buried beneath the unconscious deadweight of another man.  Harvelle.  The memory of what had happened washed over him like a tidal wave and Dean raised himself up onto his elbows, fighting a wave of dizziness.

“He alive?” Dean croaked, grimacing at the sharp pain the words had caused.

Jimmy nodded.  “Castiel tried to kill the demon, but he wasn’t strong enough.  The best he could do was send him away.  He’ll be back, though,” Jimmy replied, casting a glance over his shoulder to Sam, who was picking himself off the floor at the other end of the diner.  “We need to get out of here.”

“No argument from me,” Dean agreed, then clasped his hand to his throat, rubbing at the bruised skin.  He accepted a hand up from Jimmy, gently rolling Bill Harvelle onto his back.  The wound from Sam’s knife was shallow and had almost completely stopped bleeding, and although the man was unconscious, Dean figured he’d be okay.

The three of them gathered themselves together and headed out into the twilit evening.  There were still a handful of naked revellers, but the crowd had thinned considerably.  The town square looked like it had been hit with a tornado.  Not a single window remained unbroken, and the table and stalls that had been set up for the barbeque were nothing more than scraps of brightly-coloured confetti left to be swept up after the parade.  Down the street, a pack of children were taking a baseball bat to the Olds.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, instantly regretting it as his throat lit with fiery pain.

Sam chased after the children, scaring them away from their ride, and leaving Dean and Jimmy to wend their weary way down the street behind him.  Jimmy was firmly wedged against Dean’s side, holding Dean’s arm around his shoulder as if he was helping to support his weight.  Dean knew better, though.  It was Jimmy who needed the support right now, and Dean was happy enough to provide whatever comfort he could to the kid.

When they got to the car, Dean dug the keys out of his jacket pocket and tossed them over to his brother.  Sam raised an eyebrow his way, but he didn’t argue.  With Sam driving, Dean decided to take advantage of the plush bench seat in the back of the massive car.  He climbed in the back, intent on stretching out for a nap, but Jimmy followed him in, squashing that idea.

They settled, Jimmy leaning heavily against Dean’s shoulder, using him as a pillow.  Dean sighed, pretending to be put out by it for the benefit of his smirking brother.  He would never admit it out loud, but it was kind of nice – especially after the kind of day he’d had.

“You two okay back there?” Sam asked, directing the question more at Jimmy, who looked like he’d been to Hell and back.  Dean could relate.

Jimmy shook his head, lodging himself further into Dean’s side.  “I think I want to go home, now,” he said in a small voice.

Dean hugged his shoulders tight.  “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you home,” Dean assured him.  “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”  Watery blue eyes blinked up at him and then fluttered shut.  In less than a minute the exhausted boy was fast asleep.

***

 

At some point Dean must have fallen asleep, too, because the sun was rising in the sky the next time he opened his eyes.  Still slumped against his shoulder, Jimmy was drooling in his sleep, looking like the little angel he was.

“Where are we, Sammy?” Dean asked, thankful that his throat had healed some while he’d slept.

Sam’s bloodshot eyes looked back at him through the rear view mirror.  “Just outside Pontiac, actually.  I was just about to wake you guys up, but you looked so cute back there…”

“Can it, Sam.”

“Well you’re obviously feeling better,” Sam remarked sarcastically.

The noise finally made it through to their sleeping passenger, and Jimmy awoke with a spine-cracking stretch and a yawn.  “Where are we?” he asked, rubbing his bleary eyes.

“Good, you’re awake,” said Sam.  “We’re coming up on Pontiac in a few more minutes.  I’ll need you to give me directions to your house, okay?”

Crestfallen, the boy nodded back glumly.

“You guys slept like the dead last night,” Sam commented, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Dean replied, smoothing out his clothes and sitting up straight.  “Any idea what we should do about the situation with Bill Harvelle?”

“Already took care of it,” Sam answered with a satisfied smile on his face.  “When I stopped to get gas last night I sent Dad an anonymous call.  Told him about the situation in Wyatt’s Pass and that he shouldn’t trust Harvelle.  I told him the yellow-eyed demon sometimes uses his friend as a host, and that pretty much convinced him it wasn’t just a prank call.  He said he’d check out the town today, make sure everything was in order again.”

Not a bad move, Dean had to admit, but something nagged at him.  He tried to remember what Ellen had told them about Bill’s death.  He was pretty sure she said a demon had killed him because their dad had given away their position, leaving him open to attack.  Now he wondered if that was the whole story.  Had their dad gone after the yellow-eyed demon, taking Bill out in the process?  There was no point worrying about something that he couldn’t change, so he gave up on that line of thought with a shrug and said, “So, who’s up for some doughnuts?”

Jimmy perked up next to him.  “My dad never lets me eat junk for breakfast.”

“That settles it, then – doughnuts it is!’ Dean proclaimed.  “One last act of defiance, hey Jimmy?”

Sam turned off at the next exit, following the restaurant signs to a greasy spoon slash truck stop.  He hopped out of the car and returned a few minutes later with a box in his hands, which he tossed into the backseat in Dean’s direction.

“Only half a dozen?” Dean griped.

“You’re welcome.  Oh yeah, and eat me!”

“Touchy,” Dean said as he opened the box up to reveal two neat rows of doughnutty goodness.  A small hand sneaked past his defences and grabbed the maple doughnut.  “Help yourself, why don’t ya?” Dean remarked, smiling as Jimmy ducked his head shyly.

Sam ate his doughnut and then continued driving, no one saying a thing as they passed the highway sign marking their arrival into the town of Pontiac, Illinois.

Sullen directions were given from the miserable boy in the back seat, each one bringing Jimmy that much closer to a life he didn’t want but had no choice but to live out.  Eventually he instructed Sam to pull over, parking the Olds in front of a plain white-panelled bungalow with two towering oak trees hiding it from view, as if it had something to be ashamed about.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

The boy lifted his shoulders in a shrug, never raising his eyes from his interlaced fingers resting in his lap. 

“Look at me,” Dean insisted, dipping his head to intrude on Jimmy’s line of sight.  “I know that what we’re asking you to do is like way beyond the call of duty, but think about all the lives you’ll be saving.  The future of the entire planet is in your hands here.”

“No pressure,” Sam mumbled from the front seat, and Dean shot him a glare before continuing.

“Hey – it’s not all bad.  The Jimmy we met in the future had a good life and an amazing kid.  All you’ve gotta do is have faith that everything will turn out okay,” Dean added.  Jimmy’s lips quirked into a semi-smile.  “What’s so funny?”

“My dad’s always saying that I need to have faith; that I shouldn’t question things so much.  But I don’t need faith anymore, do I?  Now I’ve got proof that God is real.  That’s something my dad will never have.”

“So…you’re okay with all this?  You’re not gonna run off and join Cirque du Soleil or anything?” Dean asked, genuinely worried that they were asking too much of the kid.

Jimmy smiled sadly and met Dean’s gaze with his watery blue eyes.  “I’m not doing this for my dad,” he began, schooling his emotions before pressing on.  “And I’m not doing this because the world will end if I don’t.  I’m doing this for Castiel, because I trust him, and I want him to come back to me.  And I’m also doing this for you.  I kind of like the idea that someday I’ll meet up with you again, and everything.”  Again his head ducked shyly and his eyes drifted back to his laced fingers.

“Uhm, guys?” said Sam from the front seat.  “I think we’ve been made.”  He nodded his head in the direction of the house where a middle-aged man in a worn out housecoat and slippers had stepped out onto the front porch to get a look at who was idling in his driveway.

“I guess this is it,” Jimmy said.  “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

“We’ll miss you, too, Jimmy,” Sam said with a warm smile on his face.

“Ditto,” Dean added, trying not to think about how much he hated good-byes.  At the last minute, he remembered something and dug around in his pocket.  He pressed a hex bag into Jimmy’s hand.  “Keep this with you at all times until Castiel is gone, you got that?  And just remember that I’ll be waiting for you on the other end, okay?”

The next thing he knew, Dean had arms wrapped so tightly around his waist that his ribs nearly cracked from the pressure.  Jimmy’s freshly buzz-cut head pressed close under Dean’s chin, the baby soft bristles tickling against his stubbled jaw.  Feeling slightly awkward, Dean patted the kid’s back.  The hug lasted about ten seconds longer than it should have, and Sam was watching the scene with a goofy ‘I’m so gonna blackmail you with this’ grin on his face.  Eventually Jimmy let go, and Dean pretended not to notice the hot blush colouring the boy’s cheeks or the bright, unshed tears in his eyes.  He simply gave him a go-get-em punch on the arm and a reassuring smile.

They waited, watching the teen they had crossed the country with walk dejectedly down the driveway to the front porch of his house.  They watched the middle-aged man break into sobs of relief and scoop his son into his arms, planting kisses on top of his boy’s head.  They sat and watched as Jimmy turned one last time to look at them, a genuine smile on his face as his dad led him back inside their home.

“Nice kid,” Dean remarked as he joined his brother in the front seat of the Olds.  “I’m gonna miss him.”

An unbelieving look took over Sam’s face as he gawped at Dean.  “You do know he has a crush on you, right?” he asked.

Dean snorted, “Yeah, right.” 

“A massive crush, actually,” Sam persisted.

“Shut up!’ Dean retorted, smacking his brother in the arm.  Uneasiness stirred deep inside him, though; because he had a feeling Sam was right.  “Why would you even say something like that?”

“Because he told me so himself,” Sam replied with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.  “When you were in the shower, yesterday; he asked me if you had a girlfriend.  Or a boyfriend.  And when I asked him why he wanted to know, he said he thought you were cute.”

“Okay – you can knock it off right now, Sammy.  I mean it,” Dean barked, straining his sore throat again.  “I’m sure it’s nothing.  Just a phase, like you said.”

“Uh huh,” his brother nodded knowingly in that annoying way of his.

“Just – just drive!” Dean groused, and cranked up the radio so he wouldn’t have to think anymore.  He was tired of thinking.

But before his brother could pull away from the curb, they suddenly found themselves sitting on Bobby’s couch.  A few seconds later Bobby rolled in from the kitchen and nearly fell out of his wheelchair with the shock of finding the two hunters in his living room.

“What the hell?” Bobby said by way of greeting them.  “Where have you boys been?  You’ve been gone for almost a week!”

Dean was the first one to regain his composure, and he answered with his usual brand of humour.  “We had a very important package to deliver.”

“So important that you couldn’t pick up a phone?” Bobby griped.

“Let’s just say we were out of our coverage zone.  Like – way out,” Sam replied.  “I’m just glad to be back,” he added, and then his face cracked in half with a yawn too massive to stifle.  “Unless somebody needs me?” Sam trailed off, pointing up the stairs where an empty bed awaited him.  Bobby waved his permission, and the weary traveller took his leave.

“So?” Bobby prompted Dean when they were alone.  “You gonna fill me in?”

“Not without a beer in my hand,” Dean answered, and putting actions to words, he set about bringing Bobby up to speed.

***

 

Dean was cleaning his weapons while Sam and Bobby tag-teamed explaining why they desperately needed to check out an old textiles factory in Wichita which locals claimed had burned down three times in three days, rebuilding itself each time.  While Dean didn’t doubt that the job was right up their alley, he couldn’t see how it was more important than finding a way to gank Lucifer. 

It had been six days since he and Sam had returned from 1989, and there had still been no word from Castiel.  Gabriel hadn’t shown his face either, though, so Dean figured Cas was okay.  That didn’t seem to make him worry any less, however.  Every day that went by without their wing man, the less likely it seemed that they stood a snowball’s chance in Hell of defeating Satan.  It didn’t help that there had been zero news on Adam’s whereabouts, either.  Things royally sucked all around, frankly.

It was beginning to look like Sam was going to roll out the flowcharts and PowerPoint presentations in order to persuade Dean to take the job, but thankfully the doorbell rang, giving him the perfect excuse to ignore his brother.

“You have a doorbell?” Dean asked as he shot up from his chair to go and answer it.  They’d always just knocked or simply barged on in; somehow discovering a doorbell in a place like this was kind of like finding the queen shopping at Wal-Mart.  He grinned at the image.

When he yanked open the door, the smile slid off his face.  Swaying unsteadily on the porch stood Castiel.  He was pallid and shaky, and he seemed almost too small for his trench coat. 

“Cas!” Dean gasped, hearing Sam and Bobby coming up behind him.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his features softening into a sweet smile before his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the ground.

Dean managed to catch him before his head hit the wooden planks, and with Sam’s help they hauled him into Bobby’s house and unceremoniously dropped him on the living room couch.  He bounced once, landing like a rag doll with one arm flopping over the side.

The three of them stood over the new arrival as if they expected him to jump up and yell ‘gotcha!’, and then go on to tell them everything they were dying to know.  But all they got out of him was a muffled snore and a bit of drool on the cushion.

It wasn’t until well after dinner time that Castiel finally graced them with his presence and Dean happened to be out in the yard getting some air when the angel awoke.  Sam came out onto the porch and called him to come inside, stopping him just as he was about to head through the door.

“He was asking for you,” Sam said in a weird way, fixing him with an even weirder look.  Dean tossed him one of his ‘you’re a freak, Sam’ glances as he passed through into the living room. 

Castiel was sitting up on the couch, although slouching would be a better word to describe it.  There was a hint of pain on his face, but the moment he looked up to see Dean approaching, it was like the clouds parted and the sun started shining again.  A brilliant smile broke out across the angel’s face, but Castiel immediately reined it in so that it resembled something closer to nonchalance.  It was still more expression than Dean was used to seeing on his friend’s face, and his step faltered briefly as he closed the distance between the two of them.

“Cas!  Man, it’s good to see you,” Dean said, meaning it wholeheartedly.  He took a seat on the other end of the couch, kicking his feet up onto Bobby’s coffee table.

Castiel ducked his head, just like Jimmy used to do, and Dean thought he might actually be blushing.  “It’s good to see you, too, Dean,” the angel replied.

A long silence stretched out between them, and Dean couldn’t read it – it wasn’t an angry silence or even a bored or companionable one.  It was awkward silence, and that was a new one for them.  Finally, Dean couldn’t stand it anymore and he spoke first, hoping to make things normal again.  “Sammy said you were asking for me?”

If anything, that made Castiel even more uncomfortable, and he started darting his eyes anywhere but in Dean’s direction, nervously twisting his hands together.  “Not exactly,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dean asked, unconsciously leaning in to hear better.

“I said, not exactly,” Castiel answered, shifting on the couch to move further away from Dean.

“What does that mean?”

“Apparently I was calling your name in my sleep,” the angel answered with the sort of stinging speed usually reserved for ripping the Band-Aid off a hairy arm.  Dean’s snorted chuckle fuelled Castiel’s embarrassment and he hotly defended himself.  “I can hardly be held responsible for my actions when I am unconscious.”

Dean fought to keep a straight face – there was something oddly endearing about an angel who’s been around thousands of years yet still managed to get embarrassed.  “About that…I didn’t think angels slept,” Dean said, charitably changing the course of the conversation.  Unfortunately, Dean seemed to have stuck his foot in his mouth once more.

“We don’t,” Castiel admitted despondently.  “I’ve all but lost my Grace, Dean – I’m more human than angel, now.  I need to sleep and eat and travel the same as you.  I barely have enough power to maintain control of my vessel.”

Dean frowned.  “Then how did you get back here?” he asked.

“Gabriel,” Castiel answered.  “After he sent you and your brother home, I remained within Jimmy for several more months until I felt I might be strong enough to return to you on my own.  I was wrong.  My attempt to bend time did nothing more than alert the other angels to my presence.  If Gabriel had not reached me before the others and sent me home, both Jimmy and I would have been destroyed back in 1990.”

Dean sucked in a breath between clenched teeth.  “Dude.  Sorry.”

Castiel raised his eyes and gave him his standard confused frown.  “Did you think I was blaming you?” he asked sincerely.  Dean blinked away from the angel’s intense stare.  “If anything, I should thank you for the part you played in saving my life.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush, but Dean was having none of that, so he quickly got to his feet and started walking backwards out of the room.  “You must be starving,” he said, pointing helpfully over his shoulder in the vague direction of the kitchen.  “Want me to fix you a sandwich or something?”

“There is no need to cater to me – I am more than capable of getting food for myself,” Castiel stated.  As if to prove the point, the angel got to his feet and started walking towards the kitchen, but he only made it a few steps before his legs began wobbling and he was going down.

Dean was at his side in an instant, propping Castiel up with a hand around his back.  “Yeah.  You’re in great shape there, Cas.”  They limped their way into the kitchen and as Dean was helping the angel into a kitchen chair, he couldn’t help but tease the guy a little.  “So…you were calling my name in your sleep, huh?  Was it a good dream?”

Dean’s smirk never got a chance to see daylight, though, because Castiel suddenly switched gears on him.  Instead of being all embarrassed and awkward like before, Castiel’s breath hitched and his blue eyes went dark. 

“Yes,” was the softly breathed reply.

Dean stood back, feeling Castiel’s smouldering gaze hit him in the pit of his stomach.  His mouth went dry as he stared helplessly back at the angel.  Even if he could think of something to say, right now Dean was utterly incapable of speech.  He barely managed to squeeze out a badly mangled ‘oh’.

They might have stayed that way forever, staring at each other with enough combined heat to spontaneously combust, if Bobby hadn’t chosen that moment to roll on in to grab a drink from the fridge.  He took one look at the two of them, shook his head with a chortle, popped the tab on his beer and rolled on out again.  From the other side of the door came the muffled comment, “Idjits”.

***

 

A few days later, Sam and Dean were on the road again, heading for the textile factory with a phoenix complex.  At Bobby’s insistence, they had Castiel along for the ride, mostly because Bobby was fed up with the angel’s moping.  Castiel was not handling the transition from angel to human gracefully, apparently.

In the rear-view mirror Dean occasionally glanced back at Cas, who spent most of the ride just staring out the window with his forehead pressed to the glass.  It had Dean worried, which in and of itself was troublesome.  He had a feeling that if the angel could zap himself anywhere else, he’d be gone in a heartbeat, drowning his sorrows in the biggest bottle of whisky he could find.  Of course, if he was capable of zapping himself anywhere, he wouldn’t have any reason to drink himself sick in the first place.  At least that’s what Dean wanted to believe.  Unfortunately, he had a feeling there was more to the angel’s funk than just losing his mojo, and he wasn’t looking forward to turning over that particular rock to see what came crawling out.

Dean drove straight to the factory, parking the Impala in the deserted parking lot banking on the river.  There was still plenty of daylight left, so he figured they might as well check the place out and see if there was a job for them.  With any luck they’d be on their way back to Sioux Falls in less than an hour.  The truth was, the thought of sharing a motel room with Sam and Cas was a bit too daunting for Dean to deal with at the moment.

“You coming?” Dean asked Castiel as he and Sam got their gear from the trunk of the car.  Castiel hadn’t budged from the back seat.  And now he wasn’t answering.  He just kept staring out the window.

Dean shrugged and slammed the trunk shut.

“What’s with you two?” Sam asked as they came up on the factory’s loading bay doors.

“Nothing,” Dean said, ignoring the look his brother was giving him and focusing all of his attention to picking the lock on the door.

“What’d you do to him?”  Sam persisted.  “Did you say something stupid to piss him off?”

“No!” Dean snipped.  “Now leave it alone, Sam.”  With his back to his brother, Dean couldn’t see the frown of disapproval, but he could feel it buzzing around the back of his head like a pesky mosquito.  He shook off the feeling and concentrated, finally sensing the tumblers snick into alignment under his lock-picks.  With more showmanship than was really necessary, Dean swung the door wide and gave his brother a bragging smile.

Sam rolled his eyes and took point, clicking his flashlight on as he entered the vast, empty warehouse.  The high, grungy windows let in very little sunlight, but there wasn’t much to see.  Dean and Sam walked down the centre of the warehouse, their footsteps echoing hollowly off the bare brick walls.  They played their flashlights over what few piles of refuse had been left behind when the factory had shut down, and the rest was nothing but the hulking carcases of dead machinery and cobwebs.

“See anything?” Sam asked.

“Looks like a whole lotta nothing to me,” Dean replied.  “C’mon, Sammy, I don’t think we’re gonna find anything here.  Might as well call it a day.”

“We can’t give up yet – we just got here.  And when we’re done here, we should at least track down some of the witnesses and see what they have to say,” Sam argued.

Dean knew this argument like the back of his hand, and he also knew that he was going to lose, so rather than put up a fight he conceded defeat with a muttered “whatever”.  Just to be thorough, they did a full search of the factory, flicking through the lone box of files sitting on a collapsed desk in the office, and checking for any signs that there had recently been a fire.  They came up empty – if the stories were true and the place had burned down three times and miraculously rebuilt itself, there was no visible evidence to back it up.

“Satisfied?” Dean grumped, swinging his arms in a wide arc.  “There’s nothing weird going on here.”

This was one of those times when Dean wished he’d kept his big yap shut.  No sooner had those words passed his lips than the whole factory shifted and changed around them.  The overhead lights that had all been broken or burned out years ago were miraculously in tact once more, spreading their thin tungsten light throughout the factory, banishing the more stubborn shadows into the corners where they belonged. Instead of dead machinery and cobwebs, the place was now packed floor to ceiling with rack upon rack of boles of cloth.   Where there had once been empty floor space there were now rows of work tables, cluttered with sewing machines and fabric scraps.  The colossal machines suddenly whirred to life, clunking and humming so loudly Dean could barely hear Sam shouting at him.

“Dean, … there!” 

If Sam hadn’t pointed, Dean wouldn’t have had a clue what he’d said.  But he followed his brother’s pointing finger and saw that one of the machines was billowing out smoke.  In seconds, the boles of material nearest the machine were alight with flames, and moments later the whole place went up with a whoomp that resonated in Dean’s chest.  He didn’t need to hear Sam yelling at him to know they had to get the hell out of there, fast.

He was running for the door they’d come in through, dodging tables and stools that hadn’t been there moments before, when he saw that they weren’t alone.  Blocking the exit stood a clutch of women and girls.  They were dressed like rejects from a Charles Dickens novel, with tattered dresses and shawls – most of them looked like they’d never seen a full plate of food in their lives.  The way they intermittently flickered in and out of view tipped Dean off that they were dealing with a butt-load of angry spirits.

Dean levelled his shotgun at them and fired into the centre of the throng, taking out three of the ghosts.  There were too many of them.  Although he kept firing, by the time he cleared one area and moved on to another, the ghosts started reappearing.  It was getting damn hot in there, too.  Sweat rolled in fat droplets down his back, making his shirt cling to his skin, and his eyes were burning from the smoke, but Dean fired until he had no more ammo left.

Next to him, Sam was coughing and wiping at his eyes, squinting through the thick haze of smoke to find another way out.  Dean already knew the only other exit was through the front office, and the fire was effectively blocking it.  Nudging Sam, Dean nodded his head in the direction of the ghosts with a question in his eyes: are you ready?

Sam’s lips drew into a thin, determined line and he nodded back.  All they had left to defend themselves with was a pair of iron crowbars.  Dean yelled out a countdown, and together they charged towards the exit.  They only made it halfway before the ghosts got wind of their intention to escape and came at them from all directions.

They swung their crowbars wildly, but there were too many of them to fend off.  Dean went down under a sea of translucent limbs, slicing through one after another with his iron crowbar as they kept piling on, reaching for his throat and face, trying to smother him.  From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of tan trench coat in the middle of the melee.  He groaned – surely Cas wouldn’t be stupid enough to run into a burning building.  A haunted burning building, no less.

Of course, that’s exactly what Castiel had done.  But he had come in prepared; not with weapons, but with a means of escape.  As soon as he was close enough, the angel threw something at Dean – or rather, he threw it on him.  It was one of the two blankets from the trunk of the Impala, and it was soaking wet. The wetness alone was somewhat of a relief against the increasing heat of the fire, but Castiel had gone and done one better.  As soon as the blanket landed on Dean, the ghosts on top of him vanished.  He quickly rolled himself up in the wet material, noting the grittiness under his fingers, and that’s when he realised the angel had figured out how to kill two birds with one stone – he’d soaked the blankets in the river and then salted the crap out of them.  It was like wrapping himself up in his very own salt circle.

Crouched low where the air was more breathable, Dean began making his way through the remaining spirits towards the door.  Sammy, too was now wrapped up in a sopping wet and salted blanket, but Dean couldn’t see Castiel.

“Go on ahead!” Dean shouted over the combined roar of the fire and the textile machines.  “I’m going back for Cas.”

Sam looked at him and shouted something back, pointing a finger to his ear and shaking his head.  He hadn’t heard a damn word, and he wasn’t moving for the door.  It looked like he had the same idea as Dean and was trying to find Castiel in the steadily thickening smoke.  Dean shrugged.  It was probably better this way; they’d have better luck finding the angel if they were both looking.

It wasn’t long before Dean literally stumbled upon Castiel.  The angel was flailing on the floor, using nothing but his bare hands to fend off the spirits.  He was losing miserably, and without other targets, the spirits were attacking Castiel full-force.  Dean crawled over to him, using the blanket like a tent around them, dispelling ghosts in his wake.  Angry wails arose from the spirits as they realised they would be denied a victim.

Under the cover of the soaked blanket, Dean glowered at Castiel and shouted right in his ear, “Are you crazy?  Why would you come in here!”

Distressed blue eyes looked up at him, unblinking despite the sting of the smoky air.  Cas’s mouth was moving, so Dean knew he was trying to say something, but there was no hearing the guy over the raucous din of the burning factory.

“What?” Dean shouted, cupping a hand to his ear. 

It was at that moment that the factory went suddenly and utterly silent, and Castiel’s shouted reply rang out like a gunshot; “I said, I think I’m in love with you, Dean!”  And then, in a quieter and slightly mortified voice, he added, “I couldn’t’ stay out there and do nothing, knowing you might die.”

Dean was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he was on his hands and knees on the floor, straddling Castiel under the cover of a blanket.  He threw the blanket off them like it was a plague-infested rattle snake.  In his haste to get off of Cas, Dean slipped and ended up face down on the angel’s stomach.  He heard Sam’s footsteps echoing in the now-empty factory as they approached – they sounded smug, if such a thing was possible.  Dean craned his neck and looked up to see his brother staring down at them over crossed arms.  He would give anything to wipe the self-righteous grin off Sammy’s face.

“You two want me to wait outside?” Sam asked magnanimously.  “There’s no rush – looks like we’re out of the woods for now,” he added, looking around the factory, which was back to its cobwebby abandoned self again.

“No,” Dean said firmly, pulling himself to his feet.

“Yes,” Castiel said at the same time.   

As usual, Sam took Cas’ side and casually strolled away, shutting the door behind him.  Dean brushed the dirt from his jeans and jacket, doing a stellar job of not meeting the angel’s gaze.  It wasn’t like he was completely clueless – Cas had been laying the hints on pretty thick since his return – but until now, Dean had honestly believed the whole thing would blow over without the need of a confrontation.

“Dean, we need to talk,” Castiel stated calmly, propping himself up on his elbows.

“No, we don’t,” Dean replied a little too sharply.  He caught the angel’s wince despite his efforts to avoid eye contact.  Yeah, he could be a real bastard sometimes, Dean knew, but this was one conversation he really didn’t want to have. 

There was a rustling, and when Dean looked over, Castiel was sitting with his knees tight against his chest, his arms hugging them in a protective circle.  He was no longer watching Dean, his eyes downcast to the concrete floor instead.  “Have I offended you?”

Dean sighed, eyes to heaven and went over to sit next to the angel.  Much as he’d like to just brush this under the carpet and forget about it, he couldn’t do that to Castiel.  “I’m not offended,” Dean admitted.  “I’m just…well I guess I’m just confused.  I mean, you know my track record with women – it’s not like I’m waving a rainbow flag and marching in a parade, here.”

Castiel peered intently at him over his folded arms, either trying to figure out the pop culture reference, or trying to burrow into Dean’s mind, it was impossible to know which.  “But you have been with a man in the past,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean silently cursed the angel for literally knowing him better than anyone else – his brother included.  It had happened so long ago that Dean had almost forgotten about it.  One time, that’s all it was.  Just to see what all the fuss was about.  And sure, Dean thought it was pretty hot at the time, but he’d moved on and never really looked back.  Until now.

“I was just a kid – that doesn’t count,” Dean argued lamely.  And then a thought occurred to him.  “Wait…is all of this because of Jimmy?”

Castiel’s eyes flashed down and away, which told Dean he’d got a home run first time at bat.  “Jimmy may have developed feelings for you on that road trip back in 1989, but it’s possible his attraction was…enhanced by my own emotional ties with you.  Had I not been there when you’d met, Jimmy’s crush may never have developed into something more.  And I believe the time I spent sharing control of his body may have sparked this physical attraction I now have for you.”

Dean gave a soft whistle.  “That is just SO messed up!”

“Tell me about it!” Castiel remarked, cautiously eyeing him with a hint of a smile.  Now that Dean thought about it, Cas seemed to have a little more Jimmy in him these days – it appeared that their time together had really rubbed off on the angel.

Dean returned the smile with equal caution.  He had no clue where they were supposed to go from here.  He was still wracking his brain for some way to end this conversation peaceably, when Castiel dropped another bomb on him.

“Dean, would you have sex with me?” Cas asked bluntly.

If Dean had been drinking something, it would have come out his nose at that point.  “What!” he yelped.

Castiel tilted his head in that bird-like way of his and fixed him with a sincere gaze.  “You once told me there were two things you knew for certain: Bert and Ernie are gay, and you would not let me die a virgin on your watch.  With the apocalypse nearing and the likelihood of either of us surviving slim at best, I wish to take you up on your offer.”

Dean knew his face had frozen somewhere between shock and amusement, like he was waiting for the punch line.  When it became clear that the angel was not joking in the least, Dean’s body reacted before his brain did, and it was a much more positive reaction than he was expecting.  In the aftermath of this realisation, his mind took a mad rollercoaster ride of twists and loops, trying to come up with an intelligent response.

The best his addled brain could come up with was, “What, you mean now?”

Castiel’s expression became stony.  “If you’re just going to mock me…” he said, unfurling his limbs to get up.

Dean snagged his arm before he could escape.  “No.  No, wait, Cas.  I’m sorry – I suck at this, alright?  Just…sit down.”  Dean felt a hot rush of adrenalin flood his veins.  He couldn’t believe a part of him was actually considering it!

A wary Castiel resumed his position sitting on the floor next to Dean, and it took a moment before he got up the nerve to talk again.  “I have been alive since before humans walked the Earth, Dean.  In all that time, I’ve done nothing but observe humanity from a distance, only interceding when my Father demanded it, and I’ve managed to remain detached from it all until I met you.

“The strength of your emotions was…intoxicating,” Castiel continued with a fond smile.  “You do everything with so much passion, Dean!  I gave up everything I knew partly because I was drawn to that passion.  But it wasn’t until I experienced it for myself through Jimmy that I really understood what it means to love someone.

“I can’t go back to what I was, Dean.  I can’t pretend I don’t want you.  And if this really is the end…?”

Dean closed his eyes and thought of the million and one reasons why this was an incredibly bad idea; but it all came down to the fact that this was Cas.  The angel had seen his soul splayed open and festering in the pits of Hell, and there wasn’t a single dirty little secret that Cas hadn’t already seen and forgiven.  It seemed kind of petty and selfish to hold back the one act of physical comfort he was asking for.  Especially when he already must know that Dean wasn’t wholly averse to the idea, himself.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t surprised to see Castiel’s wide blue eyes staring back at him, hopeful but uncertain.  “If we do this and the world doesn’t end, I can’t promise anything will come of it, you know that, right?”

“I understand,” Cas solemnly responded.

“Geez Cas, you look like somebody just kicked your puppy!  That was a ‘yes’, all right?”  It took a couple of heartbeats for that to sink in, but when it did, the unbridled joy that spread across the angel’s face made Dean feel like he’d singlehandedly saved the world.  “Now let’s get the hell out of this place before it decides to torch us again.”

***

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking to witnesses and local historians and doing research in the library.  Normally Dean would have skipped off and let Sammy do all the grunt work, but today he needed the distraction.  Because the minute he stopped thinking about the job, his mind inevitably gravitated to Cas and the promise he’d made.  And although Castiel was conducting himself as if everything was business as usual, there was a tangible charge in the air whenever they got too close or were left alone for more than a few seconds.  It was like being in eighth grade all over again.

Sam started getting suspicious when Dean volunteered to skip dinner and keep working on the case so they could head back to Bobby’s place before nightfall.  They were already on their fifth interview of the afternoon – an anthropology professor at the local college who’d written an article on the factory workers of the Industrial Era – and normally they would have called it quits by now and found a cheap place to stay and an even cheaper place to eat.  Dean was about to knock on the man’s door when Sam smacked his hand away and pulled him aside.

“Seriously, Dean, what’s up with you two?  You let him down easy, didn’t you?”

Dean knifed a sharp glare in Sam’s direction.  “None of your business, okay Sammy?”

“Alright, no need to get snippy,” Sam countered, reaching around Dean to press the doorbell.

“I wasn’t snippy,” Dean grumbled mostly to himself.

The door opened a crack and the brothers were assailed by the pungent scent of floral air freshener with distinct undercurrents of marijuana and freshly baked cookies.  Dean smiled – now this was what college life was supposed to be like.

The face that appeared in the gap belonged to a man in his late thirties, but the messy hair and freckles made him look younger.  Everything about the guy was red.  He had carrot-red hair flopping down over matching coloured eyebrows.  Even his eyelashes were red, and the whites of his eyes were definitely headed in that direction.

“Professor Henderson?” Sam asked.

“Can I help you?” he inquired, his pale brown eyes slowly scraping over them from head to toe and back again.  “If this is about the lawn ornaments, I assure you they will be replaced as soon as I get my next paycheque.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, “Lawn ornaments?”

“You’re not campus security?” the man asked with a relieved smile.

“No,” Sam replied with a quirk of his lips, pulling out his fake ID and flashing it faster than the man’s sluggish pupils could focus.  “We’re journalists with the Wichita Eagle.  I’m Evans and this is Young,” he said, giving Dean a nod.  “We were wondering if you could answer a few questions we have concerning a certain factory that burnt down years ago.  You mentioned it in a paper you wrote.”

“Wow.  You guys really do your research.  C’mon in.”  Henderson let the door swing open and ushered them in with a wave of his arm.  “Isn’t your friend coming in?” he asked when they were inside, indicating with a jut of his jaw the angel sitting placidly in the back seat of the Impala.  Before Dean could object, Professor Henderson was waving at Castiel, gesturing for him to join them.  With a curious tilt of his head, Cas obligingly got out of the car and strode towards them.

“The more the merrier,” Dean muttered, forcing a twitchy smile on his face as the angel drew near.  The nervous tension between them was becoming almost unbearable.

When they were all assembled, Henderson herded them into the living room.  Everything about the professor and his home seemed to be about comfort.  He was dressed in baggy, well-worn jeans and a soft looking cotton shirt and his feet were bare.  The house had the kind of run-down functionality that indicated there was no feminine influence in the professor’s life.  The rug was a deep pile but was worn threadbare in places of high traffic.  The sofa and chairs were overstuffed and comfy and had permanent dips where the owner clearly favoured to settle.  The walls were hidden behind bookshelves that bowed under the weight of haphazardly piled paperbacks and journals.  A desk in the corner boasted a huge-ass monitor and a computer console that was pimped out to look like a reject from Tron.  Four coffee cups and wrappers from three different candy bars suggested that he spent way too much time sitting at that desk.

“Hope you don’t mind…I’ve got some of my students here working on a class project,” said Henderson, leading the way through the living room and past a cluttered kitchen to a small den.  There, sitting in front of a big screen TV and playing Left For Dead on Playstation, were three guys who looked like they’d just rolled out of bed.  The haze in the air and the unmistakeable odour of pot made both Sam and Dean turn to the professor with matching looks of disbelief. 

“We’re studying the changes in the zombie subculture as their population grows exponentially, rapidly elevating them from minority status,” a lank-haired young man explained with a broad smile.

“Zombies do not possess a subculture,” Castiel interjected, confused.  “They are by nature mindless, antisocial creatures incapable of forming meaningful ties within a community.”

“That’s totally what I said!” exclaimed the kid with the darkest hair, never taking his eyes off the screen.

Addressing his students, Henderson said, “If you’ll excuse us, these gentlemen are here from the newspaper to interview me.”  If he was expecting an enthusiastic reaction from his pupils, he failed to get it.  Not one of them bothered to respond, not even to pry their bloodshot eyeballs away from their game.  Nodding as if that was precisely the response he was hoping for, Henderson shepherded his guests back to the living room.

“Please, have a seat,” Henderson offered.  Would any of you like a drink?  I have beer in the fridge.  I insist!”  Again, he didn’t bother waiting for an answer and he slouched off to the kitchen, returning moments later with a six pack of Bud from the fridge.

Dean eyeballed the proffered beverage warily.  He’d fallen for that trick before and ended up getting hunted in his own dreams.  He wasn’t going to turn it down, but this time he intended to take the can with him, leaving no DNA behind for his host to mess with if that’s what he had in mind.

The professor popped the tab on his beer and guzzled most of it down in one long swallow, finishing it before the rest of them had taken their first sip.  “So let me guess…this is about the Wessler Textiles factory, am I right?”

Dean wasn’t going to point out that they’d as much as said so themselves earlier, but he couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm, so he put on a mock-astonished face and said, “Wow, how’d you guess?”

The professor’s chest puffed out at the implied compliment – the sarcasm flying way over his head, and he grabbed another beer.  A few years back I wrote a paper about factory workers at the turn of the century; about the treatment of women and children, specifically.  The Wessler factory was notorious for the mistreatment of its workers.  The owner, Franklin Wessler, hired only the most desperate immigrants, working them in twelve hour shifts with no breaks.  It was said he locked them in until the end of the shift, bolting the factory floor doors shut from the outside so his workers couldn’t sneak out.  In 1910 there was a horrible fire, and the workers were trapped inside – fire fighters broke the lock and found bodies piled up by the door.  Most of them had died of smoke inhalation, but some were burnt beyond recognition.  Wessler was in his office, which he kept locked at all times, and he was the only one to survive the fire.”

Sam nodded impatiently – they’d read as much in Henderson’s paper.  “That’s horrible,” Sam agreed, “But we were wondering what happened after the fire.  What happened to the workers’ bodies?  Was a list ever made of the victims’ names and where they were buried?”

Henderson’s brow puckered in consternation – this obviously wasn’t a question he’d been expecting.  He sat quietly for a moment, mouth agape and deep in thought.  Suddenly a metaphorical light blinked on over the man’s head and he smiled.  “There was a newspaper article I read when I was doing my research – the victims’ families were up in arms that the town had buried the lot of them in an unmarked paupers’ grave.  They demanded restitution for their losses, and in the end, the mayor capitulated by erecting a small monument at the burial site, with a plaque bearing the names of all the victims.”

“And that cemetery would be…” Dean prompted impatiently.

“Maple Grove Cemetery,” Henderson answered as if it was common knowledge.  Sam, Dean and Cas rose as one to take their leave, only to be stopped by the professor’s tossed out comment, “All of them except Winnie Wessler, of course.”

“Winnie Wessler?” Dean asked, cringing as much at the name as at the mention of a stray fire victim.

“The boss’ daughter,” Henderson replied.  “She was visiting the factory from out of town, on one of her missions to chastise her father for his ill treatment of his employees.  She was on the floor offering the workers a warm meal when the fire broke out.  She died along with everyone else.”

“And where was she buried?” asked Sam.

“Back in Beaumont, Texas, where she lived with her husband and children.”

“Great,” Dean grumbled.  He marched out of the house, not waiting for Cas and Sam to follow him, and leaving it up to his brother to make their excuses to the professor. 

Sam caught up to him at the Impala, Cas casually strolling along behind.  “Here’s the deal,” Sam stated, “I’ll drop you two off at the cemetery and drive out to Beaumont.  I can come back for you tomorrow.”

“No way, Sam,” Dean protested.  “You can’t just leave me here.”  He thought he’d said it quiet enough not to be overheard, but the pained expression on Cas’ face as he drew up next to Sam made it clear that the angel had heard not only the words, but the underlying message: don’t leave me alone with him.

“It’s the best way to do this, and you know it.  Stop being such a baby,” Sam bitched, his eyebrows pinched in an admonishing way, and he held out his hand for the car keys.

Dean wanted to argue, but one look at Castiel’s sad blue eyes took the wind out of his sails.  Displaying the expected amount of reluctance, he tossed the keys over to his brother and called shotgun.   As they drove, he tried not to feel angel’s gaze on the nape of his neck, but it was there, like gently stroking fingers…was it getting hot?  Dean cracked the window, letting the brisk evening breeze funnel into the car.  The noise of the wind drowned out his ACDC, though, which meant he had to crank the tunes to compensate.  Now, on top of the angel’s groping gaze, he could feel his brother’s eyes jabbing at him, too.  He ignored them both and began singing along to You Shook Me All Night Long.

The ride was much shorter than Dean would have liked.  Sam kicked him and Cas out of the car as soon as they came to the gates of the Maple Grove Cemetery and barely waited for them to get their gear and slam the trunk shut before peeling away like he’d just robbed a bank.

And then they were alone.

Dean hiked his bag up onto his shoulder and was starting off into the cemetery when he sensed that Castiel wasn’t following him.  He knew the angel wanted to talk, but that wasn’t going to happen if Dean could help it.  There was nothing to talk about, anyway, he reasoned.  He’d made a promise and when the time came he would keep it, even though things were already painfully awkward between them. 

He kept walking, and eventually he heard Castiel’s footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves behind him.  The light was fading fast, and the cemetery was one of the biggest ones Dean had ever been in, but logic dictated that the factory workers would be tucked away in one of the less affluent sections of the bone yard.  By avoiding all the carefully maintained newer plots and those on hills or abutting the river, they eventually came to a corner near the back wall that looked like it hadn’t been visited by anyone – not even the landscapers – in a very long time.  The land here was craggy and unkempt with a number of old tombstones jutting out of the grassy soil at improbable angles.  Very few of them were still standing up straight and a couple had given up and fallen over entirely.  It was one of the fallen stones that marked the mass grave of the Wessler factory workers. 

Dean dropped his bag on the grass and rooted through it for his flashlight, clicking it on so he could better read the names engraved on the weathered plaque affixed to the toppled grave marker.  He did a head count to see how many bodies they had to dig up and was dismayed to find that there were thirty-three bodies that needed salting and burning.  With any luck the grave diggers had done a shoddy job and made it a shallow grave – that sort of thing tended to happen when there weren’t big wigs tossing money around for a proper burial.

“This is it,” Dean stated gruffly and freed his shovel from the bag on the ground.  “Looks like we could be looking at an all-nighter.”

Cas never said a word as he laid his duffle bag next to Dean’s and got his own shovel out.  He didn’t make a peep as they broke ground side by side, their shovels scratching in tandem at the rocky soil.  Not a word while the pile of freshly dug dirt rose progressively higher in two distinct piles behind them.  By the time they were thigh deep in the muddy hole, Dean couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Would you at least take off the damn trench coat?  You gotta be sweating like a pig in that thing!”  Dean hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so loud, but come on!  Who digs a grave wearing a freakin’ trench coat?  Dean had discarded his jacket ages ago and he was still too hot.

Castiel sent him a sharp glare, pursed his lips, but said nothing as he carefully removed his coat, folded it neatly and set it atop his duffle bag.  But he didn’t stop there.  Pausing only briefly to undo his tie, Castiel proceeded to take off his dark suit jacket and white dress shirt, folding them with the same care he used with his coat and adding them to the pile.  He let the navy blue tie slither from his grasp to join the rest before turning to face Dean.

Dean swallowed hard.  He would have looked away, but it was impossible – his wide eyes were trapped by Castiel’s dangerously mesmerising gaze.  He felt his face muscles twitch indecisively, torn between forming a joking smile or a slack-jawed expression of awe.

“Is this better?” Castiel asked, his voice sounding more resonant than usual.

Dean pried his eyes away from the angel’s gaze and instantly refocused on his chest, which was now hidden by nothing more than a white cotton undershirt.  The cool evening air stirred around them, making Castiel’s nipples perk up and strain against the thin material.  Dean lost all ability to speak.  His only defence against the sudden wave of temptation that came over him was to close his eyes and think of the musty old bones they were trying to uncover.

He heard the angel sigh and opened his eyes to see that Castiel had lost his sizzle and was picking up his shovel to start digging again.  “I can finish this alone, if being with me makes you so uncomfortable,” he said with a semi-shrug, as if it was no big deal.  “And I would understand if you want me to go my own way once we’re done here.”

So many conflicting thoughts and feelings were fighting for control of Dean that it made him want to scream.  The only thing that remained constant in the maelstrom taking place in his head was the overpowering need to make things right with Cas, and to do it now, before he lost him forever.

“Just…shut up, Cas!” Dean ordered, more to calm his own emotional hurricane than anything.  From that point his brain shut down and his body took over.  He all but pounced on the unsuspecting angel, propelling them backwards until the dirt wall of the shallow grave prevented them from going any further, at which point Castiel was pinned between Dean and a heaped pile of dirt.

The blue eyes that stared up at Dean were startled and apprehensive, but Dean’s gaze was drawn downwards to the full, slightly parted lips just inches away from his own.  Without stopping to second guess his actions, Dean crushed their mouths together, pausing only to taste the warm salt of the angel’s skin on his tongue before ransacking his mouth.

Dean wasn’t at all surprised when the angel retaliated with a passion that dwarfed his own.  All the tension that had been building between them was acting like gasoline on a fire, fuelling the spark that had always lain dormant between them until it raged out of control.

He wasn’t sure when or how it happened, but somehow Cas got the upper hand, flipping them so that he had Dean plastered against a wall of earth.  The angel’s hungry mouth explored his with a kind of helpless abandon that made Dean’s toes curl.  The part of Dean that had been fighting against this for so long had taken a hike and the rest of him let out a resounding Halleluiah.  Whether it was the fact that he hadn’t been with a guy in ages, or whether it was the angel thing, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t gotten so hard so fast since he was a teenager.

It was the feel of cool air hitting his bare skin as Castiel slipped a large warm hand up his flank that brought Dean to his senses.  As awesome as all this was…and he couldn’t deny that it was fucking AWESOME…they were in the middle of a cemetery digging up dead bodies, and this really wasn’t the smartest place to do this.

“Cas…” Dean gasped between kisses, wriggling to free his arms so he could push the angel away.  He finally managed to wedge an arm between them, creating a gap just large enough to make kissing impossible.

“Dean,” Cas rasped back in a way that was almost threatening in its desperation.  He was rutting up against Dean’s hip out of pure animal instinct, and the eyes that met his were as black as a demon’s with lust.

Dean swallowed hard, fighting to be the strong one, even though all he really wanted was to get naked right there in the dirt and let nature take its course.  But he owed it to Cas to make his first time something more special than a quick romp in the mud.  He pushed back harder, knocking Castiel back a foot or two and getting a deeply frustrated growl in response.

“Hold on, Cas,” Dean panted, his hand shaking as he used the back of it to wipe at his mouth.  It came away with a small smear of blood where his lip had been smashed against his teeth.  “We can’t do this here.”

Castiel was barely restraining himself – his nostrils flared, breathing so hard it made his whole body sway, and his arms twitched at his sides like they were itching to grab hold of Dean again – but he stayed back.  Eventually Dean’s words sank in and his eyes seemed to clear a little, like he was slowly coming out of a drugged stupor.

“Of course,” Castiel managed, having sobered enough to regain his voice.  He took a voluntary step backwards to allow Dean some room to move.  After a moment’s thought, he added, “When you say ‘we can’t do this here’, does that mean you’re okay with us doing this elsewhere?”

A sly smile spread across Dean’s face.  “That’s exactly what I mean.  So I say we double time on the salt and burn and find the closest motel.  Sound like a plan to you?”

If the filthy grin wasn’t answer enough, Castiel started shovelling like there was a fortune of gold beneath his feet.  Dean quickly got on board and began throwing his back into his work.  In all his years of hunting, he’d never moved so much earth in so little time.  His muscles would be screaming at him in the morning, but he seriously doubted he’d much care. 

***

 

Thirty-three salted and burned corpses later…

The walk to the nearest gas station was only a few blocks, but it was one of the longest walks Dean could ever remember taking.  Cas was sticking close to his side on the narrow sidewalk, and their hands brushed together more often than could be explained away by their close proximity.  And every single time it happened, Dean felt a tiny ecstatic spark shoot from his fingers straight up his spine, making his scalp tingle.  That, and the way he kept stealing sly glances at Castiel as they walked, made him feel like a goofy kid with a crush.  Seriously, if he kept this up, he’d have to start keeping a diary and making those little hearts over his ‘i’s.

At the gas station, Dean pulled himself together and ordered Cas to call them a taxi while he checked out the Quick-Mart next door.  The angel was still on the phone by the time he’d made his purchase and returned.  Apparently the cab company he’d picked out of the phone book didn’t service this part of town, and Castiel had no more change to call another and was trying to explain their plight to the unsympathetic dispatcher on the other end of the line.

“Here, gimme that,” Dean said, nabbing the receiver out of Castiel’s hand and shaking his head at the poor, silly angel.  “Look, lady, I know this isn’t your area,” he said into the phone, “but there’s an extra ten in it if you can get someone here in the next five minutes… Okay, twenty, but he’d better be here on time.”

Amazingly, within four minutes a cab arrived from the company that ‘simply didn’t have any cars in their area’.  The driver even got out and helped them stash their bags in the trunk, and if he noticed all the dirt on their clothes, he wisely kept it to himself.  If the driver had known they only wanted him to take them to the nearest motel – which was less than a five minute ride away – he might not have been so accommodating.  They were left to dig their own bags out of the trunk when the driver pulled up to the Sleep-EZ Motel. 

The second they’d booked their room and walked through the door, Dean called dibs on the shower, leaving Castiel to fend for himself for a while.  It took longer than he would have liked to scrub off all the sweat and dirt adhering to his skin and hair, but it was probably still a record-fast shower.  Leaving his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, Dean quickly soaked up the excess water from his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and vacating the bathroom.

Castiel was standing exactly where he’d left him, looking like he had no idea what to do with himself.  Fortunately, Dean had plenty of ideas.

“Your turn, Mr. Stinky Wings.  And don’t come out until every last inch of you is shiny.”  Dean bodily shoved the baffled angel into the bathroom and closed the door on him.  He then waited until he heard the water running before emptying the bag of goodies he’d bought at the drug store onto the king sized bed.  (Dean had been a little perturbed that the man behind the reservation desk didn’t so much as blink at the request for a single king instead of a double queen.)

In six seconds flat Dean had everything set up and was raring to go.  There was nothing left to do but wait for Cas, and after a minute or two of sitting on the edge of the bed twiddling his thumbs, Dean got tired of waiting.  He tried pacing for a little bit, but that got old fast, and before long he was knocking at the bathroom door.

He heard the shower cut off and the curtain being pulled open on its metal rings before the muffled voice replied, “I’ll be out shortly, Dean.”

Shortly wasn’t good enough, so Dean barged in uninvited.  When the steam dissipated enough for him to see, he got an eyeful of naked angel backside, and it was enough to start the blood flowing south.  Castiel’s hair was ruffled and spiked in every direction and he was systematically blotting himself dry with a towel.

“That’s good enough,” Dean stated, snatching the towel out of the angel’s hands and throwing it onto the pile of clothes on the floor, along with his own towel.  He allowed himself one quick glance of Castiel’s full-frontal-ness before grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the bathroom.

And now that he had him exactly where he’d wanted him, Dean took a moment to fully appreciate the view.  Head to toe, Castiel was smaller and more slender, but he was also sleek and toned, like a swimmer.  And Dean wasn’t the only one doing some sizing up.  Cas was studying him intensely, like he was trying to memorise every little detail. 

The shiny white scar on Dean’s shoulder was of particular interest, and the angel drew closer, scrutinizing the burn mark his hand had made pulling Dean out of Hell.  Dean expected him to place his hand over it, but Castiel leaned in and gently kissed it instead, his lips lingering as he breathed in the scent of Dean’s skin. 

Dean ached to just toss Cas onto the bed and jump on him, but he couldn’t do that.  This was about Castiel, not him, and if he wanted to explore, then Dean was just going to have to suck it up and let him – even if holding back was killing him. 

Castiel continued to kiss and snuffle his way up to Dean’s neck to a spot right behind his ear where he paused to take in a deep breath, licking and nipping at the skin there in a way that sent shivers down Dean’s spine.  When he finally broke off long enough to make eye contact, he had that same look in his eyes that he’d had at the graveyard.  So much need and want packed into one longing gaze sent Dean’s mind spinning.  He was completely unaware that Castiel had backed them up to the bed and it wasn’t until they were falling onto it that Dean realised he’d completely lost control of the situation…if he’d ever really had control to begin with.

It was like the very first time they’d met – Dean felt exposed and unworthy, but at the same time he also felt a wave of safety and acceptance – it was a truly heady sensation.  Dean squirmed under the angel’s renewed barrage of kisses, completely unable to curb his responses.  He gasped when Cas nuzzled his ribs, moaned when lips pulled at his nipples, hissed when teeth pinched the skin of his thigh, and he downright yelped when the angel’s hot mouth reached his groin, snuffling and licking and breathing him in with abandon.  He came before those full lips even touched his dick.

Dean lay there, panting and trying to reboot his brain, barely registering that Castiel was plastered along his side, rubbing up against him.  Before Dean could get his breath back to offer him a hand, it was too late.  A warm dampness spread between them and a few stuttering thrusts later, Cas slumped bonelessly back onto the bed.

They simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes while they regained their composure, then Castiel rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his arm.

“That was… I have never felt anything like that before,” Cas said with an awe-stricken smile on his face.  “Thank-you, Dean.”

Dean was all set to return the compliment when he noticed that Cas was sitting up and getting ready to leave.  “Whoa, Cas – where do you think you’re going?”

Castiel glanced down at him in confusion.  “You have fulfilled your promise.  I thought I would take my leave…”

“No WAY you’re leaving, Mister,” Dean commanded.  “For one thing, we’re nowhere near finished here, and even if we were, you don’t just bolt out of bed and take off …way to make a guy feel cheap!”

“I don’t understand; I thought…”

“You thought what?” Dean interjected.  “You thought that was sex?”

“Wasn’t it?” Castiel asked, sounding even more bewildered.

“Oh, baby, that was just the appetiser!” Dean said with relish.  “We got at least another three courses to go before we call it a night.  And there will be no sneaking off after – there’s no way you’re leaving me to wake up in a king size bed all alone.”

Castiel hesitantly lay back down, tilting his head on its side so they could talk face to face.  “I assumed you would want me to leave, or that you would leave me; it’s what you normally do.”

Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded like an accusation, but with Cas it was just a simple statement of truth.  Dean rarely stayed with someone the whole night.  His lifestyle didn’t allow for anything more than a long string of one night stands, but that didn’t take the sting out of hearing it put so bluntly.

“Yeah, well…you’re different,” Dean muttered, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling again.  This was getting dangerously close to ‘having a talk’, and it made him twitchy.  He waited for the questions and the prodding that he assumed would follow, but the angel remained silent.  Eventually he chanced a quick peek in Cas’ direction, and the look on his face… Damn Cas and his guileless expressions!  The blatant love and joy laid bare before him left Dean wide-eyed and speechless.

“So…what happens now?” Castiel asked shyly.

The best his emotion-clamped throat could manage was a croaked, “C’mere.”

Castiel did as instructed and edged closer, tentatively tilting his head in to initiate a kiss.  This time, Dean took control, promising himself that he would make this the most mind-blowing first time a man could have.

***

 

Dean awoke the next day at the crack of noon to find that he hadn’t been left alone in a king sized bed.  Sprawled out next to him was a rumpled looking angel, hair jutting out every which way, looking so warm and peaceful it made Dean’s chest constrict.  He leaned on one elbow, watching the rapid eye movement beneath Castiel’s eyelids and wondered what angels dreamt about.

He could have gone on watching Cas sleep for hours, but his cell phone chose that moment to blare AC/DC at him.  Dean quickly rolled out of bed and snatched his jacket off the floor, digging through the pockets until he found his phone.  He flipped it open, putting an end to the unwelcome noise, but Castiel was already stirring. 

Dean stared as Cas stretched his limbs and arched his back with a deeply satisfied groan, the rumpled sheet cascading away to reveal even more skin.  It left Dean’s bone dry mouth hanging open while his brother’s voice meeped at him from the phone’s tiny receiver.

“What was that?” Dean finally said into the phone.  “…Yeah, the Sleep EZ, how’d you know?”

“Is that Sam?” Cas asked around a stifled yawn.  “Tell him we’re in room 108 and to bring food.  I’m famished.”

Dean hung his head – Cas had been loud enough for Sam to hear, and now his nosy little brother was going to crash their party.  So much for his plans for the rest of the afternoon, Dean thought with a sigh as Sam cheerily promised to bring lunch.  The line clicked and went dead before Dean could think of a way to stall him.  He snapped his cell phone shut and jammed it back in the pocket of his jacket.

“Why’d you go and tell him what room we’re in?” Dean grumped.

Castiel frowned up at him worriedly.  “I apologise, Dean.  It should have occurred to me that you wouldn’t want your brother to know about this.”

Dean sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the massive bed.  “Don’t you start going all Emo on me, Cas.  Now listen to me carefully, because I hate these chick flick moments and I’m only gonna say this once.”  Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath to gather up his courage.  “You and me – last night – that was…epic.  You see?  I knew right from the start that this was a bad idea, because now I don’t want to give you up.”

“What are you saying?” asked Cas, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I’m saying I want us to be an ‘us’.  Okay?  You happy now?  And Sammy’s on his way here, and it’s pretty obvious what we’ve been up to, and I’m never gonna hear the end of this, because that smug bastard figured it out way before we did and he’s gonna rub it in our faces forever.  Even worse, he’s already in town, which means we don’t have much more time alone before he gets here.”

“You want us to be an ‘us’?” Castiel repeated with a buoyant smile.

Dean couldn’t help but smile back, and Heaven help him, he was actually blushing.  “Don’t make me say it again,” he warned teasingly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cas replied, tossing off the one remaining sheet and making a dash for the bathroom, stopping at the door to turn back to Dean.  “Like you said, we don’t have much time, and I think we could both use a shower.”

“I like the way you think,” Dean said, chasing the angel into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind them.

Sometime later, lost in a steamy cloud of bliss, Dean heard their motel room door shut and his brother’s voice calling out to them.  He decided Sammy could wait – hell, the end of the world would have to wait – because some things were just more important.  As he sank deeper into a wet world of heat and friction, everything else faded away.

Was that bacon he smelled?

 

 

 

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