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Chapter Text

Fallen Angels MC 

Season 4, Fall Into Me

***

Episode 1, Pieces (Rob Thomas) 

~

Broken.

Everything is broken. 

Everything is fucking broken, and for one of only a handful of times in Dean's life… 

He doesn't know what to do. 

Only one thing to do… get Sammy back no matter what shape he's in. And if the angels can't help him with that… he'll damn well do it himself. 

He pushes off Gabriel and marches towards the bikes without saying a word. 

“Dean, where are you going?” Mike calls after him. He can hear boots behind him, and he knows it's Cas. 

Doesn't matter. 

They're gonna have to kill him to stop him. 

“Dean… Dean! Damn it,” he hears Cas grumble. “I got him, Mike!” 

Dean jumps on the bike, shoves the helmet on his head and revs it to life. Rocks kick up behind him as he peels out, heading for the road. 

He hears Cas's bike rumble to life as well and start to catch up with him. 

He curses under his breath. 

Halfway to Rogers, Arkansas, Cas keeps speeding up next to Dean and pointing for him to pull over. Dean ignores him. Cas speeds up again and again, pointing more forcefully each time and revving his engine. 

Still, Dean ignores him. 

About thirty yards from where another road veers off the highway, Cas pulls in front of Dean sideways and stops his bike. Dean slams on his brakes, halting the bike he's on. 

Crazy son of a bitch. 

Cas revs his engine again and shoves his arm out, pointing to the other road, which Dean realizes is a rest stop, tucked into the woods. 

“Goddamn it,” Dean mutters. 

He throws his arms out and nods, turning onto the road, then stops at one of the parking spots. Cas pulls in next to him and swings off the bike, pulling his helmet off and setting it on the seat. 

He pulls his sunglasses up. 

“Kill the engine.” He says, too calm for Dean's comfort. 

Dean complies. He pulls his own helmet off and runs a shaking hand through his hair, then looks at Cas. 

The angel crosses his arms. “Get off the bike.” 

Dean scowls and shakes his head. 

Cas uncrosses his arms. “I said get off the bike, cowboy.” His voice is low, dangerous, but not angry. 

Dean swallows. He curses again, but does it. 

“Where do you think you're going?” the angel asks. 

“Where does it look like I'm going, Cas?”

“Looks like you're about to go do something stupid.” 

Dean chuckles humorlessly, eyes raking down Cas's body. “Well, stupid’s my middle name, Cas.” He looks past the angel at nothing. “And I'm going to get my brother with or without your help.” 

“With,” Cas says immediately. 

Dean's eyes dart back to him. 

“But not right now.” 

“Nah, fuck that,” Dean hisses. “I'm going to Rogers,” he points at the ground, “right now. If you wanna go back and strategize or whatever and waste even more fucking time, be my guest, but I'm going.” 

“I can't let you do that, Dean.” Cas is still too calm, and it's infuriating Dean more by the second. 

“Let me, huh?” He grinds his teeth, jaw clenched, scowl wrinkling his forehead. “Well, then I guess you're gonna have to kill me, angel.” 

“And you know I'm not ever gonna do that.” Cas takes a few steps towards Dean. “But you can't go in there alone, halfcocked and angry, Dean. That's how you die, and I will not let you do that to yourself.” 

His words are laced with worry, love… authority. He's making too much damn sense, and Dean's chest is so tight, he feels like he can't breathe. 

“My brother could already be dead!” Dean's voice breaks, his breath hitches. Cas walks closer. “And I can't– I told you I won't survive that.” 

“He's not dead,” Cas says softly. 

“You don't know that!” Dean snaps.

“Yes. I do.” He grabs onto Dean's shoulders just as Dean feels like he might collapse. He's too stubborn to let Cas comfort him, so he shoves him off. 

“Don't!” 

“You can push me away as much as you want to, Dean Winchester, but I'm not going anywhere. I will be here. With you…” 

Heat crawls all over Dean's body at Cas's words, and he forgets to breathe again, but Cas doesn't stop. Instead, he steps back up to Dean, pressing his hands into his shoulders. 

“By your side, for-fucking-ever, no matter what. Even if it kills us both. Understand?”

“How– how do you–” Dean shakes his head, eyes hot, throat thick… “know he's alive?”

“Cowboy, I'm an angel, in case you forgot. I can tune in, especially to you… and to Sam, and I'm telling you, he's alive.” Dean lets out a harsh breath as Cas continues. “We will get him back.” 

Dean drops his head. “What if we don't?” 

“Look at me, Dean.” 

Dean does, green eyes begging the angel for truth. 

“I'm telling you, we will. But we have to have a plan. We have to be smarter than Raphael and his fucking minions.” 

“Plans fail, Cas.” Dean's voice catches, knowing that any plan they do make… cannot fail.

“Then we make one that doesn't. We make one that works.” Cas shakes him a little. “And I promise you, we will get Sam.” 

“You also told me he'd be okay. That nothing would happen to him.” Dean says it so quietly, he can barely hear himself. 

Warm hands move up from Dean's shoulders to cradle his face. Cas's voice is soft, comforting. Dean hates it. 

“Yes, I did, and I'm more sorry for that than you'll ever know.” 

Dean's brows furrow and his mouth trembles as he listens to Cas. 

“Being an angel doesn't make me perfect, but I'll do everything in my power and all the angels’ power to make sure this never happens again.” He smiles sadly at Dean.

Dean reaches up, twisting the sides of Cas's leather cut in his fists. It steadies him in every way. 

“Raphael’s always two steps ahead of us, Cas.” He fights against the sob threatening him.

“Then we sprint ahead of him, cowboy.” He leans in and kisses Dean– hard and quick. “Fuck Raphael. He's not as smart as he thinks, and we are gonna take him out for good.” He lets go of Dean and claps him on the shoulders once. “Let's go make a plan to get Sam… and kill an archangel.” 

“One stop first,” Dean says, not knowing how Cas is gonna feel about abandoning a bike temporarily.

“Where?” 

“Back to the Crescent. I need to get my baby.” 

Cas hesitates for a second, eyes shifting like he's thinking. 

He nods. 

“Yeah, okay. Jack's bike should be okay there until we can get it back.”

Dean sighs deep and heavy, nodding his head like a lost child seeking comfort. He stands still for a moment, looking at Cas, finding the strength he needs in the angel's tired eyes, and finally turns back to the bike. He swings his leg over the seat and looks at Cas again. The angel nods, his bike rumbling beneath him. Dean secures his helmet and whispers as he turns the key. 

“Hang on a little longer, Sammy. I'm– We… We're coming to get you.” 

***

Pulling into the clubhouse, Dean's stomach is a tornado; his blood is boiling, head an absolute fucking mess, but he clenches his fists together as tight as possible, takes a deep breath, and pulls himself together. 

He doesn't know who's here or what's going to happen, but unless everyone in this house is working to find his little brother, there's a strong possibility he might just lose his shit… and his life. 

At this point, he doesn't give a damn.

Dean heaves the car door open, muttering an apology to Baby for having to hotwire her since Sam still has the keys. This is really all a waste of damn time. He runs a hand through his hair, then turns around. He scans the bikes for one in particular and doesn't see it. 

Fucking little weasel of an archangel. Too afraid to face him. Typical.

He takes two strides towards the cobblestone walkway when boots crunch behind him and a warm hand wraps around the sleeve of his jacket. He stops, side-eyeing the angel next to him, who's looking at him through furrowed brows. 

“What?” Dean's annoyance is clear.

“Y'okay?” 

Dean huffs. “No, Cas. I'm pretty fucking far from okay, but I can handle myself if that's what you're asking.” He hands Cas the key to Jack's bike.

The returning look tells Dean the angel's not buying it, but he nods anyway and walks with Dean to the door. 

Cas walks in first while Dean stops a minute to take another deep breath. He can hear faint clattering inside, murmuring voices, ones that raise slightly in volume when Cas goes in. 

Dean blows his breath out slowly and pushes himself inside. 

He can almost hear the record scratch as he walks in. 

All eyes turn to him in absolute silence. His skin starts to crawl. Rage starts to fill him, looking at all the stunned faces, but he punches it deep down inside him. He wants to pound on the wall. He wants to scream at them to stop looking at him and do something, but he remains mute, jaw clenched so tight his bones might crack. 

And then…

Chaos.

Everyone is saying his name. 

Everyone is approaching him like he's a wounded animal. 

He's trying hard to process, but his brain can't catch up. It's a blur of–

“Dean, are you okay?”

“We've got plans!”

“We're gonna get him back, brother.” 

He nods greetings to each of them but doesn't say a word, legs buzzing, body on the verge of total collapse. He feels Cas's hand brush his, then press into the small of his back, and he releases a long, slow, silent breath. 

He feels… disoriented.

“Dean?”

“Dean?!”

“Dean!”

He feels hands smaller than Cas's wrap around his jaw. He blinks rapidly then looks down to see Elle's wide, concerned brown eyes staring back at him. Cas is still close by his side, he can feel him, but he doesn't intervene.

“Dean, I'm–” 

“I'm fine, Elle,” he manages to say through gritted teeth. 

“No, you're not, Dean.” 

He stares at her watery eyes, and he can't bring himself to snap at her. He knows her words are coming from a place of love and respect, but he can't… he can't. Not right now. 

He clears his throat. “I will be when we find him.” 

She nods stoically, releasing his face and finally, he's able to scan the room, breath catching in his throat as he watches the movement around him.

Benji and Hannah have a long table propped up in the lounge area, a huge, ancient-looking map spread out, their fingers pointing at one area, then another, eyes intense on each location they explore. 

The kitchen’s been turned into a makeshift armory, weapons spread out, from long swords he's never seen to angel blades, archangel blades, bullets, long guns and handguns. Zeke, Baz, Mike, and Crowley– Crowley? Dean blinks, making sure he's not hallucinating... 

They all stand side by side, faces grim, inspecting, cleaning, and loading each item meticulously and quickly. Mike speaks up, pointing at something on the counter and Baz lifts his head. Dean catches his light blue eyes as they shift to Dean's. 

Baz holds his gaze for a moment, then his brows furrow and the sergeant at arms nods once. 

Dean's features soften. 

He nods in return.

Andy is sitting at his normal place with the computer, but this time two large screens have been installed, his back is tense and stiff as he appears to be pouring over hours of surveillance footage. 

Lily, Meg, and Rowena stand at the bar, arms moving quickly adding ingredients to jars, Rowena pointing and methodically instructing the two other women. 

“Molotov cocktails?” Dean whispers, stunned. 

Meg looks up at Dean, catching his eye. The expression on her face tells him everything he needs to know– everything he already knows about the situation. 

It's bad. 

It's real fucking bad. The knot in his stomach draws tighter. 

Rowena walks towards Dean soberly, placing a tiny hand tentatively on his arm. 

“These are–” she quirks her eyebrow, “magical Molotov cocktails, my boy,” she says. “Made to kill any demon on site, in an instant.” Both their heads swivel towards Meg. “Except, of course, the ones on our side,” the witch continues. 

The corners of Meg's mouth curl into a small grin. 

Dean swallows, nodding once. 

He notices movement out of his peripheral and finally realizes it's Jack. The kid is pacing by the computer desk, occasionally saying something to Andy, but looking more frazzled than Dean's seen him. The knot tightens. 

“He hasn't stopped moving since it happened,” Elle says, her voice quiet and sad. “Keeps… moving from station to station, starting to help, then stopping, he–” she hooks her arm through Dean's, hand wrapping around the tense muscle of his bicep. “He doesn't know what to do,” she continues. 

He focuses more on Jack now, watching him. He looks helpless and scared. Dean swallows through the lump in his throat. Jack catches him looking and freezes. He starts to walk towards Dean, but his eyes shift to the angels standing next to him and the kid stops, apologetic eyes shifting away from him. He turns to the women with the map. 

Mike approaches Dean and Cas. He gives Elle a quick peck, as she passes him, heading to the kitchen. Dean hears her tell the guys to make a little room as she starts pulling out ingredients to, he assumes, cook. His stomach lurches at the thought of eating. 

“What's the plan?” Dean demands, not bothering to really greet the president. 

“We're working on that,” Mike says in his usual commanding tone. 

“Not good enough,” Dean growls. Cas's hand presses harder into Dean's back. 

“I know.” Mike looks around. “But that's all we got right now.” His eyes land back on Dean. “Listen, man, we're gonna find–”

“Save it,” Dean cuts him off, tone sharp as a knife’s edge. Cas's hand slides up from Dean's back to his shoulder and grips tight. “Where is he?” When Mike flashes confusion, Dean elaborates. “Gabe. Where is he?” 

Mike's expression falls, only for a second, but long enough for Dean to catch it. “Disappeared right after you left,” he says, voice trained to be too calm. 

“Figures,” Dean spits before he can stop himself. 

Mike tenses and Cas's hand on Dean's shoulder squeezes a silent message. 

Calm… down. 

“Did he say anything?” Cas asks

Mike's eyes shift to Cas before landing back on Dean. “Just that he wouldn't be back until he found… something.” 

“Something like my brother?” Dean blurts. 

Mike looks at Dean. “Something like a place Lucifer thinks he hid.” 

Dean scoffs. “Good.” He turns, pulling his shoulder away from Cas's grip and squares up to Mike. “Let's go.” 

“Dean, we need a plan,” Mike chides, like he's a child. 

Rage bubbles up in him. 

“Fuck you and fuck your plan.” Dean looks around. “All this is time wasted when we could be out there–” he points violently, “looking for him.” 

“Dean–” Cas starts.

“I…” Dean scrubs his face with his palms. “Need a damn minute,” he grumbles, marching towards the stairs. 

Halfway there, Jack interrupts him. 

“Dean,” the kid says, voice shaking, “I'm sorry, I–” 

“Not your fault, kid,” Dean says on his breath, still walking. 

“I wanna help–” Jack starts again, but Dean's words slice through it. 

“Not right now!” He stomps up the stairs and into the closest room— Cas's, whispering a curse at himself for yelling at the poor kid. 

He wishes there was a door to slam, but the barn-style door mocks him as he flings it closed, and it bounces off the frame. He wants to punch something, to throw things, break things, but he doesn't. Instead, he paces, hands clenching in and out of fists.

He paces towards the double French doors, then turns back towards the bedroom door, stopping short when he sees Cas standing in the doorway, one foot forward, one hand gripping the doorframe, watching him warily. It's not lost on him that if Sammy was here, he'd be looking at Dean the same way. 

“What?!” Dean snaps. 

Cas doesn't flinch. 

The angel sucks in a breath, then exhales sharp. “What do you need?”

“I dunno!” Dean starts pacing again, throwing his arms out and back down again. “I need something to happen, man! I need… to go!” He waves towards the door, on the verge of hyperventilating. “I need to find my brother!” 

Cas takes long strides towards Dean until he's right in front of him, gripping his arms and shaking him.

“Hey! Cowboy… hey, hey, look at me.” 

Dean sucks in a breath, holding it, staring into ocean blue eyes. 

“We've been here less than five minutes.” 

Dean's brows scrunch together as Cas continues. 

“I know it feels like a lifetime, but we've got this, okay?” 

Dean shifts his eyes away. 

“I said look at me,” Cas commands. 

Dean obeys. 

“Okay?” The angel presses his lips together, then says, “I've got you… and we've got Sam.” 

Dean nearly collapses into Cas. He wraps his arms around the angel and holds on as tight as he can, fingers gripping the back of his leather cut tight. He presses his mouth into Cas's shoulder and sighs deep. 

“Please,” he whispers, not even knowing what he's asking for. 

Cas pulls him close with one arm, the other hand reaching up to pet the back of his head, then sliding back down, fingers splayed against Dean's back. 

“I've got you, cowboy,” he says softly, “I've got you.” 

***

Dean pulls away quickly, the comfort not lasting long. “I have to go back down there. I– I– I can't just stay up here with my thumb up my ass. I need to do something.” He turns, rocketing down the stairs, not even waiting for Cas to follow. 

Dean stops at the computer cubby near the stairs. “Hey Andy, got anything?” 

Andy startles, looking up at Dean. “Uh, n– no, not yet. I'm sorry.”

Dean nods, pursing his lips. “Okay, let me know if you do.” 

“O– Okay,” Andy answers. 

Dean heads to the kitchen. He picks up a gun off the counter and starts cleaning it.  He can feel their eyes on him. He tries to ignore it, but he can literally feel it on his skin. He slams the gun pieces onto the counter and looks at all of them. 

“What?” 

All the guys look at him like a deer in the goddamn headlights. 

“Well… Chap…” Baz says cautiously. “Uh, love the enthusiasm, really,” he points, “but that one is already cleaned.” 

“Goddamn it,” Dean grumbles, scrubbing his face. He inhales deep, then exhales deeper through his nose. “Well, then,” he says, entirely too calm for his demeanor… “Could someone give me one that isn't clean?” 

Someone, he doesn't know who, hands him a revolver. He's halfway through cleaning it before he notices the intricate symbols carved in it. He stops to admire it for a few seconds. When he's done, he puts it in the clean pile, then grabs another weapon. And another. 

Rinse, repeat. 

But he can't concentrate. 

He can't stop the feeling that this is a waste of time. Like they should be out there… doing something other than cleaning weapons or looking at maps or talking about magic. He catches movement, glancing over to see Cas come off the stairs. There's some kind of silent communication happening between him and the other guys. 

Dean presses his hands on the counter, looking between all of them. He rolls his eyes and huffs. 

“I said I'm fine!” he yells. 

Silence falls over the room… Rowena stops to look at him mid-pour of whatever the hell is in the cocktails, Jack flinches, and Andy's mouse freezes its movement, but Dean keeps working. 

He ignores their stares, including Cas's. Especially Cas's. 

Being around the angel only makes Dean feel more guilty. 

This is his fault. All of this… is his fault. 

If he hadn't come here… if he hadn't brought Sam into this… 

Dean leaves the weapons station and stalks to the bar. Lily sees him coming and already has a bottle of delectable amber liquor and a crystal tumbler out for him, pouring two fingers. 

He mumbles a quiet thank you, manages a half smile and downs it. As soon as the glass hits the bar, she pours another. He downs that one too. When he sets the glass down once more, he watches Lily's eyes flick up, her head nods subtly. Instead of pouring Dean a third shot, she reaches into the fridge for a beer, pops the top and hands it to Dean, expression apologetic.

Dean manages a half smile as he takes the beer. He looks behind him, only to see Cas facing his direction but the angel turns his head quickly… as if he wasn't staring a hole into Dean's head. As if he wasn't the one who just told Lily– with a look– to cut Dean off the whiskey. 

Well fuck that. Dean knows where the damn bottle is.

He takes a long pull from the beer in his hand. He clocks Jack across the room, and beelines it towards him. 

“Hey kid,” he says in a low voice. Jack turns to look at him, wary. “I shouldn't have yelled.” Jack's eyes tell Dean that he wants to say something but doesn't. Instead, he gives a tentative nod. “You wanna help?” Jack nods again, more eager. Dean leans into him. “When we find my brother, I want you to take all of them down.” Jack's eyes widen. “Take them out. And I wanna be there when you do.” 

“I– I dunno if I'm strong enough to–” 

“Yes you are.” Dean cuts him off. “I know you are.” 

Jack starts to smile and say something else, but…

“Jack!” The kid startles and both he and Dean look in the direction of Cas's booming voice. The angel is walking towards them. His voice softens when he catches up. “Can you go help the girls look for the other maps?” 

“Yeah,” Jack sighs. He gives Dean another look before walking away. 

Cas turns to Dean with a stern look and a low tone. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What am I–” Dean chuckles humorlessly, taking another long pull from the beer. “I'm doing what I have to do to get Sam back safe.” He stares at Cas. “What are you doing? What's everyone doing besides standing around cleaning guns and looking at maps?” 

“We have to have a–”

“Plan. Yeah, I know, Cas.” Dean narrows his eyes. “You keep saying that.” He walks away, leaving the angel staring behind him. 

“Mike,” Dean says his name like a drill sergeant as he approaches. “Heard from Gabe?” 

The president eyes Dean before he answers. “Not yet.” 

“Can't you call him? Or– or I dunno, use your angel mojo or something to find out anything? We're just eating time here.” 

Mike tilts his head slightly. When he speaks, it's as if he's addressing someone on the verge of a mental break. Fair, but it still pisses Dean off. 

“Gabe is out locating any area Lucifer might’ve used that we missed. Once he checks in, you'll be the first to know.” 

Dean's hand instinctively balls into a fist. Mike's not telling him everything, and he knows it. 

“Oh, so… why don't we just sit around and wait then.” He really wants to swing the arm his fist is attached to. 

“That's not what we're doing, Dean.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Dean snaps. He feels a presence, then a familiar hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off.

Mike tilts his head a little, expression calm, voice calm, and it infuriates the fuck out of Dean. 

“We're doing more than you think,” he says. 

“Cowboy–” Cas starts. 

Dean ignores him. Stepping closer to Mike. “Yeah? Well, why don't you enlighten me, prez,” The sarcasm in his tone could be bottled and sold. 

“Let's go for a walk,” Cas says again. 

Mike's gray-blue eyes narrow at Dean. “As soon as I know more… I will.” 

“I said,” Dean growls, “that's not good enough.” 

Mike doesn't reply, only stares at Dean. There's no malice in his expression, but he's not giving much else away. 

Dean is pulled back from Mike and spun around to face Cas. 

“Let's go for a walk, Dean.” the angel says, raising his brows. 

“No.” 

“Let me rephrase,” Cas's tone lowers. “You're going for a walk with me. Now.” 

Dean leans into him. “And who's gonna make me? You?” 

Cas sighs, no hint of humor when he says, “I could if you want, but…” Blue eyes bore into him. “Please.” 

“Goddamn it,” Dean grumbles, scrubbing his face with his palms. “Fine.” He downs the last of the beer and throws his arm towards the door. “Lead the way, I guess.” 

Out on the patio, Cas rounds on Dean. “We're doing–” 

“If you say, ‘everything we can,’ so fucking help me,” Dean hisses. “And what is this? Going for a walk? Really? We don't have time for that, Cas!” 

Cas sighs, hands on his hips. “Dean, you have to calm down.” 

“Calm d–” Dean laughs maniacally. “You want me to calm down?” He turns away, walking a couple steps, hand over his mouth before violently pulling it away, spinning again. “When my brother is out there, God knows where, having God-knows-what done to him?” He huffs. “You're crazier than I thought… and you don't know me… at all.” 

Dean can see the hurt flash in Cas's eyes, but he recovers quickly and the stoney calm is back. 

“Come on.” He jerks his head away from the house. 

“Did you not hear what I just said, angel?” 

“Oh, I heard you, cowboy.” Cas says it in a way that tells Dean he struck a nerve. “Come. On.” He turns and starts walking away from Dean. And of course, for some reason, Dean's compelled to follow him. 

“Where the hell are we going?” Dean huffs behind him.

“We're going to the cabin.” It's the only answer Dean gets until they get there, and Cas has the door open, waving him in. He tries not to think about the last time the two of them were in this cabin. 

“What is this shit?” Dean asks, arms crossed. “You gonna lock me in here? ‘Cause I got news for you. I'm handy with a lock pick.” 

“Would you shut the hell up?” Cas blurts. “I'm trying to help.” 

“News flash! You're not.” Dean's scowl is gonna cause permanent wrinkles. 

“Dean, you can't…” Cas struggles for words, definitely unlike him. He exhales sharply. “You can't snap at everyone who's trying to help.” His words are calm and measured. 

“I sure as hell can if it's my brother, and nothing is happening.” 

“Things are happening. We aren't doing nothing, Dean,” Cas says calmly.

“It sure feels like nothing,” Dean grumbles. "And this–” he motions between them– “isn't helping! 

There's another flash of hurt in Cas's eyes, gone as fast as it comes. Dean doesn't mean it that way, but he can't bring himself to explain. Not right now.

“We're going to find him, Dean.” 

“How, Cas?!” Dean starts to pace. “I don't know what's going on, sure as shit don't know where they took him. Hell, they could've taken him to Hell!” 

“He's not in Hell,” Cas sighs. 

“And how do you know that?” Dean shoots a glare at Cas.

“Because Crowley already checked,” the angel replies, starting to sound impatient. 

Good. Maybe he'll have enough of this shit and leave Dean alone so he can slip outta here and go find his damn brother.

“Oh,” Dean's voice drips in sarcasm. “Good ole Crowley. Right? The devil you know?” He paces again. “And you trust him?” 

“No,” Cas replies dryly. Dean stops and stares at the angel. “But he's been an ally for a long time.”

“Yeah. So were Raphael… and Ury, right?” 

That one bites. Dean sees the perfectly composed Cas start to unravel, but he catches himself. 

“Cas–” Dean softens his voice. 

The angel's harsh inhale cuts off his words. “I'm gonna do everything I can for you, Dean. We are gonna do everything we can–”

“Oh, I think you've done enough.” Dean's words cut like a razor sharp knife. He doesn't even realize what he just said until Cas goes deathly quiet. 

Dean winces. “Fuck, I'm… I don't even know what I'm saying.”

“Yes you do,” the angel's voice is gravel and stone. “But it doesn't matter. We're gonna find Sam, and we're gonna get him back safe.”

“You keep saying that,” Dean mumbles.

“Because it's true.” Cas steps towards him. 

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Dean's voice is almost a whisper.

Cas steps closer. “Haven't I proven to you yet that I'll do anything for you, cowboy?” 

Dean doesn't answer. He doesn't trust his own voice. Instead, he lets the anger boil over inside him again.

“You don't know what this is like for me!” Just as he thought, Dean regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but he doesn't show it. 

“I don't?” Cas shoots back, brows raised. His blue eyes narrow. “You think I haven't lost people I love? You think I haven't lost brothers? Sisters? I almost lost you more than once!” 

Dean can feel the emotions pouring out of Cas when he says this, but he can't fucking deal with that. 

He has to focus.

“I don't matter right now, Sam does! And he's not lost!” Dean yells. “He isn’t gone.” 

“You're right,” Cas holds his hands up, mouth pressed together in a hard line. “He's not.” 

Dean knows his words keep cutting Cas deep, but he also knows the angel is just trying to placate him, and Dean's anger and panic are overriding everything else. 

“He's out there! And– And we're sitting here… doing nothing!” Dean's chest feels like it could cave in any minute. 

“Everybody has a job, Dean.” Cas rubs his forehead. “The guys are on weapons,” he starts to tick off, “Hannah and Benji– underground terrain, Rowena and Meg– magic, Andy and Jack– surveillance. Gabe's already out looking for missed tunnels…”  

“And Mike?” Dean raises his eyebrows. 

“Keeping it all together.” 

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, he can't even answer a damn question about angel mojo.” 

“Because the angel mojo isn't working.” Cas's tone is sharp. 

Dean turns, squinting at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean we've tried.” His eyes flash with fury. “That's what I was doing upstairs when you left. Mike's tried too.” He sighs hard. “They have us blocked.”

“Blocked?” 

“Yes, blocked. I mean seriously warded.” The angel's jaw ticks. “We can't find him telepathically, unless we figure out a way to break through.” 

“Great,” Dean growls. “That your job?“ 

“My job is this.” Cas stares at him. 

“Your job is me?” Dean's eyebrows are on the ceiling. Anger boils again. “Well, that's just great. I don't need a fucking babysitter, Cas.” 

“My job is keeping you safe,” the angel chides. “Which I gave to myself. And it's not a job, it's an impossibility.”

“You're damn right.” Dean marches towards Cas. “Because you know what my job is?” He stares nose to nose into once irritated, now sympathetic blue eyes. “My job is out there–” he flings his arm out and points, “being tortured–” his breath hitches, heated tears flooding his eyes, “because of… me.”

“What?” Cas looks at Dean in shock, brows knitted. Hands reach up to hold Dean's face. “No, Dean. This isn't… this isn't your fault.” 

Dean puts a hand flat on the angel's chest. Not to push him away, he just needs to feel something other than the pounding in his own head. 

He stares at his hand. 

“This is on me,” he says, voice quaking. “If I hadn't… if I hadn't brought him here…” Dean shakes his head, Cas's hands slide down to his shoulders. “This case… this place.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a tear slipping out, leaving a scorching trail down his cheek. “I might've gotten my brother killed, Cas.” 

The angel's hands slide back up to cradle Dean's face, thumb brushing across his cheek to wipe the tear away. 

“Look at me, Dean,” he says, voice thick. 

Dean opens his eyes to see that Cas's are shining through his own unshed tears. 

“That's– all of that is on me, not you. I brought you into this, I asked you to bring your brother here. Me, not you.” Cas smiles sadly. “But… I don't regret any of it.” He takes a harsh breath. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, cowboy,” his voice breaks on the endearment. 

Dean's eyes flutter closed, heart slamming against his ribs as Cas continues. 

“No matter what happens, I'm gonna make this right for you, and for Sam.” 

Dean can't take it anymore. He crumbles like he's been waiting his whole life to do it. 

“I just want him back, Cas,” his words barely a whisper. 

“I know. Me too.” Cas pulls Dean's face towards him, kissing him hard, then softer and Dean lets him. He melts into him until Cas pulls back. “I won't rest until we do. But it's getting late, and you need some rest.” 

Dean huffs. “That's probably not gonna happen.” 

“Yeah, I know that too.” He sighs, soft breath washing over Dean's face. “Let's go, cowboy.” 

“Okay, Cas.” Dean nods, exhausted. 

***

Rest doesn't find Dean. Of course it doesn't. Even though he feels the exhaustion, he can't bring himself to rest even for a second. If he stops moving, if he stops trying to find a way to get to his brother… 

He doesn't even want to think about the consequences of that. 

Instead, he paces, trying to get his tired brain to think, think damn it! But the only thing it keeps telling him is that he should've been there. He should've been there to protect Sam. 

He should've been the one they took, not Sam. 

This whole time, Dean thought they were doing things to get to him, to kill him, but looking back, he realizes that was a stupid thing to think. Of course, he didn't know… but what kind of fucking excuse is that? All this time, this whole thing… was for them to get to Sam and turn him into some kind of a fucking monster. 

Dean's not going to let them. 

He's never going to let them. 

He'll die before that ever happens. 

He keeps asking everyone if they need help, a way for him to try to atone for his earlier outbursts. Not like he's getting any better, but he's trying. They keep telling him they've got it. Dean reads it as they don't want his help. Maybe they're afraid he'll lose his shit again. 

It's one a.m.... it's still a strong possibility. 

He grabs another beer from the bar fridge, helping himself since Lily's gone to bed– something Elle insisted on. He avoids the looks of disapproval Cas gives him each time he gets another one. What Cas doesn't know… or maybe he does– he probably does– is that when the angel's not looking, he swipes the whiskey bottle, takes a swig directly from it, and puts it back like nothing happened. 

Meg sees him, though. She clicks her tongue at him, and he shoots her a look of ‘tell on me, and I'll stab you with my angel blade.’ 

Dean grabs Sam's laptop at some point in the night. Around two a.m., maybe, he's losing track of time now. He feels like he's been stabbed in the chest when he opens it to see the background is a picture of the two of them with their dad a lifetime ago. They're all smiling like their life wasn't a goddamn train wreck back then, too. He slams it closed, eyelids closing with it, breathing deeply in and out of his nose. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a soft squeeze, and knows it's Cas, a gesture of comfort. Dean covers the hand with his own without looking up and gives a squeeze back to tell the angel he's okay. 

He's not.

Eventually, he opens the laptop back up. He starts searching for any weird goings on all across the state of Arkansas. He finds all the normal stuff… even stuff that regular people might think is weird, but he knows isn't his kinda weird. 

He's a hunter. 

He can at least do this. 

At one point, something catches his attention. It's three-thirty a.m. now, or at least that's what he can make out through his bleary eyes, and the words are running together on the screen, but he sees reports of lightning… when there was no storm in sight. 

He feels his heart pick up speed, blinking furiously to read the news story. 

Fuck. 

Who knew that lightning could travel miles and miles and be seen without a storm. Sam would probably know that.

Meteorologists confirm. Whatever. 

He tells Cas anyway, who tells Mike, who flaps his invisible wings and disappears in an instant to check it out. But, when Mike reappears sometime later, he only looks at Dean with a grim expression and shakes his head. 

Dean's heart sinks again. 

He can't stand the looks he keeps getting from Cas, concerned, loving, sometimes annoyed when Dean refuses to close his eyes and keep them closed for a few hours, so he avoids eye contact as much as possible. 

He does catch himself nodding off once or twice, clearing his throat and scrubbing his face with his palms, irritated with himself. He even goes into the bathroom once to splash frigid water on his face. 

It barely helps. 

The last time he goes for a beer, it's swiftly snatched out of his hand by an exasperated Cas and replaced with a steaming cup of black coffee pressed into his palm instead. The resigned look on the angel’s face tells him Cas has given up on trying to keep Dean from sleep deprivation. 

Still, a short-lived but intense argument breaks out as Cas laments about how he's not taking care of himself, Dean in turn jumping down the angel's throat about how he's not his damn father. 

“At least go take a shower, cowboy,” Cas begs. 

Dean begrudgingly does. 

He doesn't feel any better after it. He doesn't feel refreshed. He feels angrier and more tired. 

At four a.m. he finds himself having to apologize, yet again, to the kid when Jack– having taken over the surveillance checks– thinks he sees Sam on one of them. Andy had successfully hacked into all the traffic cams from Berryville to Rogers, along with some business security cameras. 

The figure in question is seen walking along the street in Rogers near some bars that had let out a few hours earlier. He's tall, similar build to Sam, similar hair… but it's not him. Dean would know his brother anywhere, and that's not him. 

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. “It looks a lot like him.” His eyes are wide and hopeful, and Dean is certain and irritated. 

“No, it's not,” Dean answers at first. “Those aren't his clothes… he doesn't walk like that…”

But when Jack pushes, Dean snaps. 

“You think I don't know my own brother?!” He raises his voice. “If I say it's not him, it's not him, damn it!” 

Jack's face sends another dagger through Dean's chest, and he apologizes by placing a hand on the kid's shoulder, mumbling it under his breath. Cas forces Jack to go to bed after that. He's half human… and still needs rest, but Dean still feels like an asshole. 

It turns out Cas was right about the shower. Not because it makes him feel any better, but because shortly after Jack disappears upstairs, Dean overhears a report from a local news station out of Fayetteville. 

“The body of a man fatally stabbed overnight was discovered in a rural orchard outside Fayetteville…” the news anchor reads cheerfully. “Police were called to the scene off highway sixteen anonymously just an hour ago. The man did not have any identification, but is described as tall, between six-foot-two and six-foot-five with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes.” 

Dean's head snaps up to the TV when he hears that. 

“Turn that up… turn it up!” he demands. 

“Police are feverishly working to identify the man, who did not have identification on him, but they did mention a distinctive tattoo… one which leads them to believe that this could be the work of a satanic cult. More on this in our five o’clock hour.” 

Dean touches the tattoo he and his brother share, a pentacle surrounded by flames– one his whole family had to keep demons from possessing them– and he feels the blood drain from his body. All eyes are on him as he stands up so quickly, he stumbles, Sam's laptop falling to the floor. Cas is at his side in an instant, holding him up. 

“Dean…” Cas says, tone urgent. “It's not him… it's not him–”

“We have to go.” It's all Dean says before he's sprinting up the stairs and throwing on his suit. 

Cas is right behind him, begging him to stop, trying to get him to understand that he knows it's not Sam, but Dean will not listen. 

“I'm going, Cas. With or without you,” he insists. 

“With,” Cas says without hesitation. 

He steps into the empty room attached to his and, in far too damn little time it normally takes to change, emerges looking impeccable in a suit and blue tie. Dean stares, but only for a second. 

The next words out of Cas's mouth stop Dean in his tracks. 

“But you're in no shape to drive or ride, so, looks like the car's the winner, and I'm driving.” Dean tries to protest, but Cas is adamant that Dean's delirious and… “Unsafe behind the fucking wheel, cowboy.”

On any other day, Dean would argue for hours about this, but he doesn't have the strength to, so he reluctantly agrees. 

“Hope you know how to hotwire a car,” he says, running down the stairs.

“Do I know how to–” He hears Cas huff behind him. “I'm an outlaw biker, Dean… and an angel. I can start it with the touch of my finger.” Dean can feel the eye roll. 

That one-finger start is exactly what Cas does. Dean wants to be impressed, but he's too damn deep in his own head. He tries to be concerned about Cas's driving on the way there. He tries to listen to music but ends up turning it off almost immediately after getting in the car. He tries to be present for conversation with Cas, but there is none. 

All he can think about is what he's going to find when he gets to the coroner’s. He does manage to control the shaking in his voice when he calls the sheriff's office and, after the one hour drive that feels like two days, agents Osbourne and Lommi walk in. 

Dean is cool as a cucumber when he lies that the ‘FBI’ has seen multiple cases like this recently. But when the medical examiner pulls the body out, Dean feels his knees go weak. 

“We'll take it from here,” Dean says, staring at the black body bag. When the young doctor starts to protest, Dean replies sternly with… "I've been doing this a long time, Doogie, you wanna impede a federal investigation?” The ME’s eyes widen. Bingo. “Thank you. Now exit stage left.” 

The subtle kick on Dean's leg from Cas isn't lost on him. 

Alone with just Cas, and what could very realistically be his dead brother, Dean reaches towards the zipper. He can't stop his hand from shaking no matter how many times he pumps it in and out of a fist. Finally, Cas grabs his hand, stepping in front of Dean and walks him back a couple steps.

“Let me,” Cas says, eyes imploring. 

Dean nods, jaw so tight it could snap, holding his breath like he's ten feet underwater. 

Cas unzips the bag and pulls open the flaps. His reactionary sigh is loud. 

Dean blinks and steps forward. Blinking again and again to make sure he's seeing right. 

It's not Sam. 

Dean's held breath rushes out of him. 

“It's not him, it's not–” Dean whispers, throat too thick to produce sound. His chest heaves as he damn near collapses into Cas. 

The angel holds him steady for a few minutes, letting Dean ground himself. He presses his lips to Dean's temple. 

“C'mon, cowboy, let's go.” 

In the parking lot, Cas stops abruptly. He touches two fingers to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“What is it?” Dean asks. 

Cas drops his hand, shaking his head. “I don't know.” He looks around. “We should go.”

“I think we should stay… look around,” Dean offers.

“No.” The angel's reply is blunt. 

Dean bristles.

“Why? Because you said so?” 

Cas rounds on him. “Because you're half-cocked, exhausted, and reckless,” he blurts. 

Dean is instantly pissed. “No, I'm not.” 

“Yeah because driving an hour in the middle of the night on nothing but alcohol and coffee, snapping at a doctor just doing their job, is all normal behavior,” Cas barks. “I can't believe you haven't landed yourself in a federal prison yet.” 

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but he can't. Instead, he just stares at the angel, hurt and anger rolling inside him. 

“Whatever,” he finally says, storming to the car. “You're an asshole.” 

“Yeah I know,” Cas grumbles, following him. 

Dean stays mute as they head out of town, staring out the window. When he feels Cas's hand on his thigh, he looks down at it, turning his eyes towards the angel. 

“I'm glad it wasn't him,” Cas says softly, gaze shifting to Dean, then back to the road. 

Dean covers Cas's hand with his. “Me too.” 

The one thing Cas doesn't do is tell Dean he told him so. He did, though, tell him so. He told him it wasn't Sam. He told him he knows Sam is alive, but when it comes to his little brother, Dean always has to check for himself. 

He clears his throat. “What you said in the cabin…” 

“Mm?” Cas looks at him in question. 

“About this being your fault.” 

Cas's jaw ticks. He nods. 

“It's not, Cas.” Blue eyes shoot to Dean's and back to the road, but he doesn't say anything. “I think… they would've come after me and Sam anyway, even if I never met you.” 

Cas stares at Dean so long, he's afraid they might run off the road. Then again, he figures an angel could probably drive a car with their eyes closed. 

Dean's breath hitches as he whispers, “I'm glad I met you, Cas,” afraid of what his voice might sound like. 

He watches Cas swallow hard, blinking a couple times before the smile he gives Dean threatens to cave in his chest. 

He reaches over, caressing his knuckles down Dean's cheek. Dean grabs Cas's wrist, kissing the knuckles before pressing the angel’s palm into his cheek. 

It's six-thirty a.m. now, Dean can just barely see signs of first light on the horizon. He reaches down and switches on the radio to drown out the voices screaming in his head. 

“Here in this room, 

I'm chasing down my demons, 

I can hear them breathing, 

But who knew,

That you would be my comfort, 

You could bring the healing?

But if my friends' gonna let this slide,

How come you never left my side?

Before I go, make it last all night,

While I slip into the Great Divide…”

Dean blinks long and slow, trying to fight the exhaustion. 

“Going down with my wings on fire,

Guess I'll seize you in another life,

Stepping out of body,

You can tell everybody, 

Mama, I'm a kamikaze…”

He loses the battle. His eyelids blink one last time before they stay that way, the world around him fading to black, images of burning down the world to get to his brother rolling through his mind like a movie reel.

~

“The day that I met you

The world had just spit me out

On my way to the bottom

Sure I'd never be found

Then you saw me for me

Made me believe in myself

On the day that I met you

It all turned around

You said,

‘Close your eyes

Don't look down…’”

Fall Into Me, Forest Blakk

***