Chapter Text
It had been seventy-three days since the gates of hell opened. Cas knew because he counted.
They’d moved cities, changed car plates and burned clothes. They drove through the back roads of nowhere. The car was old, stolen, and smelled faintly of gasoline and damp earth. Dean drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Cas’s thigh, possessive and reassuring.
The trunk thudded once.
Dean glanced at Cas.
“He’s still alive.”
Cas nodded.
“I know.”
They didn’t speak for another hour. The sun was low, bleeding orange across the horizon. The trees grew sparse as they pulled off near a clearing where no one could see them. Dean killed the engine and Cas stared straight ahead.
“You sure?” Dean said.
Cas opened the door.
“I’ve been sure.”
They walked to the back of the car together. Dean unlocked the trunk, the hinges groaning. Inside, Cas’s father blinked up at them bloodied, his wrists bound tight behind his back. His mouth was gagged, but his eyes were wide, pleading.
“You want me to do it?” Dean asked.
Cas shook his head.
“No.” Cas said as Dean stepped back. “Hello, Chuck. It’s been a long time.” Cas said with a smile. Dean popped open a beer, took a slow pull, then tossed the empty can into the brush.
"We got work to do,” he said.
Cas nodded once.
Dean walked to the back seat and pulled out the shovel as Cas reached for the crowbar. And Chuck screamed into the gag, but no one was listening.