[Fic] - The Day the Whole World Went Away, part 3
The world sounds too far away, and the darkness is suffocating. The moon is absent, and the only light that filters in through the motel window comes from the occasional freight truck that rumbles along down the highway.
Dean shifts restlessly, rolls onto his side, and stares at the shadowy form of his brother wrapped beneath layers of blankets on the other bed. It had been awhile since they've done any hunting, but Sam hadn't broken down in weeks, and Bobby thought several deaths in Chicago were tied to a reliquary that had been recently acquired by the Holy Name Cathedral.
What should have been a simple salt and burn turned out to be a trap set by the leviathans.
The two creatures were "tasked with removing the Winchester brothers from the equation" - whatever that meant - and the hunters ended up getting tossed around like ragdolls.
Cas had shown up just in time to snatch Sam out of the air before he crashed into one of the columns surrounding the nave. Even with Cas' help, they only managed to take out one of the monsters, with Cas holding the creature, allowing Dean to behead it. The other leviathan escaped, but at least nobody had been seriously injured.
Or eaten. Though eating humans is pretty standard for monsters, Cas assures him that with leviathans it's different.
The rustle of a falling blanket pulls Dean from his thoughts, and he holds back a sigh as Cas pads quietly to the bathroom for the fifth time in the last two hours. Cas still doesn't need to sleep but resting quietly in the same room seems to put them all little more at ease.
Dean follows and listens to the sound of water splashing in the sink as he tries to figure out what to do next. The door is broken and doesn't latch properly, allowing light to spill through. Once Dean's eyes adjust to the brightness, he pushes the door open and steps inside. When the angel fails to acknowledge his presence, Dean really begins to worry.
Cas is wearing only his shirt and slacks, and he alternates between staring at his face in the mirror and checking his perfectly clean hands. Then, he leans forward, his eyes falling shut wearily. "Cas?"
Castiel, badass motherfucking angel of the Lord, jumps. Not expecting that kind of reaction (then again, he should know better by now than to make assumptions about the nature of angels) Dean jumps as well, then cringes when the ceramic sink creaks with the unnatural strength of Cas' clenched fingers.
"Cas...."
"Dean," Cas notes, then catches Dean's gaze in the mirror. "I'm fine."
A tremor runs up Cas' arms as though he's trying to suppress an insistent itch.
"That ain't fine, Cas," Dean says, attempting to smooth the uncertainty from his voice. He reaches out and gives what he hopes is a comforting squeeze to Cas' neck. Energy prickles along the skin of his palm. He has to fight down the urge to pull away, but the angel shudders. Dean’s eyes flick up once more to find Cas glaring at him, agitated.
Suddenly, Cas whirls around and pushes Dean away, opening the distance between them. "We've talked about this, Dean, personal-"
"Don't give me that," Dean says, his fingers closing around Cas' wrists and holding him still.
The color suddenly drains from Castiel's face, his pupils dilating unnaturally wide as he sways forward. Dean grabs for him, scrabbling to keep the angel upright, giving him a solid shake for good measure. "Cas?"
When he gets no response, he angles Cas' face up for a better look. "Cas, damn it, answer-"
Cas inhales sharply, animating as though he's sucking life back into himself instead of air.
The tension bleeds out of Dean. "Jesus."
"Don't!" Cas jerks away, stumbling back into the counter. Dean reaches out to steady him, but Cas shifts his weight away and, with an emphatic glare, repeats, "Don't."
"What?" Dean asks. He draws back anyway.
"Just-" Cas' eyes slide shut and he sighs "-don't touch me."
"What's going on?"
Cas disappears.
Dean rushes through the door, half expecting to find Cas standing in the middle of the room. Instead, he comes face-to-face with Sam, standing against the same wall where Dean had been only a few minutes before.
"Dean, what's going on?"
"Didn't mean to wake you up," Dean answers as he brushes past his brother. He pulls on his boots and grabs his keys and wallet. "Cas is- oh, hell, I don't even know. Your guess is probably better than mine."
"You're going to go look for him?"
"No, Sam, I thought I'd go find a bar and drink my way into oblivion," Dean snaps. He releases his breath when Sam's normally hulking form attempts to sink into the wall. "I don't know what to do, but I shouldn't take it out on you." He moves forward, ducking his head to catch Sam's averted gaze. "Sorry, man. I'm just gonna go for a drive to clear my head."
"You're not going to find him if he doesn't want to be found."
Dean rolls his eyes.
"Not bound by the laws of physics, remember? He could be hiding on the moon - or further! - for all you know."
"Bet if I go looking for that escaped leviathan, he'll show up pretty quick," Dean mutters.
Fear crosses Sam's face. "Dean...."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just-" Dean says with a casual wave of his hand - and now Sam is refusing to look at him. "Sam."
...or he's possibly caught in another hallucination. That hits Dean hard, realizing that his own flippant attitude might be affecting his brother just as much as Sam's trips from reality are scaring Dean. He snatches Sam's hand into his and runs his thumb along the scar there, lightly, because the point is to ground his brother, not hurt him.
"Sam? Hey, I'm sorry," he apologizes again, and Sam's eyes focus back on Dean. "Really. You want to come along?"
"I- I'll just wait here and... do some research."
------
Sam didn't say in case Cas comes back here, but that's what Dean hears repeating through his head as he drives out to the edge of the city. There's a good chance he's just projecting so he pushes the thoughts away.
He can't help but feel guilty, though he doesn't know whether this whole situation could've been avoided since he still doesn't know how he managed to chase Cas off.
"Like you're capable of handling this sort of thing any better when you do have all the facts," says Crowley from the back seat.
Dean slams on the brakes, the momentum flinging them both forward until the car comes to a stop. "I get that y'all are nearly immortal, but one of these days I'm going to get into serious wreck if y'all keep popping in like that."
"I have faith in your ability to control this monster vehicle," Crowley retorts.
Eyeing the demon from his rearview mirror, Dean snaps, "What the hell do you want?"
"I've brought a peace offering," Crowley says, lifting a covered platter that Dean is certain wasn’t in the car a second ago. With a flourish, Crowley reveals the bloated, roasted head of the escaped leviathan. "...of sorts."
It smells awful, a mixture of scorched flesh, brine, and brimstone, and Dean closes his eyes, attempting to keep the contents of his stomach where they are. He rolls down the windows, shifts the car out of park, and peals out across the blacktop to get the air moving. "Get out."
"Not a fan of the "head on a silver platter" gesture, I take it," Crowley asks, a snide smile on his face, but he lifts his hands in surrender, the offending item vanished. "How did you manage to kill the other one anyway?"
"I have no problem with stabbing you in the face," declares Dean as he unsheathes Ruby's knife. He can't make Crowley leave, and he'd most likely lose if he tried, but he really hopes the demon decides to test his patience.
"You're sure it's dead, right?"
Dean's gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror again. "Yeah. Cas helped us out."
"And?"
"And what?" The hunter's brow furrows. "We beheaded the thing then disposed of the gooey bits."
Crowley's eyes widen. "And? Is he okay?"
"Of course he is-" Dean slams on the brakes again. He turns to face Crowley. "What's going on with Cas?"
"Why don't you ask him?" Crowley says, looking somewhere other than at the hunter.
Dean tries to stare a hole into the side of the demon's head, but cautiously, he admits, "He ain't talking. Won't let me near him either."
Crowley shoots his own snarling, black look at the hunter. "What did you do now-" but he breaks off just as suddenly, his gaze dropping and his expression going cold as he turns his thoughts inward. "You didn't, by chance, get any of the leviathan's blood on you, did you?"
"Yeah. Well, I mean, we cut off the damn thing's head, and we weren't exactly expecting to-"
"And Cas?" Crowley says, his impatience obvious.
Locking eyes with the King of Hell, Dean nods.
"Oh, for the love of all that is-" Crowley flails angrily, stomping his feet against the floor of the car.
"What do you care?" Dean asks, raising his voice above Crowley's tantrum.
"I don't!" Crowley bellows, slamming his hand against the seat. He takes a deep breath, and when he's visibly composed, he glances back up. "Leviathans are poisonous to angels. They deplete grace - kill angels."
"I- I did not know that."
"Of course not. Why should you?"
Anger sparks in Dean's chest, and he narrows his eyes. "Why would I trust anything you say? You still haven't explained-"
"Your angel is diseased, Winchester," Crowley says, talking over Dean, "has been since the leviathans used him as a vessel. Like with goldfish, if the aquarium isn't cleaned on a regular basis, they'll muck up the place until nothing else can live - surprisingly hardy creatures, though. I can't imagine why anyone would want to keep the filthy things as pets."
"He ain't my angel," Dean snaps, unsure of how to respond to any of the information he's been given; at least he now has some idea why Cas fled from him though. "I washed the blood off...."
"It lingers, numbskull," Crowley scoffs. Then he calms down again, snorting as he clasps his hands together in his lap. "Oh, by the way, I heard through the grapevine that Moose and Lucifer recently had a little reunion. How'd that go?" When shock spreads across Dean's face, Crowley feigns astonishment. "Didn't know? Can't say I'm much surprised by that."
"Damn it!" Dean turns around and smacks the flat of his hand against the steering wheel.
A sigh fills the space, as though Crowley has been imposed upon. "If I may, Dean: don't run back to that awful little motel room half-cocked and looking for a fight, as though you're the only injured party here-" Dean opens his mouth to argue, but he falls silent again when Crowley levels a grim look his way. "You do. Why else do you think your loved ones keep such important information from you? They aren't children. None of you are innocent."
Dean’s eyes flick forward, but he's not paying attention to the expanse of road ahead of him, lost in his own thoughts as he is. Crowley sits impassively in the back seat, watching, but at least he remains quiet.
Then, Dean swipes a hand across his face. "How long will it take for him to recover? Don't want to try hunting until that weird electrical thing passes - it's distracting."
He looks at Crowley in the mirror again and catches the speculative look the demon is eyeing him with.
"Might want to get that checked out, mate. That doesn't sound normal." With that, Crowley disappears.
Slumping against the wheel, Dean wonders whether there is some way to remove the stench of burnt leviathan. "Asshole..." he mutters.
------
It's still early, the sun resting just below the horizon when he gets back. He's frazzled and weary, but the demon's advice springs to mind - he tamps down on his simmering temper.
Given the state Sam was in when Dean left, he decides to knock on the door, not expecting much in the way of an answer. He certainly doesn't expect the scene before him once his eyes adjust to the dim half-light that filters in through the thin curtains.
Sam is back in bed, but his eyes are wide and alert (and not currently reflecting any hellish memories like Dean had assumed), and fixed to the ceiling. He glances over when Dean enters the room and pulls a flustered face. Cas is curled against his side, his head pillowed by Sam's shoulder.
Blinking, Dean comes to a stop, confusion dissipating his anger. He opens his mouth, but Sam gives a determined shake of his head, his eyes darting briefly toward the angel.
Dean responds by lifting a brow, and Sam answers with a gentle shrug.
As he steps soundlessly toward the pair, he grabs the blanket from where it still rests on the floor by the couch. Lines of discomfort crease Cas' forehead and Dean doesn't think before reaching out to smooth them away, but Cas jerks under his touch, a pained noise slipping past his lips.
Frowning, Dean snatches his hand back, then spreads the blanket across them both, avoiding the concern with which Sam regards him.
When he turns towards his own bed, he's prepared to flop down and sleep for a week straight but he glances back at his brother, his expression stern. He indicates, through gestures that are familiar from years of communicating silently during hunts, that he intends for words to pass between them when they're less fatigued.
Despite the tension, Sam rolls his eyes. Dean ignores that in favor of pulling his blankets back, putting Sam and Cas at his back. He can feel his brother studying him as his exhaustion finally takes over.