Beneath Every Layer of Skin - II
Castiel did not speak to them. They hiked through the woods, the silence angry and terse around them. Dean walked right by Castiel's coat, lying where it had fallen the day before. Cas didn't spare it a glance. Sam almost passed it by, but thought better of it, picked it up and tucked it quickly and silently into the recesses of his jacket. When they reached the river, Cas went out of his way to avoid the water, stepping carefully on exposed stones to cross, and nearly slipping several times, though he would not take Sam's hand when he offered him help.
It was seven hours home to Sioux Falls. Dean let Bobby drive, but opened all the windows, the roar of the freeway blocking out all other noise and any possible conversation in the uncomfortable atmosphere of the car’s cabin. No one spoke but Bobby, and only to swear at the other drivers on the road. The sun was high in the sky when they hit the last few miles before home and saw a pillar of smoke on the horizon. No one thought on it until they drove down the back street to the junkyard and saw the flashing lights and the scent of smoke filled the air.
Bobby cursed as he jumped out of the car. Dean followed closely behind, though he stopped a few feet away, staring listlessly at the grey smoke. Sam and Castiel sat silently in the car. Some minutes passed before Bobby came stomping back with Sheriff Mills in tow, her smile kind, but sad.
“Afternoon, boys,” she said, clapping hands with a shocked looking Dean. “Don't worry yourself, the house is fine, mostly undamaged. Just a few walls to repaper and a few burnt pieces of furniture. You're lucky the fire didn't reach your alcohol cabinet, Bobby, or they'd never have been able to put it out.” Dean visibly relaxed. Sam carefully scooted out of the Impala, going for a friendly handshake, though Jody pulled him full into her small arms. “Hey, ya big lug.” Curiously, she peered beneath his shoulder at the person left in the car. “Who's that?”
“Their angel,” Bobby said, without further explanation, though Jody nodded knowingly. Dean pursed his lips. Castiel continued to look pointedly out the window.
“That one? Huh.” She raked her eyes over Castiel's tense shoulders. “Introduce me later, I guess. There's something more serious to deal with.”
“Guessing the fire was no accident?” Bobby said.
“I wouldn't think so. The first fire team on the scene disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Like no bodies?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, nervously.
“Not a sign of them. The hose was on, the fire was out, the truck was running, but all five of the fire fighters were gone.”
“Do you think it was the Leviathans?” Sam asked.
Bobby nodded. “I wouldn't doubt it.”
“Yeah, it's not like everything out there wants to kill us too,” Dean threw in, rolling his eyes,.
“Leviathans?” Jody asked. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Some new thing, Bobby?”
“Apparently, some really, really old thing. Know next to nothin' about them, except that they'll be back, for us, somethin' like that, and that even heaven is runnin' scared.”
“Sounds more like a terminator than a monster,” Jody laughed, though she sobered quickly when all Sam, Dean, or Bobby offered was a half-hearted smile. “In all seriousness though, boys. You should split. I don't think it's a good idea for you to hang around. Something like this, people are going to get involved. I'm gonna have a helluva time covering your asses.”
“Listen, you don't need to do that,” Sam started, though Jody held up her hands to shush him.
“I want to. You boys keep people safe when I can't and that's enough for me, okay? Though all of you owe me a case of beer. Now, go!” She gave Bobby a playful smack. Castiel was watching them discreetly, though he immediately turned when the hunters moved to clamor back into the car. Dean took the driver's seat, and Sam climbed back into the backseat without complaints. “Where will you be going?” Jody called to them as Dean turned the ignition.
“Well,” Bobby said, considering as he buckled the passenger seatbelt. “Rufus had a cabin up in Montana. Good a place as any. I'll give you a ring when we get there.”
“Good. Don't keep me waiting, Singer.” She gave a little salute as Dean began to back out of the alleyway.
Dean groaned. “Which part of Montana, Bobby?”
“Middle of the Rockies. Just south of the Canadian border. Near Whitefish.”
“That's another day's drive,” Dean said, grinding his teeth. Jody waved them back onto the road, and they drove all night in silence.
The cabin was a nice enough place, as far as hunter hold ups went. With two stories, the men barely even had to acknowledge each other. Castiel took full advantage of that, squirreling away in the attic room no sooner than they had gotten there. He barely spoke a word. Sam made the effort, but it wasn't for much- Castiel would occasionally thank him for food. In turn, Sam didn't speak to Dean or Bobby, instead throwing himself against Rufus's stack of books while Lucifer tore out the pages.
“So,” Dean finally said on the third day. “Talk to me.”
Sam attempted to smirk. “You want to talk? Who are you, and what have you done to Dean?”
Dean frowned. “Yeah I wanna talk. It's boring when there's only Bobby to brood with. You've been avoiding us.”
“I'm fine.”
Dean took the seat adjacent to Sam. “Death kinda spilled the beans on you, dude. And I heard you freaking out the other night. At Daphne's place.” Dean shrugged slightly. “Who were you telling to stop?”
Sam frowned, opened his mouth, closed it. Lucifer leaned on the back of Dean's chair, staring Sam in the eyes. “Go on and lie. It's not like he's you're real brother anyway. He probably died up there, alone, in the cemetery, after that beating we gave him.” Sam sucked in a choked breath.
Dean twirled his hand in an irritated 'go on' gesture when Sam didn't answer.
“Just... Lucifer. Mostly.” Adam's twitching body lay over the desk, bleeding out sluggishly onto the floorboards. He'd been screaming for the last hour, 'a nice, new treat for Sammy' the hallucination had said.
Lucifer yawned. “Boring.” He was covered from head to toe in Adam's blood.
“Just Lucifer? Like what, he's just... chilling with you or something?”
“Kind of.” Lucifer was occupying himself with Adam's body. “I've got it together, Dean. Reality in check.”
Dean eyed him suspiciously. “Well. Good. You're sure?”
“Positive,” Sam said. Adam was looking into his eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to for a breath. His head hung over the edge of the desk and he could no longer scream, as his throat was a mess on the carpet, but that didn't stop him from mouthing out words, over and over again, a gory, silent mantra. Your fault, your fault.
“So,” Dean asked awkwardly, “what have you found in the books?”
“Just old testament stuff. The repeat of everything we heard, you know, beasts and all. Though I guess they're supposed to be slain at the end of the world.”
“Nothing on how to kill them either than that?” Dean asked.
“The old testament isn't exactly a hunter handbook. I still think we should try to contact that angel again. We could use a some holy oil, trap 'em.”
“No, out of the question. Besides, they seemed pretty scared of the Leviathans, so I doubt they'll really be of use. I've been thinking though, Daphne isn't the only prophet we know. We should try Chuck out, see if he knows something.”
“He's missing, Dean. From the angels. Besides, dude, I tried that pretty much the second we got here. His number is disconnected. I tried the fan girl, Becky? Turns out he's been missing since around the time I went to Hell. She almost got arrested for his disappearance and everything and she has no clue where he is. The whole fan community was the same, a bust.” Sam frowns a bit, with distaste. “So if he's not dead, he's keeping out of the way of both angels and humans.”
Dean groaned. “A grand total of nothing then.”
Bobby entered from the hallway, causing both boys to pause. “Have either of you seen a bottle of Vicodin lying around?” He scratched his scalp.
“Bottle a' what?” Dean asked, smirking. “Is a certain lady coming over later?”
“That's Viagra, ya ass. Vicodin is the pain killer.” Bobby crossed his arms as Sam covered his mouth attempting not to laugh. “I swear I had them in my bag.” He shrugged. “So have either of you seen Mr. Angel recently?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “When I take his food to him.”
“So you've noticed the stink.”
Sam looked away shamefacedly. “He's really... dirty, yeah. He hasn't changed from the clothes he got at Daphne's. I think he's avoiding the water. His glass is always still half full when I get the plates.”
“Do you think he remembers something? About the Leviathans?” Dean asked.
Bobby shrugged again. “Maybe, but hell if he'll speak to me. I tried to ask him how he was feeling and he shut the door in my face.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I could try, but I doubt I'll get anything better.” Your fault, your fau- Sam stood and turned away from the hallucination, pretending to pace.
“Well, try,” Bobby said. “It's feeding time. There's a bologna sandwich in the kitchen, so see if he bites.”
Sam ended up outside Castiel's door, a paper plate in hand. The attic was bolted, as it had typically been since Castiel had taken refuge inside, so Sam knocked. Rather than leaving the food as he usually would, Sam stood stock still, trying not to make a sound. Some minutes passed. Finally, the door cracked open, though it slammed shut as soon as Castiel glanced outside. Sam sighed and leaned on the door frame.
“Can I talk to you?”
Castiel didn't answer, and not a sound came from the room.
Sam ran a hand through his hair, letting a quiet moment slip by. “I'm sorry.”
Again, Castiel didn't answer, but the sound of shuffling feet drifted from beneath the door.
“For us. For you getting dragged into this when you remember nothing and none of it makes sense as it is.”
Castiel cracked open the door, just a bit, casting a suspicious blue eye over Sam's face.
“You really were an angel, you know,” Sam said, matching Castiel's gaze. “You helped us stop the apocalypse. You saved a lot of people, Cas. I know that's a lot to believe-”
“It's insane,” Castiel said lowly, fingers curling around the edge of the door. “But you seem to believe it. What does that make you?”
Sam frowned and set the sandwich at Castiel's feet. “Look. I know you're mad at us. Scared.”
“I wonder who would be scared of three huge men covered in guns and knives,” Castiel snipped beneath his breath.
“But,” Sam continued, keeping his gaze locked with Castiel. “But you - when you were you - were our friend. We all made mistakes, but we always forgave each other, in the end. You and Dean were really close.” Sam's breath caught in his chest, and he looked away, just a little.
Castiel studied him from behind his shield of the door, eyes narrow. “You're lying about something.”
“What?”
“If you're not, you're keeping another secret.”
“I'm not,” Sam said. “Why would I lie? I just want you to trust us.” Sam bit his lip and jumped when he felt hands on his shoulders.
“Looks like he's got you all figured out, Sammy,” Lucifer whispered into his ear. The blood on his hands was hot and soaking into Sam's shirt.
Castiel's gaze had turned hard, nails digging into the wood where his fingers curled around the door edge. Dried blood crusted under his nail edges, and there was dirt around the cuticles. “So what brought us here, if we were all so close?”
“We all screwed up,” Sam repeated, haltingly. “We've all lied because we thought it would... it would save the others some grief.” He placed his hands on either side of the door frame, face desperate. Castiel smelled like stale sweat. “Please hear me out - ”
“Please,” Castiel interrupted, hand dropping from the door. “I'm tired of excuses.” The door snapped shut.
The days passed uneasily. Castiel grew dirtier as he continued to avoid their eyes, avoid the areas of the cabin that were occupied unless he absolutely couldn't help it. Sam stopped taking him his meals, trying to lure him out so he could speak to him again, but all it succeeded in doing was driving Castiel further into solitude. Sam fretted and slept uneasily, growing steadily more skittish, his eyes darting for things that weren't there. Bobby and Dean drank. Dean drank the most. The hunters all attempted to research.
At the end of the second week, a car sounded at the end of the driveway. Bobby got his gun, Dean and Sam the holy water, but in the end all they had was a wet and disgruntled Jody Mills. After her initial ire wore off, she greeted them all with a hearty hug and slap on the back, making sure to drip holy water on their clothes. “When you said Whitefish, you really meant the middle of goddamned nowhere,” she snipped jokingly, smacking Bobby on the back. “I would have stopped for lunch if I'da known it would take another hour to get here.”
Bobby shrugged, opening the front door for her. “The more hidden, the better.”
Castiel, looking drawn and dirty with sweat, peeked quickly from the hallway with pinprick pupils as Jody entered, then retreated, stumbling back up the stairs.
“He's still not right, I see?” Jody asked quietly, slipping an arm through Bobby's in a natural and friendly gesture. He flushed a little.
“Nah. He's not tried to run away or anything, but he's actin' like a rabbit among wolves,” Bobby said, leading her to the kitchenette. He grabbed the whiskey from the shelf, frowning at the contents. “Swear there was more,” he muttered to himself. He poured them all a shot. “He won't take a goddamned bath either.”
“And no leads, I'm guessing?” she asked, eying the bottle.
“Nothin', but biblical nonsense,” Dean said, shrugging and downing his shot in a gulp. “Got the books we asked for?”
“Of course. You need to organize your library, Bobby.” She sniffed at him, thrust a heavy bag on the counter top, then downed her shot. “We still haven't found the missing firefighters. It's become big news, all over, something like that. I'm tryin' to keep those news idiots from the house, but some crew from Pierre filmed it and got it all over. It won't be safe to go back, not for awhile, I don't think.” She frowned. “I'm not even letting my deputy boys watch the house. I don't want any more deaths. You think it was definitely these... Leviathan jokers?”
“Well,” Sam said, smoothing his hair. “Most other things leave something behind. Usually a body. Or pieces of one. Some blood. It could have been demon possession, but... how many guys were there?”
“Five.”
“Not like it's impossible. We don't even know what the demons are doing on either side and I'm not exactly raring to call Crowley or Meg up. Could be angels too, I guess, but we don't know what they're doing.” He sent a glare at Dean, who merely shrugged, face impassive. “The Leviathans are just the ones we know are coming for us at this very moment.”
“'We'll be back for you,' they said,” Dean quoted, mockingly. “They'll have to get in line.”
“And all we did was try to put them back in their box.” Bobby shook his head. “Like we needed another thing tryin' to kill us.”
“So, we don't know anything.” Jody rested her elbows on the table and put her face in the cup of her hands. “Zip.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Listen,” Jody said, pushing her shot glass at Bobby. “My best guy is watching out for me at the station, and he knows the deal, after all those family members came back from the dead, you know.” She paused, eyes leveled at the table, but composed herself quickly. “I'm gonna stay up here a few weeks. And before you guys object,” she said harshly, because all three hunters had opened their mouths. “I know what I'm doing. I want to help, or at least make sure you don't kill yourselves.” She swiped the bottle from Bobby, who had just poured the shot, and downed the rest. “I know Bobby, and I know you two. You'll die of alcohol poisoning if this mystery goes unsolved another week.” She grinned at them.
The conversation turned away from monsters, if only for a little while. Jody did her best to pick up their smiles, regaling them with stories of stupid criminals. “And this idiot,” she said, needing to pause to laugh heartily, “this idiot actually tried to threaten a team of armed police with just his hand under his sleeve. What's worse is one of my deputies actually-” A loud shattering crash sounded from upstairs, interrupting her story and wiping the hard earned smiles from Sam and Dean's faces. “What was that?”
“Came from the attic,” Dean said.
“What's he doin'?” Bobby asked, squinting suspiciously upwards. A small series of thumps rattled across the ceiling.
Jody frowned and rose, straightening her jacket. “He doesn't exactly strike me as the dancing type. Should we check it out?”
“No, I've got it,” Sam said, rising wearily and ushering her back to her seat. “I'll check it out.”
Jody looked at him sadly, crossing her arms on the counter. “He's not your responsibility, Sam.”
Sam merely shook his head and trudged out of the kitchen, slowly making his way down the hall and up the stairs. He knocked three times on Castiel's door, though he wasn't surprised when no one answered. The staccato beat of thumping against wooden floorboards continued. “Cas?” Sam called gently. “Can you open up?” Thump. “Cas?” Sam pressed his ear against the door and listened. Thump, thump. A pitiful gasp. “Dean! Get up here!”
Sam turned the handle, startled when it swung open and he nearly fell face first into the attic.
The room was wrecked. Chairs were overturned, curtains ripped down from the windows and strewn over the ground, paper littered the floor, the ripped up and crumpled sections of many maps. Some pieces were tacked up on the walls, routes covered in broad strokes of ink and what looked like blood. A pervasive stale smell drifted around the room, with the underlying stinging scent of vomit and whiskey.
Sam found Castiel retching and huddled, half-hidden, in the corner behind his small cot bed, just out of sight. A few label-less water bottles littered the space around him, one clutched in his hand, dripping siphoned whiskey onto the floorboards. Bobby's bottle of Vicodin lay on its side between his legs, several tabs scattered out onto the ground. The bedside lamp was in pieces.
“Jesus.” Sam ran to his side and knelt beside Castiel, dragging him into his arms, trying to keep him from bucking away and ignoring the stench of unclean. Castiel's palms were bleeding from shards of the ceramic lamp, but he didn't seem to notice, thrashing as he was. His breathing came in shallow, desperate gasps.
Dean came bursting into the room, Jody and Bobby hot at his heels, though they paused to gape at the destruction. “Been looking for those,” Bobby muttered under his breath, glancing at the maps. “What the hell happened here?”
“Dean, help me,” Sam pleaded weakly.
“Oh God.” Jody covered her mouth and nose.
“Fuck,” Dean groaned. He pushed the cot aside to make more room, knocking over the bedside table. A full glass of water fell with it and smashed, tossing glass and water at their feet.
“No,” Castiel muttered unintelligibly. He swatted at their hands weakly, limbs uncoordinated and not connecting, but he was squirming strongly enough to nearly throw them off, his boots beating on the floorboards. “Lemme go. Lemme-” His eyes rolled in his head.
“We gotta get him to the hospital!” Jody gritted out as she tried to restrain his legs.
“We can't, we can't go to hospitals, it's not-” Sam replied, face pale. “We're more than an hour from the nearest hospital.”
“No, n- no!” Castiel clawed at Sam's wrists and Dean's face, leaving angry red marks along their skin.
“Well, he's gonna die if we do nothing!”
“He shouldn't have- didn't take enough to kill him,” Bobby said, shaking the Vicodin bottle, though he couldn't look Sam or Dean in the eyes. “We just have to make sure he gets it all out and doesn't suffocate while doin' it. Get him to the bathroom.” Castiel retched again.
“You sure about that?” Dean asked harshly, teeth bared, though he withered under Bobby's answering glare. Sam helplessly tried to pick Castiel up, but he jerked out of his arms. Dean grabbed Castiel's wrists, squeezing hard enough that it forced Castiel's clawed hands to unfurl and his aimless, contracted eyes to finally land on Dean's. His drug induced fear and his struggling eased, but his chest was hitching, convulsing, beyond his control and his eyes were drifting closed, as though he were sleepy.
Sam finally managed to get a good hold, arms hooking under Castiel's and cradling him back against his chest. The skin around Castiel's eyes and mouth was a disarming bluish colour. Bobby and Dean took a leg each, while Jody ran ahead to keep their path clear until they reached the dirty bathroom, where they dumped Castiel in the ringed tub and ran the tap.
Castiel reacted the second the cool water touched his legs, reeling himself back against the tub edge, nails scrabbling uselessly. “Get it off me! Get it out of me!” He screamed wildly, trying and slipping but failing to climb out of the water. Sam and Dean held him down as he began to spasm.
Castiel did not die in the following hours, but he screamed the whole time.
Castiel sat by the attic window, skin pale in the morning sun but for the ring of bruises around his wrists and down his arms. He held a ripped map in his hands. Dean and Sam watched him, quietly, from the stairwell.
“So are you ready to talk to us?” Dean asked, stepping inside. He flipped an overturned chair right side up and straddled it, leaning his elbows on the back. Sam remained back, hanging in the doorway and crossing his arms, deep red nail marks traced across his skin. Castiel glanced at Dean, then Sam, and tipped his head ever so slightly in compliance. “Good.” Dean scratched the matching nail marks on his cheeks, itchy with healing.
Castiel crumpled the piece of map in his hands, tossing it to the floor, where it lay amongst the broken glass. “It's a bit useless to ask me anything,” he finally said, shrugging. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked frail- hollowed out and smaller than he'd ever seemed. Jimmy Novak had been a solid enough man and Castiel had given his body a phenomenal presence, but in the light of the morning after his near death, he looked no more substantial than a shade. “I don't know why I took all those pills,” he continued, folding his legs, bringing his knobby knees up to his chest. “And I don't know why I stole those maps. I don't know why I wrote on them or what the hell the scribbles mean, if anything.”
Sam uncrossed his arms, pushing himself off the doorway. His boots crunched on broken glass. “Do you- What do you remember?”
Castiel laughed hollowly, scratching his face. A beard was growing in, rough and abrasive. “Oh, I remember stealing the pills. The whiskey. There are no holes in my memory after I woke up with you lovely people. I remember everything but I just don't know why I did any of it.”
Dean's face had hardened considerably, his hands balled into fists. “Why did you steal the pills?”
“Why do you think?” Castiel countered. “I'm in pain. They are pain relief.” He picked at the dirt still beneath his nails.
“What sort of pain?” Sam asked, walking into the room in earnest and joining his brother in flipping over and taking a chair.
Castiel laughed soundlessly, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “Why do you care?”
“It might be important,” Dean said honestly. Sam grimaced at his bluntness.
“Oh, I see. Fine. Imagine every single inch of your skin feels bruised, and your very insides are trying to rip apart and devour you whole.” He gestured to himself with clawed hands, raking his yellowish fingers down his skinny chest. The pajamas Daphne had bought for him had been ruined, covered in his dirt and sweat and vomit, and laid as burnt ashes in the yard. Dean's jeans were too wide on him, and Sam's shirt much too long. “The pain has been growing worse every day since I woke up. I needed to dull it.” Castiel paused, covering his mouth and holding in the weak contents of his stomach.
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and Sam cast him a concerned look, but Dean just waved him away. “Dude, you could have...” He trailed off, balling his fist in front of his mouth.
“What, talked to you? Why?” Castiel turned his darkly ringed eyes to Dean. “Do you have my best interests at heart? You talked about monsters, but all the evidence I've seen? Points to you and me.”
“We're not monsters,” Sam replied, face pale.
“I don't know that. You still haven't proven that. If that Inias person really was an angel... what sort of people run from angels?”
“You don't remember what the angels have done to us!” Dean cut back, nearly rising from his chair, though Sam put a heavy hand of his shoulder to stop him.
“And you won't tell me,” Castiel said, simply. “Will you?”
Dean looked away, shamefaced. Sam covered his mouth, speaking slowly. “We... will. We don't want to keep anything from you. It's just... painful. And a very long story. And we're not exactly good at talking.”
"Yet you speak so much." Castiel watched them closely, scratching incessantly at the dry, flaky skin of his knuckles. His nostrils flared slightly. “You know what. I don't want to know anything.” He shrugged. “No use remembering what I'm not anymore. I know enough to know I don't want to be him.” He wrapped his shaking arms around himself, leaning his face against the cool windowpane. “But perhaps whoever I am now should throw in the towel with you, as my own company clearly wasn't working.”
“But will you try to trust us?” Sam asked slowly.
Castiel frowned so seriously that Sam blanched. “Only if you bring me soup.” Sam let out a startled chuckle despite himself, and Castiel looked thoughtful. “Chicken soup. Have I had chicken soup?” His stomach gurgled.
Dean's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when he it turned to Castiel. “You know what, I don't think you have. I make a mean chicken soup, family recipe. Guess I could make some.”
Later that evening, they five of them sat around the kitchen table all enjoying a second bowl of Dean's soup. “I'm sure I am in no capacity the person you expected to meet,” Castiel said to Jody, when they finally were introduced, shakily edging onto a chair next to the kitchen table. He'd lost the second bowl of soup to the kitchen sink, and had cracked open a beer instead.
"I'm not disappointed," she said shrugging. "More interesting than I thought you would be honestly." Castiel let out a hollow laugh.
Jody and Bobby had taken it upon themselves to discover the secrets of Castiel's maps, though there seemed to be no real secrets to find. The scribbles were broad, senseless circles, whose only common aspect seemed to be a wide swath of either Eastern Pennsylvania or Westernmost New Jersey.
“Could be Allentown, Pottsville, Bethlehem, hell it could be nowhere,” Bobby said. “Lot of game lands and old roads out there and it could be nothing but crazy drug addled nonsense. No offense,” he added to Castiel.
“None taken,” Castiel said, taking a generous gulp of his beer. His face was clean, but the sweet powder smell of soft wipes was still overpowered the ripe sting of alcohol and bile. Sam frowned.
“All the maps were of that one area though,” Sam added helplessly. His eyes darted over Bobby's shoulder, eying Lucifer dressed in Jessica's skin. She waited, quiet and white, and smiling. “I- I mean, when is anything ever nothing in our lives?”
Dean leaned forward onto his elbows. “I think you know we have one option at this point.”
Jody frowned and cut him off. “You're too quick to stop thinking of other ones is more like it.”
“We should check it out,” Dean continued, unabashed.
“Dean,” Sam said quietly, “I don't think I'm-” He faltered. Jessica's round face has been replaced by Madison's sad, drooping eyes. “I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Do you have a better one?” Sam reluctantly shut his mouth.
“I don't like it,” Bobby said. “Seems like it's too dang obvious if you ask me.”
“I don't like it either,” Dean sighed. “But hey, that's nothing different.”
“I think it's an excellent idea,” Castiel said, though his sardonic smile spoke otherwise. He pushed the bottle away from him. “We'll simply drive around in circles until we hit something.”
"We have nothing else to go on, so let's just go. We can head down the I-90. Maybe hit Bethlehem first. Monsters love their biblical place names. Besides, it's not like we're not used to things trying to kill us."
“Speak for yourself,” Castiel retorted, brusquely.
The decision practically made itself, and by the next morning, the Impala was packed and Sam, Dean, and Castiel piled into their seats.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jody asked, putting the last duffel bag in the Impala's trunk. She eyed Sam's bruised and tired eyes, then the case of beer tucked on the floor of the back seat, and finally Castiel already pulling one out. “By all rights, at least one of you should be in the hospital.” Bobby opened the gate to the rocky trail.
“Yeah, of course we're sure,” Dean replied. He patted the steering wheel and rolled his eyes. “What could go wrong?”
Part Three