Archive of Our Own ^beta

JULY 28^th, 2008

ABERDEEN, MARYLAND

“You shoulda let it finish.”

Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and took a moment to catch his breath, looking at the little redhead with confusion in his eyes. “What?” he panted.

Shrugging, the little boy leaned toward the edge of the bed, tilting his head to the side and examining the dead shtriga. “I dunno what it is. But it looked like it was gonna put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, well—” Sam snorted out a bitter laugh, engaging the safety on his handgun before tucking it into the waistband of his pants. “He would have put you to sleep in a way you can’t wake up from.”

“That’s what I meant.”

Sam crinkled his brow, looking at the boy with a mixture of contemplation and pain on his features. It had been a long time since he had been a child advocate, but he remembered enough to know suicidal ideation could start at agonizingly young ages.

“You, uh… you want to go to sleep and not wake up?” Sam glanced at the bedroom door, knowing he could only stay as long as the rest of the building remained unaware of his presence. “How long have you felt like that?”

“I dunno,” the boy mumbled, still staring at the shtriga. “I don’t like sleeping, ‘cause there’s so many bad dreams, and I used to like being awake, but I don’t like being awake here, so…” He shrugged again, the gesture entirely too careless for what he was trying to say. “I don’t really wanna die, ‘cause that’s forever, y’know? But I don’t wanna be awake or asleep anymore, so…” He shrugged yet again. “What else is there?”

For the first time since Dean went to Hell, Sam felt a flicker of something inside him that wasn’t anger or grief. He honestly hadn’t known whether or not he was still capable of sympathy, let alone empathy, so it was almost a relief to realize he was feeling both. It was also a relief to find the boy was only low-key suicidal—craving escape more from his situation than his own head—but it hurt to witness all the same.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked softly.

“Liam. Liam T. Bailey.” Liam held his hand out and peered up at Sam with wide, strikingly blue eyes, licking his chapped lips. “What’s your name?”

“Sam. Sam K. Winchester.” Sam smiled ever-so-slightly and shook the hand, crouching down beside the bed to get on Liam’s level. “Do the people here hurt you, Liam?”

Liam shrugged, shifting around under the blankets until he was sitting cross-legged. “Not really.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Some of the older boys do, but it’s not a big deal.  I just wanna go home. They keep saying I can, and then they don’t let me. They say Mom’s gonna visit, but she never does. I just… I don’t wanna be here, but every time I run away, I run out of money, and I have to come back.”

Sam pursed his lips and nodded slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “How many times have you run away?”

Liam only shrugged again. “I dunno. Like, a gazillion.”

Sam laughed softly. “Is that an official count?”

Liam flashed a smile of his own and nodded. “Yup.”

Sam let his smile linger, and he leaned against the bed, folding his arms on the mattress. “When you ran away, did you get to see your mom?”

Liam’s smile faded, dejected eyes dropping to the comforter, and he slowly shook his head. “No. I saw her once, but she called my caseworker to take me back.” He sniffed, but it didn’t look like he was crying, and then he offered another one of his shrugs. “It’s my fault Daddy went to jail. Mom has to go to work now… and she’s mad at me.”

Sam kept his outward expression open and understanding, but he could already feel cynicism digging its claws into his heart. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He smiled warmly and tried to wave off the grave air Liam had created. “I doubt what happened with your dad was your fault.”

Liam folded his hands together in his lap, playing with his own fingers, shame coloring his cheeks. “No, it was.” He sniffed again. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about what Daddy and I did together… about our special time… but I did, and then they took him away.”

Sam felt another weight added to the already sizable load on his chest, and he found himself desperately wishing there was something he could do besides talk. “Liam… if somebody breaks the law, it’s their fault when they go to jail, not the person who tells on them.” He chose his words carefully as he continued. “I’m sure you’ve been told not to tattle before, right?”

Liam nodded, peering up at Sam through dark red bangs.

“That’s stupid, Liam. Okay? Don’t listen to grownups who tell you that. Because you know what?” Sam moved a little closer and lowered his voice, as if sharing an important secret. “When you’re little, they tell you not to tattle, but when you grow up, they tell you that’s all you should do.”

Liam looked at him in shock and confusion, so Sam expanded his explanation.

“Grownups go to the police and get lawyers when someone does something bad to them, because that’s how it should be. If someone does something bad to you, telling a grownup about it doesn’t make you a tattletale, it makes you very mature and very smart.” Sam wet his lips and reached out, gently nudging Liam’s cheek. “You did what you were supposed to do, Liam. People might tell you different, but those people… even if they really love you… they tell you that because they don’t want to get in trouble.” He shook his head emphatically. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad people, and it doesn’t mean they don’t love you. But part of growing up is learning that you’ve got to tell someone when you’ve been hurt, even if the person who hurt you isn’t happy about it.”

Liam looked at Sam for a moment more, and then he dropped his gaze to his lap. He twisted his hands a few times, sniffed, and fell into silence as he twisted them some more.

Sam stayed quiet, letting Liam digest the words despite knowing they wouldn’t be received. They might help, and they might add to the long-term goal of recovery, but trauma like Liam had couldn’t be talked away in a single night.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before a glance to his right reminded him he had a job to finish. Besides, it wasn’t like he was still in law school, and he definitely wasn’t an advocate anymore. He couldn’t really do anything for the kid without breaking the law; without shattering the law.

“Yeah, buddy. I’ve got to get rid of this thing before anybody catches me in here.” Sam reluctantly got to his feet, knowing the sooner he got away, the less damage his departure would cause. “It can be kinda hard to explain monster hunting to people.”

“You can’t come back and visit?” Liam cringed through the words, as if he expected a physical blow in response to his question.

He probably did.

“I don’t think I can, Liam. I’m sorry.” Sam grabbed the shtriga and hauled it to the window he had come in through. “Don’t tell anybody you saw me, okay?” He pushed the monster corpse through the opening and crawled out after it, turning around to meet Liam’s eyes with a smile.

Liam clambered out of bed and trotted over to the window, wearing a smile, albeit a weaker one, of his own. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

“Good.” Sam crouched down and grabbed the shtriga again, dragging it over his shoulder and around his neck. “It was nice to meet you, Liam.” I have to get out of here.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Sam.” Liam folded his arms on the windowsill and rested his chin on top, an almost dreamy light going into his eyes. “I like you.”

Don’t do that.

“You’re nice.”

Don’t. You don’t know what I’ve done, what I am, and I can’t help you. Don’t. Sam chuckled to stave off the guilt and shame, a note of bitterness slipping into his voice. “I’m really not, but thanks.”

“No, you are.” Liam nodded affirmatively, clearly believing every word he said. “You’re just sad right now. But nobody stays sad forever. You’ll feel better someday, and when you do, you’ll see how nice you are. Trust me. I know these things.” His smile grew a little wider, a little less sad. “I’ve seen, like, a gazillion therapists.”

Sam huffed out a laugh and shook his head, but the smile that lingered on his lips was still tainted with spite. “Well, who am I to argue with, like, a gazillion therapists?”

Liam didn’t say anything else. He simply smiled and waved a goodbye as Sam started to walk away.

Sam couldn’t wave back due to the weight he was carrying, but he flashed a final smile Liam may or may not have been able to see, making it as genuine as he possibly could; then he turned away and tried to push the interaction as a whole out of his mind.

“You shoulda let it finish.”

It wasn’t any of Sam’s business. Liam had said the group home wasn’t hurting him, and of course he wanted to go home; almost all kids in the system wanted to go home, no matter what horrendous thing their parent or parents had done. Liam was getting therapy, and he might not have been safe, but he was safer than he would have been at home or traveling across the United States in an old muscle car.

Bottom line, Sam was a hunter, not a foster dad, and given his recent, uncontrollable, downward spiral into self-destruction and his substance of choice… it just wasn’t a good idea.

Sorry, kid. I hope your case gets sorted out, but I’m not what you want or need. Trust me.

And that was the end of that.

SEPTEMBER 28^th, 2008

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

“Dean?”

Dean startled and barely kept from swearing. I keep forgetting he’s here. Not that he’d been avoiding the kid. Except for the part where he kinda had. Partly because he still wasn’t sure how to handle Sam being a dad, and partly because he was kind of in the middle of something hugely important. They all were.

Dean looked up from the book he was reading with a mildly irritated sigh. “What do you want, Liam?”

Liam froze like a deer in the headlights. “Never mind. Sorry.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.” Dean held out a hand to stop him. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just… tired.” He sighed. “I had a long night. Sorry.” He rubbed his face and blinked a few times, trying to coax his brain into a semi-sober state.

Liam didn’t say or do anything, hovering in the archway between the library and the kitchen with his body tensed, like a cornered animal ready to bolt.

Dean leaned back and set his book aside, giving the kid his undivided attention. “Come on, now. What is it?”

Liam shifted in place, glancing over his shoulder periodically, as if ensuring there was still an escape route. Which, given what little Dean knew of the kid’s history, was quite possible.

“Um… well, it’s two things, actually. I, um…” Liam looked down, fiddling with a piece of printer paper Dean hadn’t noticed before.

But did I miss it because I’m drunk or because I’m tired? That is the question.

Liam cleared his throat and shuffled forward, holding out the sheet with as much space in between himself and Dean as he could manage. “This is for you. Sorzie, um, Sorzie said we surprised you the other day, and that’s why you kinda freaked out a little, so I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Dean simultaneously took the sheet and opened his mouth to object to Sam’s idea, but he turned the paper over and stopped himself before he could get a word out. “Lee… did you color this?”

Liam had taken a few steps back as soon as the paper left his hand, and he pressed himself against the wall with a bashful nod.

Dean whistled lowly, scanning the brightly-colored illustration of a pistol laying in a bed of flowers and leaves. It was an odd image—especially for an eleven year old to want to color—but there was no denying the skill behind the blended shades and the intricate designs that hadn’t accidentally been tainted by whatever color was next to them.

“This is pretty awesome, Lee.” Dean glanced up from the sheet to see a little smile on Liam’s face. “And you said this is for me?”

Liam nodded and chewed on his lip, hands folded behind him, bouncing him against the wall. “Mm-hmm. Sorzie said you like guns and roses, so I thought…” He shrugged. “Do you like it?”

Dean somehow managed not to burst out laughing. Instead, he channeled his amusement into a broad smile. “You know, I do like Guns N’ Roses, but… I think I like this a little bit more. Can I hang it on the fridge?”

Liam bounced on his toes, clearly ecstatic, but all he did was nod and smile.

“I’ll go looking for some magnets, then. I don’t think Bobby’s hung anything on his fridge in… well, I don’t think he’s ever hung anything on his fridge.” Dean set the paper on top of his book, immediately moving his beer to the other end of the table, where no accidental spills could ruin his gift. “Okay, that was thing one. What’s thing two?”

Liam tensed up slightly, seeming unnerved by the change in direction, even though he was the one who had initiated conversation and said there were two topics to cover.

Dean buffered for a moment, but then he cleared his throat and tried to smooth over whatever rift he had created. “Uh, I mean, unless you changed your mind. That’s cool.”

Liam looked down at the floor and shook his head. He looked up with his lip between his teeth, blue eyes searching Dean’s face before dropping back to the floor. “I just… wanted to tell you…” He took a deep breath and fidgeted in place. “Um, if you, y’know, wanna talk ever… about what happened… you can.” His gaze flickered up and back down again, feet twisting anxiously against the linoleum. “I didn’t mean to ease-drop, but… I heard what you said.”

Dean creased his brow, steadily growing more confused. “You… heard what I said?” Crap. What did he say? More importantly, how angry would Sam be when he found out, if he hadn’t already?

“Earlier… y’know, about being… touched… by the angel… or the not-angel.” Liam kept his eyes on his ratty, untied laces, clearly uncomfortable. “I know it’s not fun to talk about… and you don’t always wanna tell the truth, but… if you wanna sometimes… you can talk to me.” He chanced a look at Dean’s eyes, lips twitching into a smile for a fraction of a second. “I’m a good listener, and… I understand.”

Dean went back over his earlier conversation with Sam and Bobby, trying to figure out what Liam was saying to him. They had been discussing the incident with Castiel and whether or not they believed his claims of angelhood, which fit with Liam referring to him as an angel-not-angel. But at what point did Dean say—

“Well, then tell me what else it could be.”

“Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel.”

It took another three seconds, but then Dean had his epiphany: Liam thought Dean had literally been groped by an angel. He thought Dean said it didn’t happen because he didn’t want to talk about it. Liam said he understood.

Dean blinked slowly, fighting to keep his expression calm. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

“Uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his head and tried to figure out how to proceed. “I didn’t actually mean the angel… not-angel… groped me, I meant…” Well, he had sort of meant it has a joke—a sarcastic way of dismissing what he couldn’t understand—but he hardly wanted to say so under the circumstances. “Castiel just… grabbed me really hard. You know, like how he left a handprint on my arm? I was trying to think of a way to describe a touch that wasn’t… normal.” Nice, Winchester.

Liam tilted his head to the side and thought for a moment, brow scrunched up with confusion. “But then… why did you say it didn’t happen?”

Crap. Dean scratched the back of his neck for a moment. “Well, at first I thought he…” kid words, gotta use kid words, “…touched me in a way that hurt me… which is why I said what I did…” just so we’re clear on groping being a bad thing, “…but I said it didn’t happen because… now that we know he’s something supernatural… I think maybe he did it without touching me… somehow… like with magic, maybe. So, I didn’t want to use a word that meant touching.” Did I mention all of the nope I’m feeling right now?

Liam thought about it for a moment, lips twisting as he pondered, and then, after an agonizing moment of silence, he nodded. “Okay.”

Thank God. Possibly a literal statement, given the last forty-eight hours.

Liam bit his lip, his earlier nervousness returning. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ease-drop.”

Dean waved it off. “You weren’t eavesdropping. We were all in the same room, you were bound to hear something, I just…” He just hadn’t been thinking. He tended to do that a lot when his mouth was moving.

Like, for example, just as Liam turned to go. “Hey, Liam.” He definitely wasn’t thinking then, because if he had been, he would have realized the conversation was over and he was a free man.

Liam stopped with one foot in the library, cautiously abandoning his attempt to leave with a slow turn that left him facing Dean again. “Yes?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, trying to make his tongue wait for his brain to catch up. “Did someone, uh…” Bad plan, very bad plan, abandon ship, abort mission, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, get the heck outta Dodge, preferably right this very instant. “Did someone, uh… y’know, grope… you… before?”

Oh, yeah. Dean couldn’t think of a better conversation to have, especially with a twelve-year-old boy he barely knew and scared the living daylights out of. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Liam shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor again, shrinking in on himself. “Yeah.” He kicked his foot idly, chewing on his lips, one hand wandering up to tug on his hair.

“Okay, well…” Dean wet his lips and gestured to the seat across from him. “You wanna talk about it?” I have no idea what I’m doing. None. I should stop before I make things worse. “Maybe the angel… not-angel… didn’t touch me like… that… but I can still listen.” What part of that sounds like stopping?

Liam shrugged again, still looking at his threadbare sneakers, and his fingers twisted in between the locks of auburn. “It was my fault. I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

Dean pursed his lips, a small flicker of anger forming in the pit of his stomach. This is going to go downhill fast. He cleared his throat, shoving aside his instincts as a protector and older brother and generally decent human being. “What happened, Liam?”

Liam shuffled a little closer but didn’t sit on the chair, partially hiding behind it. “My mom took me to the hospital for my arm… and the doctor asked a lot of questions, and… he found another place where I was hurt, so I told him about Daddy… and how we would sometimes take showers together… or sleep together with no jammies on… and other stuff… and how it hurt sometimes…” He sniffed briefly, eyes misting up. “Daddy always said if I told, they were gonna take me away, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just—” He sniffed again, swallowing hard. “It just did. I just wanted to tell somebody.”

Dean took a breath and continued to tread carefully, but he couldn’t keep in the question banging against the backs of his teeth. “Being taken away was a bad thing, then? Because you, uh… you wanted to go home?”

Liam nodded and dragged his arm over his eyes with another sniff, pressing the sleeve to his mouth when he was done. Dean fondly noted that the flannel Liam was wearing was far too big, and he hoped Liam got the same comfort from wearing Sam’s shirt that Sam had always gotten from wearing Dean’s.

“I wanted to go back home, but they wouldn’t let me…” Liam sniffed again, moving his hand from his mouth to his ear. “Mom told them I was lying… and I tried to tell them I made a mistake, but…” He looked back at Dean, tugging on his hair again. “They still made me go to another family.”

Dean briefly thought of his own time in a boys’ home. It hadn’t been terrible—one could even argue he enjoyed himself—but he wasn’t naïve. He knew there were bad foster parents and group homes out there. “Did, uh… did the other family hurt you, too?”

Liam shook his head, slipping around the chair and sitting down cautiously. “Nobody hurt me. The Beckers were really nice. I liked it there.” His face twisted up, and he shook his head more vigorously than before. “But they weren’t my mom and dad.”

Dean spent a moment stunned speechless, trying to get his head around the idea of this kid wanting to go back to a dad that molested him and a mom that let it happen. He didn’t—he couldn’t—understand.

But he tried his best.

“Hey, I get it. It’s, uh—it’s your mom and dad, you know?”

Liam nodded tearfully, and after everything he had told Dean, it was the next sentence out of his mouth that made the tears spill over. “Everyone said the most awful things about them.” He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself, but his voice shuddered when the air came back out. “It made me so mad, and nobody—nobody cared, nobody listened. Everyone said they were bad, they weren’t bad, they aren’t bad, they’re my mom and dad, and I—” He choked out a sob and immediately stopped talking, putting his hands and their baggy sleeves against his eyes and breathing deep.

Liam, at twelve years of age, discussing his sexual abuse and the fear and pain he felt at being removed from everything he ever knew, was trying not to cry.

“Hey.” Dean cleared his throat, almost going for a hug before realizing contact with an adult male might not be the best thing for that moment… or ever. “Hey, um, look, I don’t normally do… y’know, mushy chick-flick moments and… stuff… but, uh…” He cleared his throat again and rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to process—let alone spit out a response to—everything Liam had told him. “I won’t, y’know, get mad or laugh or anything. If you gotta cry, you gotta cry.”

Liam’s shoulders shook a few more times, but then he was wiping his face and looking at Dean with drying eyes. “I’m okay.” That was definitely a lie. “I don’t need to cry.” So was that. “Sorry.” That wasn’t.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say? Sam was the one with the training, not Dean. He might have had big-brother experience and even some parenting experience by extension, but he definitely didn’t have interacting-with-traumatized-children-without-increasing-the-trauma-by-saying-something-stupid experience.

Sam. Sam is a good place to send this conversation. “Have you, uh… have you talked to Sam about any of this?” Yes, definitely a good move. Go Dean.

Liam nodded. “We talk sometimes.” He swung his legs as he sat, staring down at his lap, and he sniffed hard. “Thank you for listening to me, Dean.”

Dean felt like someone stabbed him in the chest. Kids weren’t supposed to give thanks for a listening ear. Kids were supposed to selfishly assume everyone was obligated to hear what they had to say. They were supposed to think the world revolved around them, they were supposed to interrupt and throw fits when they were ignored, they were supposed to only thank someone for help they could physically see the impact of.

“Anytime, buddy.” Dean flashed a quick smile. “You can always talk to me.”

Liam looked up and offered a little smile of his own. “You can always talk to me, too.”

Dean lightly socked Liam on the shoulder, and he was able to smile for more than two seconds that time around. “Thanks, Lee, but I really didn’t mean… what you thought I meant.”

“But you’re still so sad.” Liam said it as if it were the plainest thing in the world, tilting his head slightly and peering up in confusion. “You have nightmares. You look like you want to cry when you think nobody is watching. You aren’t kind to yourself at all.” He stuck his bottom lip out slightly, seeming confused. “Isn’t it okay to talk about those things, too?” 

Dean stared, speechless, but he slowly got control over his tongue again. “I, um… I… yeah, of course, you should talk about anything that bothers you. Let me know, or let Sam know, or…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Well, if I need someone to talk to, I know I’ve got you, Lee.” He forced a smile, but he wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

Liam only smiled in return, though, sliding from his chair and shuffling over to the fridge. “Want another beer?”

“Sure,” Dean mumbled, half-dazed.

“You aren’t kind to yourself at all.”

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

Dean didn’t know what was happening to the universe, but he needed to go back to the one where he only interacted with Sam on a regular basis; Sam, who would always view Dean as the confident, debonair superhero that had been presented to him from the time he was little. Dean couldn’t handle so many new people coming in and somehow seeing his weak spots like he had—like he had freaking neon arrows pointing at them.

“Here.” Liam put the beer down in front of Dean and set his own juicebox on the table, leaving it there long enough to spear the top with a little plastic straw. “I’m gonna go print a picture of an angel to color. Maybe you can give it to the angel-not-angel, and he won’t leave any more handprints.”

Dean felt around for the bottle and loosely grabbed it. “Yeah, maybe…” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, good luck, buddy. I mean, have fun.” Smooth, Winchester.

Shaking his head, Dean cracked open his beer and reached for his book.

He stopped when he saw Liam’s picture, taking a moment to just sit and look at it; to sit and think about the fact that a little boy he barely knew had taken so much time and effort—because it was clear there had been a lot of time and effort involved—into coloring a picture to apologize for… what? Existing? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Needing help from someone close to Dean? Sam making a life choice neither of them had any control over?

“You look like you want to cry when you think nobody’s watching.”

Well, yeah. Less than a week out of Hell, and new guilt was already being added to the gut-wrenching shame of all he’d done down below.

What was he supposed to do? Smile? Laugh?

Not likely. It was either drink or cry.

So, Dean took another swig and got back to work.

JULY 29^th, 2008

BEL AIR, MARYLAND

Sam flashed his ID at the security guard and bypassed the metal detectors, stopping just long enough to get directions from the sheriff on duty. This may actually be the most legitimate impersonation I’ve ever done. Once he knew where to go, it was a quick trip up the elevator and down the hall to the Office of Children, Youth, and Families.

“Uh, James Page. I have an appointment to look at some files?” Sam flashed his badge to the woman behind the glass and sent a charming smile along with it. Mainly because he didn’t actually have an appointment, and he needed her to let that slide.

“I don’t see you on the schedule…” Lips puckered into a confused frown, brown eyes sliding from a computer screen to Sam’s face. “Are you sure your appointment was for this date and time?”

“Definitely.” Sam nodded without hesitation. “I literally just got this case a few days ago, but the hearing is this week, and I really need to see those files. I know this normally takes a couple weeks, but I emailed someone and explained the situation, and they said—” He held up a finger and reached into his pocket, pulling out a notepad and flipping through blank pages she couldn’t see. “I know I have the name in here… hold on…”

Laughing amiably, the receptionist nodded in the general direction of his jacket. “Let me see your ID again?”

“Huh? Oh.” Sam held it up, still holding the notepad in his other hand and looking a little flustered. “I’m with Harford County CASA. This is, uh, this is my first case.” He uttered a nervous chuckle. “In case you can’t tell.”

“Don’t worry about it. We love you guys.” She flashed a quick smile and then stood up, grabbing her keys. “I’ll be out in just a second, and I can take you back to the file room and get you set up.”

Sam let out a relieved sigh that was only part fake. “Oh, thank you. Do you need to see my court order or anything?” Hopefully not, because he didn’t have one.

“Nope, you’re all good to go.” She waved it off, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear as she input a keycode and followed it with the use of a conventional key. “Now, because we don’t have you on the schedule, I’ll need to know who it is I’m looking for.”

“His name is Liam Bailey.”

She immediately looked over her shoulder. “Oh, boy.”

Sam frowned slightly, genuine concern creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head with a sigh and put another code into a secondary door. “Nothing. I just need to put more paper in the printer. And you might need to make a couple trips to get it all back to your car.”

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes and nodded, already dreading both the work and what it would likely tell him. ‘Oh, boy’ is right.

SEPTEMBER 30^th, 2008

SIOUX FALLS, SOUTH DAKOTA

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?”

Dean had a thousand responses on the tip of his tongue, but not a single one made it past his teeth, fear keeping his jaw clenched shut.

“There's a bigger picture here.”

Dean would deny averting his eyes until his dying breath, but that didn’t change the fact that he did. He looked away, his head started to tilt down, his shoulders even hunched ever-so-slightly.

“You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

Dean swallowed hard, chest tightening at the mere thought of facing those flames again, desperately trying to figure out what to say other than, ‘please, don’t.’

“Who’re you?”

Dean’s head snapped over to look at the library, and he felt a brief rush of panic. Liam.

“I could ask the same.” Castiel’s voice rumbled, low and gravelly, his head turning just enough to put both Dean and Liam in his field of vision. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Dean took one look at Liam’s tearstained cheeks and realized he must have been woken by a nightmare. Crap. Not that he’d expected any less, especially given the whole attacked-by-monsters-and-kept-in-the-panic-room-while-his-caretakers-all-kicked-ghostly-posterior… thing. It was amazing the kid fell asleep at all.

Dean cleared his throat and waved in Liam’s direction. “Go on, Lee, back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Liam took a step back but hovered just past the archway, one hand wrapped around the wall, and he glared. He actually looked mad—something Dean was pretty sure he had never seen on the kid’s face before—and he was focusing that anger entirely on Castiel.

“I don’t like you,” Liam stated plainly.

“How is that relevant?” Castiel replied, equally unenthusiastic.

“Did you know about the monsters?” Liam answered a question with a question.

Castiel glared slightly. “I believe I already explained that this is none of your business.”

“Liam.” Dean pointed to the darkness of the library. “Seriously, bud, go to bed.”

Liam’s face only screwed up with more anger. “Why are you being mean to Dean?”

“Liam!” Dean whisper-yelled, snapping his fingers to get the boy’s attention.

Liam tensed up, staring at Dean with wide eyes, and then he bolted, most likely going back to curl up with an unconscious Sam. Frightened? Yes. Alive? Yes.

Dean cleared his throat and slowly dragged his gaze back to Castiel, who was staring with an inquisitive brow. Hopefully inquisitive. If it was irritated or—literally Heaven forbid—angry and waiting for Dean to take further disciplinary action, they were screwed.

“He’s a kid, alright?” was what eventually came out. “Kids say stuff. Don’t… smite him, or whatever.”

“I don’t make a habit of smiting children.” From the way Castiel said it, Dean wondered whether Castiel would smite children if it was deemed necessary.

He came to the conclusion that, yes, Castiel probably would.

Good to know. Dean cleared his throat again. “Right. Well, you delivered your message, and I’ve got a kid to take care of, so…” He gestured vaguely to the living room, turning his head enough to see the couch, and when he looked back, Castiel was gone.

Of course. He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. My entire life is like one of those jokes where you tell it, but no one laughs, so you keep adding to it, trying to make it funnier, but you end up making it worse instead, but there’s no way out, so you either put yourself out of your misery or keep making it even worse in order to stave off your inevitable doom.

Dean walked into the library and spotted Liam sitting next to the couch, resting his head against Sam’s sleeping back.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispered, flashing a ghost of a smile.

Liam bit his lip and sank back into the furniture. “I’m sorry.”

“No, uh, it’s okay.” Dean rubbed the back of his head and knelt down, wishing he had the energy to smile again; to smile better. “Castiel’s just… really strong. It’s not a good idea to pick a fight with him, alright?”

Liam nodded slightly, sniffled, and then cast a frustrated scowl to the side. “I don’t like him. He’s a dick.”

“Woah, hold up a second.” Dean frowned slightly. “I agree with you, but let’s not go around calling people that, okay?”

Liam frowned, confused, but he nodded obediently. Just like he always did. So desperate for approval and love and the distinct lack of a temper that he would jump off a bridge if Dean asked. Or Sam. Or Bobby. Or anyone, probably.

Well, not Castiel. That was good, at least.

Dean cleared his throat. “Did you have a bad dream?” He resituated himself so he was laying on the nearby floor mattress, facing Liam. “Is that what woke you up?”

Liam crawled onto the makeshift bed and lay down less than two feet away, facing Dean. “Yeah.”

Dean waited a moment, but when Liam didn’t say anything else, he figured the kid didn’t want to talk about it. Dean got that—he was still telling Sam he didn’t remember anything about Hell—so he didn’t press.

“Dean?” Liam’s voice was shaking.

“What’s up, buddy?” Dean whispered.

“I don’t wanna wake Sam, but… I’m really scared.” Liam looked like he wanted to move closer, his fingers picking and clawing at the surface of the mattress, but he stayed put.

“Don’t worry, Liam. The Witnesses are all gone, and they aren’t coming back.”

Liam only shook his head, sniffling quietly. “It’s not that.”

“Well… what is it, then?” Way to tell him Castiel was strong. Idiot.

But Liam shrugged. “Nothing. It just happens sometimes… especially after nightmares.” He shrugged again and sniffed, stretching his legs out so his toes were just barely brushing against Dean’s knees. “I just… I just get really scared, and I don’t know why, but…”

Dean reached out and pulled Liam closer before he could keep talking, setting aside any reservations he had regarding cuddles. If Liam had a problem making physical contact with men due to his past, he wouldn’t have slept with Sam up to that point, and he wouldn’t have been steadily creeping closer to Dean.

“It’s alright, Lee, I gotcha.”

Liam put his head over Dean’s heart and snuggled in close, one hand coming up to fist Dean’s shirt. “Thanks, Dean…”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Dean rubbed Liam’s back and stared at the ceiling. Liam’s shirt was damp with sweat, and Dean knew his own would be just the same in a matter of hours, assuming the nightmares stuck to their schedule.

Dean let out a soft sigh, occasionally running a hand through Liam’s hair, fingers trailing lightly over his back and shoulders in an attempt to soothe.

He felt like a hypocrite for telling Liam not to swear—not only did he have a foul mouth, but it hadn’t been any less foul when he was Liam’s age—but it felt wrong. Maybe it was the desperate need to preserve whatever tiny shreds of innocence the kid still had. Maybe it was the sudden appearance of so-called holy messengers.

Maybe it was because of the word itself. After all, Dean couldn’t help but wonder where Liam had learned it. Had Liam’s father referred to his penis as a dick when he would… when they… well, did he?

Dean almost gagged, and he shoved the entire train of thought off its tracks. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll yell at him if he keeps saying it. It was just a suggestion. He rubbed Liam’s back again and only refrained from sighing because he didn’t want to jerk Liam’s head around.

Geeze. If I’ve been wrapped around his finger after one week, it’s no wonder Sam wasn’t willing to give him up after two months.

“Goodnight, Dee…” Liam trailed off into a yawn.

“Goodnight, Lee.” Dean barely managed not to do the same.

I’m so screwed.

JULY 30^th, 2008

ABERDEEN, MARYLAND

“Knock, knock.” Whisper.

Gasp. “Sam?”

“Knock, knock.” Insistent.

Giggle. “Who’s there?”

“Wanna.” Grin.

Curious. “Wanna who?”

“Wanna run away?” Excited.

“…” Ecstatic. “Yes!”

“Come on, Sammy, work with me here. If you’re wrong, we gank the vamp. If you’re right, it’ll turn out to be nothing, and we can drive a few more hours to Knoebels. Take a day off, ride some roller coasters and stuff. Either way, it works out.”

Sam glanced at Dean and then looked over his shoulder at the backseat. “Do you like roller coasters, Liam?”

Liam shrugged, staring out the window with his chin in his hand. Just like he had been doing for the past hour of the drive. He didn’t want his new pillow, his new blanket, or his new stuffed kitten. He just sat there and stared, perpetually silent, expression somber.

“Well, do you want to check it out?” Sam only pressed because he knew Dean was trying really hard to bridge the gap they had created. “It won’t just be roller coasters. They have lots of fun rides at Knoebels, and maybe we could get some funnel cake and cotton candy and other carnival food. What do you say?”

Liam just shrugged again. He hadn’t said a word since they left the warehouse three days earlier, and other than the incoherent ramblings he uttered between nightmares, he showed no signs of changing his tune.

“I’d like to go, if it’s okay with you.” Sam wet his lips, trying to convince himself things hadn’t been damaged beyond repair. “Would that be alright, Liam?”

Liam didn’t respond at first, but when he did, it was a nod instead of a shrug.

Good. That’s progress. That’s… that’s something. Sam let out a breath and faced forward, fixing his gaze on the road while his mind wandered away.

Three days of rumination later, and Sam still didn’t know what to do about the demon blood. Two voicemails from Ruby later, and he still had no idea what to tell her. Hundreds of sideways looks, tense interactions, and awkward silences later, and he still hadn’t talked to Dean about the elephant in the Impala.

“So…” Dean cleared his throat. “Find a place to stay, and then… hit up the morgue, or the police station first?”

Sam wet his lips and tried not to sigh, feeling painfully helpless and very much like they were wasting time. “Uh, morgue first. If we can look at the victim’s neck, we might be able to rule out vampires without having to talk to anyone.”

Dean nodded a few times, keeping his eyes on the road. “Okay. Cool. Sounds good.”

Sam nodded in return, also keeping his eyes on the road. “Yup. Cool.”

They fell into another awkward silence.

Sam felt a headache creeping in behind his eyes, and he massaged the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Is it a demon blood hangover or stress? He let out a moan before he could stop himself, the painful throb accentuated by the lack of distractions in the car. Knowing my luck, it’s both.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sam rubbed his face and then blinked a few times, but the pain didn’t let up. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Dean side-eyed him up and down suspiciously, but he ultimately nodded. “Okay. You want me to check out the morgue solo while you take a nap?”

Sam shook his head, rubbed his face again, and ran his hands through his hair. “No, no, I’m good. I’m good.”

Dean gave him another sidelong glance but once again let the subject drop.

Sam went back to staring out the window, equally silent.

Liam was still sitting in the backseat, his position unchanged, refusing to acknowledge the world around him.

“Okay, buddy, we’re gonna head out. Keep your phone with you and call us if you need anything, alright?”

Dean hung back while Sam handled the goodbyes, arms crossed over his chest, as if that could keep out the guilt. I did this. Me and my hot head.

“One of us will always have our cell phone turned up loud, so if one of us doesn’t answer, call the other one.” Sam paused, but he got no reaction. “Okay, Liam?”

Liam was laying on his side facing away from them, curled up on the motel bed. He nodded, silent, and continued to stare at the air conditioning unit.

Sam let out a soft sigh and rose from his kneeling position on the floor. “Okay.” He turned to Dean with a helpless expression and a slight hunch to his shoulders. “Uh… let’s go, I guess.”

Dean nodded wordlessly and stepped out, waiting for Sam to walk through and then locking the door behind them. He barely got the key out of the hole before he was striding down the hall, shifting his brain into hunt mode as quickly as he could.

“Dean…”

“Don’t.” Dean kept his voice hard and cold.

Sam took a deep breath. “He’s mad at both of us, Dean. It’s not your f—”

“I said don’t.” They were almost to the end of the hall; if Dean could just get outside, he could drag Sam into hunt mode with him, and the conversation would be over.

“I just tho—”

Dean whirled on the spot, hissing out a low reply. “You weren’t the one throwing punches, Sam, and you aren’t the one he can barely look at, so don’t.” He turned back around and continued down the hall. “Come on. Let’s go catch a cliché.”

Sam followed him with a small sigh, resisting the change of subject for all of three seconds before surrendering. “Right. We, uh, we decided on the morgue first, right?”

Dean nodded sharply.

Sam was silent.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” Dean gripped the wheel a little tighter and ran another red light, silently forbidding every cop under the moon from pulling him over.

“I am freaking out.” Sam held onto the door, leaning into the window as Dean hit the curve way too fast. “But I think he’s testing us, so I’m trying not to freak out.”

“Testing us? What, is he checking our, our, our freakin’ response time?” Dean hit a stretch of open road and floored it, thankful they were almost there. “Trying to find out if he’s more important than the job? We’ve only been away for a couple hours!”

“Trying to see what we’ll do when we’re angry.”

That actually gave Dean pause, though his speed didn’t decrease at all. Great. I scared him so bad he’s doing field tests on my anger management.

“I told you, Dean, we both freaked him out.” It was like Sam could read Dean’s mind. “He’s refusing to answer our calls because he wants to see what we will do when we’re angry.” Sam fell into the door again as Dean slid into the parking lot. “It's—oof—easy to tell Liam we’re not gonna hurt him when he’s being good, and it’s easy to say we’re sorry when we don’t like the consequences, but that doesn’t make it true. He’s creating a situation where violence is the natural, instinctual response to see what we do.”

Dean threw the car in park and opened his door, snorting. “Kid’s too smart for his own good.” He started to walk—run, really—to their room, trying to calm himself without forgetting the importance of Liam always, always answering the phone, because otherwise, they would assume he was dying. Or worse.

“All kids will test you on some level, but kids with his background will be a bit extreme about it.” Sam was half a step behind Dean, his outward calm doing nothing to slow his footsteps. “Bottom line, we gotta be really careful about how we do this.”

‘If this really is a test, and I desperately hope it is,’ went unsaid, but Dean heard it just the same. They would both prefer Liam testing them over the plethora of alternatives.

“Got it.” Dean pulled his key from his pocket and shoved it in the hole, wrenching the door open and pushing it in. “Liam!”

Liam was sitting on one of the beds, propped up against the headboard and watching TV with his cell phone siting right next to him. He looked at them, bored and blinking lazily.

Dean was hit with a flood of relief followed immediately by a flood of anger.

Keep your cool, keep your cool… Dean cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchenette, covering his mouth and waving for Sam to take the lead. Because if I speak, I will probably tell him he’s dead and grounded for life and dead.

“Liam, why didn’t you answer your phone?” Sam, ever the lawyer, calmly asked questions he already knew the answer to. “Didn’t you know we would be worried about you?”

Liam only shrugged, looking back at the television and turning it up.

Sam walked over and carefully took Liam’s wrist in one hand, gently working the remote out of his grasp with the other. “Liam, this is very serious. Do you understand?”

Liam only shrugged again, staring at the TV.

Sam clicked it off and set the remote aside, crouching by the bed and prodding Liam’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hey. Can you look at me?”

Liam shook his head, folding his arms over his stomach and glaring angrily at the mattress.

Sam conceded, holding up his hands in a silent show of surrender. “Okay. Then I just want you to listen.” He took a deep breath, still overwhelmingly calm.

Dean could practically feel the veins in his forehead bursting. Why did he always have to get angry for the both of them?

“Liam, if you don’t answer the phone, Dean and I are going to assume something really, really bad is happening to you. We thought someone was in here trying to hurt you.” Sam nudged Liam’s arm again. “Liam, are you listening?”

Liam shook his head, rolling away from Sam and staring at the wall.

“Okay.” Dean walked away from the kitchen sink and crossed the room. “Sit up.”

Sam turned slightly and held up a hand. “Dean, don’t—”

“Hey.” Dean gave Sam a look. “Trust me.” Please.

Sam looked at him for a moment, and then he nodded and moved away, sitting on the remaining bed and letting Dean take the lead.

“Sit up, Liam, and look at me.”

Liam didn’t, of course. He stared at the wall, pretending he hadn’t heard. So, Dean grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him up, putting Liam on his hip and ignoring the attempts to turn away.

“This works, too.” Dean didn’t care if Liam wouldn’t look at him, he was too close for Dean not to feel when his attention had wandered. “I know you’re—woah!” He jerked back, not quite able to miss the elbow aimed at his face.

“Dean, are you okay?”

Dean turned Liam around so his back was against Dean’s chest, and then he wrapped one arm around Liam’s thighs, the other winding around his midsection. Liam flailed his arms, successfully landing another hit to Dean’s face, but Dean grabbed the offending limb with the hand of the arm he had wrapped around Liam’s middle. It was somewhat awkward, but it was effective nonetheless.

Liam grunted and whined, squirming and kicking and trying to hit with the arm he still had free. He wasn’t quite crying, and he still wasn’t talking, but he was struggling hard.

“That’s okay. Go ahead and throw your fit. I’ll wait.” Dean licked his lips and tasted blood, but he simply wiped his mouth on his shoulder and continued to hold Liam in place. “We’re just gonna stand here for a little while, you and me.”

Liam kept squirming and making noise, but he was eerily quiet throughout the ordeal. It was nothing like the unholy bedlam from the warehouse or the uncontrollable responses to his night terrors. It was… weak and defeated, but persistent, like a mewling kitten after hours of being ignored.

“You tired yet?” Dean looked down at Liam, but all he saw was a red face with eyes screwed shut and more wiggling movement. Dean let out a sigh. “That’s a no.”

Dean continued to stand in place, and while he refused to bounce like many parents did with their unhappy offspring, he did rock back and forth slightly. He made eye contact with Sam—who was still outwardly expressing the patience of a saint—and was hit with a rush of frustration that made him want to use more of a ‘tough love’ method. Honestly, Liam was twelve, and that was way too old to be throwing these kinds of fits. Sam was encouraging the behavior, and Dean was letting him.

But his irritation didn’t last.

Because how was Liam supposed to know any better? Dean had learned anger management from John. If Dean had thrown himself on the ground while screaming or refused to answer calls from his dad, he would have gotten a tongue-lashing and then some, but also a solution.

“Take this,” John would say, handing him a baseball bat and directing him to a rotted stump, “and don’t come back until you stop picturing your brother’s head instead of the tree.”

It might not have been the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was something. Based on what little Dean knew about Liam’s upbringing, he got the idea that angry outbursts were met with increasingly violent and explosive outbursts of a more adult variety. Even if Liam had encountered calmer reactions in the years he spent out of his home, how was he supposed to undo a decade of one lifestyle with two years of another? Most adults would have trouble breaking that kind of habit, never mind a twelve-year-old boy who could barely process anything beyond the moment he was in.

“You done yet?”

Liam was still squirming in Dean’s arms, but he wasn’t making noise anymore, and his struggles were growing weaker. He scratched at Dean’s arm with his free hand, crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks, but his fingernails weren’t long enough to do any damage.

“Good. Now, I need you to listen.” Dean paused briefly, glancing at Sam with a silent ‘don’t let me screw this up’ in his eyes, and then he spoke. “I know you’re mad at us, especially at me, and you’ve got every right to be. I screwed up.”

“We screwed up,” Sam corrected, giving Dean a hard look.

Dean pressed his lips together. “Right. We screwed up.” He shifted Liam’s weight a little, catching a glimpse of shining, blue eyes before Liam turned his head to look down at the floor. “You ever heard of cutting off your nose to spite your face?”

Liam sniffed and shook his head, trying to turn over in Dean’s arms with a quiet whine.

“Well,” Dean started, hauling Liam into an upright position and not speaking again until the boy was settled against his chest. “Pretend you don’t like the way your face looks. You get mad at your face for looking bad, and to get back at it, you cut off your nose. Is that gonna make your face look better?”

Liam was still for a moment, and then he shook his head, pressing himself against Dean and tucking his chin over the older Winchester’s shoulder.

“No, it makes your face look worse. It definitely doesn’t make you feel better, ‘cause cutting off your nose would hurt like a bi—scuit.” Dean tossed Sam a middle finger behind Liam’s back, not needing to look to know there was some kind of mocking expression on Sam’s face. “So, if you wanna get back at us, that’s okay with me. But don’t do something that could hurt you, okay? Because even if you’re mad at us, we still care about you a whole lot, and we want you to be safe. If you don’t answer when we call, we won’t know if you’re safe and you won’t be able to tell us if you need help.”

Liam whined, squirming for a moment and then pushing away from Dean slightly. “Don’ care.” He sniffed, rootsing around in Dean’s arms and trying to get away with as little conviction as possible. “Lea’ me alone.”

Dean shook his head, but he met Sam’s eyes, and there was a mutual spark, a silent fist-pump. Despite the negative words, Liam was talking, and it made the situation seem a little less hopeless.

“Can’t do that, Lee.” Dean rubbed Liam’s back. “See, Sammy and I… we love you too much to leave you alone.”

Liam pressed his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and shook his head, emitting a collection of noises that ranged anywhere from angry to desperate.

“Come on, buddy. Talk to us.”

Liam sniffed and let out a few sobs. “Wan’ Sam.”

It felt like a slap to the face, but it was still an improvement, so Dean approached Sam and let Liam clamber from one set of arms to the other.

Dean took a step back and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. I should go. He might talk to Sam if I’m not here. Dean moved toward the door, but he made it no more than four steps when Liam’s voice stopped him.

“Don’ go.” Liam curled up in Sam’s lap, dropping his head onto Sam’s shoulder with a sniff. He didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to whine quietly and let Sam finish the request.

“He needs to be able to see you,” Sam explained, turning slightly so he could see Dean. “He has to be able to find you from wherever he is and get there quickly.” Sam rubbed Liam’s back, and it occurred to Dean that he really had no idea just how well the two knew each other.

No wonder he wanted Sammy. I’m practically a stranger. Dean stepped away from the door and sat down at the kitchen table. He considered getting a beer, but the last thing he wanted was Liam thinking Dean was going to get wasted and start throwing punches again.

“Dee…” Liam reached a hand out toward Dean, whining discontinuously but not saying anything else.

Dean looked at Sam, confused, but slowly got up from the table. “Uh, right here, buddy.”

Sam motioned for Dean to come closer, repeating the gesture until Dean was sitting next to him on the bed, at which point Liam reached out and grabbed a fistful of Dean’s jacket.

“Sometimes when he gets really upset, he goes kinda non-verbal.” Sam rubbed Liam’s back as he spoke, indicating the jumbled noises with a nod of his head. “He just needs some time to process before he can start getting his words out. Right, buddy?”

Liam nodded tearfully, staring up at Dean with imploring blue eyes and a wobbly lip.

Dean tried to flash a quick smile, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was; it felt more like a grimace. “That’s fine with me, man. Take your time.”

Liam held on tight to Dean’s jacket, but he didn’t do anything else. Dean was fine with that, too. He figured Liam would make noise if he wanted something, and Sam would translate that noise and tell Dean. Until Dean got specific instructions to do otherwise, he was going to sit quietly and let Liam do what Liam needed to do.

Liam kept his chin on Sam’s shoulder, sniffles and hiccups racking his little body. He had Dean’s jacket in a white-knuckle grip. Every few seconds, he turned his head to make sure Sam was still there, as if Sam might have slipped out from underneath him without him noticing. His other hand was clutching Sam’s flannel, his knees were on either side of Sam’s lap, and every now and then, he would push forward and pull on their clothes, holding himself against Sam as tightly as he could, like he couldn’t get close enough, like the very air in the room was trying to hurt him.

Dean reached up and placed his hand over the one on his jacket. “I’m so sorry, Lee.”

Liam hiccupped and pulled on Dean a little. “I know.” He sniffed. “M’sorry, Dee.”

Dean felt his lips twitch into the lightest of smiles. “I know you are, buddy.”

Liam stared up at him with impossibly blue eyes, wide and tearful and trained on Dean’s mouth. “S’it hurt?”

Dean waved it off, and he almost dropped a Batman line, but he thought better of it in the end. “Nah. Just cut my lips a little on the inside.” Keep it simple and straightforward. “Nothing bruised, nothing broken. It’s all good.”

Liam looked at Dean a little while longer, seeming unconvinced, and then he turned his head to look at Sam. “M’sorry, Sam.”

“I know, Liam. I forgive you.” Sam kissed the side of his head—the only part he could really reach—and rubbed Liam’s back. “Do you understand why we need you to answer your phone when we call?”

Liam nodded, hiccupped, and rubbed his eyes and nose on Sam’s shirt.

“Can you tell me? Or are you still having some word trouble?” Sam rubbed Liam’s back again, and Dean found himself absentmindedly thumbing the back of Liam’s hand.

Liam only whined, shaking his head slightly.

“That’s okay.” Sam hushed him. “We can talk about it when your words come back.”

Dean flashed Liam a quick, encouraging smile and let Sam take over again, sitting there with his hand over Liam’s, waiting to see what would happen.

“Dean, I think Liam and I are just gonna chill for a while.” That meant Sam was going to try and get Liam calm enough to talk, go to sleep, or both. “If you want to go meet up with Jamie…”

It took a second for the wires to connect. “Crap! I completely forgot.”

“Well, of course you did. Liam makes everyone else very forgettable by comparison.” Sam smiled, poking Liam’s back as he spoke.

Liam smiled for the first time in almost four days. It was weak and tired and dampened with tears, but it was a smile.

Dean smiled back. “I’ll give her a call. Tell her I can’t make it.”

Liam frowned and shook his head, his grip on Dean’s jacket turning into a push. “Go.”

“It’s alright, Lee. There will be other girls.” Dean reached out and tried not to react when Liam flinched back, calmly closing the distance and running his fingers through the messy, red hair. “I’ll stay home tonight.”

Liam shook his head again, more determined than before. “Go, Dee.”

Dean looked to Sam for help. Was this another test? Was he trying to see how easy it was to make Dean walk away? Did he want to be alone with Sam? Was he still too scared of Dean to have him around while he was trying to calm down?

Sam smiled encouragingly and nodded toward the door. “Go have fun, Dean. We aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be right here when you come back.”

Dean looked at them for a long time, but Sam’s expression was sincere, and after Sam indicated the door a second time, Dean relented. “Okay.” He slowly stood up, Liam’s hand falling from his chest, and he gave the auburn hair another ruffle. “I won’t be out all night, I promise.”

Liam nodded somberly, but he didn’t seem too upset, so Dean slowly made his way to the door. He stopped again, met Liam’s eyes, and gave him a quick wave and a smile.

Liam returned the wave but added a shooing motion on the end. “Go, Dee.”

Dean flashed another smile and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him.

This is good, right? He’s talking a little, Sam got a smile out of him, he let me touch his head… this is good. I’m pretty sure this is good. I’m like… seventy-two percent sure this is good.

It had to be. If it wasn’t, it meant things weren’t getting better, and that was Dean’s fault. Dean couldn’t handle many more things being his fault.

He just couldn’t.

“Oof. Kid, if I go on one more ride that moves in a circular direction, I’m gonna blow chunks.” Dean pressed a hand to his stomach and groaned theatrically. “Can we sit down for a while? Maybe get some Dippin’ Dots?”

Liam cocked his head to one side. “What’re Dippin’ Dots?”

Dean gasped. “What are Dippin’ Dots? Only the most magical junk food ever created!” He placed a hand on the center of Liam’s back—something that didn’t seem to scare Liam like a touch to the head or shoulder did—and pushed Liam through the small crowd toward the colorful little stand. “Dippin’ Dots are the ice cream of the future.”

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed loudly, strolling along behind them with a well-stuffed backpack, a regularly-stuffed dolphin, a bag of kettle corn, candied pecans, and a half-eaten funnel cake. “Maybe we should finish some of these snacks before we get new ones?”

Dean contemplated the idea for all of three seconds. “Nah.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pointed to the menu. “Alright, buddy. Pick what you want.”

Liam looked between Sam and Dean for a moment, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it okay, Sorzie?”

Sam smiled. “I was just teasing, Liam. It’s okay to be a little wasteful on special occasions.”

Liam looked at Dean then, as if Dean suggesting the treat in the first place wasn’t permission enough. Which, knowing Liam, it probably wasn’t.

Dean smiled and nodded, pointing to the menu again and feeling a twinge in his shoulder. Still sore from fighting the shapeshifter. “Go ahead and pick something, kiddo.” I’m getting too old for this.

Liam turned his attention to the list of flavors and started reading through the options. “Hmm…” He looked over the counter. “Excuse me?”

“What’s up, sweetie?” the cashier asked, folding her tattoo-sleeved arms on the countertop.

Liam reached up and tugged his hair a few times. “What does Rainbow Ice taste like?”

“Mm, it’s sorta like those freeze pops that, uh—” she held her hands out to demonstrate, “—come in a sheet of, like, ten tubes.”

Liam nodded. “I know those.”

Snapping her fingers, the girl with the half-shaved head of jet black hair pointed finger guns at him. “Just like those.”

Liam contemplated the sign a moment more. “Which color?”

“Dude, that’s half the magic. I honestly can’t tell.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s like… all of them together, which makes it totally unlike any of them.” She gestured to her cup of miniature spoons. “Do you want to try it to see if you like it?”

“Yes, please!” Liam bounced on his toes slightly, licking his lips as he watched her fetch a spoonful of the treat for him. “Thank you,” he said when she handed it over, and after a quick taste, he was nodding excitedly. “I would like to have that, please.”

“Sure thing.” She smiled widely, showing a hoop in her upper gum. “What size, sweetie?”

“Umm…” Liam turned to look at Sam and Dean with questioning eyes.

Dean gestured to the containers on display. “What are you hungry for, bud?”

Liam looked at the sign, then at Dean, then at the examples, and then at Dean again. “Regular?”

“You got it.” Dean gave him a thumbs up.

Liam turned back around and smiled up at the attendant. “May I have a regular-sized Rainbow Ice, please?”

“With those manners? Absolutely.” She smiled widely and grabbed the appropriate dish, preparing the snack behind the counter as Liam looked on excitedly.

Dean couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride—which made absolutely no sense, because he hadn’t been the one to teach Liam any manners—and when Liam thanked her again for his Dippin’ Dots, he just had to smile.

“Thanks,” Dean reiterated, handing over a ten.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled as she got his change, glancing at Liam. “Kids like him are a real treat. I get a lot more of the screaming, unhappy ones being appeased by ice cream than anything else.”

“Hey.” Dean pointed to her. “It’s not ice cream. It’s Dippin’ Dots.” He grinned and took his change. “But thank you. He’s a great kid. I really can’t take the credit.”

She only smiled again. “You guys have a nice day.”

Sam waved slightly from a few feet away. “Thank you. You, too.”

Liam waved, slightly more enthusiastic, next to Sam. “Bye!”

Dean pocketed his change and caught up with the duo on their way to the picnic tables. “So, did we do everything in this section?”

Sam gestured to the large, yellow mansion behind the Dippin’ Dots stand. “There’s the Haunted House.” He turned to his left, slowly emptying his arms onto the table. “Liam, how do you feel about the Haunted House?”

Liam stopped with his spoon in his mouth, blue eyes wandering over and locking onto the building. He stared for a moment, swallowed, and then looked back at them. “Yeah, we can do that next.”

Sam pursed his lips. “You don’t sound very sure. Do you not want to go?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders, putting more dots in his mouth. “It’s up to you guys.”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, and Dean sat down on the bench across from Liam. “Well, you guys can go, but if it’s alright with you, I’m gonna wait out here.”

Liam frowned slightly, confusion clear on his face. “Why?”

“Well, I might be a monster hunter, but the Haunted House has this part near the end where you’re going down a tunnel, and all of a sudden there’s headlights and a loud horn, and it looks like a big truck is gonna hit you, and…” Dean shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I just don’t like it.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned, sitting down next to Dean. “Well, I was actually going to ask you to take Liam because I don’t like the buzzer noises.”

Liam looked between the two of them, struck momentarily speechless. He swallowed his mouthful of dots, chewed on his lip for a second, and then softly said, “I don’t wanna go in the Haunted House. I know you guys can protect me, but… it still scares me. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Sam smiled warmly. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to go, Liam. Thank you for being honest with us, even though it was kind of embarrassing.”

Dean pressed one hand to his stomach and held the other up. “But seriously, no more spinny rides for a little bit.”

Liam giggled and shoved another spoonful of Dippin’ Dots into his mouth. “Can we go on the Phoenix again?”

Dean grinned. “Now, that’s an idea I can get behind.”

Liam laughed again and got back to eating, rocking slightly on his seat, as if dancing to a song in his head. “Thank you for my Dippin’ Dots, Dean. They’re really good.”

“You’re welcome, Lee.” Dean flashed a grin. He would be getting his own dish later, probably right before going on one of the calmer rides to end out the trip. Oh, yeah. It’s gonna be great.

And after the week Dean had had, he deserved it. They all did.

Sighing contentedly, Dean leaned back against a nearby tree and smirked at Sam. “You gotta learn to sit strategically, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned so he was straddling his half of the bench and leaning against the table. “Yah-huh. You totally didn’t luck into that spot. I mean, it’s not like Liam picked the table.”

Dean only smiled, folding his arms over his chest and taking a moment to revel in the atmosphere. Everything in their lives pretty much sucked, especially with the Apocalypse threatening to rain literal Hell down on them, but in that moment, they were just a family enjoying a beautiful autumn day in an amusement park.

It felt nice.

“You know, I really do hate that last part of the ride.” Dean glanced at Liam, but between the allure of food and the noise of the rides and crowds, his attention was otherwise occupied. “I don’t know why. It’s stupid. It’s just a ride, but…” He shrugged, looking back at Sam. “I don’t know. I can’t hunt a truck. I can’t salt and burn accidents. That’s the kinda stuff that scares me. Weird, isn’t it?”

Sam pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I don’t think it’s weird. Especially after…” He trailed off, but a shared, split-second look made it clear they were on the same page. “It’s scary.” He nodded a few times, glancing around the park. “I was serious, too. I always hated the buzzers.”

Dean pursed his lips, confused, but he couldn’t very well judge.

Thankfully, Sam explained without any prodding. “I mean, I could still go on it, but… I don’t know. I think it’s because it doesn’t fit, you know? I expect the screams, and the door slams, and the maniacal laughter. I don’t expect some deafening, game-show-buzzer noise to blare in my ear while some ghoul is jumping out at me.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, thought about it for a moment, and eventually nodded. “I can see that. Like when you take a drink, and you’re expecting soda, but it’s iced tea. Even if you love iced tea, it’s so different from what you’re expecting that it tastes nasty.”

Sam pointed to Dean with both hands. “Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to put that into words for ten years.”

Dean laughed and shook his head, a smile instinctively curling the corner of his mouth when he heard the Phoenix rushing on its tracks. “Hey, here’s something a bet neither of you knew.” He got Liam’s attention and looked at Sam with a wry smile. “My turn to be the nerd.”

Sam quirked a brow but leaned on the table and began nibbling on the leftover funnel cake, clearly interested.

Dean smirked and put his attention back on Liam. “The Phoenix used to be called the Rocket. It was built in 1947 in Texas, and then it was relocated here in 1985 and renamed. They didn’t have any blueprints, so they just labeled all the pieces on-site as they took it apart; then brought it up here and put it back together.” Dean spread his hands slightly, as if weaving a tale far more fantastical than the one actually falling from his lips. “Let me put that in perspective for you, Lee. You know what was invented in 1947? Microwaves. The Phoenix is as old as microwaves; and man, the microwaves they had back then were way different than the ones we have now. But the Phoenix? Nah. It’s exactly the same. Some repairs here and there, sure, and it did get moved that one time, but no changes. So, it’s pretty old, right? Of course, lots of old coasters, some from decades earlier, are still up and running today.” Dean held up a finger and leaned forward slightly, grinning when he saw Liam do the same, anticipation alight in his eyes. “But the Phoenix was rated the third best wooden coaster in the world this year. It’s been in the top ten for the past decade, keeping up with and beating the ones made in the early 2000s. It’s a roller coaster classic. It’s roller coaster legend.” Dean leaned back and raised a brow, pointing to the fascinated redhead across from him. “And you went on it three times. Pretty sure that makes you a champion or something.”

Liam stared up at Dean with wide eyes, completely awestruck by the knowledge Dean had bestowed upon him. It seemed almost silly to Dean, but he couldn’t deny how much he loved the look on Liam’s face, and it felt even better knowing he was the one who put it there.

Sam pursed his lips and arched a brow. “That’s… actually pretty awesome.”

“Actually? What do you mean actually? You doubt my trivia skills?” Dean feigned offense, but then he smiled, putting his eyes right back on Liam. “You know, this park opened in 1926. It’s been around a long time.” It had seen a lot. It had flooded a lot, too, as Dean had enthusiastically shared when they passed the various markers in the park.

“In 1972, when Hurricane Agnes hit, everything flooded so bad that if we had all been right here on the mini-golf course, none of us would have been able to touch the ground. Not even Sammy!”

Liam hopped up suddenly, turning in a quick circle and locating a nearby trash can. He grabbed his empty dish and Sam’s empty plate, ran over, and threw them out before running back to the table. “Can we go ride the Phoenix again?”

Dean clapped his hands together and got to his feet. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sam grabbed the backpack and pulled out a pack of WetOnes. “Wipe your hands, they’re all sticky.”

Dean didn’t bother trying not to roll his eyes.

“Can we do hands up the whole time?” Liam asked, bouncing on his toes as he wiped his hands clean. “Please?”

Sam whistled and shook his head, shoving the wipes back in and stuffing the candied pecans in with them. “I don’t know, Liam. Are you sure we can do it?”

“Yes!” Liam smiled like the sun, blue eyes sparkling with delight.

“Well…” Sam threw the backpack over one shoulder. “I guess we’ll never know if we don’t try, huh?”

Liam nodded, laughing excitedly, and darted back to the trash can. He threw out the towelette and bolted for the Phoenix without so much as a backward glance.

Dean laughed, throwing his head back as he jogged to catch up with Liam, and for another moment, he was able to forget everything.

Ruby. Castiel. Heaven. Hell. Lucifer. Michael. The Apocalypse.

Everything.

He was able to forget fighting with Sam, able to forget the four days spent in silence, able to forget the lack of a resolution to the conflict, able to… actually enjoy himself and just be happy. There was a bright sun in the nearly cloudless sky, and a crisp, autumn breeze swept over the park, disappearing into the woods and mountain ranges. Children and adults alike were laughing and cheering and screaming, there were lights and colors and music, and the air was heavy with the aroma of almost every food he had ever loved.

Yeah. It was a good day.

It was a good day, and Dean Winchester was happy.

“Yes, sir, that’s correct.” Pause. “No, they seem content.” Pause. “Yes, I know.” Pause. “How am I supposed to force Sam Winchester to use his ability?” Pause. “They could kill the witches before Samhain is released.” Pause. “I can do that. I’ll need assistance.” Pause. “Because, if we can’t get Sam Winchester in front of Samhain, we will have to give him another target powerful enough to warrant the use of demon blood. Should he kill me, someone needs to oversee the rest of the mission.” Pause. “I think you overestimate his regard for Dean.” Pause. “He’s the Boy with the Demon Blood. What reason would he have to obey the Righteous Man?”

Pause. Pause. Pause.

“No, I do not think the boy is a problem.” Pause. “No, I did not hesitate.” Pause. “Sam Winchester is an abomination, and he has known the boy all of three months. Their bond isn’t strong enough to interfere with the plan.”

Pause. Pause. Pause.

“I am prepared to do whatever is necessary.” Pause. “Once again, no. I did not hesitate.” Pause. “If you doubt my competency, reassign me.” Pause. “I thought not.”

Pause. Pause. Pause.

“I see. I’ll handle it.”

Pause. Pause.

“Understood.”

Silence.

“Father…”

Sigh.

“How can this be the plan?”

“Sam. Sam, there are chickens. There are just—just chickens wandering around.”

Sam exhaled sharply as he closed the door to the Impala. “Yes. Yes, there are.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked around, feeling somewhat nervous.

It was definitely a farm of some kind, the suburban-looking house surrounded by open fields with goats and sheep. There was a barn, out of which chickens came to roam free, and between the barn and house was a little shop.

“Come on, Liam. We’re gonna go look inside.”

Liam hopped out of the car and immediately grabbed onto Sam’s hand, sticking close. “Is this the bookstore?”

“Yeah, it’s a bookstore for schoolbooks.” Sam started walking toward the building, noting some boxes of books on either side of the door marked ‘FREE.’ Definitely worth a look later. “We’re just gonna check it out, okay?”

Liam nodded dutifully.

Sam opened the door and ushered Liam in, following him and holding the door for Dean. He glanced around, unsure of where to start. There was a woman behind the counter, and she offered a friendly wave, but she was in the middle of helping another customer.

Still, everything was labeled pretty clearly, so…

“Um, let’s… start with math.” Sam put a hand on Liam’s back and gently nudged him in the appropriate direction.

Dean was right behind him, mumbling under his breath. “There’s, like, eight people in this tiny store. Why are there so many?”

Sam rolled his eyes, eyes skimming the spines of numerous math textbooks. “Lots of people homeschool, Dean. Besides, a lot of them are probably pairs or groups, like us.”

Dean leaned in close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I think the lady at the counter is Amish. How did she even get here? I didn’t see any horses or—”

“Dean,” Sam scolded in a harsh whisper.

Dean didn’t say anything, but he was still glancing over his shoulder from time to time, looking uncomfortable. He almost seemed more weirded out by the homeschoolers than the chickens.

“Okay,” Sam mumbled, scanning the books again. “It looks like it’s all sorted by the, I don’t know, brand of curriculum? If that’s a thing.” He ran a finger down the spine of one of the books. “Saxon Math… that sounds vaguely familiar…”

“Excuse me—”

All three of them jumped, which caused the young woman behind them to jump a little herself. She held up her hands, taking a half step back when Liam hid behind Sam’s legs.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” She laughed softly, and the smile lingered on her lips as she spoke. “I also didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but… you’re new at this homeschooling thing, aren’t you?”

Sam chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow. That obvious?”

She winced sympathetically. “Yeah, kinda.” She held out her hand. “My name’s Nicole.”

“Sam,” he replied, shaking her hand. “This is my brother, Dean, and my son, Liam.” It felt a little weird to say, even if they had discussed it beforehand, but Liam only drew closer.

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you.” Nicole offered an exceptionally bright smile when she looked at Liam. “Hey, there.”

Liam ducked behind Sam again, fully hiding his face.

“Sorry. He’s kinda shy.”

Nicole waved it off. “Psh. Don’t apologize for that.” She cleared her throat then, gesturing to the shelf behind them. “So, you were looking at math?”

Sam glanced at the books. “Uh, yeah. We’re not really sure… what to do.” And didn’t that make him sound entirely incompetent?

“Hey, nobody does when they first start.” Nicole shrugged it off, resting her hands on her hips. “One of the biggest things to remember is that homeschooling isn’t schooling at home. It’s a whole different kind of teaching.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke, moving in a way that said it was largely subconscious. “It took my mom a couple years to figure that out. Things got a lot easier once she did.” She turned to Liam then, crouching down with another friendly smile. “What grade are you in, Liam?”

Liam twisted his foot on the carpet. “I, um… I think I’m supposed to be in sixth grade, but…”

“Not quite sure?” Nicole shifted her position, knees scraping the carpet through the holes in her jeans. “That’s okay. Can I tell you a secret?”

Liam looked up at Sam for permission, which Sam granted with a nod, and then he looked back at Nicole. “Yes, please.”

She lowered her voice and cupped a hand to the side of her mouth, keeping the information close. “Once you’re homeschooled, you really won’t know what grade you’re in.”

Sam frowned in confusion—as did Liam and probably Dean, though Sam couldn’t see him—but he waited for her to continue.

“Everybody has strengths and weaknesses. When you’re homeschooled, you do what you’re capable of in every subject. So, for example, when I was in eighth grade, my math was right where I was, but my spelling was a grade behind, while my history and science were ninth grade, and my writing and reading were both college level.” She smiled warmly, pushing up the sleeves on her flannel shirt. “You don’t have to do what your grade is when you’re homeschooled. It’s okay to take your time and learn at your own pace.”

Liam thought about that for a second, and then he opened his mouth. He stopped, thought for another second, and then he started again. “You were homeschooled, too?”

“Yup.” Nicole smiled proudly, holding up her right hand to show her class ring. “I went to kindergarten, but I was way ahead of my classmates, so I was bored. And because I was bored, I got in a lot of trouble.”

Liam blinked his wide eyes. “Really?”

Nicole laughed and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Came home with bite marks and everything.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, but Dean actually snorted a laugh at the statement. Briefly, Sam wondered if Dean had ever come home from school with bite marks.

It wouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, to be perfectly honest.

Nicole either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and she continued her story, still down on her knees to be level with Liam. “My parents pulled me out of school, intending to put me back in after I fit in my grade a little better. But Mom and I fell in love with homeschooling, and we never looked back.” She ran a hand through her hair again, brown eyes flickering over her shoulder at a brief increase in volume, but then her attention was back on Liam. “I graduated as a homeschooler, and my brother has been homeschooled since day one.” She gestured vaguely to the shelf behind him. “Is it okay if I help you guys find some books?”

Liam once again looked to Sam for permission, and Sam once again gave it.

It’s like I’m not here. It actually made Sam smile a bit, like the woman at Knoebels. It was good to see people interact with Liam like he was his own person, not an extension of Sam and Dean. Because… well, Laim was his own person. Far too often, people forgot that children weren’t possessions or pets—they were people, and they deserved to be treated with respect.

“Okay, well, let’s take a look.” Nicole straightened up and leaned past Sam. “Sorry, I’m just—gonna grab this quick. Sorry.” She pulled out a mostly white book. “This is Life of Fred. I never got to use it, but my brother and some family friends have, and it’s pretty cool.” She sat down cross-legged and patted the floor next to her, beckoning them to join her.

Liam quickly did so, and after a moment of hesitation, Sam did the same. Dean just sort of leaned awkwardly against a nearby bookshelf.

Nicole was unperturbed. “Okay, so, for your grade, you would start with Fractions, which is what I grabbed. Life of Fred works like this.” She opened the cover and scooted a little closer to both Sam and Liam, pointing to various things as she explained them. “Life of Fred is actually a story about a kid who is a professor at Kittens University.”

Liam giggled at that. “I like kittens.”

“Probably because cats in general are awesome, but that’s just a guess.” Nicole grinned, shifting her position so her legs were bent in front of her, at which point, her right leg started bouncing. “So, you read the story to find out what Fred is up to, and the story teaches you a concept, and then—and this is the really cool part—it explains why the math works the way it does.”

Sam actually paused at that. That’s kinda cool. He glanced up when he saw movement and caught Dean inching closer and leaning against the bookshelf that let him look over Nicole’s shoulder.

“So, at the end of every lesson, there’s something called ‘Your Turn to Play.’ That’s where you practice the thing you just learned. Then, every four or five chapters, you do something called a ‘Bridge.’ It’s ten questions going over what you’ve learned, and if you get them all right on the first try, you get to skip the next four bridges.”

Liam blinked, astonished. “I can—I can skip lessons?”

“You can skip practice.” Nicole held up a finger, booping him on the nose. “Think of it like this: imagine if there was a class for walking. You know how to walk, don’t you, Liam?”

Liam smiled and nodded, confused but amused and still willing to engage.

Nicole ran a hand through her hair again, which Sam was starting to think was a nervous habit, and then she continued. “You don’t have to think about it, and you don’t need to practice. You know it inside, outside, and upside-down. Now, in public school, you might be in a walking class with kids who don’t know how to walk as well as you. Maybe because of an accident, maybe because they aren’t where you are developmentally, or maybe because they just aren’t ready yet. Everyone learns at their own pace, and that’s fine, but it can be a little frustrating for you, because you spend a lot of time practicing something you already know while the other kids catch up.” She indicated the book by lifting it up slightly. “That’s what you would be skipping. If you need to do all five bridges, that’s totally fine. That’s what they’re there for, and it doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. But if you already know the math like you know how to walk, you don’t have to waste time practicing them. Does that make sense?”

Liam nodded seriously—Sam absently realized he was doing the same, more intrigued than he thought he would be—and then Liam pointed to the pages again. “What if, um, what if I’m not quite there yet?”

“Not quite where?”

“Um, fractions. I mean, I kinda am, but…” Liam trailed off and tugged on the hem of his shirt, embarrassed.

“That’s okay!” Nicole gave him an encouraging smile and pointed to the shelves. “If you aren’t quite ready yet, there are three intermediate books you can start with. Besides, they’re really good if you’re new to the whole homeschooling thing.” She smiled warmly, nudging him on the shoulder. “Sound good?”

Liam nodded and then looked at Sam. “Can we try that?”

Sam wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I wanna look around a bit, but yeah.” Mostly, he didn’t want to rush into anything. “That sounds good.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Nicole. “What’s, uh, what’s the difference between the different kinds of curriculum? I mean, obviously, the best curriculum for Liam isn’t going to be the best for everyone, but… is there one that’s generally considered better?” He couldn’t help but feel another surge of incompetency, and he felt a twinge of embarrassment and some lack-of-preparation panic.

“Mmm, nothing comes to mind, but there might be one. I can tell you all the different ones I tried personally, if that would help. Math was a huge problem subject for me, so…” She shrugged her shoulders. “Or you could give me a general idea of what you’re looking for, and I could tell you what curriculums kinda fall in that category.”

Sam glanced at Dean briefly, but Dean was still being largely unhelpful.

Honestly, Dean still seemed unnerved; like the entire concept of buying textbooks and taking charge of Liam’s education was upsetting him.

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, are you… I mean, do you mind helping us out? I don’t want to keep you if…” He trailed off as she started to shake her head.

“Not at all. I’d love to help.” She looked at Liam then. “That cool with you?”

Liam smiled and nodded, a little sheepish, one hand wandering back to grab Sam’s shirt.

Nicole smiled brightly. “Awesome!” She gestured vaguely to the wall of books. “You were looking at Saxon Math when I came over. That’s pretty basic, traditional math. It’s sort of an inside joke among homeschoolers that everyone hates Saxon Math. I think people tend to exaggerate, but… it’s not a crowd favorite. Same thing with Abeka Books. Now, if Liam likes more hands-on, visual learning, there’s Math-U-See…”

It turned out most of the patrons in the store were Nicole’s family; her sister, brother, nephew, and mother. When Liam started to get bored, Nicole encouraged him to play with her nephew and brother—nine and fifteen, respectively, which put twelve-year-old Liam right in the middle—and she jokingly said they could be The Three Musketeers. Then, after some pushing and prodding on Nicole’s part, Sam and Dean agreed to talk to Nicole’s mother, Kim. A conversation started, and then a snowball effect took over.

With every subject, Sam felt a little less out of his element, and some of the statistics were encouraging for both Sam and Dean. When Nicole told them the average homeschooler with dropouts for parents scored higher than the average public schooler, Sam glimpsed a little tug at the corner of Dean’s mouth. Granted, homeschoolers with dropouts for parents didn’t score as high as homeschoolers with college-educated parents, but the education of homeschool parents was incredibly less influential than the education of public-school parents. It put a little bit of light in Dean’s eyes to hear that; reignited his ‘if anyone can do it, I can,’ attitude.

It was good to see confidence on Dean’s face again.

Now, Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew the statistics and averages were all well and good, but homeschooling wasn’t an automatic guarantee that Liam would get the education he needed and deserved. Sam had a lot to do with the outcome, especially in Liam’s younger years, and Sam was determined to do the best he could.

Still, Sam asked for Nicole’s argumentative research paper on the topic—which she provided, along with some other resources—and graciously accepted some books from Kim, who assuaged Sam’s anxieties with accounts of her own early homeschooling days.

Kim had joined the army right out of high school, and she later attended college but never obtained a degree. She had often worried about the education Nicole was getting, especially when family emergencies or busy schedules kept them from doing schoolwork for days or weeks at a time. She got nervous before every evaluation—an annual assessment of a homeschooler’s progress—even though Nicole passed with flying colors every time.

In the end, Nicole graduated with thirty-two high school credits, fifteen college credits, and a 4.0 GPA. Her brother was excelling as well, easily surpassing the necessary requirements.

Sam was a genius. Sam had earned a free ride to Stanford. He could homeschool Liam. Even with hunting, even with everything else on his plate, he could do it. He knew he could.

It took four hours for them to start wrapping up, and then Sam and Dean entered a parallel dimension. They put almost two hundred dollars’ worth of books on the counter, and Kim paid the bill before Sam could even touch his wallet. They were told the store was a consignment shop, and when they explained their always-on-the-road situation, the owner told them to email her when they were ready to get new books, and she would tell them what she had in stock and whether the books they had were worth something. They watched as the teenage brother gave Liam his phone number, and the nine-year-old nephew gave Liam his email address, both of them genuinely excited to stay in touch.

Sam didn’t really know what to do with all that, but he definitely didn’t get misty eyes.

He simply offered a polite smile and a word of thanks when Kim gave him her email address and told him to reach out with any questions he had. Sam just wet his lips when Kim took him by the shoulders and told him he was going to be an amazing teacher, and he merely swallowed and glanced away when she did the same for Dean, right before following it up with the assurance that she would be praying for all three of them.

Now, when Kim demanded a parting hug and fully embraced him, Sam might have held on a little longer than necessary. He might have savored the sensation, wondering what hugging his own mother would have felt like, and it might have touched him that Kim didn’t seem to mind.

And when Kim demanded the same hug from Dean, Dean might have held on a little longer than necessary, too; he might have shifted in place, like he wanted to get closer but knew that wasn’t really appropriate, and maybe he bit his lip when Kim accepted the extended contact.

But neither of them got misty eyes. That just wasn’t the Winchester Way.

They took their books, they thanked everyone for their kindness, and then they piled into the Impala and hit the road. They looked in the rearview, knowing they would likely never return, and they didn’t say a word about it. They turned up the music, they drove a little faster, and they left Pennsylvania. They started looking for their next case, and they found it in a series of suspicious heart attacks. They moved on, like they always did, leaving the people and places behind. They did it like Winchesters.

And Sam knew he should have just enjoyed the kindness. He did. But he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering down a very specific, very dangerous, almost intoxicating path.

If Kim or Nicole—or anyone else from the store—got possessed, would Sam be able to save them without drinking demon blood? Or would he have to return to the old ways of a fatal stab wound or a painful, often lethal exorcism? Of course, on the other hand, he could only imagine how disgusted they would be if they knew he drank demon blood to fuel his supernatural powers, especially considering the apparent faith they had.

It made his head hurt. Was there another option? Was there a way around the either-or? Was there a way everyone could win? Was there another way to fuel his powers? Was there something he could do that didn’t feel like a blow to the gut?

Sam didn’t know. It had been almost a month since the incident at 425 Waterman, and he still didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue, and he was getting desperate.

Sam quickly decided he wasn’t going to think about that. He was going to close his eyes and remember how nice their time in Pennsylvania had been. From Knoebels and the Phoenix to the kind strangers in the curriculum store, it had been a good couple of days. He was going to focus on that.

He had to.

“Snakes!”

Sam cleared his throat and gestured to Liam, who was bouncing on his toes less than three feet away. “I, uh, had a family emergency, and there was no one to watch my son, so…”

Mark Hutchins—a reptile-loving man who lived next door to the victim they were investigating—shrugged it off with an easy-going smile. “No problem. I love kids. Just, uh, no handling the animals without some help.”

Sam turned slightly, smiling when he saw Liam standing as close to the glass tank as he could without actually touching it. “Did you hear that, Liam?”

Liam nodded, never once taking his eyes off the lizard on the other side of the glass. “Don’t pick up the animals.” He turned then, his face scrunched up and perplexed. “Can I pet them if I’m careful?”

Mark laughed good-naturedly and nodded. “Sure thing, little man. Uh, but only if the cage is open-topped.” He glanced at Sam then. “He seems like a good kid. It’s the rough n’ tumble boys and the screechy kids you gotta watch out for. They tend to think live snakes are just as durable as rubber ones.”

Sam winced at the mental image. “Ooh. Yeah, no, that’s not Liam.”

Dean cleared his throat and shifted on the sofa, unusually off-put; he hadn’t been acting right since they left the morgue, and the menagerie of scaly creatures wasn’t helping. “Uh, so when was the last time you saw Frank O’Brien?”

“Monday.” Mark let the snake that was wrapped around him wander over his hands while he talked. “He was watching me from his window. I waved at him, but he just closed the curtains.”

Sam hummed curiously. “I see.” He briefly considered how to press forward. “Did you, ah, speak to him recently? Did he seem… different? You know, scared?”

“Oh, totally.” Mark shook his head, almost in disbelief, still letting the snake around his neck have free rein of his body. “He was freaking out.”

Sam glanced over at Dean to gauge his reaction, but he just saw thinly veiled terror and an attempt to look at every creepy, crawly thing in the room at once. That can’t be good.

“Do you, uh—” Dean managed to tear his eyes away from the critters, just barely regaining his composure. “Do you know what scared him?”

“Yup. Witches.” Mark said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Witches?” Sam echoed, expressing the appropriate amount of shock for someone who didn’t believe in the supernatural. “You mean witches like…?” He let it hang, hoping Mark would do what just about everyone else did and fill in the blank.

“Well, ‘Wizard of Oz’ was on the other night.” Mark looked over toward Frank’s house again. “Frank was totally convinced Elphaba was coming after him.”

Dean blinked. “Elephawhat?”

“Elphaba!” Liam bounced on his toes, still enthralled in the reptiles but apparently equally focused on the conversation. “And nooobody in all of Oz, no wizard that there is or was, is ever gonna briiing meee doooooown!”

“Yeah, see? Little man knows.” Mark gave Liam a little round of applause and a thumbs up before turning back to the brothers on the couch. “You know, Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Liam looked over his shoulder, chewing on his lip. “She wasn’t wicked. She did her best, but nobody treated her fair.”

“You got it, buddy.” Mark laughed, completely unperturbed by the snake now crawling up and over his skull. “Smart kid you got there.”

Sam had absolutely no idea what either of them were talking about, but apparently Liam and Mark did, and it appeared to be a good thing. So, Sam smiled and nodded and tried to keep the interview going. “Yeah, he is. We’re very proud of him. Uh… back to… Frank. Was there anything else that scared him?”

“Dude, everything else scared him.” Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Al-Queda, ferrets, artificial sweeteners, plastic skeletons, glitter, those Pez dispensers with their dead little eyes—”

“What can you tell us about Frank?” Sam interrupted as gently as he could, flashing a quick, forced smile.

“Well, I mean…” Mark stammered for a moment, glancing down in something resembling guilt. “I mean, the guy’s dead, you know? I—I don’t wanna hammer him… I mean, you know, he got better.”

Sam blinked. “He got better?”

“Well…” Mark glanced down again. “Back in high school… he was kind of a jerk.”

“A jerk?” Dean echoed, voicing the confusion Sam felt.

“Yeah, like a bully. I mean, he probably taped half the town’s butt cheeks together.” Mark chuckled almost nervously. “Mine included.”

Liam giggled. “You said butt cheeks.”

Dean started to laugh, too, but he quickly cut himself off. “So, he wasn’t exactly good at making friends. Think he made someone mad enough to want revenge?”

“Well, I don’t…” Mark frowned, contemplative, and then his expression shifted to a new kind of confusion. “Frank had a heart attack, right?”

“Just answer the question, sir.” Sam was trying hard not to lose patience, but it was simultaneously irritating and nerve-wracking when people started pushing back with questions of their own.

Thankfully, Mark was easy to sway. He thought about it for another moment, and then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Like I said, he got better, and after what happened to his wife—”

“His wife?” Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “So, he was married.”

“She died. About twenty years ago.” Mark briefly dropped his eyes again. “Frank was really broken up about it. I think it gave him a little perspective.”

Dean nodded slightly, his gaze steadily fixating on the snake in Mark’s hands until he was forced to lean back, his expression uneasy.

Mark only laughed. “Oh, don’t be scared of Donny. He’s a sweetheart. It’s Marie you gotta look out for. She smells fear.”

Sam looked over at Dean, intending to share an odd look, but he immediately did a doubletake when he saw a massive, pale yellow… Marie, probably, slithering over the back of the couch.

Dean saw her, too, and he inhaled sharply, sitting up straight and trying to remain calm.

“Snake!” Liam rushed over to the couch and got down on his knees, very carefully reaching out and stroking the snake’s head. “She’s pretty.”

“Isn’t she, though?” Mark grinned. “You got a great kid. He’s a Wicked fan, he likes snakes, he’s not a disruptive little devil child…” He nodded, still grinning, and repeated himself. “You got a great kid.”

Sam looked at Liam with a fond smile, and despite his mounting concern over Dean, he was able to soak up a moment of contentment and pride. “Yeah.” He smiled a little wider. “I think he’s pretty great myself.”

“Dean. Dean, we gotta go!”

Dean jumped, trying to drag himself from the haze of panic and finding himself confused by the sight of Liam jerking on his arm. Liam looked afraid, his little hands clutching Dean’s sleeve as he stared with wide eyes. That didn’t make sense. Liam had no reason to be afraid. They were alone in the motel room, and the door was locked. Dean was afraid, of course, but Dean was infected. Dean was supposed to be afraid.

Which was good, because Dean was terrified.

“Dean, there’s someone in the hallway. There’s someone coming, Dean. We gotta go. We gotta go right now!”

Dean took a second to register what was being said to him, his adrenaline-drunk brain barely capable of processing anything that wasn’t right in front of his face. He was much more afraid of the ceiling giving way and dropping the upper levels of the building on them, or maybe Liam sticking his finger in one of the very suspicious-looking outlets in the wall. Those were things already in his line of sight, and his frenzied brain took the simple images and ran with them. His brain didn’t care what was in the hall.

Come on, come on, come on. You’re still a hunter. You gotta protect Liam. If someone’s coming, you have to get out of here. Dean rubbed his face and jumped to his feet, heart pounding against his sternum. “Uh, right. Right, let’s—let’s get out of here.”

Liam ran to the window—it was open already; had Dean done that?—and clambered through, turning around to pull Dean by the shirt. “Come on, Dean! Hurry!”

Dean struggled to keep his feet beneath him, lightheaded and dizzy, but he got through just as the motel door was kicked in. Still pulling his leg over the sill, Dean saw the sheriff and suddenly found himself energized. He grabbed Liam into his arms and sprinted across the parking lot toward Baby, having no plan but knowing he needed to do something.

Dean placed Liam on the ground and opened the back door at the same time, panting from the run. “Get in,” he ordered, repeatedly looking over his shoulder as he went to the front.

“Dean, can you drive?” Liam pulled the door shut behind him. “Sorzie said you’re sick.”

“Well, Sorz—Sam isn’t here right now.” Dean compulsively put his seatbelt on, unable to stop himself from wasting those extra seconds, and then he twisted the keys. He threw Baby in reverse and backed up before putting her in gear and peeling out of the parking lot. “Seatbelt, Liam!”

Dean barely registered Liam’s obedience, looking into the sideview mirror. He could see the sheriff chasing after him, running across the parking lot and screaming. It looked like his gun might have been drawn, but Dean couldn’t really tell unless he stopped looking where he was going altogether, and he wasn’t about to do that.

“We just gotta find somewhere nearby to stop.” Where, Dean didn’t know, because the sheriff probably had a car, too, and Dean was about to die, and he couldn’t die behind the wheel, or there would be a crash, and Liam was in the back, and Liam was his responsibility, and his chest hurt, and his head hurt, and it hurt to breathe, he couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe?

“Dean?” Liam grabbed onto Dean’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Dean, it’s okay. Don’t be scared.” He squeezed Dean’s arm again. “Can I help?” He started to crawl up to the front before Dean had the chance to answer.

“No, Liam, stay in the back!” Dean tried to block the opening with his arm, but his fear kept both hands glued to the steering wheel, and he could only stretch so far. “Liam, if I wreck, you’re gonna go flying. Sit back down and get your seatbelt on.”

“I’m okay, Dean. Everything’s okay.” Liam held Dean’s arm a little tighter, plopping down in the passenger seat facing Dean. “You know, Miss Greene—she was my favorite therapist—always said it helps to talk about things, even if they make you feel bad. You can talk to me, Dean. I’m a really good listener.”

“I can’t—” Dean put a hand to his head, trying to block out Sam—not Sam, not Sam, he was just hallucinating again—and the mocking laughter. “I can’t talk about this, buddy, I just—I just—” He still couldn’t breathe. I gotta park.

“He’s right, Dean. You really should talk about it.”

Dean swerved, barely getting back into his lane before a collision occurred, eyes freezing on the rearview mirror longer than they should have. Lilith. Horns blared, lights flashed, everything was bathed in red, there was so much screaming, everyone was screaming.

“Hi, Dean! I missed you! Did you miss me, too?”

“You’re not real.” Dean gripped the wheel and sped up, swinging into a library parking lot and speeding as far away from the building and cars as he could get. “You’re not real.” He brought the car to a screeching halt and threw it in park, pressing himself back in his seat. “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not—”

“Who’s not real?” Liam tugged on Dean’s arm. “Dean, you’re scaring me.”

I can’t do that. I can’t scare Liam. I already did that once, I can’t do that again. I can’t. No more hitting in front of Liam. No scaring Liam. Dean forced his eyes to move from the mirror to Liam’s face. “It’s… it’s someone… from when I was missing.”

“Dean,” Lilith sang, bouncing in the backseat, bouncing on the pillows Liam loved so much, getting blood all over them. “Are you gonna tell him all about the fun we had in Hell? I know you remember every second of it, and there are so many good memories to choose from.”

“Did they hurt you when you were missing?” Liam looked up at Dean, concern in his eyes but not a lot else. It didn’t freak him out that Dean was talking to things that weren’t there. It didn’t freak him out that Dean was on the verge of a meltdown. “Was it a bad place?”

Dean nodded stiffly, wiping his eyes before any kind of moisture could gather. “It was—it was a very bad place, buddy.” He forced a weak smile. “There were bad people there, and they—they did things to me that—that I can’t—”

“You know, you’re still gonna die, Dean.”

“Are you stuck?” Liam’s words overlapped the tail end of Lilith’s, his little hands tugging on Dean’s clothing. “Are you stuck in the bad place? Like stuck there in your head?”

My chest hurts. What—what will it do to Liam if I die right in front of him? Dean tilted his head back and panted, body heaving as he struggled to get air into his shrinking lungs. Come on, Sammy… come on, please, I can’t go back… I’m scared… please…

Lilith laughed, so tangible and suffocating and right there in the backseat. “Sammy can’t save you this time any more than he could last time.”

“Not that I would bother trying,” Not Sam drawled, his voice more disembodied and displaced than Lilith’s. That was one nightmare that couldn’t quite take hold, at least.

“Hey.” Liam reached out and touched Dean’s cheek. “Dean, it’s okay to be stuck sometimes. I know… I know the bad feelings don’t go away… and sometimes you feel them from the beginning all over again… but you’re not there anymore.”

“You’re still gonna burn, Dean,” Lilith sang.

“And it’s about freakin’ time,” Not Sam muttered.

“Do I need to yell at your angel?” Liam crawled a little closer and wrapped his arms around Dean’s head, pulling it against his chest. “I will. I’ll yell at anybody if it’ll make you feel better.”

Dean huffed out a weak laugh and put his hands on Liam’s ribcage, heart clenching at how small the bones felt beneath his hands. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s alright. I’ll—I’ll be fine.”

“Your angel can keep you away from the bad place. So can me. So can Sam.” Liam gently petted Dean’s hair. “Me and Sam love you a lot, Dean. We’ll protect you.”

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath, but he wasn’t quite capable of managing a smile.

Liam hugged Dean’s head and continued to stroke his hair, humming softly.

Dean ignored the little knee digging into his thigh, taking another breath and squinting in confusion. “Are you humming… American Pie?”

Liam smiled proudly and nodded, still humming the tune.

Dean smirked slightly and leaned against the significantly smaller Winchester, fingers drumming along to the beat, tapping Liam’s ribs in perfect cadence. “Bet you don’t know who sings that,” he breathed, muscles spasming in his chest.

“Don McLean.” Liam replied without missing a beat.

“What?” Dean turned his head slightly. “You cheated.”

Liam giggled. “How did I cheat?”

Dean took a few deep breaths and rubbed at his sternum, relief flooding his veins and bringing with it a sudden lack of pressure and pain. “I think…” He took another deep breath, and while his heart still pounded in his chest, it didn’t seem to be getting faster. “I think Sammy fixed me.” Thank God.

Liam squeezed Dean’s head, moving a little closer and very nearly shoving his knee in a place Dean generally preferred not to be kneed. “No, I fixed you. I’m taking the credit.”

“You fixed me?” Dean caught his breath, leaning his head back against the headrest with a tired smile. “How did you manage that?”

“My humming is magical.” Liam grinned, just a bit devilish in his glee.

Dean chuckled softly, barely able to get a laugh out with his lungs’ desperate campaign to reacquaint his blood with oxygen. “Yeah, okay. We’ll say you fixed me.” He looked at Liam, curiosity crinkling his nose. “How did you know Don McLean sings American Pie?”

“Pandora,” Liam replied simply. “I used to listen to it all the time, and it always shows the songs and artists together, so I learned both.”

“Pandora?”

“It’s like radio, but it’s online, and you get to create your own stations. Mom had an account… and I used to log in when I could get to a computer at my fosters homes and stuff.”

Dean nodded weakly, still out of breath. “We’ll have to get you some kinda music thing…” He glanced in the backseat and saw it was completely devoid of evil little girls. “Maybe get you your own account.”

“That would be cool.” Liam smiled a little, and he then he cocked his head to the side. “Dean… you really aren’t in the bad place anymore.”

Dean smiled at him, a fluttering sensation cutting under his ribs at the mere mention of Hell. “I know, buddy.”

Liam looked worried, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply pulled Dean’s head against his chest and held on tight. “I love you, Dee.”

“I love you, too, Lee.” Dean sighed softly and rubbed Liam’s back, vacant eyes staring out beyond the windshield. “I love you, too.”

Castiel was an obedient soldier. He always had been. If orders came down the chain of command, he would follow them, even if he didn’t like them. Even if it meant destroying Clayton, Indiana. Even if it meant killing Liam. It wouldn’t be the first time he killed a child—especially if Clayton burned—nor would it be the last, and knowing the potential victim didn’t change that.

But standing in the lively motel room, concealed from human perception, watching Dean teach Liam how to perform a so-called Time Warp, Castiel secretly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“It’s just a jump to the left.” Dean and Liam did so, continuing to sing along with the musical instructions. “And then a step to the ri-ii-iiight! Put your hands on your hips, and bring your knees in tiiiight!”

Sam threw his head back and laughed, holding his phone level so he could record footage of the two dancing and singing like fools. He didn’t seem to be mocking them, though—simply taking his own joy from witnessing theirs.

“But it’s the pelvic thruuust, that really drives you insa-aa-aaane! Leeet’s do the Time Warp agaaaiiin! Leeet’s do the Time Warp agaaaiiin!”

Liam almost fell over trying to keep up with Dean’s obviously practiced singing and dancing, tripping all over himself because he was laughing too hard to see straight.

Dean dropped to one knee and started moving his hands as if he were playing a stringed instrument, except there was no instrument to speak of. “Well, I was walking down the street, just a-havin’ a think, when a snake of a guy gave me an evil wink!” Dean started to, uh, ‘shimmy,’ if Castiel was recalling the proper term, and his voice was unusually high. “Well, it shook me up; it took me by surprise. He had a pick-up truck, and the Devil’s eyes!” Dean pointed at his eyes and then put his hands to his chest. “He looked at me, and I felt a change—time meant nothing, never would again!”

Liam was struggling to catch his breath, and he let out a squeal when Dean scooped him up and returned to the dance.

“It’s just a jump to the left!” Dean jumped in the indicated direction with Liam in his arms. “And then a step to the ri-ii-iiight—” Liam was laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his cheeks, and Sam could barely hold his phone up, “—you put your hands on your hips, and bring your knees in tiiiight!” Dean couldn’t really put his hands on his hips with Liam in his arms, but he made up for his lack of action during the next line. “But it’s the pelvic thruuust, that really drives you insa-aa-aaane!” He started spinning clockwise. “Leeet’s do the Time Warp agaaaiiin!” He came to a stop and whirled in the opposite direction. “Leeet’s do the Time Warp agaaaiiin!” He continued spinning and flopped backward onto the nearby bed, Liam falling on top of him, all three of the room’s occupants overcome with laughter.

Castiel realized too late that he had started to smile as well.

No. No, this is my mission. I have to remain objective.

Castiel disappeared from the room, tilting his head back to stare at the night sky. Tomorrow, the Winchesters would enter Clayton to investigate a suspicious death. Halloween was just around the corner, and a seal was under fire. If all went according to plan, the seal would break, Sam Winchester would drink demon blood to gain the upper hand in the fight against Samhain, and the brothers would push each other away again.

If all went not-so-according to plan…

No. Castiel wasn’t going to think about that. Why entice doubt? Why question orders he didn’t even have yet? He didn’t know if it would come to that. It probably wouldn’t. It hopefully wouldn’t. No point wasting energy thinking about it if it wasn’t going to happen.

Castiel heaved a sigh and disappeared again, returning to Heaven to do a final check of the arrangements. Briefly, between departure and arrival, Castiel had a thought.

I hope they know they cannot actually manipulate time with dancing rituals.

“Here.” Castiel pressed his hand to the wall and pulled out the hex bag without damaging the plaster, trying to leave the motel room relatively undisturbed. Humans were so particular about their dwellings, after all. “This is what we sensed.”

Uriel concealed his angel blade and stalked over to the nearby window. “Unfortunate. I was hoping we might get to skewer an abomination or two before we had to talk to one.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back, clearly displeased with the lodging. “This place is a mudhole. Fit for monkeys, but I would rather not stay any longer than I have to.”

Castiel turned his head to look over his shoulder, tucking his own blade into his jacket and resisting the faint urge to sigh. “You’re in one of their vessels. Their filth shouldn’t bother you.”

Uriel opened his mouth to respond, but they were both distracted by a sudden movement near the front door. Castiel zeroed in on a small figure twisting the deadbolt and immediately recognized the small figure as Liam.

Castiel cleared his throat, and Liam startled, whirling around and pressing his back against the door. They stared at each other for a moment, but it quickly became apparent Liam would not be the one to initiate conversation.

“Where is Dean?” Or Sam, but Castiel didn’t want to spend any more time around the abomination than he needed to.

Liam pressed himself against the door a little harder, but despite his apparent fear, he narrowed his eyes and huffed. “I dunno.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “You’re lying to me.”

“Maybe.” Liam slowly put his hand on the doorknob, watching Castiel cautiously as he started to twist it. “Why do you want Dean?”

Castiel appeared next to Liam and picked him up, easily pulling him away from the door. “Don’t try to leave when I’m talking to you.”

Liam immediately started to kick and squirm, twisting around in Castiel’s arms. “Let me go! Let me go, Castiel!”

Castiel sighed and made his way across the room to the bed, sitting down and holding Liam on his lap. “Please don’t.” He tilted his head back slightly when Liam tried to strike him in the chin, knowing it would do significant damage to Liam’s hand if contact was made. “This is very unnecessary.”

“I—don’t—like—you!” Liam punctuated every word with a kick, arching his back. “Let go of me!”

Castiel opened his mouth to try and reason with the small human, but he was cut off by a shrieking sound that rivaled the true voice of an angel.

“Saaaaaaaam!”

It hurt his vessel’s eardrums.

“Sam, help! Saaam!”

“Is it dying?” Uriel asked, arching a brow in mild interest.

Castiel sighed. “I don’t think so. I think it’s an indicator of dissatisfaction.” He grunted, trying to hold Liam and keep the boy from breaking his knuckles on Castiel’s jaw at the same time. “It would be extremely helpful if you put him to sleep, seeing as my hands are otherwise occupied.”

“Saaaaaaaam!”

Uriel smirked a little, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. “Come now, Castiel. You’re one of Heaven’s finest. You pulled a soul out of Hell. Surely, you can handle a baby monkey.”

Castiel’s face twisted into a scowl. “I don’t want to hurt—”

Castiel didn’t get to finish his sentence, the door flying open with a bang.

“Put him down, or I blow your brains out. Now!” Sam Winchester—whom Castiel could literally feel the darkness in—shouted, leveling a gun at Castiel’s head.

“Sam, wait!” Dean rushed in with a shout of his own. “That’s Castiel!”

Castiel fixed his eyes on Sam and slowly stood up. You don’t scare me, boy. But Castiel unwound his arms nonetheless, carefully placing Liam back on his feet.

Liam bolted.

Sam tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants and crouched down to grab Liam. He scooped Liam into his arms and straightened back up, maintaining eye contact with Castiel the entire time. “It’s okay, Liam.” Sam narrowed his eyes at the angels. “They won’t hurt you. They aren’t—bad.”

Castiel didn’t miss the hesitation; ironic, considering who—no, what Sam Winchester really was. Sam seemed to miss that irony, holding Liam tight and angling his body to shield the boy from any potential attacks.

Liam sniffled quietly but seemed significantly calmer, arms wound around Sam’s neck and legs wrapped around Sam’s waist. He rested his head on Sam’s shoulder and watched Castiel with suspicious eyes.

Castiel kept his focus on Sam, locking onto those angry, hazel eyes for a full five seconds before turning his attention to Dean. “I was unaware you had a child.” That was a lie, of course, but they couldn’t know Castiel had been following them. “I assumed he belonged to Bobby Singer.”

Dean stared back at Castiel, slightly wary. “Yeah. He’s ours.”

False. “Which one of you is the father?” He wondered how truthful Dean would be, and some of that curiosity slipped into his tone.

He was getting too familiar with his vessel.

“Both. Neither.” Dean ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. “He’s adopted. Kind of. It’s complicated.”

Adopted? Castiel tilted his head slightly. Don’t they have institutions for orphans?

“Enough of this.” Uriel barely glanced away from the window as he growled out the words. “We’re wasting our time with these mud monkeys.”

Dean immediately drew himself up to his full height and put his focus on Uriel. “Yeah, who are you, and why should I care?”

Castiel intervened immediately, hoping to limit the interaction between Uriel and the Winchesters—especially Dean—as much as possible. “The Rising of Samhain, have you stopped it?”

“Why?” Dean shot back, never fully taking his eyes off the angel at the window.

“Dean, have you located the witch?” Castiel tried not to let his exasperation show.

Dean didn’t try at all, openly rolling his eyes. “Yes, we’ve located the witch.”

Castiel wasn’t impressed, and he knew Uriel wasn’t either. “And is the witch dead?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, equally displeased. “No, but we know who she is.”

Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew the hex bag he had retrieved earlier, fingers brushing against a folded piece of paper in his pocket. “Apparently, she knows who you are, too.” He handed the bag to Dean. “This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead.” Then, because it was more likely to get the result he wanted, he added, “It could have killed Liam while you were away.”

Dean stopped at that, and Sam seemed to turn away a little more, his grip on Liam tightening.

“Do you know where the witch is now?” Castiel left no room for debate in his voice.

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, and it was enough of a hesitation for Castiel to get his answer, but Dean wasn’t willing to admit defeat just yet. “What do you care, anyway?”

“The Rising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals,” Castiel explained.

Dean snorted as understanding crossed his features, bitterness twisting his voice. “So, this is about your buddy, Lucifer.”

“Lucifer is no friend of ours,” Uriel rumbled from the window, still facing the pane.

“Yeah, it’s a figure of speech, Chuckles.” Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but he stopped short and put his attention back on Liam. “Hey, what’s with that face?”

Castiel frowned slightly and took a step forward, trying to draw Dean’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Dean, you need to focus.”

Dean thoroughly ignored him, wearing a warm expression Castiel had never seen on Dean’s face before. “Lee, tell me what’s wrong. Or tell Sammy.”

Liam kept himself pressed tightly against Sam, and he looked at Castiel with a brief, worried, and yet still subtly angry expression. He wet his lips, eyes wandering back to Dean, and he started to speak. “It wasn’t a ‘she.’ It was a man.” He pointed vaguely toward the far end of the room, keeping his arm tucked in close. “I was in the bathroom, and I thought it was Sorzie at first, ‘cause his hair was kinda long, and he was tall, but he wasn’t tall enough, and—” he tapped his fingers against Sam’s shirt, “—he didn’t have checkies or Sorzie’s jacket. So, I hid in the bathroom until he left, and I relocked the door when he was gone. Then I went back to the bathroom to hide.”

Which is why we didn’t see you when we first arrived. Castiel glanced at Dean, waiting to see what his reaction would be. Sorzie? No, he had to pay attention.

“Tall with hair like mine?” Sam echoed thoughtfully.

“And he placed the hex bag recently,” Dean murmured.

They looked at each other and spoke in unison. “Don.”

Castiel glanced at Uriel, but it seemed Uriel had given up on any kind of interaction and was completely devoted to staring out the window. You’re only here to accomplish the bottom line, anyway. But Castiel warded that thought to keep it private. No need to start drama in the garrison.

“So,” Castiel blinked at the trio of humans, expressing mild irritation. “Do you know who the witch is now?”

Dean gave him a withering glare. “Yes, and we can handle it.”

“You’ve run out of time to handle it.” Castiel glanced at Sam and Liam before looking at Dean again. “You need to leave town. All of you.”

Sam frowned, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so he could put Liam in his lap. “Why?”

Castiel continue to stare at Dean. “The Rising of Samhain must be stopped. There can be no room for mistakes.” He looked at Sam, speaking poignantly. “Lucifer cannot be released from the Cage.”

“Cool.” Dean nodded, bearing his usual attitude of nonchalance. “So, help us gank the witch, and we can all go home happy.”

If only, Castiel thought a bit bitterly. “Uriel and I will handle the problem. You and Sam take Liam and leave town.”

Castiel should have known Dean would never accept that as an answer.

“Uh-huh.” Dean put his hands on his hips, taking a step forward. “And, uh, how exactly are you going to handle it?”

“Uriel is… a specialist.” Castiel let that hang for a moment, but the silence forced him to finish. “We’re going to destroy the town.” He felt Uriel’s essence bemoaning his lack of tact.

It took a half a second for the words to process, and then Dean’s eyes went wide before promptly narrowing. “Woah, wait, what? I don’t think so.”

Sam shifted his hold on Liam, turning to face the angels a little more. “There’s gotta be at least a thousand people here,” he exclaimed, seeming even more disturbed than his brother.

“1,214,” Uriel supplied.

“And you’re just gonna blow it up?” Dean questioned, arms folded over his chest—Castiel had learned that was a common stance taken by humans when defensive. Defensive Dean was never good.

“Lucifer cannot rise.” Castiel glanced at Sam briefly but kept most of his attention on Dean. “It’s one thousand lives against seven billion.” Not necessarily true. “You have to look at the big picture.”

Sam interrupted, still holding Liam and growing progressively more protective as the conversation continued. “You, of all people, aren’t supposed to be big picture guys.”

Castiel frowned slightly, confused.

“No?” Uriel asked, a taunting lilt to his voice.

“No,” Sam replied, his voice hard. “You’re angels.”

“So, what?” Uriel turned away from the window with a sneer. “We’re supposed to show mercy?”

Uriel, don’t. You’re going to make this worse, and not in the way we want. Castiel projected the thought and opened his mouth to settle the waters, but Sam wasn’t done.

“You’re supposed to be righteous.” Sam stood up and put Liam down, letting the boy move behind him as he faced Uriel. “Do you know what would happen if you tried to become a member of law enforcement down here?”

Castiel was caught off-guard by the question—and greatly confused regarding its relevance—but he gave Sam questioning eyes and the silence necessary to continue.

“You would be disqualified. People who think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the lives of the few to save the many don’t get to be in positions of power.” Sam looked at them with some kind of emotion caught between anger and pleading. “People who think they can place a value on human life and barter with it aren’t good. They’re tyrants—arrogant tyrants, and we don’t give them power, because they don’t deserve it.” Something like disgust crossed Sam’s features. “If you want to pretend the only way to move forward is mass murder, fine, but that’s about as far from righteous as you can get.”

“Why, you—” Uriel stepped forward, seething, and it was only an outstretched arm from Castiel that kept him from snapping Sam’s neck on the spot. “Castiel, I will not—”

“Uriel.” Castiel held Sam’s gaze as he spoke, making it clear he wasn’t talking to Uriel. “They’re children. They don’t know any better.”

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean stopped him with a gesture similar to the one Castiel had used with Uriel.

“Sam, don’t.” Dean looked right at Castiel, mimicking his technique. “They aren’t worth it. You can’t beat an inflated ego with logic.”

Castiel bristled, but it quickly faded—he was the superior being, after all—and he calmly addressed the two of them. “You don’t have to like it, but the decision is not yours to make. Clayton, Indiana will be destroyed, and you need to leave.”

For a moment, there was silence. Sam watched Dean with fire in his eyes but no words on his lips, like he was waiting for a cue. Dean regarded Uriel and Castiel, and as he stared, his anger slowly melted into a smirk.

That’s not good.

“How about a change of plans?” Dean shrugged and spread his arms slightly. “How about we refuse to leave?”

Uriel replied before Castiel could. “We’ll destroy you, too.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Dean stalked a little closer, presenting a kind of confidence he hadn’t had in Bobby Singer’s kitchen. “Someone ordered you to get me out of Hell, and I’m thinking Heaven doesn’t have a raffle for that kind of thing, so somebody important wants me alive. I don’t think your superiors are gonna let you kill the guy you worked so hard to get in the first place.” He planted his hands on his hips, stance wide, shoulders squared.

Arrogant.

“We will drag you out,” Uriel growled.

“Sure, but you’ll have to kill me to do that, which puts us back at square one.” Dean shrugged his shoulders, nonplussed. “If you do manage to get me out alive, I’ll just drive back in.”

Uriel moved closer, less than three feet between them. “Heaven might want you alive, but the same can’t be said of your brother or his pet.”

Castiel shut his eyes briefly, gathering his patience in the split second before reactions kicked in. That was, quite possibly, the worst course of action to take.

“Did you just call him a pet?” Sam shouted, his voice nearly covered by Dean’s equally enraged, “You think that’s any different?”

Dean was the one who continued, grabbing Uriel by the shirt. “You lay a single finger on either of their heads, and I’ll blow mine off!” He stopped for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching as he struggled with himself. He exhaled slowly and dropped his arms to his sides, fists clenching as a deadly tone entered his voice. “Don’t you dare touch my fam—”

“Please, don’t hurt me, Mr. Angel!”

Castiel was startled by a sudden pressure in the lower half of his vessel, which he quickly realized wasn’t so much pressure as it was Liam throwing himself against Castiel and cleaving to him.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!”

Castiel held his hands up and slightly away from Liam, unsure of what to do and taking an instinctive step back as a result. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Castiel wasn’t even the one who suggested it; though, perhaps it was because Castiel was less antagonistic that Liam begged him instead. “Just, uh, stop making that… noise that you’re making.”

Liam looked up at him, blue eyes watering, and then he buried his face in Castiel’s stomach, murmuring frantically under his breath.

“Please, please, please, please, please…” he chanted over and over.

“Liam,” Sam started, slowly approaching Castiel. “Everything’s okay, just come away from him.” He kept his eyes on Castiel, stretching out a hand and beckoning Liam with his fingers. “Come on, buddy, come back to me.”

“That is an excellent plan,” Castiel encouraged, giving Liam a slight shove on the shoulder. “Go back over there. Go on.”

Liam hesitated a moment more, sniffing up at Castiel, and then he bolted. He threw himself at Sam, ducking behind his legs and grabbing his shirt with one hand while the other held out an angel blade.

Wait, what?

“Sorzie, he had this in his jacket.”

Castiel immediately felt around for his sword, but it wasn’t in his sleeve. Because I had it out but stashed it when I intercepted Liam. He pat down the front of his coat, but the blade was gone. Liam hadn’t begged Castiel because he was less antagonistic, he begged Castiel because Castiel was the only one who stashed his weapon after Liam came out of the bathroom.

Castiel could hear Uriel’s essence laughing, and he promptly sent out a wavelength that vaguely resembled the English phrase, ‘shut up.’ Outwardly, neither of them moved, their facial expressions unchanged.

Liam handed the blade to Sam, still gripping the plaid flannel for dear life. “They were talking like they came ready for a fight.”

Sam contemplated the weapon with surprise and confusion before slowly lifting his gaze to look at Dean, who stared back with an equal amount of surprise and confusion before slowly turning his gaze to Castiel.

“Huh.” Dean folded his arms over his chest. “How ‘bout that?”

Castiel inwardly cursed his lack of attentiveness—something along the lines of, ‘one hundred years of ill fortune should fall on this thick head of mine’—briefly wondering where someone so young picked up manipulative tactics so advanced.

“Sam.” Castiel extended his hand. “Give me the weapon.”

“This works on you, doesn’t it?” Sam indicated the angel blade. “You know it’ll work on any enemy, because if it can kill you, it can kill anything.”

Castiel narrowed his gaze. “We know it will work because we use our blades on smaller threats. Stronger adversaries, we smite.”

“Then why carry a blade at all?” Dean countered, spreading his hands in an incredulous gesture. “Why not just smite everything?”

“Convenience,” was Castiel’s automatic reply. “It can also be helpful when trying to avoid human detection. Sam,” he shifted his attention, “the blade is of no use to you, but it is the property of Heaven. I would like it back.”

“I don’t believe you.” Sam shook his head. “I think this will be very useful, especially against you guys.”

Castiel didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. “Then you would be wrong.”

Neither did Sam. “Then come and take it from me.”

Castiel inwardly cursed again, wishing quite a few unpleasant things on Sam Winchester as he worked his jaw and tried to figure out how to move forward.

Uriel didn’t look at Castiel, but he called out across the radio wavelengths, asking for orders. Castiel didn’t know what to tell him.

“We aren’t tyrants, Sam.” Castiel looked to the younger Winchester, his voice slightly softer. “For centuries, we left humanity alone. We didn’t choose who lived and who died. We let you have your freedom.” He clenched his jaw again, keeping his anger at the very core of his essence so his vessel wouldn’t show it. “But things are different now. This is something we cannot leave in the hands of humanity. We have to do this. We have no choice.”

Sam didn’t even blink. “You don’t want a choice.”

Castiel looked at Dean, looked at the defensive stance and blazing emerald eyes, and then back at Sam, still sheltering Liam with darkness in his veins and anger on his tongue.

“You have until midnight.” Castiel looked at Dean, taking a step forward, getting in his face like he had when he threatened to throw Dean back in the Pit. “If the witch isn’t dead by then, we will destroy the town. If I have to return to Hell and drag you out again, so be it, but either way… if it isn’t handled by midnight, the town burns.”

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Castiel was already gone.

This is turning out to be much more difficult than we originally thought.

“Why don’t you go play, Liam?” was what Dean was saying when Castiel appeared behind the park bench.

Liam shook his head and idly swung his legs, little shoulders hunched and sky blue eyes staring vacantly ahead.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean startled, but Liam seemed unsurprised, remaining silent.

“Freakin’…” Dean turned so he was sitting sideways on the bench. “What do you want, Cas? We did our best. If the seal was that important, you should’ve helped instead of dropping a threat and flying off.”

Castiel considered his options, trying to figure out how to push the brothers further apart without making himself an enemy. He was already on thin ice with Dean, and Dean could be difficult to predict.

“I just wanted you to know… I’m glad the town was spared.” Castiel tried to mimic a little human emotion. “We may have lost the seal, but, thanks to you, I was able to avoid following a… rather unpleasant order.” Hopefully, that would help smooth things over. “How is Sam?”

Dean heaved a sigh, but his anger seemed to dissipate somewhat. “Not great, Cas.”

Castiel glanced at the children on the playground, fighting back the fleeting urge to smile “Perhaps I could help; take some of his pain.”

Dean stopped at that, thoughtful. “Uh…” He shook his head. “No. No, we better not.”

‘I want him to associate drinking demon blood with pain,’ was the bit left unsaid, but Castiel heard it all the same.

“Ask him.”

Castiel and Dean both looked at Liam.

Dean cleared his throat. “That’s okay, Lee. We’ll skip it.”

“Ask. Him.” Liam glared at Dean with glassy eyes, sniffing quietly. “You never ask, you just do what you want.”

Dean leaned down slightly and spoke in a soothing voice. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, Lee. Sam doesn’t need any angelic healing mojo; it’s just a headache, nothing major.” He flashed a quick smile. “Sam is gonna be just fine.”

“No, he’s not!” Liam looked at Dean, frustrated tears rolling halfway down his cheeks before he dashed them away. “Because you never listen to him. You never—” He hiccupped and looked back at the park, wiping his eyes again.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, sliding from the bench and crouching down in front of Liam. “I’ll ask Sam, okay? I’ll give him a call.” He held his hands out in a placating gesture. “And I’ll listen. I promise, Lee.”

Liam seemed mildly appeased, but then he went back to staring with vacant eyes.

Dean looked at Castiel for a moment, suspicion tainting his features. “What happened to ‘stop it, or we will?’” His tone was almost accusatory.

Castiel averted his eyes. “Well, if Heaven never hears of this… incident…” even though it already had, “…they can’t order anyone to intervene.” Kill Sam. “I see no reason to report the details of this conversation.” Because the report had already been made.

Dean considered Castiel for a moment, and then he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Crap.” He looked back at Liam. “I’m gonna walk around a bit and try to get a signal. You stay here, okay?”

Liam nodded, his eyes dropping from the park to his lap.

Dean gave Castiel a pointed look; a silent order not to leave Liam alone.

Castiel nodded his equally silent acceptance, watching as Dean went to the nearby sidewalk and started walking, holding up his phone and watching the screen.

Castiel waited until Dean was out of earshot to comment. “You’re very fond of Sam.”

“I love him.” Liam spoke without hesitation, idly fiddling with his hands.

Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment. “Liam… Sam isn’t who you think he is.”

“That’s okay with me,” was all Liam said, looking back out at the park again.

Castiel pressed his lips together, torn between bewilderment and frustration. “He’s dangerous, Liam. He’s going to hurt you.”

Liam actually stopped for a moment, fingers freezing in their intertwined position as his eyes misted up, but then he nodded with a quiet sniff. “Yeah, I know.”

Castiel arched a brow, definitely bewildered. “You… know?”

Liam wiped his face with his sleeves and got back to fiddling. “Everyone does eventually.” He smiled a little, some of his usual light going back into his eyes. “But until then, I’m just happy he loves me. Everyone pretends to be someone they’re not, but Sorzie pretends to be somebody really, really nice.” His expression soured then. “Unlike you.”

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure how to take the statements about Sam, so he cleared his throat and moved the conversation to a new topic. “I see you haven’t taken my advice.”

Liam didn’t so much as glance in Castiel’s direction. “Don’t give bad advice,” he suggested.

Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, indignation flaring in his chest at the sheer nerve of the child in front of him. “You sound quite sure of yourself.” He glanced in Dean’s direction, but the older Winchester was still a fair distance away. “I could kill you with a snap of my fingers.” He paused to let that sink in. “I won’t, but another angel might if you don’t get that tongue of yours in check.”

“So?” Liam leaned back against the bench, swinging his legs again.

Castiel bristled. “So, you should show a little respect to those who can easily end your life.”

Liam swung his legs again. “So… everyone.” He turned sideways and folded his arms atop the back of the bench, looking at Castiel with eyes far too tired for his age. “You don’t scare me, Nastiel. You’re just like my mom, and my dad, and Mrs. Highland, and Mr. Mallery, and every other grownup who makes me do whatever they want.” He glared. “You think you’re special or something? You’re just another angry man in a suit and tie telling me it’s best if I do what you tell me to.”

Castiel was struck momentarily speechless, watching silently as Liam turned around and slumped on the bench with a heavy sigh.

“You—”

“Hey, Sam said he’d like a fix-it for his headache. You still game?”

Castiel blinked, lost in yet another kind of confusion. “I don’t—”

“Are you still willing to help?” Dean sighed.

“Oh. Yes.” What that had to do with playing games, Castiel didn’t know, but as long as Dean was satisfied, he supposed it really didn’t matter. “He’s in your motel room?”

Dean nodded his head and gestured toward the nearby building. “Yeah. We’ll come with you.” He held out his hand for Liam to take, and despite Liam’s earlier frustration, he didn’t hesitate to latch onto Dean’s entire arm.

It’s oddly complex. Castiel started to walk, feeling a little odd using his feet to move from one place to another. With Sam, Liam seems perpetually positive. With Dean, he seems quick to argue, as he is with me, but he is still pleased to be around Dean overall. With me, he’s perpetually negative. He didn’t speak much with Uriel, but I would imagine their relationship would be similar. Castiel continued to walk without really paying attention, ensuring his footsteps were aligned with Dean’s so Dean could lead the way while Castiel lost himself in thought. He has parents, yet he’s been adopted. What would be the purpose of adopting a child who already has parents? Furthermore, what inspired them to adopt him? He would have to talk to the other angels and see if anyone saw when exactly Liam was adopted, seeing as Castiel hadn’t exactly been ‘hip’ to things occurring topside while he was in Hell retrieving Dean.

“Sorzie?” Liam called softly, slipping under Dean’s arm and through the recently opened door. “We’re back.”

Castiel followed Dean into the motel room, surprised to see Sam on his feet and wrestling a clean shirt down over his head.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked.

Sam gave him a weak smile, and Castiel could see his eyes were unfocused in their attempt to find Dean’s face. “Not great. Uh, but—” he held up a finger and pulled some papers from his back pocket, “—Liam, come look.”

Liam immediately moved closer, getting up on his tiptoes and scanning the papers with a crinkled brow. “What is it?”

“This,” Sam started, kneeling down to be on Liam’s level, “is a Halloween scavenger hunt. I know we couldn’t get you a costume and go trick-or-treating, but we can still do this, if you want. We can start tonight in Clayton, and maybe make some stops along the way back to Bobby’s. We’ll have our very own Halloween adventure.” Sam flashed another smile, but Castiel could sense the nausea and blinding pain.

“Sam, maybe let Cas look at your head first,” Dean suggested, a faint smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Castiel decided that was enough of a cue and wasted no time in pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead. “Your migraine is gone, and your nose shouldn’t bleed anymore.”

Sam stared at Castiel with a blank expression for a moment, no doubt still angry over their last encounter, but then he offered a small smile. “Thank you.”

Castiel stared back, and then he made himself invisible, appearing to the humans in the room to have flown away.

There was a moment of silence and then Sam cleared his throat, looking back at Liam. “So, what do you say?”

Liam chewed on his lower lip, the skin showing through the gap in his two front teeth. “Are you sure you feel better?”

Sam smiled and nodded his head, pulling Liam into a side-hug. “Castiel fixed me up, buddy. I feel much better.” He smiled a little wider. “Thank you for asking. That was very thoughtful, Liam.”

Liam beamed at the praise and then glanced at Dean, still smiling as his gaze went back to Sam, then to Dean, and then back to Sam again. “We can all go together?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course.” Sam smiled warmly. “It wouldn’t be an adventure without Dean.”

Dean had a similar curve to his lips. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

Liam made an excited little noise—almost like a hum and a laugh combined—and bounced on his toes. “Yes, please!”

Castiel almost sighed; briefly, he wondered if he had been in his vessel too long. It looks like I’ll have to tag along if I want to determine the impact of the fight with Samhain. Thankfully, human time went quickly. Besides, the Winchesters were… interesting, to say the least.

It would be an entertaining mission.

“Dean, I’m sure someone has a dead guy in their tree. You don’t—”

“Too late, Sammy. It’s personal now. Besides, I’m almost there.”

“You’re going to fall and break your neck; then you’ll really be a dead guy.”

“It’s called method acting, you uncultured sw—oah!”

Castiel tensed when Dean lost his grip, but Dean quickly regained control and continued to situate himself amongst the skeletal limbs of the tree. Sam and Liam looked on, the latter giggling periodically as Dean made noises or mumbled to himself.

“Okay! I have been skewered by a branch, and I am officially a dead guy in a tree. Take a picture, Liam!”

“You know, Sam, it’s kinda weird that clowns aren’t anywhere on this list. Clowns are pretty Halloween-y, don’t you think?”

Castiel stepped back and maneuvered around Sam’s suddenly tense figure, trying to get a better look at his face.

Sam was pale. “Uh…”

“I don’t wanna look for clowns, Dee! I don’t like them.” Liam turned wide, pleading eyes to the older Winchester. “Do we have to add them to the list?”

Dean waved it off. “Nah. It was just a joke. Sammy doesn’t like them either.”

“Oh.” Liam blinked a few times and nodded. “Okay.” He smiled and got back to reading the list. “Can we go find a pumpkin patch?”

Castiel flew back to Heaven.

“Haven’t you got poet or something like that?”

Castiel quirked a brow, confused by Liam’s request. From the look of things, Sam and Dean were equally confused, but the waitress immediately laughed and started singing her reply.

“No, you see, the trouble with poet is how do you know it’s deceased? Try the priest!”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and he walked closer to the booth, looking at the slices of pie on the table but finding none of them contained human flesh. I don’t understand.

“Heavenly!” Liam started giggling.

Tracey—Castiel was pretty sure that was her name—laughed as well. “It’s not every day I get to sing Sweeney Todd at work. You made my night, kiddo. Pie’s on me.”

Liam blushed a bit and ducked his head, but he still smiled. “I’m glad I made your night.” He lifted his head. “Thank you for the pie!”

“Sure thing, sweetie. Y’all have a nice night.” Tracey started back toward the counter, tossing a wave and a smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

Liam waved back and contently began eating his pie.

Dean looked at Sam, baffled. “What just happened?”

Sam shook his head, equally perplexed. “I have no idea.”

Well, at least it isn’t just me this time, Castiel thought.

“Sam, we need to talk.”

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

Castiel appeared in the room—concealed from their sight, as always—just as Sam let out a nervous chuckle. Liam was asleep in the bed against the far wall, Sam sat at the tiny table in the kitchen, and Dean leaned against the counter with a beer in his hand.

“I, uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I realized recently that, uh, that we haven’t really talked about… well, you… since I got back from Hell.”

Sam immediately tensed, his back straightening up. “Uh, well—”

“After our fight, I was really… I didn’t want to risk losing my temper. I was worried about Liam, so I didn’t really…” Dean cleared his throat and took a swig of beer. “I guess the demon blood got me thinking… you know, reasons why you would even…” He cleared his throat again. “I just… realized I never asked how you were. When I got back, I mean, I…” He took another swig of beer and shook his head. “How were you while I was gone?”

“Dead. You were dead, not gone.” Sam immediately regretted the outburst and swallowed whatever else he might have been planning to say. “But, uh, you’re back now, so…” He shrugged.

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, and if Castiel’s observations up to that point were anything to go on, Dean was struggling with the overwhelming urge to drop the subject. It wasn’t like Dean to pursue emotional conversation.

“Uh, maybe it’s better now, but…” Dean laughed softly. “I mean, I know I’m a pain, but didn’t you miss me at all?” He said it jokingly, but there was a tiny bit of accusation in the tone, like he was goading Sam.

“Dean…” Sam let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “Look, it doesn’t… matter anymore. Of course I missed you, but… I don’t miss you now, and…” He looked at Dean for a moment, sighed again, and turned his head to look out the window. “You don’t need to know. Just—”

“I want to know.” Dean drummed his fingers on the counter. “I wanna know how you were. I, uh, I couldn’t last a week. You made it four months, and I—”

“I didn’t make it four months. I didn’t have a choice.” Sam set his jaw, still looking out the window. “You don’t want to know, Dean. You think you do, but you—”

“Then I’m making a mistake, and I’ll deal with the fallout.” Dean was unwavering. “Come on.” He set his beer bottle aside and approached the table, sitting down across from Sam and resting his folded arms on the tabletop. “Just tell me.”

Sam snorted. “Why? What good is it going to do?” His voice started to get louder, and he quickly dragged it back down, speaking in a harsh whisper. “What could possibly be gained by you knowing I summoned over fifty crossroads demons trying to trade my soul for yours?”

Dean flinched at the confession, but he didn’t back off. He took a moment to collect himself and then replied, “You need to talk about it, and maybe… maybe I need to hear it. Maybe I need to know what I did.”

“You—” Sam put his face in his hands and let out a cross between a moan and a sigh. “You didn’t—”

“Yeah, I did, and you blame me. I might not be a psychology buff like you, but I know when my brother’s mad at me.” Dean leaned forward again, regaining some of his confidence. “I know when he’s angry and feels like he shouldn’t be. I know his eyes.” He snorted out a laugh. “Come on, Sam. I don’t remember my time in Hell, and it’s still got me on edge. You remember those four months, so don’t… ‘it doesn’t matter anymore’ me.”

Sam heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. “I…” He sighed again. “I don’t remember that much. I was pretty drunk most of the time.”

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, and Castiel could sense the pain Sam’s words once again inflicted. Yet Dean didn’t seem angry with Sam. He seemed… lost. Confused. Upset.

“Ruby found me in a ditch, blackout drunk. She got me sober, got me back into hunting, and then said about…” Sam made a vague gesture to fill the gap. “Uh, I found Liam on a hunt, and after Liam, it got better. I think I just needed a distraction.”

Castiel could sense the lies woven throughout Sam’s story, but he had noticed a few large lies in Dean’s account, as well. Namely, Dean claiming he didn’t remember Hell. So, they were still lying to each other.

That’s good, at least. But we’ve got to do something about their lack of anger. We have to put them at odds, and we have to get Sam back on demon blood. It doesn’t look like the Samhain incident achieved a relapse. Castiel closed his eyes, a vague sense of sadness weighing on his vessel’s shoulders. Sam initially turned to blood to get revenge… but his first instinct was to trade his soul to rescue Dean. So, rescue is a more powerful motivator than revenge for him.

Castiel turned to look at Liam, who was still curled up in bed. He knew it wouldn’t be his call, and he could still hold out hope, but… he knew. He knew what orders would come down the chain of command as soon as he reported back to Heaven.

Castiel glanced at the brothers, who were still talking in the dim light of the kitchen lamp. Briefly, Castiel wondered if they knew Liam had been awake for fifteen minutes.

Either way, it wasn’t Castiel’s concern, so he returned to Heaven and cast aside his concerns about the outcome. After all, they were at war. Suffering was a necessary byproduct, and collateral damage was unavoidable.

If orders came down the chain of command, he would follow them, even if he didn’t like them. Even if it meant hurting Liam.

Because Castiel was an obedient soldier.

He always had been.

Red. Black. Dripping. Burning. Screaming. Silent.

Blades under his skin, carving away the flesh strip by strip until steel struck cartilage. More carving, this time with splintered fragments of bone sticking to the bloody knife. Sweltering, suffocating heat and boiling fluid in his eyes.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Thump, thump, thump, thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—

Valves and arteries giving way to the sharpened edge of a dagger, the core muscle still beating frantically even as it was shredded, trying to push blood through whatever was left of his veins. All it did was pour blood onto the rack, the hot rack, the spiked rack digging into his flesh and muscle and bone and help, please help, and stop, and Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy—

“Sammy!”

Dean shot up in bed, gasping for air and pushing away hands that didn’t exist. He scratched at his neck and chest, but the only thing he found was a cotton t-shirt and sweat. No blood. No gashes. No burns.

Dean reached for the handprint on his shoulder, dragging down a few lungfuls of air and clinging to the mark that proved he was no longer in Hell.

He had been rescued.

He was out. It was over.

He was safe.

Dean ran a hand down his face and let out a heavy sigh, tossing the sheets aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He got up and made a beeline for the bathroom, but he realized halfway there that the light was already on.

Crap. Dean turned to look at the bed next to his, bewildered eyes finding it empty. So, Liam and Sam were in the bathroom… together?

Dean took a moment to breathe, trying to decide if he would be of any use while his brain was still in the blender, and he quickly came to the decision that it didn’t really matter. So, he twisted his lips into a half-conscious frown and stumbled over to the door, knocking softly as screams echoing in his brain began to fade. “Hey,” he started, already turning the door handle. “Everything okay in here?”

Dean was greeted by the sight of Liam kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks, and a distinct lack of Sam.

Dean dedicated a fraction of a second to suspicion, anger, and worry about Sam, but then his mind belonged solely to Liam.

“Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?” Dean let himself in and crouched down a couple feet away, rubbing his nightmares from his eyes. “Did you get sick?”

Liam shook his head, hiccupping through the lingering tears. “But my tummy hurts.”

Dean nodded and slipped from the crouch to a sit, figuring he might as well get comfortable. “Do you know why? Was it something you ate, maybe?”

Liam stared at Dean with watery eyes, lib wobbling in the silence, and then he started crying again. He held his knees to his chest and buried his head behind them, sobbing quietly.

Dean swallowed and glanced over his shoulder, hoping Sam had perhaps magically sensed the need to return to the motel immediately.

No such luck, and Dean found himself whispering a quiet, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lee,” as he tried to figure out what to do next. “Just… tell me what’s wrong, okay? I just need to know what’s wrong.”

Liam lifted his head and laid it sideways on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m—I’m an awful person.” He sobbed. “I’m an awful, bad person, Dean.”

Dean had to take a moment to process the sentence, and not just because it was the middle of the night. “What?” He shook his head, scooting a little closer. “Liam, that’s not true. Not at all. Who told you that?”

Liam screwed his eyes shut and curled up a little tighter, choking out a few more cries. He shook his head and rocked slightly, mumbling incoherent words that eventually fell into a sentence. “M’really bad, Dean. I did—I did a really bad thing.”

Dean shook his head, tempted to pull Liam into a hug but not knowing if it was safe or wise to do so. “Buddy, whatever it was… it’s okay. You’re not bad. I’ve done some bad things, too, okay? Sam… and Bobby… I mean, everybody has. Everybody makes mistakes. It doesn’t mean—” he sighed, shaking his head again. “You’re not bad, Liam. You’re not.”

Liam hiccupped again and leaned against the toilet, slow and shuddering breaths breaking up the faint sobs still trying to work their way out his throat. “I… I lied. I lied to the police, and I lied to my therapist, and I lied to my mom, and I—” He hid his face in his knees again.

Dean was increasingly confused and nervous, but he tried to keep his outward expression calm. He remembered Sam telling him that children often mistook anger at their abusers for anger at them, and that was the last thing Dean wanted.

“Liam, what did you lie about?” Dean wet his lips and cleared his throat, flashing a brief but warm smile. “You can tell me, kiddo. You can always tell me. We’re family, right?”

Liam let out a couple cries and then rested his head on his knees again, eyes swollen and red. “I told everyone that… that Daddy forced me… but—” he sobbed, shaking his head, “—but he didn’t.” His sobs returned full-force, and he kept shaking his head, as if he could physically rattle the memories out of his brain. “He didn’t, Dean. Not—not in the beginning.”

Dean was struck speechless, and maybe that was for the best, because the last thing Liam needed was an explosive outburst interrupting him, but he truly was speechless. Completely, utterly lost for words. Confused. Disturbed.

“Daddy asked me if—if I had ever t-touched myself there, and I said no, and—and he showed me how. That was all, he just—he just showed me how, but it felt really good, so—” he rubbed his eyes, “—so I went to him to ask for help again and again and—and again, and I didn’t even say no until we started using the toys.” Liam hiccupped and the words came faster, tumbling past his lips in a long, nearly hysterical stream or syllables. “I didn’t say no all that time, and then—then I got him in trouble, but it was my fault! It was my fault, and I lied and said it was his, and he’s in jail because of me, and I’m—I’m a bad person, Dean I’m a really bad person!”

Dean’s arms were moving before he even knew they wanted to, wrapping around Liam’s body and pulling him close. “Shh.” He leaned against the sink and held on like Liam would float away if Dean gave any slack at all. “Shh, it’s okay. Shh…” He cradled Liam’s head in his hand. “Liam, I need you—I need you to listen to me. Okay, little man? I need you to listen.”

Liam nodded miserably, crying into Dean’s chest and gripping the sweat-soaked shirt for dear life.

“Liam, you know, uh—” Dean laughed weakly, cursing his brain for its lack of originality. “You know I love pie. I love pie, man, love it. I get it whenever I can. Pie, uh, pie makes me feel good. Makes my brain feel good.” He put his chin on Liam’s head and tried not to let out the tears threatening to run down his face. “I get pie from a lot of places, and every time I do, I trust that whoever made it didn’t put anything bad in it. Because that’s just not how it’s supposed to be.” He cleared his throat, wishing he could offer more than a hug and a pep talk, wishing he could do something. “If, uh, if someone poisons a pie, and I eat it because I like pie, is it my fault I was poisoned?”

Liam rubbed his face against Dean’s throat, staying tucked under Dean’s chin. “No,” Liam mumbled, his voice congested.

“What about, uh—what if someone steals a pie, and they offer me some, and I don’t know it’s stolen, so I take what they offer and eat it. Would that be wrong of me? I mean, am I stealing that pie?”

Liam shook his head. “No…”

“That’s because when I ask for pie, or when someone offers me pie, I trust they aren’t trying to hurt me or make me do something wrong. That’s how it’s supposed to be, Liam. There are certain people and certain times you’re supposed to just… be able to trust that it’s all okay.” Dean cleared his throat and blinked away his tears with a sniff. “Liam… when you asked your dad to… to help you out… you were just trying to get something that made you feel good. You didn’t know it was going to hurt you.” Dean squeezed Liam tight. “And when your dad offered to help you, you didn’t know you that what he wanted you to do was wrong. You thought it was just a nice gift.” Dean exhaled slowly, shakily. “He’s your dad. You’re supposed to be able to trust you dad not to hurt you and not to steer you wrong.”

Liam sniffed and pulled away a little, staring up at Dean with wide, vulnerable, scared, guilty eyes. Fresh tears ran down his cheeks, lips wet and wobbly, face flushed and nose running.

Dean cupped Liam’s face in his hand and shook his head, looking him right in the eyes as he said, “Liam, what happened to you was not your fault. You were a kid. You are a kid. You’re not supposed to have all the answers, and you’re supposed to be able to rely on family to keep you safe.”

Liam ducked his head and pressed against Dean’s chest again. “But I…” He shook his head and curled up in Dean’s arms, crying again. “But I still—I m-miss it sometimes, and I want to… but I know I’m not supposed to, and that’s not—not my dad’s fault, Dean. I’m—I’m broken, and I—” He rubbed his eyes, crying harder, tensing up like he was waiting for Dean to push him away or hit him. “I shouldn’t want to touch myself, but I do, and I don’t—I don’t understand. Why am I like this? What’s wrong with me?” He lost the end of his question to a handful of harsh sobs that quietly dissolved into incoherent crying.

Dean wet his lips and gave Liam a little squeeze, far out of his comfort zone but refusing to back off. Pieces were falling into place, and if Dean was honest, he was a little creeped out. He didn’t want to have any kind of talk with Liam, especially one that didn’t go, ‘Kiddo, you’re fourteen now, so chase tail to your heart’s content and always use a condom. Well, we’re done here.’

But that was what Liam needed, so he would deal.

“Liam…” Dean cleared his throat and started again. “Liam, is that why were you in here?” He shifted slightly and made sure not to let go of the shaking boy in his arms. “You said you didn’t get sick. Did you come in here to… you know…” Oh, how he wanted to go back and tell the him of two months ago that the sexual abuse conversation was nowhere near as awkward as his talks with Liam were going to get. “Did you come in here to… uh, masturbate?”

Liam started crying harder and held on tight. “I’m sorry, Dean! I’m sorry!”

Dean didn’t sigh in case Liam mistook it for disappointment, but he once again got mad at Sam for not being there when they needed him. But, also once again, Dean set that aside and focused on Liam, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Shh, Liam, it’s okay. I’m not upset. Okay? I mean, hey… uh… at your age…” Dean shook his head, clearing his throat a few times. “You’re, uh, you’re coming up on your teen years… and you’re gonna want to, you know, explore your, uh, your body. That’s normal. Um… I mean, you hit puberty, and it’s up, it’s down, it’s back up again for no reason—” Dean cut himself off and cleared his throat yet again. “And, um, you’re… you’re gonna want to touch yourself, and it’s, uh—you know, it’s gonna feel good. And that’s okay. It’s okay that it feels good. And, um, I mean, I don’t really know how it works when you… start too early…” for lack of a better term, “…but we’re gonna find out. Okay? You and me and Sam, we’re gonna research. We’ll learn what’s safe, and what’s healthy, and we’ll get some answers.” Dean rocked Liam slightly, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s okay to be confused. And hey, look at me.”

Liam shook his head as Dean leaned back, and he whined softly when Dean tried to coax his chin up.

“Come on, buddy. Come on, look at me. Okay?”

Liam shook his head again, refusing to lift his eyes from his lap.

“Okay.” Dean stroked his hair again and pulled him in tight. “That’s okay. But I need you to listen. Can you do that?”

Liam nodded his head, still crying quietly.

“You are not broken. Alright?”

Liam curled up a little tighter, a soft whimper breaking up his cries.

“You’re not broken, Liam. You’re a little banged up, a little bruised. So am I. So’s Sam. So’s everybody. But you aren’t broken. You’re just hurt, and there’s nothing wrong with being hurt.”

Liam slumped against Dean’s chest, tugging on Dean’s shirt and pressing his forehead against Dean’s collarbone. He hiccupped quietly, pulling his knees up toward both their chests, and his cries slowly started to soften and taper off.

Dean shushed Liam and held on tight, rubbing his back and combing fingers through his hair. Dean tilted his head back and rested it against the peeling wallpaper, closing his eyes as a wave of helpless frustration washed over him.

I’m not cut out for this.

“Hey, Lee, how about we go back to bed?” Dean glanced out at the darkened motel room, wondering if he was even ready to try sleeping again. “I can tell you a story, and maybe the both of us can get some sleep.”

Liam gave a weak nod and sniffled again, but he made no move to get up.

That was okay. Dean just snaked one arm under Liam’s legs and shifted his weight with a grunt, struggling to his feet. He pushed against the wall to get himself upright without letting go of Liam, and then he shouldered the bathroom light switch. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust and then carried both of them back to his bed.

“Where’s Sorzie?” Liam mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed, sitting down on the mattress and propping himself up against the headboard. He resituated Liam on his lap and felt around for the bedside lamp, figuring they could both do with a little more light. “But he’ll call us if he needs anything.”

Liam didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he moved around a bit and tried to get comfortable, sliding down until he could rest his head on Dean’s stomach with both arms wound tight around Dean’s hips.

“Okay, let’s…” Dean trailed off before he could finish, interrupted by the sound of a key twisting in the lock. He held Liam a little tighter out of instinct, but his fears were eased a second later when a tall, floppy-haired figure entered the room. “See?” Dean flashed a quick smile, pushing aside his own reservations about Sam’s unexplained disappearance. “I told you he was fine.”

Sam stepped into the light of the lamp with a mildly surprised expression on his face, which Dean quickly realized was tearstained and splotchy.

Apparently, Dean and Liam weren’t the only ones having a rough night.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled and ran a hand over his face, his voice congested. “Didn’t mean to worry you. I just… needed some air.”

Dean gave him a nod, forgiveness and understanding and sympathy all wrapped up in that single gesture, and then he nodded to the little person wrapped around his waist and legs. “I was just about to tell a story, if you want to listen in.”

“I’d like that.” Sam gave a weak smile and shuffled over to his bed, kicking off his shoes and preparing to sit.

“Sammy.” Dean patted the bed next to him. “Come sit with us. There’s enough room.” It would be a little cramped, sure, but Liam probably wanted to snuggle, anyway. And Sam looked like he could use a hug or two himself. “We’ll make a Liam sandwich.”

Sam gave another weak smile, looking more tired and beaten-down than Dean had ever seen before, and he obediently went around to the available half of Dean’s bed. “Sounds good to me.”

Liam reached out as soon as Sam was on the mattress, his little hand curled around the thin flannel Sam had worn in lieu of a jacket. “Bad dreams?”

Sam reached out and booped Liam on the nose, mustering up more of a smile than he had the first two times. “Nothing a Liam sandwich can’t fix.”

Liam couldn’t quite manage a smile, but he rolled over into the little space between Sam and Dean and let them hold onto him.

Dean reached across Liam and grabbed Sam’s shirt, giving it a little tug to get Sam to look at him.

Sam held eye contact for no more than three seconds, and then his face crumbled. He buried it in the pillow by his head and reached across Liam to grab Dean’s still damp shirt.

Dean let out a soft sigh and settled down into the sheets with them. My sweat hasn’t even dried completely, and I’m diving back in to welcome another nightmare. But what else could he do?

“Once upon a time,” Dean started, eyes already closed and voice somewhat slurred by fatigue, “in a faraway land, there were three brothers…”

Castiel stared down at the sleeping form, a slight twist in his stomach. He didn’t dislike Liam—not really, save for that insufferable attitude problem of his—but Castiel’s orders had been clear. If Heaven wanted Sam to get back on demon blood, Heaven had to give Sam a goal he considered worth the cost.

“You aren’t hesitating, are you, Castiel?”

Castiel ignored Uriel’s voice calling out to him.

“Come now, Castiel. You’ve put it off for three days now to wait until they stopped sleeping in the same bed. You can only procrastinate for so long before someone other than me will call you out.”

Castiel ignored him again. Uriel was Castiel’s subordinate, not the other way around, and he didn’t owe the Angel of Death any explanations.

Liam rolled over in his sleep with a loud inhale followed by a contented little sigh.

This is right. This is just. I don’t have a choice. Briefly, Castiel considered retrieving his blade before he left, but that would make angelic involvement entirely too obvious, and they needed Dean to trust them more, not less. He’ll be safer in Heaven, anyway. I’ll be there to keep an eye on him. It isn’t as if I’m killing him or abandoning him in the middle of nowhere. Castiel put two fingers to Liam’s head, and in an instant, the room went from four occupants to two. I don’t have a choice.

“Sorzie? Dean? …Sorzie! Dean! …Sam!”

Castiel was summoned to the greenroom, more or less, by the screaming of an unhappy child.

So, it begins. Castiel appeared inside the spacious, well-furnished bedroom to find a disoriented Liam sitting amongst the sheets, hair tousled and eyes frantic.

“Liam, it’s alright.”

Liam snapped his head around to look at Castiel, zeroing in as every muscle in his body went tight. “I’m sorry for taking your stick.”

Castiel got the idea Liam was less apologetic and more terrified, but it was irrelevant either way. “It’s an angel blade, and you’re forgiven. We just need you to stay here for a while.”

Liam swallowed hard and fidgeted in bed, eyes scanning the room. He was almost certainly looking for a door or window, but Castiel had removed them before he even went to get Liam. Nothing was going to get in or out of that room without the permission of Heaven.

“We?” Then, without giving Castiel time to answer, Liam continued. “How long?”

“It’s… hard to say.” Castiel avoided the question of who was involved, referring to keep as much of the situation veiled as possible. “You’re safe here. If you need anything, all you have to do is call for someone.”

“I need to go home,” was Liam’s immediate reply, fingers curling through the bedsheets. “Sorzie and Dean are gonna be worried when they can’t find me.”

Oh, believe me, I know. Castiel simply shook his head. “We need you to stay here.”

Liam started to squirm some more, crawling out from under the sheets on the side of the bed furthest from Castiel. “I don’t wanna stay here. I want Sorzie.”

Castiel still didn’t understand the nickname. “You can have him later.” He indicated the doorless walls with a sweeping gesture. “You can’t leave. We will let—”

“I wanna go home!” Liam clenched his fists at his sides, anger contorting his tiny features. “Send me home, Castiel, right now!”

Castiel let out a sigh and flew to Heaven, leaving the room behind. He figured, if given enough time, Liam would scream himself to muteness or exhaustion. Castiel was not-so-secretly hoping for the former; he wasn’t fond of the high-pitched noises young humans made when afraid or angry.

Castiel hadn’t been away from the greenroom two minutes when another call split the air.

“Cas! Cas, we need you! We can’t find Liam anywhere!”

Castiel heaved a sigh and left the hallway behind, already dreading the next several days of frantic pseudo-searching. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for Sam to decide demon blood was worth a shot if it meant he could find Liam. Once that happened, Sam would argue with Dean and things would escalate as scheduled. As soon as Lucifer was out of the Cage, Liam could be returned home… just in time for the Apocalypse, but all things considered, that wasn’t such a bad outcome. Immediately after the Apocalypse would come Paradise, and the Righteous Man and his little tagalong would definitely qualify.

“Let me out! Let me out, let me out, let me out! Sam! Sam, can you hear me? Saaam!”

Castiel sighed and shot back down to Earth, blue eyes scanning the inside of the motel room he had invaded less than twelve hours prior. Dean was pacing frantically while Sam looked through Liam’s cell phone, repeatedly running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t understand,” Sam was saying. “He wouldn’t just leave, not without his phone, not in the middle of the night. No one called him, he didn’t call anyone, he didn’t leave a—”

“Cas!” Dean interrupted Sam the second he realized Castiel had answered his prayer. “You have to find Liam.” His hands were gesturing wildly, and worry drew sharp lines in his features “Use your angel mojo or something!”

Castiel blinked at the sudden request, feigning surprise. “Uh…” He blinked again, appearing to collect himself. “Of course. It shouldn’t be difficult.” He closed his eyes for a moment, made a face, and then opened them again. “Odd…”

“What? What’s odd?” Sam rushed, his eyes shining with a kind of panic Castiel hadn’t seen on a human face in a very long time.

“I…” Castiel shook his head slowly, brow pinched in confusion, “…can’t sense him.”

“Can’t sense him?” Dean echoed. “What do you mean you can’t—?”

“Castiel, are you saying he’s hidden?” Sam interrupted, one hand running through his hair again. “Like—like the witches in Clayton?”

Dean swore loudly, rubbing his face with his hands. “So, he was taken.”

“O—Okay,” Sam started looking through the phone again, something that seemed more like a nervous habit than a task that needed completing. “So, who—who could have taken him?”

Castiel jumped in when there was no immediate reply from Dean. “You definitely killed both witches and Samhain?”

“Yes,” Sam replied, rubbing his forehead while Dean continued to pace just a few feet away. “Yes, they are very, very dead.”

Castiel frowned slightly, thoughtful. “It could be another witch, but it’s unlikely. Most witches aren’t that powerful.” He pressed his lips together. “Demons, on the other hand…” He let that hang.

Sam immediately pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Ruby.”

“Ruby?” Dean didn’t quite yell, but he was close. “Really? That’s your play?”

Sam spread his arms, finger hovering over the call button. “She might know if demons have been in the area, might know what they’ve been up to—maybe she’s seen or, or heard something, or—”

“Yeah, or she could have been the one who took him!” Dean shot back, arm spread in an equally frustrated, incredulous gesture.

Human arms were so useful in the ways of communication.

“Ruby doesn’t have a reason to take Liam,” was Sam’s counter.

Dean snorted. “Since when do demons need reasons for the crap they do?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel suggested rather loudly, glancing between the two. “You could make the call collaboratively. Dean, you can still help Sam use his relationship with Ruby to your advantage. You don’t have to have equal amounts of trust in her to use her as a resource.” He looked between them again. “I’ll return to Heaven and see if anyone knows anything about Hell’s plans regarding the two of you.”

“Hey, Cas—”

Castiel just barely stopped himself in time, turning questioning eyes to Dean and waiting to see what would be asked of him.

“Thanks.” Dean swallowed and flashed a weak smile. “I know it’s not really your job…”

Sam nodded vigorously. “Yes, thank you. Really. I—I know we didn’t really agree on the Samhain thing, and I know Liam isn’t all that fond of you, but—but thank you.”

Castiel looked at them both for a moment, an uncomfortable twist tearing through his gut. He saw genuine trust and gratitude in their eyes, drowned out by a tsunami of nauseating terror, and it burned him.

“You’re welcome. I’ll find you when I know more.”

Not waiting for any kind of reaction on their part, Castiel left them with a half-baked plan that would force them to interact with each other regarding a topic of conflict. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do until he better understood how successful Liam’s abduction was going to be.

I don’t think I like this… But Castiel kept that thought to himself. Heaven wouldn’t be happy to hear him so doubtful. I don’t think I like this at all.

When Castiel returned to the greenroom after several hours of pretending to search and assist, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. He knew what he found wasn’t it, though.

How in Heaven a child of such small stature managed to destroy an entire room designed to self-repair was beyond Castiel’s comprehension. Everything was in disarray—papers were scattered, bedsheets were torn from the mattress, every table and stand was overturned—from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Even things that had repaired themselves left evidence of the damage done; for example, the pillows were all intact, but there were feathers and stuffing scattered all across the floor to ensure everyone knew they had been ripped apart at least once.

Liam himself was sitting on the floor beside one of the bookshelves, surrounded by tomes and tearing the pages out one at a time, his movements slow and distracted. If his face was any indication, he had spent quite some time crying—and, knowing small humans, screaming—but other than the occasional sniff or whimper, he was silent in his assault of literature. He looked exhausted.

“Is that making you feel better?” Castiel intoned, arching a brow.

Liam responded by shutting what was left of the book and chucking it at Castiel’s head.

Castiel watched it strike him in the chest and drop to the floor, but he chose not to make a comment about the poor aim. “Is that a no?”

Liam grabbed another book and threw it, successfully hitting Castiel in the face. It didn’t do anything, of course—Castiel could barely feel it—but Liam didn’t seem to get that. He grabbed another book, and then another, and then another…

“Leave! Me! Alone!” Liam barely got the words out, weak sobs rising in his throat as his overused vocal chords struggled to keep up with his need to be heard.

Castiel heaved a sigh and closed the gap between them, reaching down to grab Liam even as the boy chucked another book at his head. “Li—”

“Get away from me!” Liam pushed himself back against the bookshelf, kicking at Castiel’s hands and haphazardly throwing another volume.

Even with the close proximity, it missed by a foot.

“Get away… leave me alone…” Liam kicked harder, an angry cry wrenching its way out of his throat. “I hate you… I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Castiel crouched down and grabbed Liam’s right arm with his right hand, pulling on the limb to both turn Liam around and draw him closer.

“Don’t touch me!”

Castiel grabbed the wrist of Liam’s flailing arm and then wrapped his own arm around Liam’s waist, tugging the smaller limb along with a sigh.

Liam shrieked. He screamed, he threw his head around, he thrashed and twisted every which way, he kicked against the floors and walls and bookshelves; he fought Castiel with everything he had in his little twelve-year-old body, which was an amount much larger than Castiel expected, as if he hadn’t been collapsed on the floor in utter exhaustion less than five minutes earlier.

None of it accomplished anything, of course.

Castiel didn’t know what to do other than kneel there and wait it out. Liam would get tired in a matter of minutes, after all, and every attempt at interaction seemed to only make things worse.

“Let me go! Let me go, let me go, let—me—go!” Liam sobbed in between the words, still writhing in Castiel’s arms, kicking wildly. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!” He dug his teeth into Castiel’s hand, but it was no more effective than any previous attack. “Let me go! I wanna go home! I wanna—go—” His words dissolved into sobs again, feet still kicking and body still twisting, but not nearly as hard as before. “W—wanna go—hic—home. I wan—hic—want my mom. I—” Liam gave another kick, very nearly limp in Castiel’s arms. “I hate you… I want—want my mom. I…” He gave a final kick and slumped, quiet sobs still racking his little body. “I wanna go home… I want Sorzie… I want…”

Castiel waited a few seconds, but when it became apparent Liam was out of things to say, he uttered a dry, “Are you finished?”

“Screw you,” Liam mumbled. “I hate you. Screw you!”

“You know, the last time I walked among humans, children who didn’t respect authority wound up with a very sore backside… and children with a tongue like yours wound up with a mouthful of soap.” Castiel glanced over his shoulder and tried to determine how best to get Liam to bed without another fit. “My understanding is that those practices are still rather customary.”

Liam threw his head back to smack it against Castiel’s chest. “Do it,” he snapped, his voice thick with tears and hoarse from improper use.

Castiel fought the urge to sigh. “You don’t mean that. You’re just being temperamental.”

“I do mean it,” Liam insisted, weakly striking Castiel again. “I hate you.”

“You’ve established that.” Castiel let his gaze wander over the small body for a moment, scanning for signs of self-inflicted injury. “But that doesn’t make enticing punishment any less stupid.”

Liam kicked the bookshelf, life flickering through his veins for a fraction of a second before he drooped again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Castiel summoned his patience—somehow—and pressed on. “Liam, honestly, tell me what you think you’re accomplishing by behaving this way.”

Liam let out a whine, kicking his legs again as the noise continued. “I’m not trying to do anything, I’m just mad, and I hate you.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder again and ultimately decided he would just have to pick a time and drag Liam over. “You’re only making things more difficult for yourself in the long run.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, if you would listen, you would know I just explained why you should care.” Castiel got his feet beneath him and straightened up, pleased to see minimal resistance on Liam’s part. “If you obey, you won’t have to deal with negative consequences.” Then, in a quiet grumble, he continued. “Such as having your disrespectful backside tanned clear off you.” Which Castiel was growing steadily more and more tempted to do.

“Doesn’t matter.” Liam balked when Castiel moved him toward the bed, bracing his knees for all of two seconds before tumbling onto the mattress as directed. “Even if I did everything right, I’d still get hit.”

Castiel let out a sigh, irritated, and a human urge from deep inside pushed him to cross his arms over his chest. “What would give you an idea like that?”

Liam lay sprawled out on the bed, facedown, a heavy sigh lifting and dropping his torso. “You’re an especially stupid bastard, aren’t’cha?”

Castiel placed one hand on Liam’s back and lifted the other, bringing it halfway down before stopping with sudden realization. “You’re baiting me.”

Liam snorted and turned his head the other way. “You’re a genius, Nastiel.”

Castiel squinted, confusion seeping into his voice as his hand slid from Liam’s back. “Why are you baiting me?”

Liam dropped his voice and held his nose. “Well, if you would listen, you would know I just explained that I hate you.” Liam sneered. “I’ll do anything to make you mad.”

Castiel only shook his head, feeling a surprising lack of anger as his confusion about the behavior increased. “No, that isn’t it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling one leg onto the mattress with him so he could get a little closer. “You’ve never used so much foul language, even when being disrespectful, and you’ve never been so violent and destructive.”

Liam turned himself onto his side, fully facing away from Castiel, and then drew his knees up toward his chest.

“Are you trying to punish me by acting out?” Castiel tilted his head slightly, trying to look at Liam’s partially hidden face. “It isn’t going to work. I’ll be irritated, at worst, and you’re only going to end up more miserable than you were in the first place.”

Liam sniffled but didn’t respond, curling up a little tighter and drawing his arms in close to himself. He stared at the wall in front of him, and while he didn’t seem to be lost in thought or actively distracting himself, he didn’t seem to be paying attention, either. He seemed… distant.

Castiel studied Liam for a moment more, and then his head started to tilt again. “You’re trying to find out how much you can say or do before I punish you. Is that it? You’re testing me?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders. “I guess.” He sniffed. “That’s what my therapist always said. I think I just don’t like you.”

Castiel didn’t know exactly what that meant, but it seemed he was on the right track; if he could figure out the way Liam’s odd little brain worked, there was a chance he could get the boy to behave.

“Liam…” Castiel took a deep breath and gathered his patience for the hundredth time. “I understand you’re upset and don’t want to be here, but you—”

“Do you?” Liam whispered the words, his tone lacking its usual flippancy but still fully accusatory. “Do you know what it’s like to miss your mom?”

Castiel blinked, somewhat startled by the question. “I—”

“Have you ever been a kid?” Liam rolled over then, blue eyes blazing with an anger backed by nothing but hurt. “Has anybody ever popped into Heaven, grabbed you by your—your stupid jacket, and thrown you to Earth with no way to get home? No way to talk to your family? No real reason why you were taken away in the first place? Or at least, not one that made sense to you. And there was nothing you could do about it?” He clenched his fists in the sheets, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as a weak echo of his earlier sobs rose in his throat. “Are you afraid of these—these stupid—stupid, doorless rooms because every time—”

Castiel materialized a box of tissues and held them out, but Liam ignored them.

“Because every time you’re in a room where you can’t lock the door, something bad happens to you? And you can’t—you can’t keep anybody out of a room like this?” He wiped his face on his arm and shook his head, looking at Castiel with some sickening combination of fear and hatred and utter misery. “You don’t know anything.” Liam shook his head again and returned to his curled-up ball, facing away from Castiel. “Just leave me alone. I just wanna be alone.”

Castiel didn’t really know what to say to that—he didn’t know how to respond at all, erally, and he didn’t like the unsettled feeling he was getting in his gut—so he flew away without another word.

Castiel staggered slightly as he landed in the warehouse outside the greenroom, leaning against the outer wall and staring at the ground in front of him. He stared at the nondescript concrete, struggling to process the sudden turn his conversation had taken and the information he had gained as a result.

What was he supposed to file it under? Human Emotion and Its Dramatic Consequences? Things Best Left Unquestioned? Reasons Why Paradise is Long Overdue?

Castiel was used to putting information into little boxes, keeping each section carefully organized and separate from the ones around it. But he didn’t know where to put the rage and pain of a little boy so terribly abused, and yet so resilient, and yet so broken, and yet so brazen, and yet so afraid, and yet so… so…

He just didn’t know where to put it.

Liam was definitely right about one thing, though: Castiel had never been helpless. If he had been, it was in the context of battle, meaning it was a short-term situation that was quickly remedied by the aid of his siblings or renewed Grace. He had never wallowed in helplessness, never gone from one hour to the next, still wishing things were different, still staring at the world in frustration at his inability to change anything, still stuck and knowing he would stay that way until someone else changed their mind.

No one made Castiel feel unsafe in his own territory.

No one made Castiel to stay where he didn’t want to stay.

No one grabbed Castiel by the wing and forced him into anything.

And if they did, they didn’t live for very long.

“Castiel, we have a problem.” It was Uriel. “Meet me on Earth.”

Castiel took a deep breath and calmed both himself and his vessel, vaguely aware of a faint, dull pain throbbing behind his eye. “Of course. What is it?”

“It’s Ruby. She’s found something, though we’re not sure what, and she’s taking it to the Winchesters. Or she’s planning to, at the very least.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Ruby is supposed to be working with us.”

“Now, what gave you that idea?” Uriel’s laughter rang along the wavelength. “Demons work for themselves. We just happen to be working toward the same goal this time.”

Castiel felt another twist in his gut, and something burned deep in his core. Jimmy… now is not the time to be problematic. He wondered if perhaps the fatherly instinct in Jimmy didn’t like the way Castiel had left Liam.

“I should also mention… there have been rumors that Alistair has come topside.”

“Oh. Him.” Castiel rubbed his face again. “I’ll be right there. Uriel, the Winchesters cannot find out that we have Liam, or Dean will never cooperate.”

“Understood. I’ll find out what the demon girl is looking into and report back.”

“Send Inias to investigate Alistair, and I’ll see what the Winchesters are up to. Fly safe.”

“Same to you, brother.”

Castiel took flight.

Sam hadn’t slept in three days. He hadn’t eaten in just as much time. His head was throbbing, his body was aching, and his hands shook on the keyboard as he typed. He was probably a little drunker than he should have been, probably a little higher on caffeine than he should have been, probably a little less put together than he should have been.

Really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Dean pulling Sam’s laptop out from under his hands triggered an explosive response.

“What the—?” Sam jumped to his feet, vision swimming. “Dean, give it back!”

Dean snapped the laptop shut and tossed it onto the bed. “No. We need to talk. You can have your laptop when we’re done.”

Sam was shaking his head before the sentence was done. “No. Dean, no. We’re not doing this. I can’t do this, not now, not when—”

“Yeah, I wasn’t asking.” Dean walked over to the seat across from Sam and pointed a finger, as if that simple gesture could make Sam stay sitting.

Oddly enough, it did, and Sam slouched in his seat. “What, Dean?”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, like he had expected Sam to fight back longer, which would have given him more time to figure out how to say what it was he wanted to say.

That was probably exactly what happened, actually.

Sam sighed and rubbed his face, putting his elbows on the tabletop. He could feel his eyes burning already, despite it being less than twelve hours since he last cried over Liam’s unknown status.

“Sam, look… I’m not talking, you know, final outcome.” Dean eased into the chair across from Sam, the scrape of wood on linoleum followed immediately by the gentle thud of elbows coming to rest on the table. “I still think we can find Liam, and I think he’s gonna be okay. But let’s—let’s pretend for a second that he’s not—”

Sam snorted and lifted his head from his hands, wiping his face and combing his hair back out of his eyes. “What do you think I’ve been doing for three days, Dean?”

“No, just—okay, look, I know I’m all over the place. Pretty sure since we’ve been, y’know, talking about… stuff, you’ve learned how much I suck at it. So, bear with me.” Dean kept his elbows on the table but lifted his hands, rolling and twisting them as he struggled to find his words. “If… we want to… find him, we… gotta be in a better place mentally. I mean, I’m not—I’m not asking you not to worry or some crap like that… but… okay, like, I’ve got this analogy in my head.”

If it weren’t for the dire situation, Sam might have laughed a little at how awkwardly Dean was falling over himself. Though, considering that, maybe it was good the situation was dire. It was hard enough for Dean to talk about emotional things when Sam was silent; laughter would probably keep him from ever being emotionally honest again.

“Man, think about all the—all the cops and feds and firefighters and soldiers out there. Right?” Dean grew a little more animated as he spoke, an odd kind of desperation sparking in the spearmint shade of his eyes. “They have dangerous jobs. And, you know, no one would expect them to make some kinda crazy promise like—like to never die in a fire or get shot or get called to active duty overseas.” He spread his hands slightly in a gesture of helplessness. “Cops can’t promise their families are never gonna be targeted by the big-time gangbangers they’ve put behind bars. Successful parents can’t promise their kids are never gonna be kidnapped for ransom. Because the world sucks. And people suck. And you can’t—” He stuttered to a halt, gaze shifting upward as his mouth moved, struggling to figure out how to finish. “You… it doesn’t… there are—there are jobs that just gotta get done, y’know?” He started picking up speed again. “And those people still, y’know, deserve to be happy. They still deserve to have families. And—and having a job that puts their family at risk doesn’t make them a bad parent and it doesn’t mean they don’t care enough, it just means—it just means the world sucks, okay?” Dean spread his arms a little farther and scoffed to the ceiling. “The world freakin’ sucks, and that means not every family gets to have the trauma-free life, the both-parents-alive-and-married life, the—the—” He moved his hands some more. “You know?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean wasn’t quite done, so he closed it again and watched as Dean leaned on the table.

“Look, Sammy, I know—I know there’s a lot about you I don’t know. There are things I missed—I’m kinda oblivious, okay?” Dean shook his head with a quiet sigh. “More than I thought, apparently.” He shook his head again, harder. “But there are things I know about you; things I don’t even know about myself.”

Sam cast his eyes to the side, sniffing quietly, but he brought them back when Dean leaned forward. Dean, please. I can’t do this right now.

Dean looked at Sam with concern and sincerity blazing in his eyes in equal measure. “I know you’re blaming yourself, and I know it’s not for something like—like not watching close enough or, or, or not putting up wards and sigils in every single motel room.”

Sam laughed, soft and bitter, dropping and re-raising weary, bloodshot eyes to look at his brother. “I’m not? Because that’s all I can think about, Dean. That and the ten thousand other things I could have done to keep him safe; things I didn’t do.” He huffed out that same laugh, dashing away the rapidly forming tears in his eyes. “I was so desperate not to be like Dad—”

“That’s just it, Sam.” Dean shook his head, earnest and imploring. “You’re not blaming yourself for not doing enough, your blaming yourself for the life you have. You’re blaming yourself because you’re a hunter, so you never should have taken Liam with you in the first place. As if you could have known the Apocalypse was coming. As if you could have known killing Lilith wasn’t your last mission as a hunter; that you wouldn’t be able to stop any time soon.”

Sam swallowed hard and averted his eyes, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear with a sniff. “Dean—”

“Dad messed up a lot of things, Sam, and most of the things he did wrong, he did with the best of intentions. He was a control freak, just like me. We can’t let the people we love be, y’know, vulnerable to the world. I—” Dean looked down then, fiddling with his ring and shaking his head. “Look, I’ve been thinking a lot since we talked… that night… about, you know, how you were after…” He shook his head again and cleared his throat, glancing up before looking back down again. “I always used to think that… as long as the people you care about are still alive, it’s all gonna be okay. But, uh… but I don’t know if I believe that anymore. Because, uh, because if keeping someone alive means… making them so miserable they don’t want to be… maybe… I don’t know, maybe it’s not worth it.”

Sam was floored, unable to get his head around those particular words coming out of Dean’s mouth. It was good Dean still wasn’t done, because Sam wasn’t sure he could speak. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to speak again. He wasn’t even sure he would be to get his jaw shut.

“I mean, think back, Sam.” Dean was still going, speaking intently, and it was painfully clear how much he had thought about what he wanted to say. “If you could relive those years, what would you prefer? Fewer scars on your body, or a closer relationship with Dad? Less danger in your life, or him—us supporting you when you went to Stanford?” He held his hands up. “And man, I’m not judging Dad. This… awful way we’ve been feeling, that’s—that’s what he felt every time we were out of his sight, because he knew what was after us… and he knew less then than we do now about how to kill what goes bump in the night.” He shook his head slowly, lips pursing as his expression turned thoughtful. “But I’d like to think… if we could ask… if we could do it over… Dad would say that us staying a family would have been worth the extra anxiety.”

Sam dropped his gaze to his lap, swallowing hard, and when he looked back up, Dean had turned his head to stare at the wall. At least I’m not the only one crying. Though, technically—and technicalities were very important when it came to Winchester emotions—neither of them were crying, per se. Not really.

Dean sniffed once and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. “Uh, anyways, my point is… right now, you feel like you failed Liam… like you should have done better… but you can’t.” Dean shook his head. “You can’t feel guilty for wanting him to be safe and happy. I mean, you can, but don’t.” He wet his lips and shook his head again. “Liam doesn’t deserve this demon-kidnapping crap, but… he doesn’t deserve to wonder whether or not you love him, either. He deserves to know that it’s okay to be happy—that he shouldn’t feel wrong for being happy because he grew up thinking happiness and comfort means he probably missed something important and bad things are gonna happen because of it.”

Sam ducked his head slightly, clenching his jaw as his lips wobbled. He put his head down and framed his face with his hands, shielding his eyes and staring at the blurry wood beneath him. He saw one tear fall to the tabletop, but he didn’t move to wipe it away, and he didn’t try to blink away the rest.

“Being with you has been the best six months of his life, Sam. What would be the point of him being safe at that group home and just as miserable as he was when you found him? He didn’t want to be alive, Sam, and he does now. You did that.”

Sam choked out a sob, gripping his hair a little tighter.

“I’ve only been here for two months—you’ve been with him half a year. You’re the reason Liam likes waking up in the morning, and that’s gotta be worth something, Sam. It’s gotta be. ‘Cause if it’s not, then what’s the point? Why are any of us even trying if nobody cares about anybody being anything more than alive?” Dean let out a sigh and folded his arms on the table. “Life has to be more than maintaining a pulse, man.”

Sam ran his hands down his face, rubbing away the tears, and he tried to take deep, calming breaths. He heard Dean get up and walk away, but his focus was on keeping himself from a complete and total meltdown. Not that there was really any point. He had lost count of how many times he had broken down since Liam disappeared.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think.

Dean made some good points, and Sam knew the perspective was worth quite a bit of thought, but he didn’t feel any better. He just felt like another twenty minutes had passed with Liam still out there, somewhere, alone and scared, possibly suffering or dead, and Sam just… couldn’t get past that.

“Here.”

Sam dropped his hands from his face and looked at the roll of toilet paper Dean had set in front of him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing several squares and folding them over to use as a tissue.

Dean sat back down on his side of the table, watching in silence as Sam blew his nose half a dozen times.

Sam sniffed, staring down at the tabletop littered with used ‘tissues.’ He blinked languidly, the exhaustion of the past several days coming down on his shoulders. “I don’t know what to do, Dean.” He tried to look up but couldn’t quite manage it. “I want him back, Dean. I just want him in my arms. I want to know he’s safe.” By the time the last word left his lips, he was barely whispering.

“I know. I know.” Dean simultaneously nodded and shook his head, moving it in the almost circular way he often did when confused or undecided. “We’re going to find him, okay? We’re gonna—we’re gonna find him. We are.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but his analytical brain had been running numbers for days. If Liam had been taken by monsters or demons, why hadn’t anyone come forward? They wouldn’t want anything with Liam himself, they would just be using him to get to Sam, so why hadn’t they made their demands? So, maybe not monsters or demons, which sounded positive on the surface. But if Liam had been taken by humans, he was almost definitely dead, and if he wasn’t… he was probably wishing he was.

“Sam—”

They both stopped when they heard a knock at the door. They made brief eye contact, Dean reaching for his gun while Sam pulled the demon knife from his jacket.

“Coming!” Sam slowly approached the door with Dean just a few feet behind him. He glanced at Dean, who nodded, and then he quickly opened the door.

Sam saw who it was and let out a sigh of relief, but Dean was more on edge than ever.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up anywhere near me,” Dean snapped, but he holstered his gun regardless. It wouldn’t do anything to her, after all.

Sam kept his knife out for Dean’s sake, and despite the sideways look he got from Ruby, she seemed to understand Dean wouldn’t tolerate the knife not being drawn while a demon was around.

Ruby folded her arms over her chest, giving Dean an unimpressed eyebrow raise. “I just have some info, and then I’m gone.”

Sam frowned, leaning against the open door, subconsciously keeping himself in a position where he could stop Dean from lunging at her. “What kind of info?”

“There’s a girl named Anna Milton who escaped from a locked ward yesterday.” Ruby slipped her hands into her pockets, glancing over her shoulders as she spoke. “I did some digging, and this girl thinks she can talk to angels. Sounds crazy, hence the locked ward, but the demons are pretty determined to find her, so I’m thinking there’s something to it.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, the demons are looking for her. Like you’re not one of them.”

“Dean.” Sam held out his hand and turned a brief but pleading look to his brother. “Please.” He looked back at the doorway. “Ruby, that’s interesting and all, and it sucks that the demons are after her, but… we already have contact with the angels. I don’t—”

“No, I know, but I thought—” she glanced around again and lowered her voice. “I thought if she could hear angels, maybe she could hear some demon chatter, too. Maybe something about Liam. And even if it is just angels she can hear, she’d make a great bargaining chip for getting Liam back.”

Dean actually stopped at that, and so did Sam, both of them sharing a brief look of resigned discomfort. Ruby scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Or just use her for the radio in the name of morality.” Ruby shrugged then. “Honestly, even hearing what the angels are up to might be helpful. I mean, from what I understand, they aren’t exactly forthcoming. Maybe—”

“Woah, stop it right there.” Dean held up a hand, fire blazing in his eyes. “There is no way Heaven has Liam. Castiel would know about something like that, and he wouldn’t do that to us.”

Ruby held up her hands in a display of surrender. “Okay, geeze. Touchy.” She re-crossed her arms, undeterred. “My other points still stand.”

Sam looked at Dean but gestured to Ruby. “She’s right, and even if Heaven didn’t take Liam, what they’re saying could still be helpful. I mean, Castiel has to help with the seals, right? He can only look when his superiors let him, but this Anna chick might be able to—”

Dean heaved a sigh and leaned forward, intercepting the arm Sam tried to put between them and pushing it aside. He looked at Ruby, eyes narrowed and dark, anger still lingering in the deeper shades of green. “Does this locked ward have a name?”

Ruby held out a folded slip of paper, eyeing Dean suspiciously but ultimately releasing her end when he grabbed on. “That’s everything I know.”

Dean didn’t look at the paper. He just took it from Ruby and leaned in a little closer, staring her down. “Thanks for the help. Now get out, and don’t let me see your face again, or I’ll tear it off.”

“Dean, please.” Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm, but he knew there was no point. He mouthed an apologetic ‘sorry’ over Dean’s shoulder.

Ruby stared right back at Dean, her own eyes blazing with barely-constrained fury. “You remember Bela Talbot?”

Sam and Dean both stopped, confused, but Dean didn’t let his composure waver like Sam did. Then again, Dean saw Ruby as a threat, and Sam didn’t.

“She sold her soul because her mommy and daddy touched her where they shouldn’t have.” Ruby said it in a mocking tone of voice, but there was something eerily, darkly sincere in her words. “She’ll be a demon someday, if she isn’t already, because that’s what happens when you stay in Hell too long. Liam is exactly the kind of kid that ends up being one of us demons you hate so much, and believe it or not, that doesn’t make me happy.” She grit her teeth and stepped forward, shoving Dean in the chest and successfully pushing him back a half-step. “So find him, and make it right.” She looked between them, lowering her voice to a mumble. “Before it’s too late.” She didn’t maintain eye contact for long after that, boots turning sharply in the gravel as she strode away from the door.

Sam and Dean watched her go, both struck a bit speechless, and Sam couldn’t help but feel a sort of warmth swelling in his chest.

There was good in her. He knew there was. She wanted Liam home safe and sound, and there was no benefit in that for her; she wasn’t getting anything out of caring about Liam. She could sympathize—maybe, with some work and some help from him, she could empathize—and she wanted to be better.

Sam made a note to text her later—maybe while Dean was in a rest stop or pumping gas somewhere down the road—and then he turned to Dean.

From the look on his face, Dean still wasn’t convinced, but he unfolded the scrap and read what was written. “That’s at least a two-day drive.” He sighed and shoved the paper into his pocket. “Come on.” He pushed past Sam to get back in the motel room. “Let’s get packed. On the way there, you can fill me in on exactly what Ruby did to you while I was gone.”

Sam followed him into the room, a soft sigh passing his lips. “Ruby didn’t do any—”

“Oh, she did something, alright.” Dean was already throwing things into his duffle bag. “I know what you look like when you’ve got it bad for someone.”

Sam stopped halfway to his laptop, wetting his lips and swallowing hard. “I…” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, stomach churning slightly as a mixture of embarrassment and dread washed over him. “I told you, after you died, I…”

“Tell me in the car. We’ll have more time than we know what to do with.” Dean stopped for a second, holding his bag in one hand and its zipper in the other. “It’s not like we’re going to sleep.”

Sam swallowed again and nodded his head, grabbing his laptop. “Right. Car.” He shoved the computer into his bag and started rifling through the bedsheets in search of the gun he normally slept with. “I just have to grab a few things, and then we can go.”

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything. He seemed unusually calm, and Sam wondered if something Ruby had said had given him a little bit of perspective, but Sam wasn’t holding his breath.

Still, he doesn’t seem as angry.

And if Dean decided Ruby wasn’t so bad, well… wasn’t that the best defense there was? Sam was in love, and he had been vulnerable when Ruby approached him, but Dean wouldn’t fall for something like that. If Dean thought she was alright, even just a little, she couldn’t be bad. Right?

Sam was unhinged.

Sam was completely, utterly, and entirely removed from any sense of hinging he had ever had. That was the only explanation. Because the conversation wasn’t supposed to bother him that much. He was supposed to tell Dean about Ruby and explain why he was so willing to trust her, and Dean was supposed to listen, if only to glean information, and then it was supposed to end.

But somewhere along the line, the conversation shifted from what Ruby had done for Sam to why Sam needed help in the first place. And they were trapped in a car with hours of talking time ahead, so he couldn’t pull out the vague, half-baked answered he had used last time Dean breeched the topic.

Maybe it was because Liam was missing. Maybe it was the stress of the Apocalypse. Maybe he was craving demon blood and needed a fix. But he hadn’t even opened his mouth to speak before Dean’s eviscerated corpse was flashing before his eyes, and before he knew it, he was so upset he could barely form a coherent sentence.

“Sammy?”

Sam inhaled slowly, still leaning out the window to get some air. “Sorry.” He took another deep breath, let it out, and then took another. “I didn’t mean to, uh…”

“Freak out?”

Sam nodded, leaning back into the car a little but still staying pressed to the door. “I just—I wasn’t expecting—I mean, I don’t—” His chest was tight and throbbing. “I, uh, I don’t really like talking about—” his skin tingled and burned, like acid was coursing through his veins, “—what happened to you.” He shrugged a few times, shifting in his seat and adjusting his clothes, trying to rid himself of the sensation of suffocation.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment, and then he moved his hands to the keys, as if intending to start the car. “Hey, I get it. I shouldn’t have pushed. Just, uh, take a deep breath—”

“I am,” Sam hissed, clutching the armrest and pressing himself against the door again.

“Hey, you’re gonna be alright. Trust me.” Dean forced a small laugh. “You died first, remember? I know how it feels, and it, uh… it gets better. Promise.”

Sam’s eyes were stinging when he whispered, “That was different.”

Dean rested his hand on his thigh, scratching at his pantleg. “What do you mean?”

Sam shook his head, stomach churning as the images from that night grew darker, more vivid, more defined. “It was… you weren’t…” He wet his lips and blinked, trying to clear away the moisture gathering in his eyes. “I was stabbed.”

What is wrong with me? I just did this a few hours ago. Why can’t I keep it together?

“Yeah, I know you were stabbed. You bled out in my arms.”

Sam could hear the bitterness in Dean’s voice; the subtle ‘how dare you imply it was worse for you than it was for me?’ And that wasn’t what Sam wanted to do—not at all—but his tongue was already moving. All Sam could do was hope Dean would continue to be as good at listening as he had been for the past week or so.

“I know—I know what you went through was bad, Dean, I—I do.” Sam took another deep breath and quickly wiped his eyes under the guise of tucking his hair behind his ears. “But you were… when I…” He put his hands out slightly, able to see Dean’s body in front of him, able to relive the movements he had made that night. “You fell out.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he did finally speak, his tone was thick with confusion. “I fell out?”

“You—your—” Sam gestured to his own stomach. “When the Hellhounds got you, they—and when I picked you up to move you, your insides—” he indicated the space in front of him, moving his hands indistinctly as he watched the instant replay in his mind, “—all over the floor, and—and I had to, you know, pick it up, pick them—pick you up, and put you back t—together.” He wet his lips, but his throat was so dry it didn’t matter. “And I know—I know I was supposed to burn you. I know.” His heart was pounding against his ribcage. “But I couldn’t, because I was gonna bring you back, and I—I never realized how—how—” he shook his hands, tears slipping down his cheeks as the burning sensation under his skin grew hotter, “—how different, how—”

Sam stopped for a moment, clearing his throat and turning away from the window. He was immediately smothered by the heat of the car and leaned back toward the cold, but he didn’t stop facing Dean. He had to look at Dean, he had to make Dean understand. And Dean was just sitting there, staring, looking shocked and a little sick to his stomach.

So, Sam continued.

“When we burned Dad, you know, he—it was like—what we buried wasn’t him. It—it felt right for him to, to be ash instead of—of blood and guts and flesh and—” he gagged, swallowed, gagged again, and then got ahold of himself, “—but you were in this—this box, and I remember—” he sucked down a shuddering breath, unzipping his jacket, “—and I can see your face when I close my eyes, exactly how it was right before I put the lid on, and I—”

“Sammy, come on.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath, man. It’s okay, come on, deep breaths.”

Sam reached up and clutched both Dean’s hand and his own shoulder, speaking through clenched teeth in an attempt to keep the stubbornly rising sobs in his throat where they belonged. “And I put you down there, and I put the dirt on, and I just—I remember thinking I couldn’t bury you because you needed air, and I had to—to make a hole or use a pipe or something, but you didn’t need the air, and—” he screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, “—and I had to pack it all down, the dirt, but I just—I kept trying to do it with my hands, because I couldn’t—I couldn’t step on you, Dean, you were down there—you were—”

It was so hot.

“Sammy, hey, listen to me. That’s gone. Okay? That’s over. That’s done.” From the sound of it, Dean was turning in his seat, trying to get closer and face Sam full-on. “I’m here now. It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not there anymore, man, and neither are you.”

Sam shook his head and pulled Dean’s hand from his shoulder. “Just—just let me take my jacket off. It’s too hot, I can’t—I can’t breathe.”

“You’ve got the window rolled all the way down in the middle of December!” Dean objected, using the removed hand to indicate the window in question.

Sam only shook his head some more, tearing off the article and feeling a rush of relief—however brief and mild—as his skin began to cool. “You were down there, Dean.”

Dean quickly forgot the window. “Sammy—”

“It was just—” he tried to look at Dean, “—it was just this little pine box, and I—” he sucked down a lungful of air, “—every time it rained, I would think—” Sam dropped his chin to his chest, lips quivering. “I would think to myself, ‘Dean’s getting all wet.’ And I would—” he reached up and covered his face with his hand, tears collecting on his palm and fingers, “—I’d think about you rotting or being eaten by maggots or what little was left of you, and I—” Sam let out a few sobs, shaking his head, and his words came out thick with tears. “Where is he, Dean?”

Dean didn’t say anything, but from the sound of his clothing, he was moving again, possibly trying to get closer, possibly shaking his head in confusion.

Sam looked up at Dean, only able to meet his eyes for a second, tears rolling faster down his cheeks. “I can’t—I can’t bury him, Dean. I can’t bury Liam. I can’t do that again, and I can’t burn him, and I can’t—I can’t—”

“Hey.” Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder again, shaking him hard. “That is not going to happen, okay? We are gonna find him—”

“How, Dean?” Between the stabbing pain in his chest and his burning skin, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to care that his voice cracked. “I couldn’t stop Lilith last time. I couldn’t keep you safe then, and I don’t know if—”

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. We couldn’t stop Lilith.” Dean pointed to both of them in turn, shaking his head. “We couldn’t. Okay? It wasn’t—”

“Don’t tell me it wasn’t my job to save you.” Sam spat the words, but there was no anger behind them, only panic. “You really think I don’t want to protect you? You really think I don’t feel any responsibility at all for making sure you’re okay?”

Dean wet his lips, a familiar bitterness crossing his face for a fraction of a second. Sam knew that look, knew Dean was thinking about the night Sam left for Stanford and all the unanswered phone calls that followed.

“Sam, you gotta stop. You’re not thinking straight. Alright?” Dean shook his head and let out a soft sigh. To Sam’s great surprise and relief, Dean didn’t say what they were both thinking. “I know you blame yourself for Liam being kidnapped, but now you’re trying to blame yourself for everything under the sun, and you gotta stop.”

Sam threw his hands out, accidentally hitting the doorframe with his knuckles. “I haven’t mentioned anything that isn’t my fault!”

“Sammy—"

“Do you think I don’t know, Dean?” Sam scoffed out the words, tears welling in his eyes and lining up for the next race to his jawline. “Do you think I don’t know what I did to you when I left?”

Dean wet his lips, and his eyes said, ‘no, I don’t,’ but his mouth disagreed. “Sam, that’s in the past, okay?”

“No, it’s not!” Sam dragged his sleeve across his face. “None of this would even be happening to us if I hadn’t left that night!” He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth in an increasingly pointless struggle to keep his emotions under control. “If I hadn’t run off to Stanford, Jess would still be alive.” His hand throbbed from where he hit the window. “If I had been there to help you hunt, maybe we would have found Azazel sooner, and maybe Dad wouldn’t have gone off on his own.” He wiped his face again. “Maybe he would still be alive, maybe Cold Oak never would have happened—”

“Sam, stop.”

“And you think I don’t know? You think it doesn’t tear me up inside? That it hasn’t been tearing me up inside for months? Years?” Sam blinked rapidly, wiping his face again and gasping down little bits of air. “You think I didn’t see the way you would hesitate when I needed you to trust me? Or all the sideways glances you would give me after every fight, like you were waiting for me to pack my bags and walk out again?”

Dean stared back, speechless, looking caught between confusion and anger and… something. Sam honestly didn’t know anymore. He was just so tired.

Sam let out a bitter, broken laugh, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You think I didn’t see it in your eyes when I tried to go find Dad on my own?” It was getting harder to breathe, the car was getting hotter and smaller and closer, and the little bursts of icy wind on his damp cheeks weren’t enough anymore. “You think I didn’t see the walls going back up?” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, but he had given up on drying his eyes.

Dean still had a dry face, but the tears were gathering, ready and waiting to fall.

“You think I didn’t know the second you saw Liam, all you could think was that you had been replaced again? Because that’s what I did, I made you feel replaceable.” Sam shook his head, hot tears traveling down the salty tracks of their predecessors. “And I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” His voice cracked again, but he didn’t bother clearing his throat; it was too tight and dry to be of any use anyway. “I’m sorry that it took you dying for me to stop and think about how you must have felt when I left. I will never be able to tell you, in words, how sorry I am for what that did to you—what I did to you.”

Dean ducked his head slightly, biting down on his lip, and a few tears hit the leather panel between the seats. His shoulders shuddered, but he didn’t make a sound.

“I’m sorry,” Sam croaked. “I am. I am so sorry, Dean.” He shook his head. “I’m not blaming myself for everything because I need someone to blame, I’m blaming myself because it’s my fault. I’m blaming myself because I was actually arrogant enough to think I could be a halfway decent father when I can’t even be a halfway decent brother. And I want to make it up to you. I want to prove to you that our family means everything to me, and I keep messing it up. I keep letting you down, I keep hurting you or letting other people hurt you, and I don’t—”

“Stop.” Dean reached out and grabbed onto Sam’s shoulder again, digging his fingers into the flesh and muscle relentlessly. “Just stop a second.”

Sam fell silent, feeling the winter air on his face and neck, torn between the discomfort of cold hands and the intolerable, suffocating heat that would take him over if he dared to shut the window.

Dean kept his head down for a few moments, breathing deep and sniffing to clear his sinuses. He wiped his eyes a few times with his free hand, and then he turned in his seat so he was facing forward again.

“Dean—”

“Stop.” Dean cleared his throat and shook his head, giving Sam’s shoulder a few shakes.

Sam looked at the hand holding him, and then he dropped his gaze down to his lap, letting the tears blur his vision. “I gotta open the door.” He sniffed.

“Mhm.” That was all Dean offered, but he didn’t let go.

Sam pulled the handle and pushed the door open with his foot, shuddering at the sudden cold but still feeling the burn on his skin. I hate this. How many more days could he handle the stress of not knowing where Liam was before he just keeled over? How many more panic attacks, full-blown or not, before his heart just gave out and let him drop?

“Sam. You listening?”

Sam nodded his head.

“Good.” Dean sniffed, shook Sam’s shoulder again, and then exhaled slowly through his mouth. “You screwed up, Sam. So did I. So did Dad. But…” He shook his head and swallowed hard. “None of this is your fault. Okay?” He shook his head again. “Dad—Dad never blamed you for anything because of Stanford. He didn’t want you going to Stanford because he knew the demons were after you. I didn’t want you to go to Stanford because you were my baby brother—you are my baby brother—and I didn’t want to let you go. Dad and I never sat around after a hunt saying, ‘Man, you know why everything sucks?’ ‘Because Sam went to Stanford?’ ‘Because Sam went to Stanford.’ Cue the canned laughter or whatever. Okay?” Dean looked away from the steering wheel and met Sam’s eyes. “We just missed you, man. And I couldn’t let it go because you didn’t just walk away, you cut me off. And yeah, that sucked, and you shouldn’t have done it, but… Sam, I just wanted an apology. I just wanted us to be brothers again, I didn’t—I didn’t blame you for Dad leaving, or for any hunt that went wrong while I was hunting alone, or, or whatever else you’ve cooked up in that kinda scary, kinda screwy brain of yours.” He shook his head a few times. “Crap happens to us because monsters are real and we got dealt a sucky hand. Not because of you.”

Sam looked down, overcome with a simultaneous rush of, ‘no, you don’t understand’ and ‘do you really mean that?’ Half of him wanted to accept the encouragement, wanted to believe everything that happened to their family really wasn’t his fault, but the other half was holding on to the fact that he was responsible, albeit indirectly, for so much of what had gone wrong.

“We’re gonna find him, Sam.”

Sam looked up from his lap, fresh tears stinging his eyes.

Dean stared back at him, emphatically sincere, green eyes glowing in the light of the neon signs outside. He smirked, and he nodded his head, and he put one hand on the keys. “We’re gonna find him. Whatever it takes, whoever we gotta shake down, wherever we gotta go… we’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna bring him home.”

Sam couldn’t quite get his mouth to form words, and he reached out to grab the car door with a tingling, nearly numb hand. Numb from the panic or from the cold, Sam didn’t know, but he supposed it didn’t matter in the end.

“Come on, Sam. At least nod your head. I gotta know you’re with me on this.”

Sam pulled the door shut and flashed a weak smile in Dean’s direction. “I’m with you.”

“Whatever it takes.” Dean turned the engine over and put the car in reverse.

Sam leaned against the door and rested his head in the open window. “Whatever it takes.”

“Samandriel?” Castiel appeared before his fellow angel with a frown and a faint note of concern in his tone. “You called me?”

Samandriel confirmed the information with a nod and then pointed to the greenroom nearby. “I think he had a nightmare of some kind, but he won’t tell me. He’s only said two words, and it was your name both times.”

“My name?” Castiel looked at the greenroom, more confused than ever. “But he doesn’t like me. He likes you.”

That was why Castiel had put Samandriel in charge of Liam in the first place. Samandriel had a younger, lighter spirit, and he wasn’t nearly as rigid as Castiel. Liam took to him immediately, and they had spent the day together without incident.

“Castiel, if I might offer my perspective?”

Castiel pulled himself from his thoughts and looked at Samandriel with questioning eyes. “Of course.”

Samandriel looked at the room again, brow creased with sympathy—why did it come so naturally for some angels?—and then he looked back at Castiel. “He’s fond of me, but he’s known you longer than any other angel. He loves Sam and Dean Winchester, and you know them better than any other angel.” He looked back at the greenroom. “Between the two of us, you have a better chance of figuring out what he needs.”

Castiel contemplated the words for a moment, his head slowly beginning to bob. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”

Samandriel smiled, and Castiel flew into the room without another word.

It was dim but not dark, and Castiel’s attention was immediately drawn to the tangle of sheets with a screaming child in the middle.

Castiel had no idea what to do.

“Liam…”

Liam’s head snapped up, the cries ceasing for just a second before starting up again once he processed who was in the room with him. He pushed himself up on his knees, still sobbing loudly, and he reached out in what was, perhaps, the neediest gesture Castiel had ever seen.

“Uh… please, don’t.” Castiel wet his lips and cautiously approached. “Don’t cry.”

Liam didn’t heed the request, tears still streaming down his face as he wept, but his arms only reached out further the closer Castiel got.

“If you want something, you have to tell me. I can’t read your mind.”

Liam didn’t cooperate. Instead, he leaned so far forward that he fell, forcing Castiel to rush forward and catch him; after that, the rest was history.

Liam threw his arms around Castiel’s neck and clawed at the back of his jacket, feet pushing against Castiel’s hips and thighs as he fought to get the necessary leverage for a tighter hold. Liam sobbed uncontrollably, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder only to move it and press against Castiel’s head before going back to his shoulder, then to his neck, and ultimately back to his shoulder again. Liam wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist, he clutched the angel’s frame like his life depended on it, and Castiel wasn’t sure he was ever going to let go.

But he was still crying, and Castiel didn’t understand.

How do you soothe a child? Castiel had seen mothers calming their babies in public, but by the time children were Liam’s age, they typically kept most of their emotional distress behind closed doors. Castiel had never been assigned to an adolescent in any capacity, thus, he never had a reason to go behind those doors to see how things were done.

“Assel…” Liam hiccupped, gasping in between his cries.

Castiel assumed the slurred syllables were a botched attempt at saying his name. “Yes?”

Liam only squeezed Castiel tighter, cries unreduced.

Castiel thought about the situation for a moment, and then he shifted his arms so only one supported Liam from below while the other came up to gently rub Liam’s shuddering back. He stood like that for a few seconds, and then he started to sway slightly, figuring the predisposition for rocking might have carried on into early and middle childhood.

Castiel figured right, and as the seconds ticked by, Liam slowly began to reduce his volume. Castiel continued to stand and sway and rub, wondering if there was something else he was supposed to be doing.

“Liam, I don’t know what you need. You have to tell me.”

Liam didn’t—which wasn’t really surprising, given his track record—but he did quiet a little more. No more screaming, only crying, with more gasps and sighs scattered between the noises.

“Do you want me to talk to you? Does that help?”

Liam nodded. Castiel had no idea why, because it made no sense that the mere sound of a voice could have such power over emotions, but he didn’t question it beyond the initial confusion.

“I can do that for you.” Castiel wet his lips, glancing around the room and trying to think of something to say. He wasn’t good at pointless chatter, certainly not as good as a human, but he tried. “I don’t really know what to talk about. Though, I suppose, that is something to talk about in and of itself.” He started to walk around the room, still holding Liam to his chest. “I’ve never been very good at… talking. I always cut to the point, which is apparently not appropriate, and I have always preferred the silence.”

Liam had settled into silence, only occasionally whimpering, but he was still shaking with silent sobs, so Castiel kept going.

“I spend my free time in the personal heaven of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub a very long time ago. He’s always quiet, standing in a lovely garden and flying a bright red kite.” Castiel felt a small smile pull on his lips. “I like it there. It’s quiet and peaceful… I don’t have to think about what to say or do… I don’t have orders to follow or tasks to complete…” …or lies to keep straight in his head… “…and I can rest.”

Liam gripped and released Castiel’s coat multiple times, laying his head on Castiel’s shoulder as the tension started to trickle away. He moved in closer and pressed his closed eyes to Castiel’s neck, his tears leaving wet marks on the angel’s skin.

“I don’t technically need rest—no angel does—but I do enjoy it. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be this way, but… I do get weary from time to time.” More so lately than ever before. “I suppose you know all about weariness, don’t you?”

Liam didn’t respond, sniffling quietly, staying tucked against Castiel’s chest.

“You truly are going home soon, Liam.” Castiel sighed softly, walking over to the bed. “We’re about a third of the way done with our work, and once that’s finished, I’ll take you back to Sam and Dean.” It would also be the end of the world, but Liam likely wouldn’t care about that. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

Liam nodded, otherwise unresponsive.

Castiel eased them both onto the mattress and leaned back against the headboard, gently rubbing Liam’s back and struggling to think of what to talk about next. “I… suppose I could tell you about the Garden of Eden.”

Liam didn’t nod, but he didn’t shake his head, either.

“Very well.” Castiel took a breath and started to speak on the new topic, hoping it would last long enough for Liam to fall back asleep. “Back in the beginning, there wasn’t any… well, anything…”

“Please tell me you’re here to help.” Dean couldn’t believe he was actually saying that—especially with Chuckles standing there looking as smug as ever—but it had been a long week, and Dean had decided he would do just about anything for a win. “We’ve been having demon issues all day.”

“I can see that.” Uriel, if Dean recalled his real name correctly, nodded in their general direction. “You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?”

Dean held out a hand in Ruby’s direction, the move almost—dare he say it?—almost protective. “Yeah, well, maybe you should worry less about her and more about, I don’t know, Alistair wandering around topside.” Because Dean was worried about that. Dean was terrified about that. “How did you manage to miss a player that big?”

“We’re here for Anna.” Castiel interrupted before the conversation could escalate, his expression softening briefly. “I haven’t found anything regarding Liam, but some angels from my garrison have agreed to help when they can.”

Dean felt himself relax a little, despite the still very present danger, and his head jerked in a nod without his consent. “Good. Great.” That was as close as Dean could get to gratitude, given the situation, and he was quick to sidestep in front of Ruby when Uriel took another step of his own.

“Out of my way,” Uriel growled.

“What do you want with Anna?” was Dean’s response. “You said you’re here for her, what does that mean?”

Castiel blinked in Dean’s direction, wearing that ever-expressionless face of his. Though… there was a kind of fatigue behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something bone-deep. “Anna has to die.”

“Woah, what? Die?” Dean looked between Castiel and Uriel, unsure who was the bigger threat. “Look, I get that she’s wiretapping you guys, but that’s no reason to gank her.”

Uriel smiled, patronizing and thick with a darkness that made Dean’s skin crawl. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill her gently.”

Dean snorted. “Man, I’m having a hard time figuring who’s demon and who’s angel.” He shook his head, drawing faint pleasure from the indignant rage that crossed Uriel’s face. “You’re a whole new kind of heartless, you know that?”

Castiel spoke up, drawing Dean’s attention. “As a matter of fact, we do. And?”

Dean’s, “And Anna’s an innocent girl,” overlapped perfectly with Sam’s, “And Liam shouldn’t be anywhere near someone like that.”

Dean cast a brief glance in Sam’s direction and nodded, confirming his agreement, but Castiel and Uriel were nothing if not single-minded. Anna was all they cared about.

“Anna is far from innocent,” Castiel replied darkly.

Dean glared, but doubt began to gnaw at his insides. What’s that supposed to mean?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam voiced Dean’s thought, hazel eyes alight with suspicion.

“It means she’s worse than this abomination you’ve been screwing,” Uriel nodded in Ruby’s direction, and Dean bristled.

They know Sam and Ruby are hooking up? Why would they know that? Why do they even need to know that? Why would Sam’s sex life be a priority, even if it was with a demon? Was someone actually stalking Sam and Ruby when they were together? And if they are, why haven’t they made good on their threat? Why aren’t they stopping him? This doesn’t make sense.

Dean was pulled abruptly from his thoughts by Ruby being torn away, her body sailing into the wall in a shower of splintered wood and broken glass. His brain shifted into combat mode without any conscious thought, his hands grabbing onto a metal bar while his feet carried him toward Uriel.

By the time Dean swung, he was in full control, and he didn’t hold back.

Not that it mattered.

Uriel whirled around, completely unharmed, and knocked the beam aside. Dean’s hands flew up to catch the fist coming at his face, but another blow came in from somewhere on the right, and Dean hit the floor. He got his feet beneath him, but he was hit again, and then he was hit again, and then he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but his head was throbbing, and his jaw was aching, and he didn’t have the angel blade, Sam did.

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

Crap.

Sam took a few steps back and let the angel blade fall from his sleeve, fingers curling around the hilt. “Castiel, stop… please.”

Castiel ignored him, moving closer with no more than a glance to acknowledge the sword.

“Cas, stop!” Sam lifted and angled the blade, readying himself for a fight.

“You won’t kill me.” Castiel reached out with two fingers. “I’m helping you find Liam.”

Sam grabbed onto Castiel’s wrist with his free hand, stunned by the realization that Castiel was right. “So, that’s it, huh?” Sam turned the blade over in his hand and held it up to Castiel’s throat. “You’re only looking for Liam so Dean and I dance to whatever tune you play?”

Castiel glared. “Even if that were the case, would you refuse to accept my help on principle, knowing I can search for Liam better than you ever could?”

Before Sam had a chance to respond, Castiel was reaching out with two fingers. Sam ducked to the side and pulled his arm back to swing, but he never got the chance. Light flooded the room, ears ringing as a high-pitched shriek sounded out.

“Dean?” Sam called out, squinting against the brightness in the hopes of seeing something to tell him what was going on. “Dean!”

“Sam!” Dean returned the call just as the light went away, leaving the barn dimmer and two angels shorter than before.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Sam. Dean spat blood. They both looked at Ruby. Ruby looked at them. They looked at each other again.

Dean slowly shook his head, breathless. “What… just happened?”

Sam swallowed hard and turned toward the door they all knew Anna was hiding behind. “I have no idea.” But he had a very, very uneasy feeling that they were about to find out.

“You could throw him back in the Pit if you weren’t so out of shape.”

“Ruby…”

“No, really. You’re getting flabby.”

Sam closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. “I know.” He combed his finger through again and then rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to do, Ruby. I was serious about being done. I really was. I just…” He sighed and shook his head, staring down at his feet. “I feel so helpless. And I’m tired of feeling that way. With Dean. With Liam. With you and Anna and everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. I mean, I couldn’t protect anybody in that fight.”

Ruby slid onto the couch next to him, easing the book he had been reading out of his hands. “Hey. One thing at a time.” She set it aside and took his hands in hers. “I can take care of myself, and Dean so can Dean. And we’re gonna find Liam. Between you and me and Dean…” she squeezed his hands, peering up into his eyes, “…even Castiel, okay? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no angel fan, but they’re crazy powerful, and they want Dean for something. So, if they want him enough that they’re gonna help us… we’re gonna find Liam.”

Sam squeezed her hand back, forcing a weak and fleeting smile. “You’re right.” He paused, and despite how cheap and sleazy it felt, he met her eyes and whispered a cautious, “Have sex with me?”

Ruby looked at him in surprise, but then her face eased into soft understanding. “I’ll be the best distraction you’ve ever had.” She swung one leg over his lap and settled down on his hips, rubbing his neck and shoulders. “And I won’t even give you a hangover.”

Sam leaned up and pressed his lips to hers, pulling away just long enough to murmur, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” He ran his hands down her sides and settled them on her waist, fingers nearly reaching all the way around her middle. “Help me?”

“I will.” Ruby ran both hands through his hair and licked his upper lip, pressing her forehead against his. “Let me take care of you.”

Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

And then he turned off his brain completely.

It was a fight to remember, but not for the reasons one might think. Sure, the moves were impressive, and the sheer power left onlookers speechless, but it was what was the words exchanged that Dean couldn’t get out of his head.

“Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me… or they destroy what they stole from you. I know how their minds work.”

Dean found himself staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw, frozen in place where he had been standing when Anna disappeared. Every demon was gone and the dust had settled, but Dean was as far from relaxed as he could be, his heart thundering against the inside of his ribcage. Blood ran like fire under his skin, his vision swam and blurred, he was drowning in shock and burning with rage, and he was frozen.

“Castiel…” Sam slowly turned away from the last place Alistair had been, joining Dean in his staring contest with the angels. “What did Anna mean by ‘what they stole?’”

Castiel looked at Sam long enough to process the question and then immediately looked back at Dean. “I don’t know. We haven’t taken anything from you. Quite the opposite, you have something of ours.” He indicated the angel blade hanging limply from Dean’s hand.

“So… what?” Sam spread his arms, head cocking to the side as disbelief contorted his features. “She just made it up?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Castiel snapped back, returning his attention to Sam. “Anna was extremely bitter.”

Ruby snorted. “Yeah, well, can you blame her?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not fond of the demons trying to skin me for switching sides, either.”

Castiel glared at her only briefly, then he looked at Sam, and then his eyes were back on Dean. “I don’t know what she was talking about. If it’s that important, I can try to—”

“Yeah, Cas, it’s pretty freakin’ important.” Sam shoved his way back into the conversation, not willing to let Castiel weasel his way out with a halfhearted explanation. “She knew you threatened to throw Dean back in Hell, and she didn’t know you threatened to kill me, but that was the step Dean and I expected. Why didn’t she? What did she hear on Angel Radio to make her think you were up to something else?”

Castiel glared at Sam. “We never threaten—”

“I did.” Uriel spoke up from behind Castiel, slowly arching a brow. “And it was clearly effective. Why would we need to steal something of yours?”

“It wasn’t effective at all!” Sam threw his arms wide and indicated the barn they were standing in. “We set you up. Did you really not get that?”

Dean swallowed hard, ears ringing with the steady hum of static and a frantic heartbeat, still trapped in his moment of realization. He had known as soon as the fight was over—as soon as he had more than two seconds to think about what Anna said—and it was crushing the air out of his lungs. He wanted to open his mouth and say it—wanted to accuse, to threaten, to scream—but he couldn’t.

“Castiel, we don’t answer to them.” Uriel leaned in, rumbling in Castiel’s ear. “If they can’t accept that Anna lied to them, that’s hardly our fault.”

Castiel extended a hand toward Uriel, keeping his palm facing down and as close to the floor as his arm allowed. “I understand his frustration, Uriel, and you are in no place to speak. Return to Heaven if it bothers you so much, but I intend to sort this out if it’s at all possible.”

“Hey, a sign of decency.” Sam snorted. “That’s new.”

Castiel glared. “What do you take me for?”

“I already told you,” Sam shot back, opening his mouth to continue.

“You have Liam.”

It took Dean several seconds to realize he had spoken, his eyes fixed on the dusty floor but completely unfocused.

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Dean,” Castiel started. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean slowly lifted his head, swallowing hard, arms and shoulders aching from the force behind the blood in his veins. “You were the one who suggested demons were responsible.”

“It’s a valid suggestion.” Castiel wasn’t wrong, but his face was guarded.

“You encouraged us to work with Ruby,” Dean replied tightly.

“Also valid.”

“You haven’t been able to find him.”

“He’s concealed; hence my belief that demons were involved.”

Dean shook his head, eyes glassy. “You shouldn’t have even cared.” He sniffed, trying to compose himself. “You didn’t even like Liam… and you’re heartless enough to kill an ex-comrade just for wanting a better life… so why would you give a crap about a little boy who got on your last nerve?”

“Dean.” Castiel’s expression twisted up in a display of offence—Dean refused to believe it was hurt—and he actually raised his voice a little. “You might not approve of all our methods, but we are angels. There are some things—”

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do if Heaven ordered it,” Dean interrupted with a snarl.

Castiel stopped at that, eyes bright with the frantic formation of various lies. “Heaven… wouldn’t order such a thing.”

“They ordered the destruction of an entire town!” Dean shouted.

Castiel shouted back, “What would be the purpose of taking him?”

“Exactly what Anna said!” Dean shook his head, dashing away the moisture in his eyes. “You couldn’t get me to do what you wanted in Clayton, and when you threatened to kill Liam, I told you I would refuse on principle.” He laughed bitterly, the noise choked out by the tightening of his throat, rage and tears blurring his vision. “But if you took him…”

He couldn’t even say it.

Thankfully, Sam could.

“If you took Liam, we would do anything to get your help finding him… because you can do a better job than we ever could. We wouldn’t sacrifice our best shot of finding him for anything.” Sam snorted out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, fists trembling at his sides. “Because you know how far we’ve gone to save family in the past.”

Castiel took a step forward and hardened his voice. “Do you even hear yourself?” he uttered, voice low and rumbling and dangerous. “Do you have any idea how asinine you sound? You—”

“Castiel, give it up.” Uriel sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets with an air of mildly irritated nonchalance that made Dean’s blood boil. “Look at their faces; they know.”

Castiel turned his head just slightly, spitting words at his partner with three times the venom he had ever used on the Winchesters. “Uriel, what are you doing?”

“Ending this ridiculous charade.” Uriel moved his gaze from Castiel to the brothers, eyes narrowed. “Loathe as I am to admit it, they were smarter than we anticipated.” His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Not that it matters. We’ve got your third musketeer—”

“Uriel!”

“—and as long as we do, you can’t find a way to keep him from us. We choose whether he lives or dies, and you can refuse on principle, but that won’t make your boy any less dead.”

“Uriel!” Castiel whirled on the spot, closing the distance between them with a single step and a snarled order. “Leave. Now!”

There was a moment of nothing, and then Uriel vanished.

Dean was already halfway across the room, angel blade heavy in his hand. Dean wrapped one arm around Castiel’s chest and pressed the tip of the blade into his throat.

“Where is he?”

Castiel vanished.

Dean turned on the spot and looked around, but all he saw was an empty barn and Sam and Ruby in the same, clueless boat as him.

“A word of advice.”

Dean whirled back around and found Castiel standing several feet away, just inside the door.

“Don’t hesitate when using an angel blade. You’ll render it ineffective.”

Just like that, Castiel was gone, and there was very little chance he would be back again.

I don’t know if you can hear this, but unless you’re bringing Liam back, I don’t ever want to see your face again!

“Well…” Ruby shifted in place, pressing a hand to the still-oozing wound in her stomach. “What do we do now?”

Dean snorted, staring at the last place Castiel stood. It hurt—it hurt more than he ever expected—and he couldn’t keep his eyes completely dry, so he wasn’t about to turn around and face her. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“I told you so.” Dean sniffed and wrinkled his nose, reaching up to quickly wipe his face again. Get a grip, man. He sniffed again and turned around, setting his jaw. “You called it. You said the angels might have him. I wouldn’t listen.”

“I mean, from what I understand, they aren’t exactly forthcoming. Maybe—”

“Woah, stop it right there. There is no way Heaven has Liam. Castiel would know something like that, and he wouldn’t do that to us.”

He had even forgone Castiel’s usual nickname, hoping to hide any signs of friendship, not wanting to give Hell a reason to go after Castiel specifically.

“Who cares?” Ruby folded her arms over her chest, her expression showing more concern than anything else. “I was right, you were wrong. I’ll do cartwheels later. Right now, we’ve got to focus on Liam.”

Sam swallowed hard, seemingly stuck in the state of shock that had held Dean captive during the initial argument. “What is there to focus on? We know he’s with them, but they could be keeping him anywhere… and we have no way of finding him.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” Ruby clapped her hands and then rubbed them together. “C’mon, guys. This can be good.”

“Good?” Dean echoed incredulously.

“Yes,” Ruby insisted. “Before, we didn’t even know if he was still alive. Uriel said, ‘We have Liam.’ Liam is definitely alive. That’s our first good thing.”

Sam and Dean both nodded, Sam running a hand through his hair as he began to speak. “We also have a guaranteed way to keep him safe. Even if we don’t like it, as long as we obey the angels, they don’t have a reason to hurt him.”

Ruby pointed to him. “Good thing two.” She paused thoughtfully. “Let’s see. Knowing who has him means we can start researching specific weaknesses. We found Anna’s Grace by tracking meteors, right? Maybe there are weapons or other caches of Grace we can look for using similar clues.” She shrugged. “Hell has gates. Maybe Heaven does, too.”

Dean wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah, okay. It’s not much, but at least we’ve got something.” He wrinkled his nose and wiped his face again, disguising it as an attempt to clean the blood from his mouth and nose. “We’ve got the angel blade, so we’ve got at least one thing that works on them. If all angels carry them, we might be able to build up a little collection.”

Ruby and Sam both nodded, Ruby a little more enthusiastic. “Exactly. C’mon, guys, we can do this.”

Dean scowled at her, unable to ignore the sting of betrayal. “Why do you even care?”

“Dean…” Sam started, eyes tired in more ways than one.

“No, seriously.” Dean took a deep breath to dry his eyes. “I trusted Cas, and he turned out to be the one who took Liam.” He gestured to Ruby. “I barely trust you, and we’re about to give you access to all our planning and… crap. So, I need a reason. And I need a good one.”

Ruby wet her lips and looked between the two of them, taking a breath. She dropped her gaze downward and exhaled. “I, uh… I had a little brother.”

Dean blinked. I didn’t see that one coming. From the look on Sam’s face, neither had he.

“He was…” Ruby cleared her throat. “He was about Liam’s age when he got sick.” She shook her head and folded her arms over her stomach, her body language defensive as always, but significantly less confident. “This was over a thousand years ago. Getting sick back then pretty much meant you were gonna die, especially when you got as sick as he was.” She laughed softly, a bittersweet smile turning her lips. “He’s, uh… he’s actually the reason I became a witch. I had to… find a way to save him.”

Dean didn’t say anything, knowing Sam would ask the question in his stead.

“Did you?” Sam spoke softly, reaching out and gently tugging her arm away from herself so he could grasp her hand.

Ruby nodded a few times, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, I saved him, alright.” She laughed again, and it was filed with more heartache and resentment than before. “He grew up strong and healthy… one of the first to be picked when our people went to war.”

Dean closed his eyes, face twisting with pain. He couldn’t even imagine.

Well, no. He supposed he could. Selling his soul to save his little brother only to turn around and realize his best attempts had backfired horribly? That was a pretty accurate account of the last year and a half.

“Yeah, okay, that’s a good reason,” Dean muttered.

Sam looked at her with searching eyes, brow creased with sympathy. “Couldn’t you do anything for him?”

Ruby pressed her lips together. “Witchcraft is just like any other science. It evolves with time. Back then, there weren’t any resurrection spells. We didn’t figure that out for… psh, another hundred years or so.”

For a moment, none of them said anything. Dean couldn’t help but wonder how his story would have gone if he had eventually caved all the way and embraced demonhood.

“Look, I’m evil, but I’m not that evil. I just wanted to save my brother. I had no idea I was going to end up like this. I just… I had to.”

“Well.” Ruby punched each of them in the shoulder. “Glad we had this talk. Let’s never do this again.”

Dean couldn’t help grinning, but it lasted no more than a second. He reached up to wipe more dried blood from his mouth. “We better get a motel for the night and clean up… then we can start forming a plan.” He glanced at Ruby’s bloody stomach. “Besides, I think we all need a little first aid.”

Sam nodded in agreement, letting go of Ruby’s hand and rubbing the back of his head. “Ugh, you had to bring it up… I was trying to ignore the giant knot forming on my skull.”

Ruby snorted. “Well, you two get yourselves taken care of. I’ll be around.”

“Come on.” Dean started toward the Impala, waving her along. “At least let us get you patched up.”

Ruby looked at Sam for confirmation. Sam, of course, nodded along, and Ruby offered a shrug. “Hey, it’s your leather I’m gonna bleed on.”  

Dean held up a finger. “Uh, on second thought…”

They all shared a weak, distracted, uncertain laugh, and then they were walking out to Baby. Dean spent the entire walk, the entire drive, the entire night trying not to think about Castiel for more than two minutes at a time.

“I still can’t believe we made it out of there.” Dean held out his bottle and waited for Sam to clink it, keeping his eyes on the motel floor.

“Strangely, I feel less like a winner and more like a survivor.” Sam heaved a quiet sigh and brought his bottle up to his lips. “Funny how that used to be enough.” He took a swig.

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything, sipping some of his own brew and contemplating how to move forward. “I know…” He cleared his throat and took another drink. “I know you heard him.”

Sam didn’t say anything, leaning back in his chair.

“How he said…” Dean swallowed hard, trying not to think back to the barn and failing.

“Dean, Dean, Dean… I am so disappointed. You had such promise. You were one of my favorites.”

Sam once again remained silent, but he inclined his head to show he was listening.

“Imagine my surprise when I got to the surface and they told me you were playing house. What’s the rugrat called again? Liam?”

“Dean… of course I heard him… and don’t get me wrong, I’m curious, but…” Sam let out a soft sigh and held up his free hand in surrender. “You aren’t talking about Hell, and I’m not pushing. You don’t need that. Especially not now. Neither of us do.”

“Does Liam know what you’re capable of, Dean? Did you tell him about all the fun we had? I think it would make a great bedtime story.”

Dean blinked away the tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t four months, you know.”

“What?” Sam set his bottle aside and leaned forward.

Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him. “It was four months up here, but down there… I don’t know… time’s different.” He sniffed and took another drink. “It was, uh, more like forty years.”

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was pained.

And then it all came tumbling out, vague and fractured but every word true.

And Dean wished he couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Are you still angry about this?”

Castiel said nothing, pulsing and flashing red without a word.

“It’s over, Castiel. He figured it out.” Dark blue intermingled with charcoal gray, bobbing like waves on the sea. “You saw his eyes. He knew. You were never going to change his mind, even if he wasn’t right.”

Castiel darkened to crimson, wavelengths ablaze with golden-white lightning. “That wasn’t your call to make. You are my subordinate, not the other way around.”

“If you were yourself, it’s the call you would have made,” Uriel snapped back, both the blue and gray lightening in shade to match the stony nature of his cool dismissal. “What’s been going on with you?”

Red turned to orange, the anger replaced by a brief sense of shock, and yellow hues of nervousness cut through from time to time. “Nothing.”

“Well,” Uriel’s light thrummed with laughter, “that’s a lie.”

Castiel flared and then faded slightly, hot pink embarrassment slipping between the cracks in his coloring. “It isn’t anything you should concern yourself with. I’m still capable of completing the mission.”

“Are you?” Uriel accused, his light creeping out to touch the edge of Castiel’s.

Castiel pulled back at first but then relaxed, easing into his brother’s space. His light had never felt such a strong urge to be away from the Grace of other angels. It was disconcerting.

“Truly, Castiel.” Uriel became even lighter, baby blue and heather gray swirling together with tendrils of white. “I know I’ve been getting fed up with the lack of clear direction in our orders, but you’ve never struggled with that. It’s not like you.”

Castiel flooded with a blazing pink that quickly melted into plum and then a dark shade of blue. He grew pale, like a sunny sky, and then he turned slightly green, resembling more of a robin’s egg. Then he darkened again, maintaining the shade but gaining saturation until he was the color of a harbor.

“Uriel… I think I may be compromised.”

Uriel turned a shade of pale pink, curious in the extreme, and then he went white. Open, uninfluenced, unjudging, emotionless white. “How so?” Or the white of concealment. “Has something happened?” There was no way of knowing.

“I think…” Castiel maintained his shade, pulsing and shuddering, a steady song starting deep in his core and resonating through his colors. “I think… I’ve been fighting a little too long.” If he was lucky, Uriel wouldn’t notice the brief flickers of white that came with the partial lie.

Uriel turned a soft, frosted green, like the leaves of lamb’s ears. “Ah. Soldier’s fatigue.” His shade thrummed; no more or less intense, just moving. “If you need a reprieve—”

“I can’t. Not now.” Castiel remained teal, but gold and silver started to pour out from his center, pride and anticipation and devotion. “This is important. This could be the most important thing we’ve ever done.”

“I agree. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t continue forever without rest.” Uriel turned a little darker. “Castiel, you laid siege to Hell. You wore yourself down, and you haven’t rested since then.” Flashing sparks of purple and pink started to travel through him along with deep, rumbling laughter. “Even God needed to rest, brother.”

Castiel’s essence grew thin and airy, similar to the way a human might sigh, and then it reignited with a hue of bluish white. “If I seem too tired to go on, confront me. Otherwise, I have a job to do, and I need to start by repairing the trust Dean had in me.”

Uriel turned a shade of coral. “You mean the trust he had in Heaven.”

Castiel went pink but quickly swirled into orangish-red, repeating the process of growing dim and bright again. “Yes, of course.”

“Uh-huh.” Uriel grew slightly more orange than pink. “Well, you better run along. From what Samandriel said earlier, it’s been a bit of a rough day for Winchester III.”

Castiel opened his eyes in the greenroom, blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden shift in light, and he quickly found Samandriel hovering over a fussy Liam.

“Samandriel?” Castiel called softly. “What’s the trouble?”

Samandriel turned to Castiel with eyes that were concerned but not frustrated, meaning the problem was likely not one Liam was intentionally creating. “Castiel, I can’t banish his dreams. This has never happened to me before.”

Castiel approached the bed with a frown, reaching out one hand to feel Liam’s forehead. “He seems a bit feverish. That can play a part in the human dreaming process.”

Samandriel shook his head. “No, I tried to heal it. It isn’t a fever. I think it’s from the crying.” He bit down on his lip, clearly worried. “He managed to fall asleep twice, but only for a half hour each time. He needs sleep, Castiel.”

Castiel peered down at Liam with a pinched brow and wrinkled nose. “Liam,” he started softly. “Does this happen often?”

Liam sniffled in bed, lying on his side facing them, curled up tight and trying to soothe himself with stuttering breaths. “It’s a bad anxiety night.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel mumbled.

“Oh.” Samandriel pursed his lips. “I might. Uh, Liam, are you talking about a disorder? Like, um… now, wait a minute… I had to do a mission in the late nineties, and I possessed the body of a psychology student.” His attention shifted more to Castiel as his explanation continued. “My information is a bit outdated, but… uh, Liam, is it Generalized Anxiety Disorder? Or something ritualistic, like OCD?”

“No, s’just… general,” Liam murmured, dragging his arm over his eyes. “I want Sorzie…”

Castiel let out a quiet sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, Liam, but you can’t have him right now.” He wet his lips. “What would you normally do if you were having these dreams? What would Sam and Dean do?”

“Um… cuddles… music…” Liam sniffed and pressed his face against his pillow. “I have a stuffed kitty… I named her Miss Frizzle.”

Samandriel smiled widely. “That’s adorable,” he projected.

Castiel gave him a sideways glance but ultimately kept his focus on Liam. “Okay, so music and Mrs. Fri—”

“Miss not Mrs. She’s not married.” Liam sniffed again. “I have a soft blanket, too.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright. Samandriel, give him… cuddles… and I’ll see what I can do to get the items of interest. Don’t bother putting him to sleep again until we ha—”

Castiel blinked and he was in the woods, standing less than ten feet away from Ruby. His entire being shifted from protector to destroyer, an indignant rage washing over him. “You summoned me? How dare you?”

Ruby folded her arms over her chest and snorted derisively. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help, choir boy.” She arched her brow at him. “Since you, apparently, can’t handle the basic fundamentals of a human relationship.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and took a few steps forward, fully intending to smite her. “I don’t need your help. If you hadn’t drawn them to Anna—”

“I was doing my job, unlike you.” Ruby put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders, nowhere near as afraid of him as he would have liked. “I have Sam and Dean eating out of my hand, and you can’t even get the guy whose soul you dragged out of the frying pan to tolerate you. And I have no backup, in case you didn’t notice. Hell has no idea what I’m doing; you’ve got the whole Host of Heaven on your side.”

Castiel opened his mouth to object, heat rushing through his veins in a way that oddly matched the shades of red and pink his light would have been.

“So, first things first, stop thinking they’ll revere you just because you’re an angel. You already screwed that positive point to literal Hell. They’re comparing you to demons.” Ruby started to pace, folding her arms over her chest as she circled him. “Make them feel bad for you. Make them sympathize, even empathize. If they’re going to forgive you, what you did has to be out of your hands. Show them you’re just as helpless in the situation as they are.”

“I am not—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not helpless, you’re an all-powerful creature of multidimensional blah ba-blah ba-blah.” Ruby waved it off dismissively, still wandering around the clearing she had summoned him into. “Second, start taking better care of Liam. You have to do more than keep him alive, you have to keep him happy. Let them communicate with him. Let them send him little notes and cards; humans are crazy about that crap. Liam’s homeschooled, so teach him some things, things he can tell them about. Get his life as close to normal as possible, and they’ll be happier about it.”

Castiel opened his mouth again to object, and Ruby stepped closer to him, putting her hands on her chest. “Third, you need to get along with me a little better. Humans are all about that, ‘let’s put aside our differences and fight the good fight together’ nonsense. You’ve gotta do it reluctantly, and you’ve gotta be realistic, but you at least need to show you’re open to it.” She started to pace again, lifting her hands in a display of frustration. “Sam’s never gonna get off the ‘arrogant tyrant’ soapbox unless you take yourself down a peg. You know, get on their level. They’re all about humility when it’s someone else and it suits them.”

Castiel wet his lips and creased his brow, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t understand. What… is this?”

“This is me trying to save our mission. I’ve already convinced Sam to get back on the demon blood, but if we don’t get him away from Dean, Dean will keep pulling him back. I can’t do my job unless you do yours.” She gave him a dirty look. “And I told you, I have no backup. I can’t afford to be cleaning up your messes.”

Castiel felt a flicker of curiosity and hope. “Dean hasn’t given his blessing for the blood yet? I assumed he would.”

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty freakin’ close, but he’s not close enough. They’re doing that thing they do, where Dean’s silent and stoic and mad, and Sam’s got the guilty eyes, and the, ‘I don’t know, Ruby,’ ‘What if it’s a bad idea, Ruby?’ ‘Are you sure about this, Ruby?’” She threw her arms out in frustration. “I can’t get him to drain an entire body when he’s like this, and we are running out of time! Twenty-six seals have already been broken, and—”

Castiel huffed out a sigh, briefly letting himself share her vexation. “Twenty-seven, last I heard.”

Ruby spread her arms a little further and looked at him expectantly. “All the more reason to speed up Sam’s progress.”

“Alright, alright.” Castiel held up a hand to end the conversation. “I’ll do what I can. Don’t summon me again unless it’s an emergency.” He scoffed. “With any luck, you’ll pull me out of a conversation with them, and it’ll be one more discrepancy to explain.”

Ruby held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. Whatever. Just make it work.”

“Don’t think yourself capable of telling me what to do,” Castiel snarled.

Ruby sneered right back. “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

Castiel growled, clenching his fists at his sides. “Don’t condescend to me.”

“I don’t have to,” was Ruby’s sharp reply. “I’m doing your job better than you with a fraction of your resources. That should be condensation enough.” She glared. “And Castiel?”

Castiel glared back, refusing to give her the victory of verbal acknowledgement.

“If you can’t do this, do everybody a favor and pull yourself out. We might be on opposite sides for round two, but if you don’t shape up, neither of us are gonna get what we want.” Ruby pivoted on her heel and marched into the darkness of the trees and underbrush, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.

That’s twice now it’s been suggested I can’t do this. Castiel looked down at his hands and narrowed his gaze. He wanted to push back against the accusations with a fiery rebuttal, but he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know if he could complete the mission.

It doesn’t matter. I have to find a way. I have to do… something. Castiel stopped and took a deep breath, calming his vessel. Focus. I need something to calm Liam down. I can think about the mission later.

He inwardly flinched.

Liam should not come before the mission. But the mission didn’t have tearful blue eyes and reddened cheeks and little fists curled through his jacket so tight he thought the fabric would tear.

They’re right. I do need to pull myself out.

But he didn’t. He kept the thought warded, and he shoved it down into the darkest corner of himself, and then he landed behind the Impala in the motel parking lot where Sam and Dean were staying.

Let’s see. Castiel waved his hand over the trunk, and the metal flew into his hand, revealing several bags and boxes on top of the usual weapons cache. It seems children can’t pack as light as adults. He started poking through the contents, having absolutely no idea what he was looking for. Miss Frizzle and a blanket should be easy enough, but… how do I obtain music? And what of these other items? He heaved a sigh. Humans draw comfort from the oddest things.

Castiel felt something sharp poke into his back, and a rushed voice whispered in his ear,

“I gave you the courtesy of not taking your advice; give me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Castiel didn’t move, hands frozen above a stuffed cat he was pretty sure was Miss Frizzle. “I’ll answer any questions I can, Sam.”

“Two conditions,” Sam ground out. “One, don’t feed me crap.”

Castiel’s expression twisted in disgust. “Why would—”

“Don’t lie,” Sam explained. “If you can’t answer something truthfully, just say so.”

Castiel nodded slowly, still facing the open trunk with both hands hovering just above its contents.

“My other condition is that nothing we say leaves this parking lot.” Sam shifted his stance, gravel crunching under his boots. “Nobody hears this conversation but us.”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer the way Sam wanted, but he reconsidered at the last second. He has to know I can’t promise that. Castiel wet his lips and tried again. “This… is a test, isn’t it?”

“You tell me.”

Castiel blinked a few times, thinking, and then he shook his head. “I can’t promise you confidentiality, Sam. If I deem something relevant, I have to share it with my superiors.”

Sam didn’t say anything for several moments, and Castiel considered flying away before he could be skewered, but he held out. Ironically, he chose to have a little faith in Sam.

“Alright.” Sam removed the blade from Castiel’s back. “Fine.”

Castiel slowly straightened up and turned to face Sam, guilt cutting into his chest at the sight of the exhausted, run-down, subtly-terrified face.

“Where is he?” Sam’s voice was shaking—not from fear, Castiel was certain—and he was still gripping the angel blade tightly.

“Sam,” Castiel shook his head and looked at Sam with pained eyes. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“No.” Sam swallowed hard, averting his gaze for a moment. “I mean… what kind of place? What’s it like there?”

It took Castiel a moment to realize Sam wanted to know if Liam was literally locked up in a cell somewhere, chained to the wall or the floor.

Castiel extended his hand, but Sam backed up and lifted the blade with a deadly glare. Castiel stopped and turned his hand slightly, hoping to placate. “I was only going to show you his room.”

“You’re not touching my head.” Sam watched Castiel with hard, cautious eyes. “Describe it.”

Castiel dropped his hand with a nod. “It is a rather large bedroom. There’s an adjoining bathroom, bookshelves, an area rug… he has room to run around and play—” or destroy things, “—and he gets three square meals a day.” He chose not to mention the lack of sunshine or fresh air.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly, processing the information as quickly as he could and moving on to the next question. “Has he been hurt?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head.

“Not even accidentally?” Sam pressed, worry blazing through his eyes like wildfire; like Liam consumed his every thought, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was satisfied with the answers he got.

Which, Castiel was starting to realize, was exactly the case.

“No. He’s been… upset. But he’s not hurt.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, searching for something politically correct that was still believable. “He has the most trouble at night. During the day, he seems to occupy his time easily.”

“Is he alone most of the time?”

Castiel couldn’t get a read on what answer Sam wanted to hear, so he opted for more truth. “There is another angel in charge of him. Samandriel. He stays with Liam when he isn’t needed elsewhere, which… is rather often. Samandriel isn’t a soldier.”

Sam swallowed, almost nervously, and squinted slightly. “What is he?”

“He’s a… clerk of sorts. He’s not exactly… soldier material. He’s too…” Castiel trailed for a moment, struggling with his words before finally settling on, “…effervescent.”

“Effervescent?” Sam echoed, a disbelieving note in his voice.

Castiel only shrugged. “It’s the truth. You may take it or leave it.”

Sam looked like he was debating with himself, but in the end, he let it drop and moved on to the next thing. “Were you ever planning on telling us?”

Castiel wet his lips and then shook his head. “No.”

Sam let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking at Castiel with profound hurt in his eyes. “So, you were just… never going to bring him home to me.”

“No.” Castiel immediately shook his head. “No, he would have been returned.”

“How? If you weren’t going to tell me, you—” Sam cut himself off and shook his head. “When can I have him back?”

Castiel thought about that for several moments. He could say he didn’t know—which wasn’t technically a lie; he didn’t know the exact date and time—but Ruby was right. He had to gain their trust back as soon as possible.

And honestly?

He didn’t like how it felt to lie to them.

“I can’t answer that, Sam.”

Sam bit his lip, eyes suddenly moist, but he simply swallowed and nodded and cleared his throat. “Okay.” He nodded again and then gestured to the trunk. “What are you here for?”

“Liam is having a difficult night. Samandriel and I can’t seem to dispel his dreams, so… I came to find comfort items.” Castiel glanced at the car, spying the corner of a bright blue backpack.

Sam adjusted his grip on the angel blade, shifting in place. “I prayed to you about his nightmares before.” He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything then. Did you not hear me?”

Castiel cast his eyes to the pavement. “I heard you.” He looked back at the car.

“So, you let him suffer. To… what? Get to me?”

Castiel looked at Sam with as much sympathy as he could muster. “I can’t answer that, Sam.”

“So, it was.” Sam nodded, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes again. He sniffed and glanced away, composing himself with a few more nods before he looked back at Castiel. “You couldn’t do it any other way? You couldn’t go after Dean? Bobby? Me? Why—why didn’t you just come after me?”

Castiel clenched his jaw. “This is coming after you, Sam. This is what it looks like.”

Sam ran his hand through his hair, inhaling deeply but finding he had nothing to say. Just a silently open mouth and an expression of disgust and anger and confusion.

“What would you have me do, Sam?”

“Bring him back to me!” Sam just barely kept himself from shouting.

“I do that, then what?” Castiel spread his arms slightly, lifting his brows in that way humans did when they expected someone to realize their folly. “I bring Liam back to you, I get dispatched, and then an entire garrison comes for him.” He raised his voice a little, putting a not-entirely-faked desperation into his tone. “Sam, please understand. If I hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else, and they would have known even less about him than I do. I am trying to keep Liam as comfortable and happy as possible despite the circumstances.”

“So, your excuse is that it could be worse?” Sam stepped forward until they were almost touching, towering over Castiel by several inches. “You took my son from me!”

Castiel hit the inside of the trunk lid, eyes blazing. “Would I really come out here, knowing you have a weapon and good reason to kill me, for a stuffed toy if I didn’t care?” He searched Sam’s eyes, finding shock and contemplation but still so much hurt. “This is… unprecedented, Sam. This doesn’t happen to me.”

Sam blinked the tears from his eyes and leaned forward slightly, tilting his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “What doesn’t?”

“Regret,” Castiel shot back, anger still burning through his veins. “I don’t regret following orders, and I don’t wish it was different. Some angels do, but not me, not ever, not in seven thousand years.” He wet his lips and straightened up slightly, squaring his shoulders.

“Make them feel bad for you. Make them sympathize, even empathize. If they’re going to forgive you, what you did has to be out of your hands. Show them you’re just as helpless in the situation as they are.”

“I don’t know what to do, Sam. I don’t…” Castiel looked away, composing himself and trying to get a grip on his vessel’s reactions to the Grace roiling inside it. “If my superiors knew why I really came here… if they knew I wasn’t here to strongarm you and your brother into cooperating, they would take me off the mission, and who knows what would happen to Liam then. I’m—I’m doing the best I can, alright?” He glanced around, subtly reminded that anybody could be watching.

I’ll just tell them this is manipulation. Not that that was a lie. Because it was manipulation. It was all about controlling the way Sam and Dean saw him. It was just a way to carry out his mission, to ensure he got what he wanted.

It was. It was, it was, it was.

“Can we visit him?” Sam asked softly.

Castiel shook his head. “No.” He wet his lips, glanced around, and took a deep breath. “You… could write him. I would have to screen any letters you send for codes or conspiracies, but… it would be something.”

Castiel only mentioned it because it was Ruby’s idea, and she had been successful at manipulating both Winchesters up to that point. He only mentioned it because it was part of the plan. Everything he was doing was part of the plan.

“Could he write back?” Sam sounded so fragile when he asked; so hopeful, so desperate for the slightest bit of contact with his child. “Just… just so I can hear how he’s doing? From him?”

Castiel nodded slightly. “Yes.” He looked at the trunk again. “What should I take for him?”

Sam sniffed hard and approached the trunk, going through the contents and pulling out various items. “Um, this is my iPod. He has a playlist on there he likes to listen to. Don’t—don’t let him listen to my other music; there’s some stuff on there he shouldn’t hear.” He opened his mouth to say something more but then stopped, grabbing another toy. “This is his stuffed kitty; he likes to sleep with her.”

“Ah. Miss Frizzle.” Castiel nodded in understanding as he took the soft toy, and he didn’t miss the light smile tugging on the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“Yeah, Miss Frizzle.” Sam sniffed and reached into the trunk again, tugging out more bundles of softness. “This is his favorite blanket, and this is my shirt—just trust me, he’ll want it. Here, he’ll want one of Dean’s, too. Take that one.”

Castiel dutifully took everything that was handed to him, confused but not daring to ask; not daring to break the uneasy truce that had been formed.

“I… guess that’s everything. I’ll write him a letter… you can pick it up in the morning if you’re not busy.” Sam wet his lips, obviously working hard to keep himself together.

Castiel nodded slightly and looked at his arms. “These items… they will help him?”

“They might,” Sam whispered. “Liam has been severely abused. His nightmares aren’t easy to… make better.”

What? Castiel didn’t even know what that meant. Last time he checked, abuse was just misuse, usually of money or power. There was verbal abuse—shouting, obscenities, and so on—but that hardly seemed an appropriate cause for nightmares.

Before Castiel had a chance to speak, the back door to the Impala was kicked open and Dean stumbled out, holding a nearly empty bottle in his hand.

Castiel tensed, waiting for Dean to react, but Dean was surprisingly calm.

Dean reached down his shirt and grabbed his necklace, tugging it up and over his head with a bit of difficulty and a near loss of balance. He took a couple steps toward Castiel and held the necklace out.

“There,” he muttered, his voice low and dry.

Castiel took the offered jewelry with a confused, still cautious expression on his face.

Sam grabbed Dean by the arm to help him stay upright. “Go, Castiel. I don’t want Liam to be alone right now.” He swallowed. “Tell him I love him, and that none of this is his fault.”

Castiel frowned slightly. “Why would—”

“Just…” Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Just tell him for me. Tell him it isn’t his fault.”

Castiel was unsure how well he would be able to relay the message, but he would try. He spent another moment staring at the state both brothers were in—the state he had caused—and then he flew away.

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as soon as Castiel was gone. He looked at Dean, leaned in a little, and sniffed, crinkling his nose when he smelled alcohol.

“I told you to get some air,” Sam said, his voice half scolding. “I didn’t say go get another six-pack and hide in the Impala.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t plan it.” He pushed on Sam’s arm until Sam let go of him. “It just sort of happened.”

Sam snorted, not bothering to keep his temper in check. “Nobody ‘just sort of’ gets drunk. There came a moment when you had a choice to make, and you—”

“Sam, can you not?” Dean slammed the Impala door shut and slumped against it. “For once, could you just not?” He took a breath and pushed off the vehicle, staggering toward the motel without another word.

Sam followed him silently, waging an internal war between anger and worry. Half of him wanted to smack Dean for the reckless behavior, and half of him wanted to talk it through and figure out what exactly was pushing Dean to such an extreme.

“I can’t believe you got drunk,” was what finally came out, followed shortly by a sigh.

“I’m serious, Sam. Don’t lecture me.” Dean reached up to rub his face and then toppled onto the bed, landing facedown. “I’m not even that drunk. I just… needed something to take the edge off.”

“What, you think I don’t?” Sam spread his arms incredulously and somehow managed to keep from yelling. “He’s my kid, and you don’t see me throwin’em back.”

Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at Sam like he was an idiot. “And why not? Huh? What’s the point?” Dean shook his head with something like disbelief on his face. “What do you think you’re gonna do in the next twelve hours that’ll somehow work better than what we’ve been doing for the past week and a half?”

Sam flinched back like he’d been hit. He knew their chances of getting Liam back on their own terms was slim, especially now that they knew Heaven had him, but…

“I can’t think like that.” Sam wet his lips and shook his head. “If I think about that… about how impossible it’s going to be, I…” Sam trailed off, his throat closing off, and he shook his head again. “I just can’t.”

Dean looked at Sam for a long moment and then snorted. “Yeah, well…” He sighed and fell back onto the bed, not finishing his thought.

Sam didn’t say anything. He walked back to the table and laptop he had left behind when he saw Castiel’s movement through the window sheers. He sat down and looked at the screen, but he didn’t try to type anything. He stayed silent for a few moments more, and then he turned in his chair slightly, looking at Dean.

“You really liked Castiel, didn’t you?”

Dean gave him a hard look. “We’re not going there.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, trying to downplay the conversation he was trying to have. “It makes sense. I mean, you were in Hell, and he got you out. And from what you told me about Hell…”

Dean glared. “Sam, drop it.”

“Okay. Fine.” Sam put his hands up in a gesture of surrender and then put them back on the keys. “I’m going to keep researching.”

“Well, I’m going to sleep.”

Sam nodded and started typing random words, trying to make it sound like he was actually doing something. He couldn’t force Dean to talk about Hell, and even if he could, trying to force Drunk Dean to do anything probably wasn’t the best idea.

So, he did what he did best and buried himself in his research. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hoped he would know it when he saw it. That was all he could do. Research and hope something jumped out at him.

We’re coming for you, buddy.

One way or another, Liam was coming home.

Sam would make sure of that.

Castiel hit his knees and retched again, once again bringing up the painful nothingness in his stomach. He hadn’t used Jimmy’s bodily functions since he possessed him months earlier. But something was happening, and it was making his vessel twist and convulse painfully.

“Excellent performance, Castiel. You’ve never been very good at reading and mimicking human emotion, but that? You deserve an Oscar.”

Castiel dropped his head again, the muscles in his stomach and chest contracting, curling him into a ball against his will as the painful spasms tore through his body. What is this? What’s happening? He collapsed against a nearby tree, exhausted and panting and sweating and doing things he was not supposed to be able to do.

“Dean’s a mess now. You offer to take some of that pain away, and he’ll march to whatever drum we want.”

Castiel wiped his forehead and looked at his fingers, not understanding why there was moisture. He understood sweating, of course, but not why he was doing it. Jimmy! He wiped at his face repeatedly, trying to get rid of the moisture. Jimmy, what’s happening to this body?

For a moment, there was nothing, but then there was quiet laughter. It was soft, only mildly amused and almost pitying, but it was definitely there. Oh, Castiel…

Jimmy! Tell me now!

This is what we humans like to call guilt.

Castiel swallowed hard, still panting, and he wiped his face again. What?

Guilt. All-consuming, gut-wrenching, cold-sweating guilt.

Castiel pulled himself onto his knees, fingers curling through the lush grass and tearing it out in clumps. I have taken many vessels, and this has never happened to me before. Tell me the truth, Jimmy!

Maybe you were never this connected. I can barely keep up with what’s going on, but I’ve heard you muttering to yourself enough to know that… what was it you said? You’ve been in this vessel too long?

Castiel swallowed hard and cautiously got back to his feet. He was afraid to try flying, and even if he wasn’t, he didn’t want to go somewhere his siblings might stumble upon him. He didn’t want anyone to see him in such a sorry state.

That doesn’t explain anything. I was talking about facial expressions and body language, not—not emotions or physical reactions or—or whatever this is!

Castiel… Jimmy fell silent for a moment. Claire once broke a piece of my wife’s fine china, and she wouldn’t admit she’d done it. My wife recruited me, for lack of a better word, to get the truth out of her.

Castiel shook his head, walking slowly over to the edge of the lake he had landed beside. What does this have to do with anything?

I’m getting there, Castiel. Be patient. Jimmy laughed softly, much like he had the first time, somehow equally kind and mocking… teasing almost, like a friend would. I talked to Claire for a while, but I never accused her. She kept dropping hints, but I would only ask her how her day was, if there was something she wanted to tell me, or if she had gotten in trouble recently… things like that. I wouldn’t mention the china.

Castiel knelt down by the water’s edge and looked at his reflection, watching the emotions cross its face, cross his face with horrified bewilderment.

Then I told her something, and now, I’m going to tell you the same thing.

Castiel froze, listening intently, heart thundering inside a chest that wasn’t his, wasn’t supposed to be his.

You know what you’ve done. You just don’t want to admit it, so you’re trying to make me do it for you. You want me to lay it out so you can nod your head and move on without thinking about it. You want to say, “I admitted it. I took responsibility. I’m not ignoring it,” when you know full well that is exactly what you’re doing.

Castiel shuddered, watching the way his face twisted, the way his lips trembled, the way he looked like he wanted to cry when it should have been impossible. Everything he was feeling should have been impossible.

You know this is guilt, Castiel, and you’re not getting off easy by pretending you don’t know exactly what you did to cause this. Jimmy had a surprising lack of anger in both his voice and essence as he spoke. I can’t help you. You did this to yourself, and you’re never going to stop running from it unless you own up to it yourself.

Be quiet! Castiel shut Jimmy down even as he had the thought, and then it was just him and his reflection. I only wanted to know why my vessel was malfunctioning. He narrowed his gaze, throat tight, and stared himself down. This is necessary. This is all necessary. Once the fight is over, we’ll establish Paradise. No more pain, no more suffering, no more frightened children, no more brothers fighting, no more dead parents… it will be better.

So why? Why did it feel so wrong? Why did every lie taste like acid on his tongue? Why did it burn and twist and throb? Why was he so tired and worn down and emotional?

Just why?

Castiel struck the water, distorting the image of himself and glaring at the wobbly remains. I’m not supposed to be like this! He hit it again when his visage started to piece back together, some of the water getting in his eyes. He wiped it away, surprised to find it was warm.

Castiel took a deep breath and got to his feet, tilting his head back until he was staring up at the stars. I’m not compromised, and I’m not defective. I can do this job. Doing the right thing is rarely easy. If anything, this is a sign that I’m on the right path.

That’s a lie, and you know it.

I told you to be quiet.

It wasn’t until a few hours later, while watching over a fitfully sleeping Liam, that Castiel realized he had put Jimmy to sleep.

“What are you doing?”

Liam startled and nearly fell off the stack of books he was using as a stepstool. He clutched the shelf to catch his balance and looked over his shoulder. “Um…” He swallowed, taking a moment to calm his racing heart. “Hi, Castiel.”

Castiel only arched a brow in that displeased and unimpressed way he often did. “It’s almost four in the morning. What are you doing?”

Liam looked back at the bookshelf, chewing on his lip. “Um… I had a question.” He looked at Castiel again, fingers still gripping the shelf.

“Then you ask someone, preferably during the hours you’re supposed to be awake.” Castiel approached Liam, extending a hand to take him by the arm. “Come on, back to bed.”

“No, wait!” Liam leaned into the shelf and held on tight, biting his lip a little harder. “I can’t sleep.”

Castiel dropped his arm with a sigh. “And why exactly is that?”

“Because… the question makes me…” Liam squirmed in place. He knew he wasn’t supposed to know about… it… and he didn’t want to get in trouble for that, but he didn’t want to get in trouble for lying, either.

Castiel really didn’t like lying.

“Because the question makes you…?” Castiel pressed, an impatient expression spreading over his features.

“Um…” Liam glanced back at the books and then put his full attention on Castiel. Being an angel, Castiel would definitely know the answer to Liam’s question, and despite their clashing personalities, Castiel had been harder to set off ever since Liam had needed him for nightmare recovery. “What, um… what’s Hell like?”

Castiel blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t look particularly angry, so that was a good sign. “It is a place of eternal torment; a cage of blood and fire and pain.” He squinted. “Why?”

Liam felt his stomach turn, a grimace twisting his mouth as he thought about Dean being in the terrible place Castiel described. “I was just…” maybe it wasn’t a good idea to lie when things were going so well, “…just wondering. That’s all.”

Castiel frowned slightly, but he still didn’t look angry. That had to be a record of some kind, even with the unspoken, post-nightmare truce. “Liam, why is Hell on your mind?” He canted his head to the side. “Do you think you’ve done something to deserve going there?”

Liam shook his head but then stopped. Maybe. Probably. But he shook his head again, deciding it wasn’t a good idea to share that tidbit. Especially with an angel.

“Last week,” Liam started, wringing his hands, “when you were gonna smite the town, Dean said you got him out of Hell for a reason… and you said you would go back and get him again if you had to.” Liam grabbed onto the shelf and carefully got down from his stack of books, peering up at Castiel with wondering eyes. “I know I wasn’t supposed to hear, so I didn’t ask about it, but…” He shrugged and stared down at his feet, shuffling in place. “I was thinking about Dean in Hell, and… I couldn’t sleep. I kept… imagining what it was like, and…” And he had come up with some terrifying things.

“That’s not a pleasant thing to imagine.” Castiel put his hand against Liam’s upper back, gently nudging him toward the bed. “I can see why that would keep you awake.”

Liam let Castiel push him across the room, and he obediently crawled into bed and settled down under the covers.

Liam looked up at Castiel with wide eyes, recalling the other pieces of the conversation that had been tumbling around his head for the past hour and a half. “Does that mean Dean was… dead?”

Castiel nodded sharply, adjusting the blankets. “Yes.” He took a step back, keeping his distance as he so often did, and continued to watch Liam with an impassive, unreadable face. “He made a very unwise decision… and it led to his death and imprisonment.” Castiel looked at Liam for a long moment, a puzzled expression on his face, like he was trying to figure out what to say. “But he isn’t there anymore; that’s the important thing to remember.”

Liam shrugged his shoulders and rolled onto his side, picking at the fabric of his pillowcase. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I have work to do. If I leave you here, are you going to behave and stay in bed?”

Liam shrugged again but nodded his head. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Liam wasn’t surprised when Castiel immediately left without bothering to ask if Liam was really alright, but it still hurt. And that hurt was quickly replaced by fear, a weight settling on his chest as the anxiety that had dragged him into wakefulness returned to keep him there.

He tried to take deep breaths, but his mind had locked on to the notion of a panic attack and wasn’t changing focus for anything. He had known it was going to be a rough night from the moment anxiety started to coil through his stomach, spoiling his appetite halfway through dinner, but it was starting to look like it might turn into more than he could handle.

What if Sorzie and Dean aren't looking for me? What if Castiel is lying? I caused so many problems. All I do is cause problems. They don’t want me. I'm never going to go home. It's always gonna be like this. Liam swallowed hard, pressing down on his chest as the spasming muscles squeezed harder. What if it really is always going to be like this? What if this isn't anxiety, and I'm actually right? What if the angels never let me go back? What if they do, but nobody wants me?

Liam shot up in bed and scooted back until he was leaning against the headboard, closing his eyes and mumbling under his breath.

“Six times one is six… six times two is twelve… six times three is eighteen… six times four is… twenty-four? Six times five is thirty… six times six is thirty-six… six times seven… um…”

Liam stopped and shook his head. He didn’t know his times tables well enough to find comfort in their familiarity. Once upon a time, he had recited his ABCs, but over time, he had the opposite problem of them being too familiar. He could recite them while still barreling down a dark tunnel of panicked thoughts. Same with the easier times tables, like one, two, five, and ten.

“Fingers.”

Liam shifted in bed, trying to make himself more comfortable, and he held one of his hands out in front of himself. He took the index finger of his other hand and ran it up one side of his thumb, breathing in as he did so. He held both his breath and his finger at the top, and then he slid his finger back down the other side while breathing out. He breathed in as he slid one index finger up the other, stopping at the top again before breathing out as he traveled back down. Middle, ring, pinky, then ring again, middle, index, and thumb.

It didn’t work.

His heart was still racing, and it was still hard to breathe, and he still felt tears on his cheeks, and he still wanted to scream, and he was still so scared, and yet so angry, and he still wanted to crawl out of his skin, but he couldn’t.

Liam scrambled off the bed and ran for the closest thing he could break: an angel statue on a little table along the wall. He grabbed it and hurled it to the ground, feeling some of the pressure leave his body with the sound of breaking ceramic. But there was more pressure still inside, building back up without giving him any reprieve, clenching his jaw and twisting his stomach.

Liam dropped to his knees and grabbed one of the pieces, rolling up the sleeve to Sam’s shirt and dragging the side of it along his arm.

Ceramic was perfect, because he didn’t want to cut himself—that would be scary and hurt a lot—but he wanted to scratch. There was something about the sting of scratching that made him feel like he was getting his feelings out. Like punching a wall and winding up with bloody knuckles, except he was too scared to do that, either. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew that every now and then, when that burning urge to scream and cry and break things got to be too much, scratching or biting his arms made him feel better.

So, he started rubbing it back and forth, not too fast, and not too hard, but enough that the skin got red and swollen and bled just a little.

“Liam! What are you doing?”

Liam’s head snapped up, panic coursing through him. He blinked away his tears until he could properly see Castiel marching toward him, panic escalating. “I…” He looked down at his arms just as Castiel arrived. “I—”

Castiel crouched down and grabbed Liam’s wrist, tearing the piece of statue from his hand and tossing it aside.

Liam flinched. Briefly, he wondered if Castiel had any idea how big and terrifying he was. “I didn’t cut myself.” He pulled back, whimpering when his arm wouldn’t come loose. “I’m—I'm not bleeding. Not really.”

Castiel grabbed Liam beneath the arms and lifted him up. “That’s not the point.” Castiel wrapped his arms around Liam and carried him back to the bed. He set Liam on the mattress and crouched down, worry shining in his eyes.

Liam had never seen Castiel look worried before.

“Why did you do that, Liam?” Castiel questioned, his brow creased with confusion… and maybe concern.

“I don’t know.” Liam shrugged his shoulders and sniffed, tears racing down his cheeks. “I don’t know. I just felt so…” He waved his hands slightly, struggling to come up with the words to explain the sensation his panic attacks sometimes gave him. “It’s… I don’t…” He choked out a sob and rubbed his face, trying to clear away the tears. “It’s like there’s something inside me trying to get out, and sometimes it gets really bad, and it makes me feel better to break things and scratch my arms.” He sobbed again, screwing his eyes shut and dropping his head. “I've only done it two other times, I promise.”

Still, he knew he wasn’t supposed to.

But it helped. It helped when nothing else did, and it was only every once in a while.

“Please, don’t be mad. I’m sorry, Castiel. I won’t—” Liam hiccupped. “I won’t do it again, I swear!”

Castiel sighed—not exactly angry but definitely unhappy—and shook his head. “Liam, why didn’t you call for me? I would have relieved your symptoms.”

Liam only shrugged his shoulders again. “I didn’t want to bother you…” You should have checked on me. You should have made sure I was okay! But that wasn’t fair, was it?

No, of course it wasn’t. Liam was just selfish and needy and useless. His mother was right. He was difficult, and he only thought about himself and what he needed, and everyone hated having to deal with him.

“I don’t understand.” Castiel squinted and shook his head slowly. “You have no problem fighting with me when it suits you. Do you think that doesn’t bother me? Why do something so unnecessary and childish but not ask for help when you need it?”

Fresh tears sprang up in Liam’s eyes, his chest constricting as he was hit with the renewed urge to cry. “It’s different,” he whimpered, drawing his arms in close, trying to make himself smaller. Smaller targets were harder to hit.

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “How is it different?”

Liam squirmed in place, sniffing quietly. “Mom and Daddy used to fight all the time… but they still loved each other. Sorzie and Dean fight all the time, but they still love each other.” He dragged his arm over his eyes, sniffing again. “But nobody likes to be bothered by someone who’s needy and annoying. I’ve always been needy… bothering Mom with things, and… it’s just different.” He choked out another sob and rubbed his eyes again. “It’s just different, Castiel, it’s just—it just is.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment, his lips moving slowly. “I… see.” He didn’t sound like he saw. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to worry about bothering me in such a way. I don’t mind taking care of you.” He ran his hands over the insides of Liam’s arms, drawing out the sting and healing the welted flesh in an instant. “Do you still feel that… something inside you, trying to get out?”

Liam nodded his head, squirming on the bed, feeling the steady thump of his heart inside his chest, not racing, just beating hard. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. Kick, claw, tear, burn, bite. Something. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to stay awake. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide.

Castiel reached out a hand and almost tapped two fingers to Liam’s head, but he slowed to a stop and redirected at the last second, placing his hand flat on Liam’s chest.

Liam looked down at the hand and put his own hands on top, sighing deeply as a cool sensation spread throughout his body. It tingled, traveling out from his heart through his veins, muscles unwinding until air came into his lungs with ease.

“How’s that?”

Liam sniffed and nodded again. “Better. Thanks.” He dragged his arm over his eyes, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I tried my exercises, but they didn’t work. I’m… I’m really sorry.” He sniffed again.

“Yes, well…” Castiel cleared his throat and stood up, motioning for Liam to get under the comforter. “Call for me next time. Or Samandriel, if you prefer. Just… don’t hurt yourself again. I…” He wet his lips and then shook his head. “Just don’t hurt yourself again.”

Liam pulled his legs up onto the mattress and crawled toward the headboard, pushing the blankets aside. He got his legs underneath and then scooted down, settling in to sleep for the third time that night, hoping quick obedience could make up for all his difficult behavior.

“Castiel?” Liam chewed on his lip, peering up at the angel that so easily towered over him.

Castiel peered down at the boy so much smaller than himself and blinked. “Yes?”

“Would you stay with me?” Liam moved to the left a little and patted the bed beside him. “Just until I fall asleep? Please?”

Castiel pursed his lips thoughtfully, and after a moment of consideration, he laid down on the bed. “Only if you promise to genuinely try to sleep. Not the humming, wiggling, staring, pointing, rolling, tossing, turning, not sleeping thing you do.”

Liam smiled to himself and rolled onto his side, drawing in close and snuggling into the curve of Castiel’s body. “Okay. Promise.” He put his head down on Castiel’s chest and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, letting out a quiet sigh. “Thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Castiel didn’t say anything else, and Liam was content to let that be the end of things. Talking usually led to fighting for the two of them, and Liam didn’t want to fight anymore. He was so tired of fighting. He just wanted to go home, and he knew he couldn’t have that, so he wanted the closest thing he could get.

Falling asleep on Castiel’s chest, wearing Dean’s necklace and wrapped in Sam’s shirt, was exactly that. Liam wasn’t happy, but he was closer to happy than he had been in a long time, and that counted for something.

When I try to think back, get it straight in my head… I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out… I’m wandering around, alone and lost, and I can’t do anything.

Sam tried to tear his eyes away from the journal. He really did. He was supposed to be looking for signs, so he could help Dean keep the seals from breaking, so the angels could get what they wanted, so he could get Liam back.

But Sam needed guidance, and there was really only one place he could go to for that.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all. I can’t let her memory die.

Sam could relate to that, in a backward, roundabout kind of way. It had been five days since Sam talked to Castiel in the parking lot, and he hadn’t cried for two of those days. And it felt wrong. It felt like he should still be grieving, because Liam was still missing, and it still hurt so much. But his body couldn’t keep up, and the end result was him running out of tears and feeling like a terrible father for recovering so quickly.

Not that he was recovered. He wasn’t. And he knew that—he knew that—but he felt like it should have showed more. He felt like it should have been obvious to everyone around him that he wasn’t okay. That his life had stopped and wouldn’t start again until he had Liam back in his arms.

She had a vision, and we found a bloody mess in the neighbor’s house along with the words ‘WE’RE COMING FOR THE CHILDREN’ written in blood. I don’t remember anything between that and finding Sam and Dean safe back at Julie’s, thank God, but Julie… Julie was dead. Something just tore her apart.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock. He knew he was wasting time, but he looked back at the journal anyway. What do I do, Dad? He grabbed the beer sitting next to his laptop and took a swig. You knew something was coming for us, so you ran, but… how did you cope? Though, given what he knew about John... I guess you didn’t.

That was what time showed, faintly as it passed and sharply in retrospect. Hunters didn’t get to have nice things. They just didn’t. It was impossible. Sam should have known better. There had never been any point in trying, no matter how close to the end of his hunting career Sam had thought he was.

Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he’s out like a light, too. But me…

Sam picked up his beer again, but it was empty. He thought about going for another, but that drink had been his second, and he wasn’t going down the path of alcoholism.

When I wake up, sweating and panting… I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, hovering over my boys. It’s watching, it’s waiting, I think it’s even mocking me… You couldn’t stop this. You couldn’t keep her safe. You can’t keep them safe.

John had kept them safe. But at what cost? And was Sam willing to pay it?

Could Sam do it differently? Or was history going to repeat itself?

Sam snapped the journal shut and set it aside, running his hands through his hair. He had to focus. He had to stop reading about feelings and start reading about how to get his job done.

Does that make me sound like Dad? Is that what he did? Is that what changed him over time? I don’t want to change. I don’t want to be like that. But it’s not like I can go see a therapist about this, and I can’t sit around reading self-help books and…

Sam lowered his head to the table and took a deep breath. Stop. He lifted his head and woke his computer up, putting his eyes back on the screen and trying to focus.

Sam was no more than ten words into the first paragraph when Dean opened the door and came in with a Styrofoam box.

“You find anything good?” Dean asked, kicking the door shut behind him.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing yet. I mean… don’t get me wrong, there are some supernatural cases, but I can’t find anything related to seals. Or at least, the seals we know about.” Because they really didn’t know all that much about the seals—what they were, how to detect them, how to guard them—and research could only get them so far.

Dean cursed under his breath and tossed his keys on the table. “Why can’t they just tell us what to take care of? I thought they liked telling people what to do.”

“I don’t know.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking at the screen but having a distinct feeling that nothing he did would be able to make his mind process what he was reading. “Maybe, uh… maybe you can ask Castiel for a tip?”

It was a gamble even bringing Castiel up. Dean hadn’t mentioned the angel since his drunken meltdown almost a week earlier, and the few times Sam had made Heaven the topic of their conversation, Dean had not reacted well.

“I’m not asking scumbag for anything.” Dean spat out the words venomously. “For all we know, he’ll tell us how to break the seals instead of save them.”

Sam wet his lips and ducked his head. It would be both unwise and unkind to push Dean when he was still so raw.

“Here.” Dean carried the Styrofoam box over and dropped it on the table, sliding it closer to Sam and taking the empty beer bottle away. “You need to eat something.”

Sam looked at the box for a long moment before reluctantly nodding his head and popping it open. He smiled to himself at the sight of pancakes with strawberries and strawberry-flavored syrup. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yuh-huh.” Dean pulled a newspaper out of his back pocket. “Found this little tidbit. Some old guy was killed in his house in a locked room. Seems like our kind of deal.” He shrugged, tossing the newspaper onto the table beside Sam’s laptop. “I dunno if it’s a seal kind of deal, but it’s close by, and I’m getting sick of sitting around. I need to do something.” By which he meant, he needed to kill something.

Sam wet his lips and looked at the front page, skimming the details. It’s definitely weird, but how does this help us get Liam? But Dean was clearly going stir crazy, and it wasn’t as if Sam could give Dean a directive. Sam didn’t even know what to tell himself to do.

Dean walked over to the motel window and looked out, scowling at the sunshine. “So… you make a decision yet?”

Sam blinked, stopping with a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Sam.” Dean snorted. “We’re up against Heaven and Hell, we have no clear way to get Liam back, and you’ve got demonic superpowers. It makes sense you’d think about using them.” He sighed, not turning away from the window. “I just want to know if you’ve decided whether or not to start chugging V8 again.”

“V8?” Sam questioned, brow arching sharply.

Dean only shrugged. “V8, demon juice, it’s the same thing.”

“V8 is delicious,” Sam argued. “And it’s good for you.”

“Satan made V8.” Dean turned away from the window with a sigh, leaning back against the blinds and crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, it was either that, or Poweraid, and you can’t hear the spelling change that makes it funny.”

Sam chuckled softly and took a large bite of his breakfast. “Fine,” he said around the pancakes. He chewed for a few moments, swallowed, and then shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t decided what to do with the whole… blood thing.”

Dean pursed his lips, staring down at the floor in thought. “Do you think it’s a good idea to even try? They already threatened to kill you if you didn’t stop. You think they would kill Liam?”

Sam shook his head helplessly, his appetite quickly vanishing. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Dean, but… it’s not like we can trust what they’ve told us. Castiel wouldn’t say when Liam was going to be returned, and that’s assuming he was telling the truth about Liam being returned at all. Honestly, Liam could… I mean, until he writes back… for all we know, he could…” He put his fork down and ran a hand through his hair, moving the hand back to his face to rub his eyes. “He could already be dead.”

“You’ve gotta eat something, man.” Dean completely changed the subject, refused to even acknowledge the idea of Liam being dead. “You’ve lost, like, ten pounds in the last week.”

Sam heaved a sigh and grabbed his fork again, forcing another forkful of pancake into his mouth. “I know.” He chewed slowly and somehow managed to swallow. “You should look into that locked-room murder. Maybe if the angels see you getting antsy, they’ll give you something to do to keep you from… whatever it is they want to keep us from doing.”

Dean snorted and walked over to the table, grabbing his keys. “This is a friggin' mess,” he grumbled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll call you if I get anything.”

“Ditto.” Sam sighed, forcing in another mouthful of food if only because it would make Dean feel better. He chewed for a few moments, and then forced another swallow, grabbing his phone from beside his computer.

New Message Is it too late to ask you to be my teacher again?

Sam drummed his fingers on the tabletop and then grabbed his fork again, shoving in yet another mouthful of food while he waited. Maybe it should have sent up a red flag when Ruby replied immediately, but all he felt was a rush of relief.

Ruby I thought youd never ask.

Sam wished he could have said he hesitated.

Reply When do we start?

“Samandriel? Can you come here, please? I need you.”

Castiel responded to the call instead, landing in the greenroom with an immediate explanation. “Samandriel is on a mission. What do you need?”

Liam was sitting in bed, knees pulled up toward his chest and blanket bunched around him. He shrank in on himself, blue eyes somewhat watery, cheeks dusted a faint shade of red. “I’ll wait for Samandriel.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “You and I have been getting along lately. Why won't you cooperate now?”

“Sorry…” Liam squirmed, pulling the blanket up a little higher. “I just… don’t want to tell you.”

“Liam.” Castiel wet his lips and maintained the careful lid he had kept on his temper for the past few days. “If you still don’t like me all that much, that’s fine—” because Castiel wasn’t really sure how he felt about Liam, either, “—but I truly do want to help.”

Liam looked up at Castiel for a second and then dropped his gaze back down, the color in his cheeks getting a little darker. “You’ll be mad,” he whispered.

Castiel arched a brow and drawled out a less-than-enthused reply. “That’s never stopped you before.” Quite the opposite, Liam seemed to greatly enjoy driving Castiel to the brink of insanity. It was like some sort of game, trying to see how far Castiel could be pushed before Liam would have to back off or face consequences.

“Not that kinda mad.” Liam hugged himself and shook his head. “Real mad. Don’t-want-me-around mad.”

Castiel felt his fingers twitch, like his vessel was trying to do something to express his exasperation, but he had no idea what it was. That’s one thing to be thankful for, I suppose. He might have been in a more sensitive vessel, but he was still far from human.

Hopefully, that meant no more meltdowns in the forest.

Castiel let out a soft sigh. “Liam, just tell me what the problem is.”

Liam ducked his head and mumbled something that would have been indecipherable to human ears, but Castiel heard it clearly.

“I had an accident.”

Castiel was confused, to say the least. “Everything in this room automatically repairs itself.” Which Liam already knew, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t broken everything at least once. “Whatever you broke, it’s fine.”

Liam shook his head rapidly, fisting the comforter. “No, I—I had an accident.”

Castiel quirked a brow and took a few steps, looking around for any sign of damage. “Liam, I don’t under—” He crinkled his nose, catching a faint whiff of urine. It wasn’t difficult—he could smell a bladder infection from several feet away, after all—but it was odd. “Well, I certainly hope you didn’t urinate on the bed intentionally.”

“I didn’t! I promise I didn’t!” Liam choked back a sob and ducked his head, a little whine rising in his throat. “M’sorry, Castiel…”

“Its fine.” Castiel reached out to touch Liam’s head, but Liam flinched back. Castiel left his hand hovering midair. “I’m trying to clean you up.”

Liam scooted back some more, another little cry forming in his throat. “No, please! Don’t take my clothes.” He screwed his eyes shut, gripping his blanket with one hand and his shirt with the other. “Don’t take my clothes. I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry.”

Castiel frowned but closed the distance, lightly pressing his fingers to Liam’s forehead and cleaning the mess with a fraction of a thought. “There. Done. No need for clothing removal, no need to fuss.”

Castiel examined Liam’s face, taking in the sharp lines of fear and reddish hue of shame. He was still scrutinizing when those fragile, sky blue eyes opened up again.

Liam stared, cautious hope flickering through his eyes. “Castiel?”

Castiel was confused, but he kept his stare impassive. “Yes?”

Liam blinked a few times and sniffed. “You’re not… mad at me?”

Castiel’s expression slipped into a concerned curiosity. “As you said, it was an accident. You may be a little too old to justify the presence of a bladder control problem, but it isn’t as if you’re intentionally causing trouble.” He frowned, tilting his head to the side again. “Have people gotten angry with you for this in the past?”

Liam drew his knees up to his chin and nodded, lips together, eyes never leaving Castiel’s face. “Yeah.” He seemed almost… fascinated by Castiel’s lack of anger.

“Oh.” Castiel frowned slightly. “Punished?”

Liam nodded again, pressing his lips to his knees and continuing to stare.

“Oh.” Castiel nodded slowly, still frowning. Maybe it was another one of those human things he had yet to understand. It was apparent much had changed about the way children were reared since he was last on Earth.

Still, it seemed… wrong.

“So… are you gonna… are you gonna punish me?” Liam had searching eyes, genuinely questioning Castiel with a flickering fear of what the response might be. “Hit me? Or… or something?”

Castiel felt an uncomfortable sensation worming through his stomach. “No, Liam. That would be highly uncalled for.”

Liam nodded slightly, still watching Castiel with careful eyes. He opened his mouth, stopped, and then started again. “Castiel?”

Castiel inclined his head toward the pull on his Grace, hearing a distant call from Uriel. “Yes?” he asked, staying in the greenroom despite the summons.

Liam looked up at Castiel with eyes far too weary for his age. “When can I go home?”

Castiel’s brow creased with sympathy, but he couldn’t afford much in the way of sentiment. “I don’t know, Liam. But I am hopeful it will be soon.” He paused briefly, thinking back to his conversation with Sam several nights earlier. “Liam, you… know this isn’t your fault, right?”

Liam blinked at Castiel in confusion. He sniffed, clearing his nose of the drainage left over from his tears, and he seemed lost for words for a few moments. “Then… why is it happening to me?”

For the first time in a long time, Castiel didn’t feel guilt or confusion or any kind of anger regarding the young human the Winchesters had taken such a liking to. Only sadness. Castiel felt a weight coming down on his shoulders, a kind of profound grief beating on his vessel like angry waves on a shoreline.

“Liam… we don’t always cause the things that happen to us.” Castiel lowered his voice and softened it slightly. “Sometimes bad things happen simply because the world is a bad place… or because other people have chosen to make bad decisions… or because a Higher Power is at work.”

Liam wiped his cheeks and scrunched his face up for moment, his expression twisting and shifting as he fought to comprehend. “I think I understand.”

But Castiel could sense that he didn’t; he just wanted to avoid Castiel's ire. “Liam…”

Liam looked up with a combination of fear and frustration on his face. He didn’t understand what Castiel was saying any more than Castiel understood Liam's behavior, but he was afraid of questioning; afraid of being that different breed of bothersome he had talked about.

Castiel shoved aside Uriel’s call yet again, sending out a busy signal of sorts as he knelt down beside the bed. “I am going to tell you a story, and I want you to listen carefully.”

Liam scooted a little closer to the edge of the bed and crisscrossed his legs, looking at Castiel and waiting.

“It’s a story about a man named Job.” Castiel wet his lips, trying to think of a way to tell the tale so a child could understand, and then he continued. “Job was a righteous man—a good man—and he had many good things in his life. But Satan, a fallen angel, questioned Job’s faithfulness. He said Job was only faithful to God because God had given him so many good things.”

Liam tilted his head, looking perplexed, but he didn’t get that vacant look in his eyes that humans usually got when they stopped paying attention. He was, at the very least, trying to understand.

“God gave Satan permission to take all the good things away. He gave Satan permission to hurt Job in a lot of ways… and Job suffered very much.” Castiel paused, resting his hands in his lap. “Job had three friends, and they said Job must have done something to deserve his suffering.”

Liam’s lips twisted up, like he didn’t like the sound of what was being said, which made Castiel smile a little. It reminded him of Dean, in a way; no grace for himself but endless grace for others.

“Someone else spoke up after them. His name was Elihu.” Castiel tilted his head slightly, maintaining eye contact. “He was young, and because of that, he was afraid to speak. ‘But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that makes him understand. It is not the old who are wise, nor the aged who understand what is right.’ He rebuked… ah, yelled at the three friends, and he speculated a little, and then… God spoke.”

Liam scooted a little closer, leaning forward and putting his chin in his hands. “What did God say?”

“God said, ‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the Earth?’” Castiel gave the question a moment to sink in, watching Liam’s features for the moment the words were processed. “You see, God wanted Job to realize that Job was not God. Sometimes, God does things, and we don’t get to know why.” Castiel wet his lips, reaching out and touching Liam’s jawline to fully draw his attention. “God never told Job why the bad things happened, but God did tell him it wasn’t his fault. God then made the three friends offer sacrifices to atone for what they had said. It made God angry when they said Job was at fault.”

Liam’s face scrunched up, and he still seemed unhappy with the story. “But why did God let the bad things happen in the first place?”

Castiel shook his head. “That isn’t the point of the story, Liam.” He smiled softly. “Elihu was right when he said spiritual understanding is what makes one wise. It doesn’t matter that you’re young. I’ve given you spiritual understanding.”

Liam blinked, and he was clearly confused. “I don’t understand the spiritual understanding.” He bit his lip, a fearful glimmer lighting his eyes. “I… can you tell me… the point of the story? I promise I listened, but I—”

“Shh, I know. I know you did.” Castiel lowered his hands to the mattress, resting his arms on either side of Liam. “Liam, the point of the story is… you don’t always get to find out why the bad things happen, but that doesn’t make it your fault. Sometimes, you have to take a deep breath and understand… that you aren’t going to understand, and that’s okay. You don’t have to know the answers. Focus on what you know, and have faith that the rest will turn out alright.”

Liam wet his lips and looked down at his lap. “Focus on what I know…”

Castiel nodded his head. “For example, you know Sam and Dean love you very much.”

Liam nodded his head. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

Castiel gestured over his shoulder to the bare wall where the door once was. “You know Samandriel and I are just one shout away. You know I’m here to keep you safe, even if you don’t like how I’m doing it.”

Liam nodded again, sniffing. “Yeah… I know that…”

Castiel moved his hand to Liam’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “Focus on that, and have faith. It doesn’t matter how you got here, or why, it only matters that you are not alone here, and you will go home. You will, Liam. I swear on my Grace.” He offered the faintest of smiles and nudged Liam’s cheek. “And don’t let anyone, even yourself, tell you this is your fault. Or I shall make you slaughter and burn seven bulls and seven rams to atone for your words.”

“What?” Liam looked at Castiel in confusion, but he quickly realized it was a joke and laughed. “That’s so weird!”

Castiel conceded with a small smile. “It’s a bit outdated, yes.”

Liam laughed a little more, and then his eyes grew curious once more. “Castiel? Did Job have faith after God talked to him?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, he did.”

Liam pursed his lips. “What happened?”

Castiel offered another small smile. “God restored all that Job had lost, and it was better and more plentiful than it had ever been before.”

Liam nodded his head and looked down at his lap thoughtfully. “I understand the story, but…” He shook his head and looked back up at Castiel. “There has to be a reason for this. Why would I be here if I didn’t do something wrong?”

“That’s the faith part, Liam.” He gave Liam’s shoulder another squeeze. “I need you to trust me when I say the reason is not for you to know but also not your fault.” Castiel heard Uriel calling for him again, the signal getting brighter and louder, and he let out a soft sigh. “I have to go, Liam. It’s urgent. Samandriel will be around to check on you tonight.” Castiel smiled lightly. “Be good for me, Liam.”

Liam considered him a moment, and then he nodded.

Castiel disappeared, his vessel overcome with a desire to know more. Something about Liam’s way of thinking was unsettling, contradictory to the abrasive attitude he displayed, and just… just not right. Not… something.

And Castiel was going to find out what.

Dean stared down at the blank paper in front of him, eyes glassy with something other than alcohol for the first time in days. He held a pen in his hands, holding it at each end and idly rolling it between his fingertips. He took a deep breath and switched to a one-handed hold, pressing the tip of the pen to the page.

Hey Lee,

…and he stared. He stared, and he wondered, and he racked his brain… and then he stared some more. He didn’t know what to write. He didn’t know what to say.

Sorry you’ve been kidnapped by the angel that hauled me out of Hell? Sorry our life dragged you into this horrible mess you never asked for? Sorry that everything sucks and it’s all my fault?

Dean glanced to the right and saw Sam’s letter, already in a sealed envelope, waiting for Castiel to pick it up in the middle of the night while they slept. Sam had written Liam every single day since Castiel agreed to carry the letters.

Dean hadn’t written once.

So… life kinda sucks right now, I guess. Things are kinda sucky here, too, so you’re not missing much. Sam and I miss you.

We miss you like crazy, little guy.

Did the Halo Patrol give you a TV? If not, you should ask for one. I could suggest some shows and movies… I’ll even make them semi-educational, so it’ll count as schooling. Except Scooby-Doo. Scooby-Doo is always okay to watch, educational or not.

Dean heaved a sigh and wiped his eyes, refusing to even silently acknowledge the moisture on his fingers.

I miss teaching you things. I miss spending time with you. And I’m not saying that to make you sad, okay? I just wanted to remind you… Sammy and I aren’t looking for you because we feel like we have to… we’re looking for you because we want you to be here with us again. We like spending time with you. We like having you in our family.

We love you.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the letter for a few moments, heaving a sigh. He wiped his face again and shook his head, trying to finish the sorry excuse for a letter with an explanation as to why it was such a sorry excuse for a letter.

I’m not good at stuff like this, Lee. I don’t use words to tell people things. You know, I do stuff. So… even though I’m not writing as much as Sam… and even though my letters aren’t as nice as Sam’s… just know that I’m down here doing everything I can to find you. I’m even reading books, Lee!

Dean allowed a smile to pull at the corner of his mouth, and he hoped the line would make Liam smile a little, too.

You hang in there, kid. You’ll be back home before you know it.

 

Love,

Dean

Dean folded up the letter and stuck it in an envelope, scrawling Liam’s name over the front and setting it next to Sam’s on the tiny motel table. He looked at the two notes for a moment, and then he heaved a sigh, grabbing a new piece of paper and writing a new note.

Going to the library to research. Call me when you wake up.

-Dean

Dean grabbed his jacket and threw it over one shoulder, snatching his car keys from the table and leaving the motel room behind. How could he sleep when he just got done telling Liam about all he was doing to bring the kid home? He couldn’t.

Besides, who needed sleep?

Not Dean Winchester, that’s for sure.

Hours later, Castiel carried the letters into Liam’s room. He underlined three words on the letter from Dean, let Liam read it, and then gave Liam a meaningful look as he took the paper back and slipped it into his pocket. Liam nodded understandingly.

“…Sammy and I aren’t looking for you because…”

“…we’re looking for you because we…”

“…down here doing everything I can…”

Neither Liam nor Castiel said anything about the use of present-tense words, and then it was sealed away in Castiel’s pocket. No one else needed to know what Dean wrote on that paper.

It would be their little secret.

“So, you said you had some questions about Liam?”

Castiel glanced down at the coffee he had been offered. He didn’t really have any desire to drink it, but he got the idea he was supposed to. Some sort of societal construct; an obligation all humans abided by. Castiel was pretending to be human, so drink their coffee he would.

“I need to know more about how Liam came to be… displaced.” Castiel sipped his drink—he suspected it was more appealing when one couldn’t taste each individual molecule—and set the cup back down. “What can you tell me, Mrs. Bailey?”

Lisa Bailey let out a sigh and sank into the chair across from him, staring down at her own coffee with tired, bloodshot eyes. “I have no idea what you’re looking for.” She ran a hand through her tangled, blonde hair, hot pink fingernails catching on the knots. “Don’t you have files for this kind of thing?”

“I’d like to hear it from the mouth of the horse.” Castiel was pretty sure humans said that. “How did Liam come to be… not here at home?”

“How is this going to help you find where he is now?” Lisa questioned, her face twisting up with confusion. “You one of those profilers, like they have on TV?”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Something like that, yes.” He had no idea what she was talking about. “Mrs. Bailey, your son exhibits… troubling behavior. I simply want to understand where it’s coming from.” He then remembered he was supposed to act like Liam was missing. "If we know why he does what he does, we might be able to figure out where he went when he ran off." There. That was a good lie.

Lisa let out a sigh and massaged her forehead. “Yeah, well… troubling is one word for his behavior. I could think of a few more." She rested her chin in her hand, dark circles painted under her eyes. “I don’t know why Liam was the way he was, alright? I don’t know where he came up with the stuff he said.” She shook her head and sipped her coffee. “I did the best I could, okay? Some kids are just difficult. Liam was one of them.”

She's referring to him in the past tense. Castiel tilted his head curiously, unsure what to make of the linguistic tell. “But you have no idea why Liam behaves the way he does?”

Lisa put her cup down hard. “Look. Mr. Novak, was it? I just got off work, and I’m exhausted. I have to work three jobs to make ends meet, so cut to the chase or get out of my house.” Lisa took another drink of coffee, hands trembling slightly.

Castiel gave her an even stare, setting his coffee on a stack of papers that probably meant something to humanity. “I came here to get answers, Mrs. Bailey. I am trying to figure out your son in the hopes I might be able to find him, and that requires your cooperation. That is my chase.”

Lisa dragged her hands through her hair again and let out a sigh. “Okay. Fine.” She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You want to know what happened? Liam had an over-active imagination, that’s what happened.” She spread her arms slightly, incredulous. “I never beat him, I never neglected him, and Brian definitely never raped him.”

Castiel’s brain stopped for a moment. Rape? Castiel hadn’t even considered that. Where did that come from? Surely, Liam would have mentioned something so significant.

But Lisa just kept going, apparently unaware of the weight behind her words. “So, now, Brian’s in jail, and I have to work three jobs, all because a jury decided a nine-year-old boy had enough maturity to understand the claims he was making.”

Castiel couldn’t have cared less about the jury, whatever that was. He was pretty sure it was a judge of some kind, but it was ultimately irrelevant. Humanity’s justice system meant nothing to him. What meant something to him was whether or not Liam had been telling the truth when he made his accusations.

She said he has an overactive imagination. “Mrs. Bailey, do you mean to tell me your husband is in jail for crimes he didn’t commit?” Castiel stared, unblinking. “Mr. Bailey never touched Liam sexually?”

Lisa scoffed, tossing her messy hair over her shoulder. “Well, he touched him, but that’s not rape. Brian was just screwing around. Sometimes it got a little rough, but it's not like he ever hurt Liam. Not really.” She spread her hands, volume and gestures escalating the longer she spoke. “I was just trying to be a good mom, okay? I was taking my son to the doctor, and all of a sudden they’re taking Liam away and locking Brian up because of some tiny little tears that would have healed all on their own, forcing me to work three jobs just to stay off the streets.”

So, Liam wasn’t raped. But it didn’t sit right with Castiel. Obviously, as far as the father went, being sexually attracted to a child was disgusting no matter how it manifested, but as far as Liam went… could he really have been so terribly affected by a few touches? Most likely, Liam hadn’t even realized the actions were inappropriate, too young to understand what was happening.

Castiel kept his expression and tone impassive, keeping his thoughts to himself as he continued to press Lisa for information. “So, your husband did, in fact, touch your son sexually. And there was physical damage observed by a physician.”

Lisa groaned in frustration, throwing her hands up. “I told you, Brian didn’t hurt Liam, okay? We were at the hospital for his broken arm.”

Castiel tilted his head, his movement imperceptibly slight. “And how did Liam come to have a broken arm, Mrs. Bailey?”

Lisa heaved a sigh and put her head in her hands, like she had answered that question a thousand times before. Which she very well may have, depending on the way humans conducted investigations.

Not that Castiel cared.

“He was riding his bike, and he fell.” Lisa finished off her coffee, hands still shaking. “I was being a good mom, and this is what I got for it. But hey,” she laughed bitterly, “that’s the system for you.”

Castiel bristled, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly. “Were you being a ‘good mom’ when you allowed your husband to use your son for sexual pleasure?”

Lisa drummed her fingernails on the table—pink with odd gems on the tips; some human decoration that was hopefully unimportant—and reached out to grab the coffee pot from the bar. “Why does it even matter? I mean, seriously, who came up with that rule? As long as nobody gets hurt—”

“And you truly believe Liam wasn’t hurt by what his father did to him?” Castiel wasn’t entirely sure he understood how Liam was hurt, either, but he sensed something wrong, and years on the battlefield had taught him to trust his instincts.

Lisa gripped her hair. “Liam was fine. He wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t crying—half the time, he went looking for it.” She scratched the back of her head, shifting in her chair. “Bouncing out from the bathroom in his underwear saying, ‘Come play with me, Daddy!’ That was all Liam. Okay? Not Brian.”

Castiel pulled back slightly, features slightly creased, torn between appalled and confused.

“And even if it had been Brian, that’s a part of life.” Lisa took a large swig of her second coffee and barely swallowed before she was speaking again. “My dad did the same thing to me, and I turned out just fine.”

Castiel almost asked her how long she had been taking the methamphetamines he could smell on her—almost pointed out that people who were 'fine' did not, in fact, let small children be used for any kind of sexual entertainment—but he didn't.

“Liam just made a big deal out of it. He made a big deal out of everything. He was just… difficult.” Lisa scoffed and downed another mouthful. “Everyone said having kids would be hard, and I expected the backtalk and the fighting and crap, but it’s just like this… constant weight. You always have to know where they are and what they’re doing. They’re always making messes, making noise, breaking things… they want help with homework, they want to go visit friends, they want you to drive them all over the freakin’ planet… ugh, and wetting the bed. Liam did that all the time.”

Castiel felt something inside him—something deep and hot and almost primal—flicker to life at those words. It started in his chest somewhere, but also in the core of his Grace, and then it started to spread through his vessel.

“And kids are never satisfied. I want this, and I want that, and no matter how much you give them, they always want more. More toys, more snacks, more you. Liam, he would follow me around, getting in the way, like he didn’t have anything better to do. Mommy, play with me. Mommy, let's watch a movie. Just on and on and on." Lisa took another swig of coffee and rolled her eyes. "Then there’s the nightmares. Like, do you really think I have time for that? I need sleep, too.”

Castiel swallowed, confused by the heat and pressure he felt building on the inside of his body. He didn’t understand why he was shaking or why his vessel’s vision was starting to blur. It was like one of those ‘out-of-body experiences’ humans talked about.

“Not that I get any sleep now. I have to work three jobs just to make ends meet.”

“I don’t particularly care how many jobs you work, Mrs. Bailey.” Castiel got to his feet and stepped away from the table, pausing long enough to give her a hard look. “I’ll be back with more questions.” He started for the door, still pretending to be human, but as soon as he was out of her sight, he disappeared.

Dean let the door swing shut behind him, immediately grabbing for it as he remembered he wasn’t supposed to make noise. He was too late, and it slammed, drawing a groan from the lump on the bed.

“Sorry,” Dean whispered, creeping toward the bed with a bag from the local supermarket. “I got some Excedrin and… I honestly don’t know, it’s some kind of gel? You put it on your temples, it’s supposed to help.”

Sam peered up from the blankets, eyes bleary and unfocused. He screwed them shut and let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know if I can keep the pills down.” He reached a hand out blindly. “I’ll try the other stuff…”

“Okay.” Dean pulled the… Mineral Ice out of the bag and twisted off the lid, holding the tub out for Sam. “Give it a shot. I also got an ice pack, so once they fix the ice machine, or once we move on to a motel with one that works, you’ll have that, too.”

Sam smeared the translucent, blue gel over his temples and then started to put it across his forehead, too. “Can I just put it all over my face like one of those cucumber masks?” he rasped, flashing a weak smile. “Thanks, Dean. It helps.”

Dean twisted the lid back on and set the container on the nightstand, tossing the shopping bag on the floor out of the way. “Yeah, sure.” He walked over to the second bed and sat down, watching Sam in silence for a few moments, just thinking.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Sam drinking demon blood, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of having an advantage in the fight that kept on beating them down and taking from them. Besides, Sam was a grown man who would do what he wanted, and if he was going to do it, at least compliance—or apparent compliance—would give Dean the control of knowing when and where and how.

It was also, apparently, very painful for Sam to work his way back up to where he had been before he stopped. Or maybe it wasn’t supposed to be, but Sam was pushing himself so hard that it wound up being that way. Regardless, Dean was happy to be able to help Sam again; happy to embrace the nostalgic return to simpler times.

“Dean…”

Dean sniffed and scratched at his nose. “Yeah?”

“I, uh… I just want to apologize in advance. I… I get pretty hotheaded and mean when I’m on this stuff. That’s… why I stopped, I didn’t want to be snapping at Liam or losing my temper with him.” Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly, deeply, painfully. “I just… want you to be ready to not like who I am when I’m all juiced up.” He huffed out a weak laugh. “I know I don’t.”

For a moment, Dean thought about making a comment to the effect of, ‘yet another reason this is possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had,’ but he pressed his lips together instead. He mulled it over for a second and then cleared his throat. “Thanks for the heads up. But, uh, I’ve seen you at the height of puberty, so I’m not really concerned.”

Sam huffed out another laugh and then let out a sigh, falling silent.

Dean didn’t say anything, either, letting the quiet consume the room. He sat and stared at the floor, just trying to shut the real world out for a moment.

And for that moment, Sam only had a cold, and Dean was taking care of him, and when Sam was better, they would hop in the Impala and drive off to the next hunt, looking for their Dad or maybe some psychic kids. No Apocalypse. No seals. No angels. No nightmares, no trauma, no kidnapping, no backstabbing.

Just them and how they used to be.

Dean inhaled and slowly got to his feet, walking back toward the door with a sigh. “Rest up, Sammy. I’m gonna check out those magician deaths. Text me if you need anything.”

“Be careful…” Sam muttered the word incoherently, already falling back to sleep; or perhaps a more accurate term was ‘passing out.’

Dean almost replied, but there really wasn’t any point, given how out of it Sam was. Instead, he let out a sigh and left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Just another day in paradise.

“Samandriel, I wanna go outside!” Liam bounced on his toes, looking up at the angel with wide, imploring eyes and a wobbly bottom lip that usually got him what he wanted. “Please? Please, please, please?”

Samandriel bit his lip and looked toward the far wall. Liam had noticed that, whenever angels responded to the topic of leaving by looking at a wall, it was always the same one. It was also the only wall that didn’t have any furniture against it except for a small bookshelf off to the side.

However they were hiding it, Liam was sure there was a door there.

“I don’t know, Liam… it’s not really safe out there.”

Liam pouted a little more. “Not safe? But it’s outside! We can go play in the grass somewhere, or maybe climb a tree, or maybe find a cave and explore!” He broke into a wide smile, bouncing again and grabbing the hem of Samandriel’s shirt. “You’ll be right there with me, right? I’ll be safe!”

Samandriel chewed his lip a little more, looking between Liam and the door-not-door some more.

“I got my coat in case it’s cold, and I got my shoes on. Please? We don’t have to go far. We can go somewhere really close by!”

“Well…” Samandriel looked at Liam with a small smile, his eyes telling Liam he had already surrendered. “There is a park nearby… I suppose we could—”

“A park?” Liam asked excitedly. “What kind of park? Is it big? Can we go?”

Samandriel laughed softly and picked Liam up, putting the boy on his hip. “Yes, we can go. But we might not be able to stay long. You won’t fuss when we have to leave, will you?”

Liam shook his head emphatically. “No way! I just wanna go outside a little. I miss it.” To ensure victory, Liam gave another look of sadness, his bottom lip sticking out slightly as his eyes dropped down to his stomach.

“I know, Liam. I’m sorry.” Samandriel scooted Liam a little higher on his hip, and then the world shifted around them.

Tan walls, marble floors, and golden trim faded away into blue skies and green trees.

Liam startled a little at the cold, but he wasn’t about to ask to go back. He wriggled around instead, extending his toes toward the ground. “Ooh, let me down! Let me down!”

Samandriel smiled and did as Liam requested, but then he took him by the shoulders and gave him a serious look. “Liam, you cannot run off. Do you understand? Stay where I can see you.”

Liam nodded seriously, pulling his flannel a little tighter around himself. “Okay.” He wanted Samandriel to trust him, and he wanted to stay out of the room as long as possible, so he sold it a little more. He reached out with cautious eyes and a quiet, “Hold my hand? So I don’t get lost?”

Samandriel complied with a smile. “Of course.”

Liam grinned and started down one of the available paths at random, pulling Samandiel along beside him. “It’s cold… but not as cold as I thought. What month is it?”

“It’s December. Does that mean something to you?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah. It’s normally colder by now.” Meaning they were either south or west or both; meaning Bobby’s house was a long way away. “I guess we’re gonna have an easy winter.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Samandriel smiled down at Liam, only occasionally glancing at the road ahead to make sure there was nothing in their way. “I don’t know much about weather. We don’t really have weather in Heaven. What’s it like, Liam?”

Liam squeezed Samandriel’s hand excitedly. “Weather is so cool! It’s different all over the world, all the time, always, and it’s the most powerful thing on the planet. Just a little bit of ice can send whole planes crashing out of the sky, and earthquakes make buildings wiggle like Jell-O. When you get close to the equator, it gets hotter, and then on the other side, the seasons flip.” Liam didn’t realize how much his hands were moving until he almost caused Samandriel to smack himself in the stomach. “Oops.”

Samandriel laughed and waved it off with his free hand. “You’re excited. Keep going.”

“Sorry.” Liam bit his lip for a second, but then the appeal of weather talk was too overpowering to ignore. “Well, um, on the top half of the world, we have winter in December, January, and February, but on the bottom half, they have summer during those months. Then, the farther away you get from the equator, the colder it gets, until you get to the north and south poles, where it’s freezing cold all the time, and the days and nights last for weeks!”

Samandriel smiled widely, giving Liam his genuine and complete attention in a way that made Liam’s heart soar. “So, it changes depending on where you are and what time of the year it is?”

“Uh-huh! But it’s not just north and south. Things like mountains, oceans, lakes, and valleys can change it, too. There’s a place called Tornado Alley out in the…” Liam stopped and looked around. “Well… it’s in the middle of the country… so…” He trailed off, waiting to see if Samandriel would offer anything helpful.

“That would be…” Samandriel pointed, “…to the east.”

So, they were definitely out west, far enough south for it to be warmer than a winter in Maryland. Granted, Liam didn’t know exactly what that meant, but if he could get in touch with Sam and Dean, he could tell them, and they would be able to use the information to find him.

Hopefully.

“Got it! So, out east, there’s a place called Tornado Alley, and they have lots of tornadoes there, because it’s so flat, so there’s nothing to break up the wind except other wind, and the currents run into each other and start swirling and bam! Tornado.”

Samandriel’s eyes opened wide, his expression painted with shock. “Wow! That sounds exciting. I think I would like to see a tornado sometime.”

“Will you take me with if you do?” Liam asked, tugging on Samandriel’s arm.

Samandriel nodded. “I can do that.” He paused briefly, looked around them at the thinning foliage, and then he looked down at Liam again. “You seem really interested in the weather.”

“I love learning about the weather.” Liam idly kicked at a rock as he passed it. “Shows about weather are my favorite kind to watch.”

“I didn’t know that about you.” Samandriel spoke softly, and Liam got the idea he was digging for something.

Which, to be fair, Liam had been doing that to Samandriel all day, so…

“I haven’t told anyone about it in a long time, so…” Liam shrugged his shoulders. “That’s probably why.”

“Not even Dean and… Sam?”

Liam immediately grew suspicious at the mention of his caretakers, but he simply shook his head and answered. “No… I think if I told Sorzie, he would buy me books about weather and stuff, and… they don’t talk about it, but I know there’s not a lot of extra money to spend, and I know it’s a hassle to drive things around with us.” His face twisted up in confusion. “Did you forget Sam’s name?”

Samandriel laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “You’re really the only person I talk to about Sam, so I’ve started calling him Sorzie in my head, and… I just forgot for a second. But I remembered!”

Liam giggled, his earlier fear alleviated by Samandriel’s naturally friendly nature.

Samandriel smiled down at him. “You know… there’s plenty of space in your room. It’s not like Baby. You could get some books and keep them there.”

Liam wet his lips and considered the proposal for a moment. But I don’t want to stay in that room… and I won’t be able to take them with me when I go.

But Liam simply smiled and nodded. “I’d like that, Samandriel.”

Samandriel opened his mouth to speak, but Liam caught a glimpse of water and perked up.

“Is that a river?” Liam almost let go of Samandriel’s hand in his haste to rush forward, getting up on his tiptoes to peer over the bushes. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Samandriel laughed, jogging along until they came to a stop at the edge of the water. “This is the Los Angeles River.”

Inwardly, Liam’s heart jumped. Los Angeles. I know where that is. As long as Samandriel really had taken him somewhere close to the room they locked him in, then Liam had a bit of an idea where he was being kept.

Outwardly, Liam made a face at the water and tilted his head. “It looks kinda dirty. That’s probably because it’s in the city.” But then he smiled again. “I still like it, though.” He threw his arms around Samandriel’s waist and nuzzled his stomach. “Thanks, Samandriel! You’re the best.”

“Oh!” Samandriel returned the hug, surprised. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome, Liam. You’re pretty great yourself.”

Just a little longer. Just a little longer, and then I can go home.

“Are you busy?”

Sam almost jumped out of his skin, one hand flying to his heart while the other reached for his knife. He saw Castiel standing there, meaning the demon blade was useless, and the angel blade was too far away. And even if it wasn’t, the sudden movement had sent Sam’s still-throbbing brain into a spin.

“Uh, that depends.” Sam cleared his throat, the familiar claws of worry starting their way up from the pit of his stomach. “What do you need? Is it about Liam?”

Castiel nodded once, his face more expressive than Sam had ever seen. Confusion mostly, eyes swimming with questions, brow creased, lips twitching and pursing in quick, scattered movements.

It all made Sam even more nervous, and he got up from the kitchen chair with a calculated hesitance. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Castiel tilted his head and let his gaze wander downward and to the right, focusing his stare as if he thought the answer to his yet-to-be-asked question might be hidden in the carpet stains. “I… spoke with Lisa Bailey.”

Sam blinked, his worry shifting into something near panic. “You—you went to see his mom? Why?”

Castiel looked at Sam and inhaled, but then he stopped. He considered his words a moment and then started again, eyes bewildered and almost… cautious.

“Castiel, what happened?” Sam spread his arms, frustration winding hot coils through his insides. “Why are you here? What did you do? What did—”

“I spoke with her, because I’m trying to understand. I don’t—” Castiel stopped, tilted his head again, and then heaved a sigh. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being without answers, and he didn’t like being in the vulnerable position.

Too bad. Sam couldn’t have cared less. In fact, it made him feel a little giddy to see the angel in such a predicament.

“I don’t understand Liam.” Castiel looked up at Sam then, meeting his eyes with sincerity. “But I would like to. I am… trying to.”

Sam massaged his temple, trying to ignore the steady throb of the migraine struggling to come back. “You…” He sighed and gestured to the chair across from his. “I guess it’s good that you’re trying.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but he did sit in the offered chair, even if it took a few moments.

Sam closed his laptop and pushed it aside, leaning on the table. “What, uh… what don’t you understand about him?”

“He…” Castiel struggled with his words for a moment, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, Sam would have found it funny. “I don’t understand why he fights with me every chance he gets but doesn’t want to make me angry. I don’t understand why he’s unapologetically rebellious yet apologizes for things no child should think to apologize for.” He opened his mouth to continued speaking, but then he just shook his head and turned his eyes downward, shouldres still squared. He was lost in thought, trying to answer his own question again, his face wrinkled with the evidence of intense thought.

“Well, I obviously can’t give you a reason for every single incident, but… a lot of Liam’s behavior is shaped by the abuse he’s suffered.” Sam rubbed his forehead and opened his mouth to continue, but Castiel cut him off.

“Yes, you mentioned that before. I don’t understand. What is abuse of children?”

Sam wagged his finger a few times, flashing Castiel a bitter smile. “Right. You wouldn’t know that.” He drummed his fingers on the table twice and then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “There are a lot of definitions of abuse, and it has grown exponentially in the last few decades. Uh, the first landmark case in child abuse was in the 1870s, but it was almost a hundred years before people really started taking an interest.” He let out another sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll try to stick to the stuff relating to Liam, to keep it simple.”

Castiel sat in silence and waited patiently for Sam to tell him more, seeming thoroughly enraptured.

“Uh, examples of abuse in Liam’s case… well, you’ve seen how small he is. He wasn’t getting nearly enough food, which is classified as neglect. He showed up at school with suspicious bruises, and he was actually at the hospital for a spiral fracture when they found evidence of sexual abuse.”

Castiel perked up at that. “Mrs. Bailey mentioned taking him to the hospital for his broken arm. She said he fell off his bike, I believe.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, well… a spiral fracture is caused by immense force and a twisting motion. Like when you grab someone’s arm and twist it up behind their back. You don’t get it from falling off a bike.”

Castiel thought about that for a moment and then nodded his head. “I see. So, she was likely the inflictor of that injury? Or was it his father?”

“They believe it was her, and after reading the files, I agree with their assessment.”

Castiel nodded to indicate he understood, and then he tilted his head. “I…” His brow scrunched thoughtfully. “Mrs. Bailey said her husband… touched Liam sexually.” He wet his lips, squinting at the table top. “She said something, and… I find myself agreeing with it, yet…” His expression twisting in something like disgust, and he shifted in his seat. “It wasn’t right. I could feel that it wasn’t.”

That’s encouraging, I guess. Sam leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “What did she say?”

Castiel wet his lips. “She said Liam frequently instigated the… activity… and that he wasn’t hurt by it.”

Sam clenched his jaw for all of two seconds before regaining his composure. It won’t help. He cleared his throat. “What do you think of that?”

“I think… physically, she may be right, but… there is something in humans, something…” Castiel stuttered to a stop, buffering like an internet video for three seconds before picking up where he left off. “I don’t know. Humans have something in them—maybe it’s your souls, I don’t know—and it seems to me that damage can be done to that… something.”

Sam pursed his lips slightly. There are worse answers. Still, he had to take a moment to fend off the helpless frustration of explaining his own child to someone else so they could try and do a good job caring for him. Sam wanted to grab Castiel by the jacket and scream in his face. Just give him back to me!

Sam inhaled softly and tucked his hair behind his ear. “If you have a six-month-old baby, a three-year-old child, and a six-year-old child in a house… and the dad beats the mom but never touches the children… who do you think would be most affected by the trauma?”

Castiel blinked in surprise and considered the question for a little while in silence. “My initial thought is that it would be the eldest, as they would be able to remember and understand more than the younger two. But the nature of your question tells me that’s not right.”

Sam’s lips pulled up into something resembling a smile and he nodded. “It would be the baby.” He paused, trying to think of a way to line up the information quickly and concisely without missing anything important. “Humans develop more in the first year of life and during adolescence than any other time. During that first year, what the brain is exposed to is hugely important. In an abusive environment, even without physical harm or even harsh words directed at the baby, there’s the stress and yelling and fear and confusion, and all of it keeps the baby’s brain from developing properly.”

Castiel leaned forward, listening intently, eyes wide and focused.

Sam started to gesture as he talked, and he was surprised by his own ability to be animated when he was so tired and in pain. “Being abused or being in an abusive environment at an early age causes the brain to get wired in a lot of bad ways, and it’s very hard to rewire those faulty connections later in life.”

Castiel stared at Sam like Sam was the knower of all things child-related  

Sam cleared his throat. “What we’ve been finding out—we humans—is that the brain reacts to trauma in a lot of ways we never realized. For example, children who witness abuse are more likely to have mental health problems than children who are actually abused. We’ve learned that physical touch actually stimulates the brain and enables it to develop, so children who aren’t hugged and held a lot can suffer intellectually, emotionally, and even physically.”

Castiel seemed captivated by the information in a way that simultaneously encouraged Sam and made him want to choke the angel to death. It was great that Castiel was so invested in learning about the way a child’s brain worked, but why couldn’t he just give Liam back?

“So, uh, you asked about what happened to Liam.” Sam wet his lips and tried not to think about what Mrs. Bailey had said. “Physically, there wasn’t a lot of damage. But mentally, the damage is…” He blew his bangs out of his eyes. “Okay, have you learned that he wets the bed?”

Castiel nodded. “He’s done it a few times. It’s one of the things he apologizes for that I don’t understand.”

Well, at least Castiel’s not yelling at him for it. Sam tried to focus on those positive points. “That’s a symptom of sexual abuse. Uh, headaches and stomachaches that have no external cause; they’re called somatic symptoms. He probably refuses to eat or stops eating halfway through a meal for no reason. Right?”

Castiel nodded his head. “It’s happened a few times.”

Sam nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Uh, let’s see… his nightmares, or the way he can’t sleep all the way through the night even without bad dreams, or the way he sometimes gets anxiety for no reason. Those are all symptoms of sexual abuse.” Sam paused. “Have you ever played a game with him?”

Castiel shook his head once.

“Well, if you do, and it looks like he’s going to lose, he’ll cheat, and you need to let him. He’s pushing back against the feeling of helplessness that comes with losing, that sensation of what happens to you being out of your hands…” Sam started to rail off when he saw Castiel grow progressively more confused. “What?”

“What you just said. That… is the part I don’t understand.” Castiel frowned, his head tilting one way and then the other. “He wasn’t helpless. He asked for it—demanded it, from what I heard.”

Sam shook his head, swallowing the surge of anger in his chest and focusing on helping Castiel reach the right understanding. “What if everything I just told you wasn’t true?”

Castiel blinked. “What?”

“You came to me for advice, because you know I’m knowledgeable on this topic. You're trusting me to steer you right. But I could tell you whatever I want, true or not, and you wouldn't know the difference.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I can indirectly control what you do, and I could trick you into doing something wrong, or humiliating, or dangerous.” He pointed to Castiel, very nearly poking him in the chest. “And you’re a celestial being, not a little boy. How much easier would it be to manipulate Liam if he came to me for help? Or you? Or his father, who he’s supposed to be able to trust above everyone else?”

Castiel leaned back and frowned, seeming uneasy. He clearly hadn’t thought of it that way, but he wasn’t fighting back against the way of thinking. He seemed to be absorbing and understanding it.

“I get why his behavior confuses you. But think of how confused he is.” Sam cleared his throat softly and gesticulated some more. “You know, we tell kids to respect authority and not talk bad about adults, but sometimes adults in positions of authority cause them unbelievable pain. We tell kids to trust family instead of strangers, and then strangers take kids away from their families to keep them safe. One adult tells a kid to be honest while another adult tells them if they’ll be punished for their honesty. They don’t know right from wrong or safe from unsafe, because the people who are supposed to teach them that are sending them a million mixed signals.” Sam slowly shook his head, chest aching at the thought of everything still going on in Liam’s brain outside of the supernatural circumstances. “They get confused, and they get scared, and they scream and break things and say they hate you, because they do hate you, because nothing you or anybody else says makes any sense. They’re expected to just… know… how to act and what to believe and think and feel, when their life has been one contradiction after another.”

Castiel looked down at his lap, intensely thoughtful, fingers fidgeting with each other. Sam briefly wondered if Castiel realized how much his emotions were seeping into his vessel’s behavior. He had never displayed much body language before, but the crease in his brow, the pucker of his lips, the shifting of his weight, the worry in his eyes—it was all so telling, so vulnerable, so human.

“Just… try to remember, when you don’t understand why Liam is doing something, it’s because Liam doesn’t understand why he’s doing something. He’s confused and scared, and he doesn’t know who to trust, and he’s just trying to survive. That’s all any kid in his situation does. They try to get from one day to the next without dying.” Sam wet his lips and let out a soft sigh. “Stop trying to make him obey, and start being the kind of person he wants to obey. Stop telling him what to do, and start telling him why you want him to do it. Nobody likes being told how to live their lives, but everybody likes being told they’re cared about.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then he stood up rather abruptly. “Thank you for your help, Sam. This has been very informative.”

Sam was torn between kicking Castiel out and begging him to stay. “How is he?”

Castiel stopped. “He’s doing fine.” He looked down at the carpet with those searching eyes again. “When Liam has nightmares… he asks for me.” Castiel looked up at Sam suddenly, confusion blazing anew. “Why?”

Sam pressed his lips together with a helpless shrug. “You're familiar. If you've been treating him well, he probably thinks you’re safe.” Note my use of 'thinks' instead of 'knows.’ “Maybe you do something to calm him that he really likes.”

Castiel shook his head bewildered. “I only tell him stories and stay until he falls asleep.”

Sam smiled softly, happy to hear Castiel was taking such soft, careful measures. “That’ll do it.”

Castiel seemed almost pained. “But why?”

“He's a kid, Castiel. He's a human.” Sam spread his arms, fighting back his frustration. “He just wants to be loved and cared for and accepted. He just wants to know someone would miss him if he left. He just wants to be happy, and safe, and hugged, and kissed, and held, and…” Sam struggled with himself for a moment and then heaved a sigh, pushing a bitter laugh between his teeth. “Home. He just wants a home.”

Castiel looked at Sam for a long time, and then he was gone, leaving without a word or any indication of if and when he would be back.

Sam groaned and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

I need more ibuprofen.

Like, a whole bottle. Maybe two.

“Do you think he’d like building things?”

“What?”

Dean adjusted the phone against his ear and used his shoulder to hold it in place, turning over the box in his hands to read the contents. “Do you think Liam would like building things?”

Sam didn’t speak at first, and then his voice came through the speaker. “Um… I mean, most boys his age do. I’ve never asked him. I know he’s more of a… creative arts kid, but… you can be that and also like structured toys, so…?”

“Cool.” Dean tossed it into his cart and grabbed the phone from its smushed position against his face. “Thanks. See you soon.”

“Woah, hey, wait. Do I get to know what this is about?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I just figured, you know… twenty days ‘til Christmas. Even if we don’t find him before then… that kid is gonna get Christmas presents. Either late, or from Cas, or… I don’t know. But he is.”

Sam was more than a little offended when he replied. “You’re Christmas shopping without me?”

Dean looked in his cart and smirked a little. “Yeah, well, Liam’s not the only one I’m buying for, Sammy.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” Sam was moving around on the other end of the line. “Is this a challenge?”

“Why would it be a challenge, Sam?” Dean started pushing the cart, holding the phone with his shoulder again. “I mean, it’s not like I’m the uncle, yet I’m the only one buying Christmas presents so far. It’s not like you totally forgot Christmas was coming up.”

“My presents are gonna be better than yours,” Sam snapped. “Because now that you reminded me, my Christmas game is going to be so on point—”

“Yeah, but because I reminded you, I’m ultimately responsible for whatever presents you get, so…” Dean shrugged and slowed to a stop in front of the art supplies. “Ooh.”

“Ooh, what?”

“Nothing,” Dean sang, grabbing a pack of professional pencils and putting them in the cart with the rest of his spoils. “Just saw something interesting.”

“Oh, it’s on.” Sam must have left the motel room, because a door slammed in the background.

Dean laughed. “Wait, wait—”

“Oh, I’m not waiting for anything. You’re going down, Dean.”

“No, seriously!” Dean laughed again. “We need to make sure we don’t get the same things for him, doofus.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Dean laughed some more and leaned against his cart. “I’m at the Walmart across the street from the motel. Meet me here. I’ll just hide the stuff I have for you.”

Sam huffed. “I guess that’ll work.”

Dean chuckled to himself and started flipping through a coloring book. “I’ll see you soon, Sammy.”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Dean smiled softly. “It’s good to hear you laugh again, man.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, the rush of air over the speaker telling Dean he was outside. “You, too.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he realized there wasn’t really anything to say, so he hung up. He would have bet money Sam did the same thing in unison with him.

Okay, Liam… let’s see how much money I can spend on you before common sense it a credit limit makes me stop.

Liam didn’t even hesitate when he saw Castiel appear next to the bed, both hands shooting out to grab at the familiar trench coat. “Cast’el,” he sobbed, little fingers curling through the tan fabric as he pulled himself to his feet.

“I’m right here.” Castiel grabbed Liam by the waist—his hands fingers almost touched in the front as well as the back—and lifted Liam up. “It’s alright.”

Liam wound his legs around Castiel’s waist, arms shifting to grab Castiel around the neck. “M’sorry,” he sobbed, sucking broken gasps between the sobs. “Sorry, Cast’el.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Nightmares can’t be helped.”

Liam held on tight, barely registering the words as Castiel sat down at the head of the bed. He didn’t care about anything other than the steady thrum of a heartbeat underneath the frantic patter of his own; didn’t care about anything other than large hands holding him close and the sense of safety that came with the familiar scent of Castiel.

“Sorry.” Liam shifted his legs a little so he was straddling Castiel’s hips, feet pushing against the mattress so he could tuck himself up under Castiel’s chin. “M’sorry, just—just wan’ a hug.” He hiccupped again, wishing he knew why he was crying, wishing he could tell Castiel, wishing he wasn’t so difficult.

“It’s alright, Liam. This isn’t your fault.”

Liam rubbed the underside of Castiel’s chin with his head, fingers digging into the fabric of Castiel’s jacket and shirt collar. Somewhere, underneath the haze of panic and pain, Liam remembered being frightened and off-put by Castiel’s looming size, but in that moment, it only brought him a sense of safety. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the lap of someone three times his size and let them protect him.

“Castiel, don’t you think this is a bit excessive?”

Liam froze. He knew that voice.

Not the accent or pitch—whoever it was, he had never met them before in his life—but the tone and the unspoken demands therein. He knew the threats and promises and hidden meanings.

“Oh, he tripped down the stairs this morning. Right, Liam?”

“And we’re not going to tell the caseworker about last night, are we?”

“Don’t you want Daddy to push it in deeper?”

Liam knew the sound of a question that wasn’t a question, no matter who it was coming from, and it made his blood run cold.

Because that voice wasn’t talking to him, it was talking to Castiel, and he could feel the way Castiel tensed up next to him. It made Castiel uncomfortable, and that, in turn, made Liam terrified.

“Come on, Castiel. You have duties to attend to.”

Liam panicked and did the only thing he could think of.

He screamed.

He screamed at the top of his lungs and held on tighter than ever, the painful, throbbing shriek slowly tapering off into shuddering sobs that racked his whole body. “Don’t—take Castle! Please, I wan’im!” He held on tighter, violent sobs rattling his frame. “I’ll do anythin’ you want, jus’ don’—” he gasped for air, “—don’ make’im leave me!”

Liam dissolved into cries after that, throat sore from the screaming, his brain refusing to find the words he needed to keep begging. He just held on for dear life and prayed they wouldn’t take Castiel away—that Castiel wouldn’t leave him.

“Hmm… maybe your approach is more effective than I thought…”

Liam choked out another sob, heart hammering against his ribcage, head throbbing and face hot. “Castle…” He let out another sob when two large arms wrapped around him, holding him close and tight. “Stay… stay, stay, stay, stay, stay—”

“Shh, Zachariah left. I’ll stay.”

“—stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, st—stay, stay, stay—”

“I am, Liam. I’m staying. I won’t leave.”

“—stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay—”

Liam dissolved into an open-mouthed cry then, the ‘ay’ of the word stretching and growing and shrinking, broken up by stuttered gasps for air. Something wrapped around him—a blanket, maybe?—and then the room was suddenly cold.

“Look up, Liam. Look at the sky.”

Liam did his best, but tears were still rolling down his cheeks, and the night sky was heavily obstructed by the tears. Still, he kept his head tilted back, trying to obey, trying to be good.

“Aren’t the stars beautiful? Well, actually, that one over there is a planet. Mars.”

Liam couldn’t see it, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even bother to keep looking, he just put his chin on Castiel’s shoulder and listened to the soothing monologue, soaking up the vibrations of a baritone voice rattling the chest pressed against his.

“It’s been a while, but I’ve been to Mars. It’s a very pleasant place, in my opinion.”

Liam wondered if his throat was bleeding; it was so raw. He didn’t try to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks, accepting that it was a bad night and there was nothing anybody could do. His stomach hurt. He was tired.

“I still prefer Earth, though. I like it here. Samandriel said you were talking to him about weather. I think weather is very fascinating. We should talk about it sometime.”

Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay…

Somewhere between Liam’s internal monologue and Castiel’s external one, Liam drifted off to dream, one word etched into the front of his brain.

Stay.

JULY 31^st, 2008

HARLAN, KENTUCKY

Sam heaved a sigh and shut the door to Room 58, letting his head fall against the wood as he asked himself for the millionth time what he was doing. Surprisingly, he didn’t have an answer, even after eight hours of driving and thinking while Liam sang along to every song that came on the radio. Including, of course, the ones he didn’t know the words to.

“Can you lock it?”

Sam lifted his head and turned around, brow slightly creased. “Huh?”

“The door.” Liam pointed, shuffling nervously. “Can you lock it?”

“Oh.” Sam turned back around and twisted the deadbolt. “There.”

Liam smiled fleetingly. “Thanks, Sam.”

Sam tousled Liam’s hair with a smile. “You’re welcome, buddy.”

Sam crossed the room to the window and closed the blinds, trying to recreate the darkness of the night he had lost driving away from Aberdeen. He didn’t want to sleep too long, or he would be stuck on a backwards circadian rhythm, and while Dean didn’t mind living that life, Sam needed to rise with the sun. Not to mention, it would be best for Liam to have a relatively normal sleep cycle.

Sam looked at the door when he heard a rattling noise and found Liam standing on his tip-toes and putting the door chain in place.

It must make him feel safer. Sam didn’t have a problem with that. Better to be over-cautious than under-cautious, especially when traveling with a Winchester. I’ll have to keep that in mind.

Liam fixed the chain how he wanted it and turned around, looking away when he saw Sam watching him. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

Sam simply smiled and gestured to the queen-sized bed. “Pick a side, get in your PJs, and…” he pressed his lips together with a slight shrug, “…go to bed, I guess.” He was pretty sure kids had to be told when to go to bed, but it seemed like such an obvious next step that it felt weird to say it out loud.

Liam nodded and plopped his backpack on the nearby bed, pulling out his pajamas to follow the directions Sam had given.

Sam watched Liam for another moment, and then he walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and shut the door. He turned on the cool water and splashed his face, looking at his reflection with an expression of self-judgment with just a little panic hidden underneath.

Are you out of your mind? You can’t raise a kid!

Sure, Sam had been trained, and he had worked cases with kids like Liam back at Stanford, but there was a massive difference between visiting a child in their placement a couple times a month and being their placement. Sam knew statistics, child psychology, and child therapy techniques, but when it came to actual parenting—the ins and outs of the daily life of a child—Sam was clueless.

So? Lots of parents are clueless. They make it work.

As long as he could meet the Minimum Sufficient Level of Care, he could justify having Liam with him. Sam could give Liam clothes, food, shelter, love, and an education. He could provide. He could keep Liam from wanting to die, which was more than the group home managed.

No. Seriously. What are you doing?

Sam splashed his face again and ran his hands through his hair, shaking off the doubt and stepping back into the room. “Hey, you ready for—?”

Sam stopped, and then a smile softened his features.

Liam’s backpack was discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed, and the little boy in question was already sound asleep.

Sam walked over to the righthand side of the bed and pulled the blankets a little higher, tucking Liam in. He leaned down and brushed the auburn bangs out Liam’s sleeping face, holding them aside as he planted a chaste kiss on Liam’s forehead.

Sam then blinked in utter confusion, slowly pulling away. Why did I do that? He frowned as he walked over to the door so he could turn off the lights, and he continued to frown as he felt his way back in the dark.

Maybe that’s why I asked him to come with me. Maybe it’s some kind of… platonic chemistry. Sam crawled under the covers and settled down, hoping to get some sleep with as few nightmares as possible. I mean, what draws people to make certain friends and not others? What makes certain siblings and cousins more compatible? He fluffed his pillow a little and huffed a sigh, closing his eyes. Maybe there’s just… something in me that says he’s supposed to be mine.

And with that thought in mind, Sam drifted off to sleep.

Sam woke up to the sounds of little footsteps and harsh light streaming onto his face. He inhaled and jerked to life, and it said a lot about how tired he was that he wasn’t immediately on his feet with a gun in his hands.

“Hmm…?” Sam shielded his eyes and squinted into the light of the bathroom, watching Liam shuffle out with a towel in his arms. “Liam?”

Liam froze on the spot, holding the towel close to himself. “Sorry I woke you.”

Sam blinked and shook his head, sitting up a little more. “It’s fine. Why are you up? Do you feel okay?”

It was difficult to see Liam with the light behind him, but Sam could still make out the rapid headshaking. “Everything’s fine.”

Sam put down the hand he had been using to shield his eyes, and it landed in a wet spot on the bed. He jerked his hand away, his still-sleeping brain taking a few moments to connect the dots.

Oh.

Sam’s first thought after that was, gross, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known about the bedwetting from Liam’s files. He should have expected it, really, especially after such an emotionally charged night and the adrenaline of running away.

“I’m really sorry.” Liam lifted the towel to his chin, almost as if he were trying to hide behind it. “I didn’t mean to.”

Sam waved it off and tossed the blankets off himself. “Don’t worry about it.” He stood up, cracking his back in the process, and walked over to where Liam was standing. He reached out to take the towel. “Here, let me—”

Liam flinched back violently, lifting his arms to shield his face.

There was no slow-motion moment, and there was no slow and steady realization. It was a sudden but simple shift in body language—one that took less than a second to achieve—but Sam felt his heart break in two when he saw it.

Sam kept his hand midair and slowly lowered himself into a crouch, speaking as tenderly as he could. “Liam, I wasn’t going to hit you. I just wanted to take the towel from you so I could clean up your accident. Okay? I wasn’t going to hit you.”

Wide, strikingly blue eyes stared back at him, full of fear and distrust. Little hands shakily extended the towel, and those eyes never left Sam’s face, scanning his every expression, his every breath, for any sign of incoming violence.

Sam moved slowly and kept himself low to the ground, taking the towel by the bottom half and letting the rest drop over his hand when Liam let go. “Thanks, buddy.” He smiled warmly and then slowly got up. “I’m gonna try and clean this up. Why don’t you clean yourself up and get some clean clothes on?”

Liam nodded slightly and took a step sideways, not turning away from Sam.

Sam was fine with that, and he gave Liam his back first, walking over to the bed without so much as a backward glance. He didn’t want Liam thinking Sam was watching, waiting for the right moment to attack.

Sam used the towel to soak up a fair amount of the urine, and then he tossed it into the tub, exchanging the occasional smile with Liam as they passed each other. Then Sam took another towel and laid it overtop of the damp spot, washing his hands when it was all said and done.

“Did you wash your hands?” Sam asked, flicking the residual water from his own.

Liam nodded, hovering near the wall across from the bed, a couple yards away from the bathroom door.

“Good.” Sam smiled again and turned the bathroom light off, using the light that came in around the blinds to find his way back to bed. “Come on, let’s try and get a little more sleep before we do any more driving.”

Liam slowly approached the bed, crawling in on his side without a word.

Sam laid down on his own side and pulled the blankets up over the both of them, letting out a contended sigh as he settled onto the mattress.

“Thanks, Sam.”

Sam looked over at Liam and reached out to boop him on the nose. “You can always wake me up and ask for help. I don’t mind cleaning up accidents.”

“I can do it,” Liam said softly, hesitant and still somewhat frightened.

Sam rolled onto his left side and faced Liam, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You know, I used to wet the bed when I was little.”

Liam’s eyes widened slightly, and he rolled onto his right side so he was facing Sam. “Really?”

Sam nodded with a small smile. “Yeah. I used to wake up my older brother, Dean, and he would help me clean it up. He’d let me sleep in his bed afterward, if I asked.” He felt a little embarrassed sharing the story, but if it helped Liam feel better, it was worth it. “One time, I had a really bad dream, and I actually wet his bed after already having an accident in my own. And Dean still didn’t get mad at me.”

“Wow…” Liam bit his lip and dropped his eyes down to the mattress, trailing his finger over the cotton sheets. “What, uh… what would you do if I did that? Had two accidents, I mean?”

“I would help you clean it up,” Sam replied simply.

“You… wouldn’t be mad?” Liam questioned, peering up at Sam with big, blue eyes.

Sam shook his head. “No, Liam, I wouldn’t be mad.”

“Oh.” Liam nodded a few times, smiled to himself, and then nodded again. “Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam chuckled and reached out to tousle Liam’s hair, moving gradually in light of recent events. “Goodnight, Liam. Wake me if you need anything.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I love you.”

Liam didn’t say anything, but he gave a serious little nod.

Sam was fine with Liam not reciprocating. It would take time, and Sam was willing to be patient.

What am I doing?

What he wanted. For the first time since Stanford, Sam Winchester was doing what he wanted. Maybe it wasn’t smart, maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe it wasn’t easy… maybe it wasn’t even right, though he still wasn’t sure… but it was what he wanted. He was pretty sure, it was what Liam wanted, too. He was pretty sure it was what Liam needed.

And that was enough.

AUGUST 3^rd, 2008

PONTIAC, ILLINOIS

“Liam?”

Nothing.

Sam sighed softly. “Liam… buddy, it’s been almost two days. You’ve got to try and sleep.”

Liam was shaking his head before Sam could finish, a small whine rising in his throat. “Sam, please don’t make me…”

Sam looked down at the amulet in his hand and took a deep breath. “I won’t make you, Liam, but I would like you to try. And…” He looked at his hand again, a sharp pain cutting into his sternum. “I got something that might help.”

Liam slowly sat up on the motel bed, hesitantly curious. “You did?”

Sam wet his lips and knelt at the foot of the bed, giving Liam a weak smile. “I did.” He held out the amulet. “This necklace is magic.”

Liam stared with wide, fascinated eyes, scooting across the paisley bedspread until his legs were dangling over the edge. “Like the thing you killed in my room.”

Sam was surprised—he had almost forgotten Liam knew about the supernatural—but he quickly recovered and offered a sideways sort of nod. “Kind of. That thing was a monster, and this…” he indicated the necklace by moving his hand, “…is a soul. So, it’s a bit different.”

“Ooh.” Liam looked at the necklace in awe and reverence. “Whose soul is it?”

Sam smiled, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. “He was a legendary protector. He would do anything to protect the people he loved… but one day, he went too far. He left his family behind in order to keep them safe… and they, uh…” Sam sniffed, blinking rapidly to clear away the tears. “They didn’t want to be safe, they just wanted him back. So… they did everything they could think of to bring him home again… and in the end, while they couldn’t bring all of him back, they managed to get his soul in this necklace. That way, they could take him with them wherever they went… and over time, it got passed down from person to person, to whoever needed to be protected.” Sam smiled. “I had it because I fight monsters, but… I think you need it more than me.”

Liam looked at the amulet for a few moments, and then he looked up at Sam with wide, questioning eyes. “You mean for the nightmares? You think it’ll help?”

Sam smiled and nodded. “I do.”

Liam cautiously reached out and took the necklace from Sam, turning it over in his hands and then lowering it over his head. He held the charm in his hand and looked up at Sam. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Sam inhaled slowly, keeping his outward expression neutral, but he couldn’t deny he was wondering the same thing. If Liam wore the necklace and still had nightmares, Sam would need another plan, because Liam couldn’t survive on such a skewed sleep schedule.

“Well, we won’t know until we try, will we?” Sam reached out and tousled Liam’s hair. “And if you have a bad dream, I’ll be right here with you. It still might be a little scary, but you won’t be alone. Okay? I promise.”

Liam wet his lips and grabbed onto the necklace with his other hand, nodding hesitantly. “Okay… we can try.” He toppled over and half rolled, half crawled to the other side of the bed. “Are you going to bed right now?”

Sam nodded with a small smile. “Right now.”

Liam sank down into the sheets and pulled the comforter up to his chin. “Can we… snuggle?”

Sam blinked halfway through crawling under the covers. “Uh… sure.”

That surprised Sam, given Liam’s history, but he knew not all sexual abuse victims had aversions to touch. Some of them went to the opposite end of the spectrum and sought out inappropriate levels of physical contact. Liam seemed to be hovering somewhere in the middle which, while not impossible, was unusual.

But Sam didn’t want to discourage healthy physical contact, so he settled down under the covers and motioned for Liam to come closer. “Come on. I’d love to snuggle.”

Liam grinned and moved in closer, curling into Sam’s side and placing his head on Sam’s chest.

Sam planted a quick kiss to Liam’s forehead and reached out, turning off Liam’s bedside light before leaning the other way and flicking off his own. “Goodnight, buddy.”

“Night, Sam.”

AUGUST 17^th, 2008

HENNEPIN, ILLINOIS

Sam put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, letting out a soft sigh. He dropped his hand to the side of the shopping cart and arched a brow at a screaming, thrashing Liam, unimpressed.

“You do know this isn’t going to make me get the soda, right?”

Liam only continued to kick the cart, arms flailing as he threw a full-blown temper tantrum right there on the floor of the shoe aisle in Walmart.

Sam heaved another sigh and leaned on the cart, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “You’ve been doing this for… four minutes. You know this really isn’t appropriate.”

Liam kicked the cart again. “I want it!”

“This is not the way to get it,” Sam said simply.

“Do you mind?”

Sam glanced up from Liam and met the beady eyes of a middle-aged woman in jeans and a t-shirt praising coffee. “Not at all. Do you need something from this aisle?”

“You’re just going to let him throw a fit on the floor?” the woman sneered, tossing a handful of light brown hair over her shoulder.

“Well, there’s no law against it, so I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.” Sam folded his arms over his chest, tapping the back of his phone testily. Lady, I am not in the mood.

“He’s creating a disturbance,” the woman snapped back, her entirely-too-heavily-shadowed eyes brimming with a sense of superiority that really got under Sam’s skin.

“It’s Walmart,” Sam said dryly. “Not the White House.”

She scoffed and folded her arms over her chest, bangles clinking against each other with every huffy movement. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is, stop shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Sam was vaguely aware that Liam was getting significantly quieter the longer the altercation went on. “Have a nice day.”

“Well, I never! I’m getting a manager,” the woman snapped, going back to the cart she had left in the aisle.

“You do that,” Sam said coolly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

She only gave him a look of disdain. “You should be ashamed. My children never would have behaved so atrociously.”

“Oh, so your children were held to a standard of perfection that probably damaged their psyche? Good to know.” Sam gave her a sardonic smirk and spread his hands slightly. “I mean, it’s not like adults can’t manage to be on their best behavior all the time, so it’s perfectly reasonable for you to expect that from your kids.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam cut her off.

“No, you shut up and listen. You don’t know anything about my kid. You don’t even know his name.” Sam gestured in Liam’s general direction. “For all you know, he lost his mom this week, or his best friend just moved away, or he’s been having terrible nightmares and hasn’t slept in three days.” Sam took a step toward the woman, very much enjoying the foot and a half he had on her, and jabbed his finger into the center of his own chest. “That’s why it’s my job to raise him, not yours. Because I know him, not you. Because he’s my kid, not yours.” Sam dropped his hand to his hip. “Go brag to somebody else about your well-trained puppies who undoubtedly know that you’ll only love them as long as they behave. But I’m going to stay here with my well-loved child who knows that, right or wrong, we’re going to work it out together, and I’m never going to let the opinion of a self-righteous bystander or the notion of embarrassment take priority over his thoughts and feelings.” Sam pointed over her shoulder. “Get out of my face. Now.”

Sam was probably a little too satisfied by the way her mouth opened and closed like a fish as she struggled for words before stomping off, shouting about how she was going through on her threat to get the manager, like that meant something to Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to see where Liam was on the tantrum front.

Liam was sitting on the floor, staring up at Sam with watery eyes rubbed raw, shoulders jerking with the occasional sniff and sob. “Sam?”

Sam crouched down. “Yeah? What’s up, bud?”

“Why’d you do that?” Liam dragged his arm over his eyes. “I was—I was being bad.”

Sam offered a small, sympathetic smile. “Liam, you’re having a rough week. It isn’t okay to have a fit on the floor over soda, but I know you, and I know you wouldn’t have done it normally. I know you’re overwhelmed and upset.” He reached out and gently carded his hand through Liam’s hair, sliding his hand down to cup Liam’s cheek. “Even when you’re making mistakes, I’m still on your team. It’s like I said, we’ll figure it out together. This behavior isn’t okay, but it’s not your job to fix it on your own or hurt yourself trying. It’s your job to work with me to figure out a way to make yourself feel better without doing things you shouldn’t.”

Liam’s lip wobbled, and he reached his hands out with a quiet whine.

Sam smiled and pulled Liam into his arms, standing up and holding his little boy tight. “I love you, Liam.”

Liam put his head on Sam’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Sam’s frame, sniffing quietly. “I’m sorry, Sam…”

“I know you are, buddy.” Sam rubbed his back and pat it a few times. “We’re almost done shopping. Think you can hang on long enough for us to finish getting groceries and get back to the motel?”

Liam nodded, wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist. “Can I stay? On you, I mean. Piggy-back ride?”

Sam chuckled softly and nodded his head. “You gonna crawl around?”

Liam nodded again, a little more enthusiastic than before, and the second Sam’s arm was down, Liam was crawling over Sam like a spider-monkey.

“You good?” Sam asked, reaching back to support Liam from below.

Liam rested his head on Sam’s shoulder again and nodded, still sniffing occasionally to clear his sinuses. “Yeah. M’good.”

“Alright. This should only take fifteen more minutes. Can we do it?”

“Yeah.” Liam paused, and then he nodded again. “Yeah, we can.”

“Alright. Here we go.”

Liam squeezed Sam tightly, and Sam grabbed the shopping cart with a smile.

Sam started to push the cart down the aisle, going past the shoes and into housewares, all the while pondering what he might say if he wound up fighting the manager, too. He also spent some time thinking about how instinctively defensive he was, and how natural it felt to calm Liam down and ease him into a state of comfort.

Liam had barely been with Sam three weeks, and yet, Sam was finding it harder and harder to remember what life was like without him.

“Sam?” Liam whispered, leaning in close.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, tilting his head so Liam could have his ear.

“I love you, too.”

Sam smiled.

Liam pulled one of his earbuds out and looked up from the book he had been semi-successfully trying to read. “Castiel?” He froze as soon as he actually saw Castiel, immediately scrambling to his feet and shoving Sam’s iPod into his pocket. “Castiel!”

Castiel hit his knees just as Liam got to him, blood smeared across his face and soaking into his clothes. “Liam,” he rasped, grabbing the front of Liam’s shirt with shaky, bloodstained hands. “I need you to listen very carefully.”

Liam nodded wordlessly, feeling a familiar dread coiling in his gut as he watched Castiel haphazardly pin a medal to his shirt. Bad things were about to happen, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He could feel it.

He hated that feeling.

Castiel coughed, patting the star-shaped medal once it was fastened. “You cannot call for anyone,” he explained, taking Liam’s ribcage in his large hands. “Not even Samandriel.”

Liam flinched when a somewhat painful, tingling, burning sensation shot across his ribs. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Castiel pulled Liam from the floor and wrapped both arms around him, getting shakily to his feet. He teetered slightly, and then the room changed around them.

Or, Liam supposed, the room stayed the same, they just moved somewhere else.

“Castiel—” Liam reached out to grab on to Castiel’s neck, but Castiel was already putting him on the ground. “Castiel?”

Castiel crouched—more like collapsed—again and took Liam’s hands in his, keeping some space between them. “Liam, do you remember when we talked about faith? How sometimes, you don’t get to know why things happen, but you have to trust?”

Liam nodded a few times, scanning Castiel’s body, his fear escalating as he saw just how much blood Castiel had lost. It was soaked into his clothes, leaving footprints on the floor, smearing thickly over his face and neck and hands. It looked really, really bad, and Castiel looked out of breath and… scared, maybe? No, Castiel was never scared. He couldn’t be scared.

…could he?

Oh, no. Castiel was scared.

“I need you to have some faith in me right now.” Castiel reached out and took Liam’s face in his hands, flashing a weak smile. “You are safe from the angels, and you won’t be here long. I need you to listen to me and obey when I say you can’t call for anyone. It will put you in grave danger. Do you understand?”

“What about you?” Liam put his hands over Castiel’s, not minding the sticky blood being smudged on his face. “You’re hurt.”

Castiel looked at Liam with pain in his eyes, and he shook his head with a quiet, “Don’t worry about me. This is my own fault. I—I made mistakes, Liam, some of them very bad.” He swallowed. “But I’m going to make them right.”

Liam let go of Castiel’s hands and rushed forward, wrapping both arms around Castiel’s neck and holding on tight. “What are they gonna do to you, Castiel?”

“Shh.” Castiel gently pushed Liam back—his eyes were bleeding, he was getting worse—and stood up. “Everything is going to be just fine.” He reached out a hand and pointed to a symbol that was carved into the wood of a nearby wall. “If, somehow, the angels find you, make a symbol like this in your blood and put your hand on it. It will banish them.”

My blood? Liam opened his mouth to question the order, but Castiel was gone. Castiel? Liam was vaguely aware of music still streaming through his remaining earbud. What just happened? He shuddered, looking around the strange building with fearful eyes.

It was a simple structure—some kind of cabin, it looked like, with a door on one side and a window on each of the walls adjacent to it. There was a little kitchen area with cabinets and an old-fashioned stove, and in the opposite corner there was a cot pushed up against the wall with several blankets piled on top.

What am I supposed to do here?

Liam tried to stay calm, but it didn’t work. His chest got tight, and that made it harder to breathe, and once it was harder to breathe, he started to cry a bit, and once he started to cry a bit, he started to cry a lot, and—

What just happened?

“I just need a win, Sam.” That was all Dean could manage, sitting on the motel floor with Pamela’s cooling body in his arms. That was all he could manage with Castiel’s words still ringing in his ears, mocking him with the stinging realization that he had been used yet again. “I just need a win.”

If Sam said something in response, Dean didn’t hear it. Because Castiel’s words might have been a slap in the face, but Alistair’s voice was a knife to the chest, and it was digging its claws into his brain, dragging him down into the darkness he usually managed to keep contained within his nightmares. He could smell the burning bodies and feel the fat on his lips. He could taste the tang of blood on his tongue, he could hear them screaming and crying and pleading with him to stop, he could feel the blood between his fingers, he could feel himself grinning, he could—

“Dean!”

Dean startled, instinctively holding Pamela a little tighter. “What?” He blinked and looked around, trying to bring himself back to reality. “What?”

“I said, ‘We have to call the police.’” Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, indicating Pamela with a nod of his head. “We can make sure she gets cremated, but… she wasn’t a hunter. She should have a proper funeral.”

Dean looked at Sam for a long moment, and then he shook himself. “Yeah. Uh, right. Right.” He cleared his throat. “We should do it anonymously. We can’t exactly explain…” He looked around the motel room and sighed, carefully lowering Pamela to the floor. “Let’s just get out of here.” He had to get out of there.

“Are you sure we—”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Now, Sam!”

Dean couldn’t look at Pamela’s body anymore. He was out the door before Sam had a chance to counter. He felt the night air biting his face and neck, and the lingering flames of Hell started to cool. He muttered a string of curses under his breath. He shook his head and pulled his keys from his pocket. He shoved the key into the lock and twisted it hard. He wrenched the door open and all but collapsing in the driver’s seat. He leaned forward. He put his forehead to the steering wheel. He sighed, an impossibly heavy weight coming down on his shoulders.

He was torn between getting lost in a fluid onslaught of flashbacks and being lost in a disjointed reality he couldn’t quite get his hands on. His brain either slurred everything together or failed to connect one thing to the next.

I need a win.

“Dean… come on, get out. I’ll drive.”

Dean shook his head, shoving the key into the ignition. “Nope.” He cleared his throat. “Nope. I got it.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, and underneath the fatigue and frustration, there was sincere worry. Honestly, it amazed Dean that Sam had any ‘worry’ left in him.

“Dean, please. Just try to sleep for a cou—”

“I need to drive, Sam.” Dean twisted the keys with one hand, the other one gripping the wheel until his knuckles were white. “I need to. Okay?”

Sam hesitated for another moment, but then he offered a little nod and walked around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side.

Dean slammed his own door shut and barely let Sam close his before throwing Baby in reverse and backing up enough to turn toward the road. He put the car in drive and tore out of the parking lot, hitting the open road and pushing the pedal until he was flying down the road at a speed that might stand a chance of leaving his demons behind.

I just need a win.

Liam wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself before slowly rising to his feet. He folded his arms over his stomach protectively, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to protect himself from. He had moved to the corner of the room across from the door and crawled up onto the cot, settling down with his back to the corner; close enough to the door to run outside, but far enough away that if something came in through there, he would have time to run and dodge.

He was as safe as he could be, under the circumstances.

Bright eyes flickered around the cabin a second time. Beyond either of the windows, there was nothing but darkness, and Liam knew he would have to work up the courage to take a closer look, but… he wasn’t there yet. He looked over at the kitchen are and wondered if there was any food in the cabinets. Because, depending on where he was, he might be very far away from food.

And he had a sick, sinking feeling Castiel wouldn’t be coming back.

Liam reached up to grab Dean’s amulet, and his fingers brushed against the star Castiel had pinned to his chest. It was heavy and cold—definitely made of real metal—and it hung on the end of a mostly-red ribbon with a blue stripe.

Liam looked down with a furrowed brow, and after a moment of thought, he grabbed both the amulet and the medal in the same hand. He didn’t know what the star was for, exactly, but he figured Castiel wouldn’t have given it to him unless it was important.

Liam startled when something moved in the corner of the room, his grip on both pieces of metal tightening. What was that? It had only been there for a second—some kind of blur or shadow—but Liam knew he had seen it. He glanced around, heart hammering against the inside of his chest, but there was nothing. Was it a ghost?

Not that it would make a difference, knowing what it was. Knowing his dad was coming into his room had never protected him. If he had known Castiel was in the motel room that fateful November night, it wouldn’t have stopped Castiel from taking him. It would have only caused panic. Knowing what was after him was only helpful if he could do something about it, and he couldn’t.

Maybe there’s some salt in the cabinets… Liam bit down on his lip, gripping his trinkets so tight it was starting to hurt. But I would have to go across the room to where the thing was. Not to mention, he could only do so much with a canister of table salt, and he had no idea who was coming for him, if anybody, or when. It wasn’t like he just had to stay safe for a few hours until Sam and Dean arrived with Baby and a trunk full of salt-round shotguns and iron.

Liam startled and pushed back into the wall when the figure appeared again, a little closer and a little longer than before. It’s a man, and… and he looks kinda… familiar?

Liam took a deep breath and slowly opened his mouth. “Okay…” He inched toward the edge of the mattress, staying pressed against the wall. “I, um… I don’t have any salt… and I don’t really wanna hurt you anyhow, so…” he started sliding to his left, inching toward the door despite having no intention of leaving, “…how about I just…”

I’ll just make it up as I go along. That’s what Sam and Dean do.

Liam took another step and froze, his path to the door suddenly blocked by a man who was, apparently, figuring out how to make himself visible for more than a second at a time.

Liam would have been afraid if he hadn’t been so shocked.

Because Liam had been right; the man was familiar, and once Liam got a good look at his face, he knew exactly who was haunting the cabin… or maybe… haunting him? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had seen the man’s face many times in both Sam and Dean’s wallets.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Mr. Winchester looked confused for a moment, and then he opened his mouth to speak, but he flickered out of sight before he could get a word out.

“Mr. Winchester?” Liam took a few steps forward, still holding onto Dean’s amulet and the bronze star. “Mr. Winchester, are you still here?”

There was another flicker, but it was as faint as the very first one had been, and then the cabin was empty and still.

Liam let out a soft sigh and slowly sank to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them tight. If Mr. Winchester was the ghost, then Liam didn’t have to be afraid, but that didn’t make Liam feel any better about being kidnapped, or missing Sam and Dean, or not knowing where he was, or how much Castiel had been bleeding, or…

It just didn’t make him feel better.

Liam sighed, gave his knees another hug, and then he slipped into a crawl, moving across the floor toward the cabinets. I guess I should try and find food and water. If he couldn’t find those… he would have to leave the cabin, even with Castiel’s warning. He wouldn’t have a choice.

Liam sucked in a breath and opened the cabinets.

Here we go.

Dean turned to Castiel and glared, swallowing the fire in his chest. He needed the conversation to move away from Alistair for a moment so he could try to get his head on straight. “So, Cas, you haven’t said a single word.” He nodded in Uriel’s direction. “You’re gonna let him do all the talking?”

Castiel pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I felt it would be unwise, given our current…” he glanced away, “…situation.” He looked back at Dean.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face at all.” He pointed to each of them in turn and then tucked his hand back into his folded arms. “You both have a lot of nerve asking me for anything while you’ve got Liam under lock and key.”

Uriel took a step forward. “We aren’t—”

“Yeah, you aren’t asking. I heard you the first time.” Dean dropped his arms and sighed. “Well.” He started to turn in a circle. “There’s gotta be a door here somewhere…”

“Dean,” Castiel started, his voice soft but unwavering. “We need you to do this.” He paused. “You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

Dean glared at Castiel. “That would really help your case if I cared.” He pointed past the two angels at the demon on display in the other room. “That is your problem, not mine. I’m leaving.”

Uriel stared at Dean with cold eyes. “You either do it or we toss your little boy in there and cut Alistair loose.”

Dean’s heart stopped beating in his chest, fear running cold through his veins as Uriel’s words sank in. “You wouldn’t.” But he knew they would. “He’s just a kid.” Dean had to buy time. Crap. What do I do? What do I do?

“You’re right.” Uriel spoke coolly, more aloof and detached than Dean had ever seen him. “He’s just a kid, and that means he’s utterly insignificant. We could care less what happens to him, as long as you do what we want in the end. So, do we have a deal?”

Dean wet his lips and pretended to mull it over, eyes drifting from Uriel to Castiel. “I wanna talk to Cas.” He glanced back at Uriel, narrowing his eyes just slightly. “Alone.”

Uriel gave Dean a hard look that eventually melted into an eyeroll, but he disappeared nonetheless.

“Dean—”

“I’ll do it.” Dean closed the distance between them and stared Castiel down, emerald eyes blazing. “I’ll do it, but the next time I see your face, whether Liam is back home or not,” he lowered his voice and leaned in just a little closer, “I will shove your own blade through your skull so hard, my knuckles will be buried in your brain.”

Castiel stared for a moment, something like hurt flashing in his eyes before he looked away. “I understand.” He sounded remorseful, but in all honesty, that made Dean want to punch him even more.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” Dean shouldered past Castiel—a move that was pretty much pointless, because Castiel was an unmovable statue—and put his hand on the door to the torture chamber. I can’t do this.

But he had to. For Liam. For Sam, even. For everyone they would go after if Dean didn’t do what they wanted, because in a painfully ironic twist, nothing was sacred to the angels. Nothing.

“For what it’s worth,” Castiel started softly, footsteps shuffling slightly, “I would give anything for you not to have to do this.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment. He couldn’t even look at Castiel, and when his lips finally formed the words he wanted, venom dripped from every syllable. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Dean looked over just long enough to see something like shame crossing over Castiel’s face, and then he shoved the door open and disappeared into the chamber. He took a discreet breath, collected himself, and then did his best to turn his brain off entirely.

Liam leaned the thin mattress from the cot against the kitchen counter before crouching down and crawling into the cabinet where he had shoved all the blankets. “It’s easier to stay warm down here,” he explained to the air.

Well, he didn’t really know if it was just air, which was why he was explaining. He wasn’t sure if Mr. Winchester could hear him, but he figured if Mr. Winchester could, it would save a lot of time in the long run. Besides, it made him feel a little better.

“I used to do this at my house when my parents couldn’t pay the heating bill.” He pushed his blankets around a little and tried to make himself comfortable, bunching one of them up to make a pillow. “I used to get a little mad, because my parents had a space heater, but I grew out of that.” Mostly because if he didn’t get yelled at by both of them, his mom would hit him, and if his mom didn’t hit him, his dad would help him warm up.

And Liam didn’t like that.

“But anyway, if I stay in here, then instead of the heat coming off my body and going through the blankets to the ceiling, it goes through the blankets and warms up the cabinet.”

Liam curled up a little and pulled the other blanket over himself, peering out through the little space between the open cabinet door and the mattress. “I should probably close the door to make it warmer… but I wanna see you again, if I can.” He curled up, shivering a little, and rubbed at his ear. “There’s no water or food… so I’ll have to leave soon. But Castiel looked really hurt, and he told me to stay, and I don’t know how to keep the other angels from finding me.” He let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know how much you know about angels, Mr. Winchester, but they are not nice. Alabama lied to me.” He laughed a little at his own joke, though he wasn’t sure Mr. Winchester would know what he was talking about.

Sam and Dean never understood his country music references, the heathens.

Liam wet his lips and curled up a little tighter. “I’ve been without food before, but I always had water. Really, I’d have food, too, just… not enough. Or not the right food. I dunno. My social worker said I was ‘malnourished’ when they took me away, so…” He shrugged his shoulders and wet his lips again, chest tightening slightly. “I just… I don’t want to go that long without food again. But I’m scared to leave. And I don’t know how to get to Sorzie or Dean or Bobby, and…” He reached up and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

I can’t cry. I’m not a baby, and crying won’t help.

Sam always said it was okay to cry, but Liam was pretty sure Sam was mistaken. Though… Dean and Bobby and even Castiel had said the same thing…

“Hey, um, look, I don’t normally do… y’know, mushy chick-flick moments and… stuff… but, uh… I won’t, y’know, get mad or laugh or anything. If you gotta cry, you gotta cry.”

Liam shook his head. No. I don’t need to cry. He brought his hands down and took a deep breath. I’m fine.

When Liam opened his eyes again, Mr. Winchester was sitting on the floor a few feet away. Liam perked up a little, sniffing quietly.

“Have you been able to hear me?”

At first, Mr. Winchester just mouthed the word ‘yes,’ but when he tried again, his voice came through. “Yes. I can hear you.”

Liam smiled a little. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

“How do you—” Mr. Winchester’s voice cut out for a moment, so he started over. “How do you know who I am?”

“Um, Sam and Dean,” Liam replied. “They’re my…” he frowned, his face scrunching up. “Well, I don’t know what they are. But I live with them. We ride around in Baby, and they hunt monsters, and they do school with me.”

Mr. Winchester’s brow creased, eyes sharp and discerning in a way that reminded Liam of both Sam and Dean. “Well, that sounds like you’re their kid. Did they adopt you? Or…” He frowned, confusion growing. “How long have I been gone?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders helplessly, drawing his blankets a little closer around himself. “I dunno. They get real quiet when I ask about you.”

Mr. Winchester pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He heaved a sigh and looked around the cabin. “I don’t suppose you know where we are.”

Liam shook his head. “Castiel brought me here, and he said I was supposed to stay. Then he disappeared.” Liam’s mouth twisted up. “Did you see Castiel bring me here?”

Mr. Winchester gave a sideways sort of nod. “It’s there in bits and pieces.” He frowned then, reaching out toward Liam. “Let me see that.”

Liam flinched back instinctively, but once he looked down and saw Mr. Winchester was just reaching for the star, he surrendered it. “Here.” He bit his lip. “Do you know what it is?”

Mr. Winchester looked at it for a moment, and then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. It’s mine.” He handed the star back. “You said Castiel is—”

Liam jumped, looking around, but Mr. Winchester was gone.

Liam fell back into the blankets with a thud and an angry groan.

I know I’m not supposed to swear, but come on!

It took the barest glimpse of Castiel for Sam to be on his feet and storming into the hospital hallway, fumes practically shooting from his ears. Livid did not even begin to describe the fire running through his veins.

Castiel must have heard Sam’s angry footsteps, because he turned around and began some kind of statement Sam couldn’t have cared less about. “Sam—”

“Get in there and heal him.” Sam pointed to the room he had just left. “Miracle. Now.”

Castiel stared back almost blankly. Almost, because Sam could see something raw hiding in the shades of Castiel’s eyes. “I can’t.”

Sam pointed again. “You and Uriel put him in there—"

“No.”

“No?” Sam echoed, incredulous, trying to keep his voice down so no one would call a psychiatrist for him. “What do you mean no? He’s in there right now because you can’t keep a simple devil’s trap together! How is that no?”

Castiel seemed genuinely confused, genuinely upset, and with every passing second, he seemed more uncertain. “I don’t know what happened. That trap… it shouldn’t have broken.” He shook his head just slightly, and there was something almost pleading in his eyes. “I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Sam spread his arms and somehow managed not to throttle the angel he was towering over. “You’re sorry. Like you’re sorry for taking my kid?” He didn’t care that Castiel looked hurt by that. “Like you’re sorry you had to kill Anna? Is it that kind of sorry? Where you say it to make yourself feel better and then do absolutely nothing to change the way things are?”

Castiel worked his mouth for a moment, eyes flickering down and to the side as he searched for words. “I… did not…” He glanced up at Sam and then down to the other side. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

“Well, that means absolutely nothing.” Sam let out a sharp sigh and ran a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at the door to Dean’s room before looking back at Castiel. “This whole thing was pointless. Do you understand that? Someone else is killing your angels, and you had to torture my brother, under threat of torturing my child, to figure that out.”

Castiel glanced away again but quickly brought his eyes back. “Perhaps Alistair was lying.”

“He wasn’t.” Sam’s tone left no room for debate, watching closely as the words sank in.

Castiel spent a moment looking like he had been punched in the gut, face twisting up with uncertain confusion and hurt, eyes staring almost distractedly at Sam’s shoulder. He lifted his eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that Sam had never seen before. “Well, it’s possible—”

“No, Castiel, it’s really not.” Sam almost pitied him; almost pitied how afraid he was of realizing he had been in the wrong. “Do you realize if I weren’t on demon blood, which you forbade, you would have been exorcised and both Dean and your vessel would be dead?”

Castiel opened his mouth, but Sam had heard enough talk. He was done listening. He was done, period.

“If Alistair knew how to kill angels, don’t you think he would have killed you when he tried to take Anna?” Sam gave a meaningful pause, waiting until the wires fully connected to continue. “But you didn’t think about that, or anything, because you were ordered to capture and torture Alistair for information on the killings, so you just did it. Because orders trump everything, right?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but the ever-increasing conflict on his face was proof enough.

“Because individuals don’t matter,” Sam accused. “They’re just a means to an end. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“There’s more than individuals at stake.” Castiel had never spoken with so little conviction, his voice quiet. “We have to look at—”

“—the big picture?” Sam interrupted, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “What is the point of the big picture if you aren’t going to take care of the pieces? Huh?” He gave Castiel an accusatory, questioning look. “Why are you even here right now? On Earth?” He gestured vaguely to the area around them. “You leave us alone for thousands of years and decide the end of the world is a good time to finally show up? That’s your big picture?” He spread his arms, raising his voice despite himself. “Why? Why save the world when all you’re gonna do is abandon it when you’re done? Why save the world when everything in it means nothing to you?”

“That isn’t true.” Castiel managed to sound at least a little angry, and there was a passion in his voice that said he was sincere. “I—I might prioritize an outcome over the losses necessary to obtain it, but the world—humanity—it, you—” He huffed out a sigh, struggling with himself, and his anger was starting to look more like desperation. “Humanity means something to me. It always has.”

“Yeah?” Sam shook his head and scoffed, incredulous. “You have a really funny way of showing it. What you’re doing to us, what you were willing to do to all those people in Clayton, the way Uriel talks about us—”

“Uriel—” Castiel spoke disjointedly, unable to get a handle on what he wanted to say. “Uriel should not do that, but he isn’t—his opinion is not mine. It’s—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sam stopped to take a breath, forcing his volume back down. “You’re saving the ship and letting all the passengers drown. You’re doing that.” He jabbed a finger into Castiel’s chest. “You.” He dropped his hand. “What’s your next update going to sound like, Cas? ‘Well, literally all of the passengers are dead, but look at that boat. That right there is a nice boat.’ Is that what’s going on up there?”

Castiel shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s—” He wet his lips and struggled for another moment. “It’s not that simple, Sam. It’s—”

Sam grabbed Castiel by the arm before he even realized what he was doing. “Come with me.” He took a step down the hall, trying to pull Castiel along and glaring when the angel stayed put. “I’m going to show you something. Come with me.” He dug his fingers in, nearly shaking with rage. “Now.”

Castiel became pliant and let Sam pull him along, still wearing that confused, almost frightened look on his face. Sam knew he couldn’t have caused that kind of look with a mere lecture, so something was going on that Sam was not privy to, and even though Sam was determined to make Castiel see the flaw in his own logic, Sam had to wonder what Castiel was realizing all on his own. He had to wonder what could possibly make Castiel afraid.

“Do you see all the nurses and doctors walking around here?” Sam gestured discreetly to the different members of medical staff they passed, keeping his voice low. “They come to work every day and do all they can for the patients who come here. They aren’t stupid. They know they can’t save everyone, but they do all they can anyway, because they know it’s worth it, even if you only save a few.”

Castiel glanced around as they walked, something curious flickering to life in his eyes and pushing back the confusion and fear. It was like he had never really looked at a hospital beyond the injured person he was there to see. Like he thought the hospital was a machine.

Sam took a brief moment to recall the layout of the hospital and then turned down a hall, dragging Castiel over to a large window overlooking the emergency room doors. “See those vehicles?”

Castiel nodded mutely, looking down at the flashing lights “They can’t save everyone. They’re still here. Sometimes, they do their job for free, just because they understand the value of saving even one person. They understand that looking at the big picture is rarely realistic.” Sam looked away from the window and drew Castiel’s attention to himself. “Firefighters, foster parents, social workers, missionaries, advocates, caseworkers—none of those are high-paying jobs, assuming they pay at all.” He gestured toward the window. “Police.” Though he didn’t know if there were any police involved in the ambulance arrival down below. “Police get paid a crap salary to be spit on, shot at, cussed out, hated, attacked. They put on their uniform knowing their occupation is more likely to kill them than any other. Why? Because they want to help people. They want to make the world a better place, and they see every single day how screwed up this world is, but they still do what they do, knowing they can never fix the problem, because they understand.”

Castiel startled when Sam took him by the face and shook him slightly. He blinked, confused, but he didn’t pull away, and he listened intently when Sam leaned in and spoke.

“I need you to understand.” Sam shook him again, searching Castiel’s eyes. “I can see it, Castiel. I can see in your face that you’re starting to get it.”

Castiel glanced over at the window and then let his gaze wander down and to the side. “I… I do understand, I… I simply…” His mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments.

“Castiel, please. You—”

Sam stopped. His hands were empty.

Castiel had disappeared.

Sam let his hands drop to his sides and bowed his head, falling back against the wall. He didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t get Castiel to help him, Dean was unconscious and bedridden and traumatized, Liam was hidden away in some angel-prison that could have been anywhere on Earth or not on Earth at all.

What do I do?

Sam slid to the floor, reaching up and tangling his hands through his hair.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fix this?

Castiel, why did you bring me here?

Liam didn’t really expect an answer, but it was still frustrating and somewhat scary when he was met with silence. Mr. Winchester hadn’t managed to appear again, though there were occasional thuds and scratches that made Liam think he was trying really hard to show up.

Castiel, can you hear me? Castiel!

Liam bit his lip, curled up in the darkness of the closed cabinet with a thin blanket and a growling stomach. He was getting thirsty, and while he was pretty sure he was just thirsty because he couldn’t stop thinking about his lack of water, it didn’t change the fact that he was thirsty… or the fact that he had no water.

It’s gonna be okay, Castiel. I don’t know how, but it’s gonna be okay.

Liam had to believe that. Liam had to believe Castiel’s bloody everything wouldn’t be the last Liam ever saw of him. Liam had to believe he was going to find Sam and Dean, and he had to believe they were going to make everything okay. He had to believe it was going to be okay, period.

It had been not-okay so many times, with so many people, for so long… it just had to be okay.

I forgive you, Castiel. I think Sam and Dean will, too. Just… come back to us, okay?

Liam curled up a little tighter.

Please come back to us.

Castiel tore open John’s journal, skimming the inside cover for a few moments before grabbing the Bronze Star and unpinning it from the leather. He didn’t know much about the medal, just that it was an award for bravery and it had been awarded to John. It no doubt held some kind of emotional significance, and Castiel hoped that was enough.

He didn’t know for sure. Maybe he should have taken the whole journal, maybe he was right to leave it with the Winchesters. He didn’t know. He was panicking.

He hadn’t been panicking. He had been perfectly calm, up until the moment Zachariah shoved an angel blade into his shoulder. He was the picture of poise until four of his brothers held him down and tried to tear him from his vessel.

“Castiel, I was really hoping we wouldn’t need to go this route.”

Castiel didn’t need to look over his shoulder to confirm Zachariah had followed him. He flew across the country and landed outside a coffee shop in New York before bouncing to an airport in Texas. He shot from location to location without rhyme or reason, throwing his Grace all over the country in the hopes of distracting his superiors.

He looked down at himself, down at the blood soaking into his clothes and coating his hands, down at the bronze star and its ribbon stained with crimson. He took a deep breath and flew again.

To Van Nuys, California.

“Castiel?” Liam tugged an earbud out and looked up from the book he had been reading. He froze as soon as he saw Castiel, fear lighting his eyes as he scrambled to his feet. “Castiel!”

Castiel got the urge to smile when he saw Liam running toward him, though he was certain the expression didn’t make it onto his face. He dropped to his knees just as Liam got to him, his fingers twitching against the Bronze Star.

“Liam.” Castiel grabbed the front of Liam’s shirt, and he hoped his expression didn’t show any of the fear he felt. “I need you to listen very carefully.”

Liam grabbed the blanket he had rolled and tied with his belt, slinging it over his shoulder and walking to the cabin door. He took a deep breath and opened it, peering out at the woods for a moment before taking another look at the cabin. He was leaving it exactly like he found it, except for the blanket he was taking with him. He figured that was the polite thing to do.

Liam sighed and looked down at his arm, where he had scratched the angel-banishing sigil so he wouldn’t forget what it looked like. There was nothing else in the cabin he could find that looked like it would do anything to protect him, so… with a sun in the sky and no food or water to be found… it was time to go.

“I can do this.” Liam pulled his blanket a little higher on his back and stepped onto the dirt, pulling the cabin door shut behind him. He grabbed his earbuds from where they dangled over the collar of his shirt and put them in one at a time. “Here we go.”

Liam hit play and started to walk.

Liam jumped up on a stump and threw his fists in the air. “Put on your Sunday clothes, there’s lots of world out there! Put on your silk cravat and patent shoes!” He jumped off and continued walking—prancing, really, if he were honest—through the pathless forest in search of civilization. “We’re going to feel adventure in the evening air; to town we’ll trot, to a smoky spot, where the girls are hot as a fuse!”

He stopped for a moment and looked upward, shielding his face with his arm to keep out both the noonday sun and whatever decided to fall from the trees when he tilted his head back. Thankfully, nothing actually fell in his eyes, and after a moment, he turned around to look behind him. He wished he had something to leave a trail with, and he had been trying to mark occasional spots with piles of rocks, but he wasn’t sure how much good that was going to do him. There were rocks everywhere, after all.

Liam turned back around and jumped onto the non-existent path he had been following, picking up in the middle of the song playing through his earbuds. “Ha-lay-loo! Now me and Mr. Wrong are through. I’ll find myself another beau, who I know, is no roooveeer!”

“One short day, in the em-er-ald city, one short day, for a lifetime of fuuun! Every way—ay!” Liam jumped away from the sudden appearance of someone next to him, and it took both arms and all his concentration to keep from losing his balance on the rocky terrain. “Mr. Winchester! Don’t scare me like that!”

Mr. Winchester smirked just a little, and then cast a questioning look around the area. It looked like, at least for the time being, words weren’t going to make it across the gap between the dead and the living.

Liam sighed loudly and took half a second to catch his breath, pointing out in front of him. “I can’t tell for sure, but every now and then I hear highway noises—you know, like big trucks—and I think they’re coming from that direction.”

Mr. Winchester nodded a few times, his own gaze wandering up to look at the layout of the forest ahead. He opened his mouth, turning back to Liam, and then he flickered away like a broken hologram.

Liam huffed in frustration and almost started walking again, but then Mr. Winchester was back, looking a little more solid than before. Since he had tried to talk before disappearing, Liam took an earbud out, just in case.

“I think I might actually be getting the hang of this.” Mr. Winchester looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times. “I did some looking around while I was stuck on the other side, and you’re headed in the right direction. I tried to leave some markers, but… I’m still working out how to touch things.” He flexed his hands again, a concentrated crease in his brow, and then he looked back at Liam. “And don’t call me Mr. Winchester. That makes me sound old. Just call me John.”

Liam tilted his head but then shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Mr. Winch—John gestured to the woods ahead of them. “You should keep walking. You don’t want to be out here after the sun goes down.” He nodded toward the blanket rolled up on Liam’s back. “Even with that, it might get too cold. Best to keep moving.”

Liam nodded affirmatively and started hiking again, stepping up on a large log and half jumping, half dropping down on the other side. John just went through it.

“So… from all the talking out loud you do… I gathered that Sam and Dean are still hunting.” John frowned slightly. “That true?”

Liam pulled his lips between his teeth and nodded, wondering if that was the right answer.

Mr. Winchest—John offered a nod of his own, looking grim.

Liam looked at the ground to watch his steps, and after a few moments of silence, he spoke. “Were they… not supposed to?”

John let out a heavy sigh, and when Liam looked up, there was a sad and bitter sort of smile on his face. “Last time I saw them, they killed the thing that had been chasing us since Sammy was a baby. I just thought… without Yellow Eyes around… they would finally be able to settle down.”

“Oh.” Liam nodded in understanding and looked down at his feet again, just in time to keep himself from tripping on a tree root.

“Though it sounds like they settled down at least a little.” There was a smile in John’s voice when he spoke. “They’ve got you.” Then, after a pause, “How did that happen?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders. “Um, the kids at my group home were getting sick one by one. They said it was some kind of pneumonia… but then the kids would fall asleep and not wake up. Comas at first, but then a couple died.”

“Shtriga,” John supplied.

Liam nodded, assuming John was right. Liam had never bothered to ask Sam what attacked him that night; he never asked Sam any questions about that night. He never talked about it, afraid if Sam contemplated the incident for too long, Sam would start wishing the shtriga had finished the job. Sam would start wishing he had never gone back to get Liam.

John did not carry that same risk. So, Liam went on.

“Right, that. I guess I was next on the list… or whatever, because it came after me. Sorzie saved me.” Liam glanced over. “It’s a nickname. And a long story.”

John pursed his lips and gave a sideways sort of nod, apparently willing to let it go for the time being.

So, once again, Liam continued. “He killed it, and… he went away at first. I didn’t want him to, but he said he had to. But then he came back for me.” Liam slowly shook his head. “I don’t know why he did that. I—”

Liam stumbled over a protruding rock with a startled yelp and hit his hands and knees, the branches and stones scraping up his skin on impact. He quickly pulled his hands off the ground, leaning back on his heels and blowing on his palms.

“You alright?”

Liam nodded, not bothering to look up, and with a quiet hiss of pain, he pushed himself back to his feet. He dusted himself off, sniffed a little—because the pain had made his eyes water just the tiniest bit—and started walking again. “I’m just clumsy. Sorry.”

John didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he recovered his voice, he moved the conversation back to Liam’s story. “Where was Dean during all this?”

Liam pressed his lips together for a moment, getting a sick feeling in his stomach just thinking about Dean being trapped in the horrible place Castiel had described.

“Um…” Liam shook his head, dragging his sleeve over his eyes. “Um, well… Dean was sorta… in Hell.”

“What?” John’s voice was completely flat. There was no shock, or anger, or confusion. He just sort of… reacted, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it yet. Like he couldn’t quite get his head around it.

“Dean was… in Hell.” Liam kicked a wayward stone, glancing up long enough to look ahead and try to spot the highway. He saw nothing but trees and sky. “Um, I overheard them talking about it… and I was there during a fight between them and the angels, and they talked about it then, too. I wasn’t really supposed to know, so… I don’t know how he got there or how long he was there or anything… I just know it happened… and I know the angels got Dean out a couple months after Sam let me run away with him.”

John didn’t say anything, and Liam was honestly too afraid to look over and see what was on his face. Liam just kept his eyes either ahead of him or on the ground, and he briefly returned his attention to the song still streaming through one of his headphones.

“Siiingin’ in the rain, just siiingin’ in the rain; what a glooorious feeling, I’m happy again! I’m laughing at clouds, so daaark up above, the sun’s in my heart, and I’m ready for love…”

“So… Dean’s back now? He’s… he’s topside?”

Liam chanced a look in John’s direction and found a man looking guilty more than anything. Like it was his fault Dean went to Hell. Briefly, Liam thought maybe it was; maybe that was why neither Dean nor Sam liked to talk about their dad.

But Liam didn’t know for sure, so he offered a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, Dean’s back. He… didn’t really like me at first, but it got better when I colored a picture for him.”

John frowned, confused. “Dean’s always loved kids. You sure he wasn’t just in a mood or sick or something?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. Sorzie said he got mad because we scared him. Like… he wasn’t expecting me, and it made him feel or think something he didn’t like, so he sort of just… reacted.” Liam shrugged his shoulders, and it didn’t look like John really understood, but Liam didn’t feel the inclination to explain. “But he warmed up to me real quick. He likes to color with me, and he teaches me things about Baby, and he took me to an amusement park that was really fun!” Liam smiled up at John. “I like Dean.” His smile began to fade almost immediately, his gaze traveling down to the dirt as a sharp pain hit his sternum. “I miss Dean. I miss them both. And I miss Bobby. I even miss Castiel.”

John flickered briefly, and Liam knew that meant they were running out of time, but John didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he offered a very faint smile and said, “You’re almost back to them. We’ll get you home, don’t worry.”

Liam flashed a little smile of his own, but it didn’t last.

John slipped his hands into his pockets. Briefly, Liam wondered how that worked when one was a ghost, but he didn’t ask.

“Tell me about the amusement park,” John said.

Liam perked up a bit, brightening at the memories that filtered through his mind. “We went to Knoebels! We rode so many rides, and we went on all the rollercoasters, and when we went on the Tilt-A-Whirl, Sorzie and Dee knew just when to lean to make it spin so fast we couldn’t even scream, we were just laughing and trying to catch our breath, and then—”

Liam talked long after John flickered out of sight.

Once Liam found the highway, he quickly decided that carrying a rolled-up blanket would require more explanations than he was willing to come up with. So, using a piece of broken headlight he found on the side of the road, he cut a hole large enough to put his head through, and his dark gray blanket became a dark gray poncho.

Getting a ride on the highway was fairly easy. Liam hitchhiked for no more than thirty minutes before a nice lady in a minivan—Elaine, she said her name was—pulled over and offered to help. Given that she was a woman and in a minivan and had a baby in the backseat, Liam decided it was worth the risk to get in her vehicle.

Liam told Elaine that he had gotten mad at his parents and run away, but that he had calmed down and needed to get back home. He said he didn’t have their phone numbers memorized—which was believable, thanks to cellphones—and then said his parents had taken his phone away, which was why he got mad in the first place. He asked her to take him to the closest bus stop for the local line—local lines were more likely to take an unaccompanied minor—so he could ride it home.

“I’ve run away before, but I’ve never run this far. They’re expecting me to come back, like I normally do, and if they get home from work and I’m not there, they’ll be freaking out wondering where I am. Then I’ll never get my phone back! Not to mention, I’d be grounded for life.”

Elaine agreed that it was best to get Liam home as soon as possible, and she saw no reason to call the cops if Liam was certain his parents weren’t already looking for him or filing reports. Elaine was, however, hesitant to let Liam make the bus trip alone. So, Liam told her he was fourteen—there was something about being in high school that made grownups more willing to walk away—and that he had ridden the bus a million times to get to the library and the park and so on. It took a little bit to convince her, especially because he was small for fourteen, but he wasn’t impossibly small, so he won her over in the end.

Elaine put him on the bus and paid the flat-rate fare, which made Liam feel a bit bad, because he had already swiped a twenty from her wallet. But Liam only thanked her, waving through the window with an award-winning smile as the bus pulled away from the curb. He rode as far as he could, and then he started walking again, intending to repeat the process from town to town until he found his way home.

But then he found something. Something old and mostly forgotten and wonderful.

All he needed was a few quarters.

“Hi.” Liam put a bottle of Gatorade and a bag of beef jerky on the counter, holding out the folded twenty between two fingers. “Don’t really care how you make change as long as I get some quarters.”

She didn’t try to make conversation, which Liam expected had something to do with her natural disposition as well as the headphones he refused to take out. She was middle-aged and grumpy, so she probably expected a teenager to be disrespectful. And Liam wanted to keep up the teenager façade just in case the woman had worked in the same place long enough to know the local kids. When kids were out of place, people got involved; when teenagers were out of place, people generally avoided them.

He was actually feeling pretty optimistic when he left the store, but it didn’t last. Halfway through the parking lot, he saw something that made his heart drop into his stomach, and his mood quickly followed it down.

It was a bumper sticker about abortion. Pro-Choice. He couldn’t remember what side that was, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t like any talk about abortion, period, because it always reminded him of Timmy. And when he thought about Timmy…

Liam ducked his head and held his food and drink close, rushing through the rest of the parking lot. He walked down the street toward the payphone, taking his headphones out in preparation to make his call, but the closer he got, the worse he felt.

What if they don’t want me? I caused so many problems for them… and for Castiel. They had to do what the angels said because of me. Castiel got hurt because of me. Maybe… maybe it would be better if I were gone.

“Are you gonna stare at it all day, or are you gonna make a call?”

Liam startled slightly, but it took him a moment to tear his gaze away from the phone and look at John, who was standing in a nearby alley.

John had his arms folded over his chest, and he looked impatient. Unhappy.

Liam looked back at the phone for a moment, and then he shuffled toward the alley. He went past John and fell back against the wall, sliding down the bricks until he was sitting on the ground.

“Hey.” John nudged Liam with his foot. “What’s the matter?”

Liam wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, tears burning the backs of his eyes.

“Come on, now. Buck up and stop crying.” There was a shuffling noise, and then John was sitting next to Liam on the ground. “Tell me what the problem is.”

Liam lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms, sniffing quietly as tears blurred the brick wall across the alley. “Back at the group home… there was a boy named Timmy.” He dragged his arm over his eyes and sniffed again. “He was really nice to me, even though he was a couple years older. We were… we were friends.” They were best friends. “And he used to talk sometimes… about how his mom said she wished she had aborted him… or that she had miscarried…” Liam’s eyes started to burn again, the tears coming back in a rush. “And some of the other boys at the group home… they used to say the most awful things to him. They would make jokes about…” his face twisted up, “…about coat hangers, and I didn’t get them, but Timmy did, and they made him cry, and sometimes he would cut his arms or legs, and...” Liam opened his mouth and then stopped.

John kept quiet, letting Liam find his words in his own time.

Liam half wished John would interrupt so he didn’t have to finish the story.

“He…” Liam sniffed and wiped hi face again. “He went on a home pass one weekend… and I don’t know what happened, but… he went up to the roof… and he jumped.” He opened his mouth to continue, stopped, and then slowly started again, choking up. “And I thought… I thought those boys would feel bad, but they… they didn’t, they just laughed. And Mrs. Highland made us go to school that day, and we still had to do chores, and… and everyone just moved on. Like they didn’t miss him.” Liam hiccupped and wiped his eyes. “But I missed him. I missed him so much.”

Liam still missed Timmy, he just never let himself talk about it. He never let himself think about it. Even his therapist had been unable to get him to ‘process his trauma,’ and Sam didn’t know Timmy ever existed. Sam could only guess what caused the nightmares on those occasions when Liam refused to give details. Liam had completely shut off that part of his brain, suppressing any and all thoughts of Timmy until Timmy was all but forgotten. And it felt wrong, but it also felt like the only way to survive.

Until something forced him to remember. Old, metal coat hangers, like the ones the boys would leave on Timmy’s bed. People named Timmy or Tim. Mentions of abortion in any capacity. Mentions of miscarriage; sometimes pregnancy alone was enough to trigger him. Reserved parking spaces for expecting mothers, women who were visibly pregnant or talking about being pregnant, even the word maternity. Sometimes it was a brief twist in his gut that passed in seconds, and sometimes it knocked him flat on his back and sucked the air out of his lungs.

Sam still didn’t know why Liam had cried hysterically for twenty-two minutes straight after watching some kids drop a water balloon from third-story window.

“What’s this got to do with making a phone call?”

Liam sniffed, and his instincts said to be angry. Wasn’t he allowed to be upset just because? Sam said he was. Didn’t the story bother John at all? It would have bothered Sam. Sam would have known what to do and say. Sam would have made everything better.

I want Sam!

But Liam’s frustration quickly faded, replaced by fear. Because the reason he wanted to focus on Timmy was so his train of thought wouldn’t make it to the next station stop. Usually, telling a tragic story got grownups to offer comfort and zero in on the perceived trauma. Most grownups didn’t force Liam to go back to his trigger.

“I just…” Liam curled up a little tighter, tears escaping his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. “Nobody missed Timmy… and…” he dragged his arm over his eyes, “…and his mom wished he had never been born… and my mom…” Liam looked out at the payphone for a second, but he got too close to seeing John’s face and looked at his knees again, watching his tears make little dark spots on the blanket-poncho. “I’m difficult. I’ve caused problems for… everyone. That’s why my mom didn’t want me. And I know the angels kidnapped me so they could make Sam and Dean do what they wanted… and I got Castiel in trouble, and…” Liam screwed his eyes shut, chest tightening as a painful, stabbing sensation struck him in the sternum. “What if Sam doesn’t want me anymore? Maybe he would be happier if I just…” His eyes flickered up to the top of the building across from them. “Why would Sam want a mess like me?”

Silence settled in the alley, Liam’s shoulders shaking as he sobbed soundlessly. His chest and stomach hurt, and as desperate as he was to go home, he was terrified of making that phone call. Even if Sam didn’t come out and say he wanted Liam to stay away, he could still sigh in that annoyed, unhappy way that said he was getting really tired of Liam’s neediness. Even if Sam and Dean drove halfway across the country to pick Liam up, they could still refuse to talk to him—or even look at him—until they felt he had been appropriately punished for causing so much trouble.

There was so much they could do without saying they didn’t want him. There was so much. And all of it hurt. And maybe Liam could survive Dean or Bobby giving him those looks, but he knew he couldn’t survive Sam doing the same.

“Sam isn’t the type to settle for something he doesn’t want.” John’s voice was low and gruff, but there was a certain warmth to it Liam couldn’t quite describe. “If Sam says he wants you around, you can bet your bottom dollar he means it.” He paused. “You said the angels used you as leverage?”

Liam felt a swell of guilt and nodded his head, hiding his face in his arms.

“You wouldn’t have made very good leverage if you didn’t mean the world to Sam and Dean. They’ve had to walk away from a lot of people and sacrifice a lot of things to get the job done. But they weren’t willing to give you up.” John nodded in the general direction of the payphone. “I guarantee, they’re waiting for that phone call. Hoping for it. Praying for it.”

Liam looked up at John for a long moment, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Even after all the trouble I caused?”

“I don’t know what trouble you think you caused, but I doubt it’s as bad as you think it is.” John laughed then, tilting his head back to lean against the bricks. “Even if it is, those boys are attracted to trouble like magnets to iron. If you didn’t cause trouble, they would probably think you were boring.”

Liam laughed a little, reaching up to scrub his eyes. “Really?”

“Trouble is their middle name,” John replied with a wry grin.

Liam smiled a little and looked at the payphone, but he felt a twist in his gut as soon as he saw it. Why would they want you? You’re more than trouble. You’re annoying. You’re stupid. You’re useless. You’re difficult. You’re a failure. You can’t do anything right. You—

“You know, Sam was gonna be a Liam.”

Liam jumped slightly and looked up at John. “Really?”

John nodded with a small smile. “Yeah. I always thought we’d have another kid or two, so when Mary wanted to name Sam after her father, I didn’t make a fuss. But I wanted a Liam, and it didn’t really work as a middle name for either of the boys.”

Liam screwed his face up, confused. “But why?”

John didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he idly tapped the star on Liam’s chest. “Master Sargent Liam Hall. He got this medal the same time I did. We fought together… He was a good man.” John smiled, but there was a heavy sadness to it. “I had been shot in the leg… and he had been badly burned… but he was a team leader, and that team needed a sniper to cover their advance. So, he did his job, and I did mine.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes growing distant, his voice softer and lower. “We made it back… but the war followed him home. More than it did me.”

Liam listened, expecting to hear a story, but John just shook his head and gave another one of those sad smiles, the thousand-yard stare slowly fading from his features.

“Killed me, losing him.” John’s lips twitched into just a little bit more of a smile. Something a little lighter, a little warmer. “Hate to think what it would do to Sam and Dean if they lost you.”

Liam looked at John for a moment, and then he looked over at the payphone. He slowly got to his feet and approached, digging around in his pockets for the change he had gotten at the convenience store.

He took a deep breath and pulled the phone off the hook, putting it to his ear. He deposited two quarters into the payphone and punched in Sam’s cellphone number, praying it would go through.

Ring… ring… ring…

“Hello?”

It was Sam. And that broke a dam Liam hadn’t even realized was there.

“Sam?” Liam sobbed, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Liam? Liam, is that you?” Sam sounded shocked, but he sounded happy.

He sounded happy.

“Liam? Liam, are you there?”

Liam covered his mouth and dropped his forehead against one of the plastic walls enclosing the payphone. “Sam…” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Liam, where—”

Dean’s voice interrupted in the background, undecipherable and frantic.

“It’s—yeah, Dean, it’s him. It’s—” Sam let out a little laugh. “It’s him. He—I don’t know, I have to ask.” Sam was panting, laughing through his words, and he sounded like he was crying, too. “Liam—Liam, where are you, buddy?”

Liam dropped his hand and sucked down a lungful of air. “I don’t—I don’t know where exactly, but I stopped at a convenience store, and there were bumper stickers for Montana and Yellowstone River.” He rubbed at his eyes. He’s happy. They’re both happy.

“Okay. Okay, you just hang on, we’re gonna get you. Okay? Dean, who’s closer, us or Bobby? Liam, are you hurt?” Sam was bouncing back and forth between the two almost seamlessly, speaking rapidly, seemingly unable to settle on one voice or emotion. “Are there any angels following you? Are you in danger?”

“No, I—” Liam looked around out of habit, wondering if he had, in fact, been found. “No, I think Castiel did something. I—”

“Castiel?”

“Castiel showed up in my room, and he—” Liam stopped, wetting his lips. In the thrill of talking to Sam, he had forgotten how dire the situation was. “He looked really bad, Sam. He was covered in blood, and he couldn’t stand up right, and—” Liam dragged his arm over his face, trying to clear away the still-happy tears and get focused. “He took me to a cabin, and then he left, and I don’t know what happened to him, but he never came back, so I had to leave the cabin, because there wasn’t any food or water, and—”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” Sam’s voice crackled out for a moment. “No, Dean, he’s just upset. He’s not—Liam, hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker phone.”

Liam held his breath and waited, and he tried not to start crying again when the voices began to echo and Dean joined the conversation.

“Hey, Lee. Can you hear me?”

Liam smiled through his tears, holding the phone with both hands. “Yeah, I’m—I can hear you.” He sniffed. “I can hear you guys.”

“Good, good.” Dean sounded like a huge weight had lifted off his shoulders, like he had been worried, like he cared. “Yellowstone River is pretty big. Can you tell us if you’re in a city or rural area?”

Liam sniffled again, but the tears kept coming. “Uh, what’s rural?”

“It’s like farms and backwoods,” Dean answered.

Liam looked around, despite already knowing the answer. “No, it’s definitely a city. It’s pretty big, too.” He hoped that was helpful.

“Okay. Good job, buddy, that’s really helpful.” It was like Dean had read Liam’s mind. “Can you see any—”

“Dean Smith?”

Liam tensed up at the new voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, and he didn’t like the way Sam and Dean didn’t immediately respond. They were good liars, and they normally gave some kind of response to bystanders.

“Sam?” That was Dean, and he sounded concerned.

“That’s not the name I gave the hospital,” Sam replied, equally cautious.

Hospital? Liam thought, chewing on his bottom lip, pulse thrumming in his ears as his elation turned to fear. Why are they in a hospital?

“Liam, call Bobby.” That was Sam again.

“Sam?” Liam blinked. “Sam, what’s hap—”

“Call Bobby!”

Click.

Liam held the phone to his ear for another second, listening to the dial tone, and then he pulled it away and stared at it.

John was by his side in an instant. “What happened?”

Liam shook his head, blinking slowly, lost in shock. “I don’t know. They were there, and they were asking me where I was, and then someone called Dean by the wrong name, and Sam said to call Bobby, and… it went dead after that.”

It took a few more moments to process that Sam and Dean had likely been attacked, and if Liam vaguely recognized the voice of their attacker, their attacker was likely an angel. And for a fraction of a second, Liam was scared, but then he was angry.

Liam had finally gotten away from the angels, at great cost to Castiel; he had hiked through a forest, and he had hitched a ride with a stranger, and he had stolen and lied and connived to find a way to contact his family… and the angels had taken them away again.

And Liam was angry.

Liam slammed the phone down and stormed back to the alley, grabbing his food and drink before starting off down the street, blanket-poncho flapping in the wind.

“Hey!” John tried to grab Liam’s arm, but his body flickered at the last second. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Liam clenched his fists at his sides and snapped back angrily, “First, I’m gonna figure out where I am so I know what to tell Bobby. Then I’m gonna find a place to sleep before the sun goes down, because no matter where in Montana I am, I’m far enough away that it’ll be a long time before Bobby gets here. And then I’m gonna find a library, and I’m gonna check out every book they have on angels.”

For a moment, Liam didn’t hear anything—which Liam didn’t much care about, as long as John didn’t try to stop him—but then John chuckled and muttered something to himself that made Liam swell with pride.

“Yup. Kid’s definitely a Winchester. No doubt about it.”

Liam almost cried all over again when he saw Bobby pulled up to the curb in a junked car. He scrambled to his feet, blanket-poncho wrapped tightly around himself, and ran toward the street, calling out.

“Bobby!”

Bobby was barely around the front of the car when Liam jumped into his arms, grabbing on tight and burying his face in the flannel shirt and canvas jacket that smelled faintly of whiskey.

“Easy, easy. I got’cha, boy. I got’cha.” Bobby rubbed Liam’s back and pat it a few times, moving back toward the car. “Let’s get you in out of the cold.”

Liam screwed his eyes shut and held on tight, letting Bobby pick him up and carry him to the near-suffocating warmth of the car. He felt his behind touch the backseat and opened his eyes, closing them against almost immediately as his mouth was stretched into a yawn.

“There’s a pillow and some blankets in there.” Bobby’s voice was somehow soft and rough at the same time. “Lie down and get some sleep.”

Liam nodded absently and turned around, crawling toward the other end of the car and grabbing the bedding Bobby had mentioned. He heard the door slam but paid it no mind, wrestling with the blanket for all of two seconds before he decided he didn’t have the energy. He collapsed, cold and damp, half-tangled in one blanket and wearing another, onto the backseat of Bobby’s car.

Liam heaved a sigh and smiled when the car started to move, anxious to be lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rumbling underneath him.

“You alright, Lee?”

Was he alright? Well, he had spent an amount of time he couldn’t define being held captive by angels who confused, frightened, and misunderstood him; he had been stranded in a forest with no food or water, left to find his way back to civilization on his own; he had suffered the whiplash of finally hearing Sam’s voice only to have Sam taken away again in a matter of minutes; and, as if all that wasn’t enough, he hadn’t been doing that great to begin with.

Even before the angels took him, he had needed an amulet to keep the nightmares away, and it didn’t always work; he had often skipped meals or ate very little due to the random stomachaches he had suffered from for as long as he could remember; he had feared Dean’s temper, feared the sudden and unknowable people Sam had brought into his life, feared Sam would leave him for Dean.

He had feared he would never be good enough. He still feared that.

But, for the moment, he was safe. He was safe, and he was warm, and there was a country music station playing softly in the background as rain began to beat on the windows. He was safe. He was with family. He was going home.

“I’m great, Bobby.” Liam smiled. “I’m really, really great.”

There had to be some kind of rule about not raising children with trauma similar to your own until you had worked through that trauma. Bobby hadn’t even been able to have kids, when it was the one thing the love of his life wanted most. He definitely wasn’t ready to look after a kid with a background in abuse for more than two hours.

“I’m—I’m sorry. It—it was an accident, Bobby, I’m—” Liam looked down at the broken dish again and then up at Bobby, taking a few steps back. “I didn’t mean to. I just—”

“Woah, easy.” Bobby held his hands out slightly, palms facing Liam. “Easy, it’s okay.” He wondered if he had looked that terrified when he dropped a plate as a child; if that was what his father had seen before the beating started. “I know it was an accident. Heck, even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t hit you.”

Liam bit his lip. “I’m really sorry, Bobby. I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, I know you are.” Bobby offered a small smile and crouched down, gathering up the bigger pieces of ceramic. “Why don’t you go in the living room? I don’t want you walking around this in bare feet.”

Liam took another step back and nodded his head, arms drawn in close. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then he scurried into the library and out of sight.

Bobby let out a sigh and lifted his ballcap, rubbing his head a few times before putting it back on. I gotta get Sam back before I do something to send this kid over the edge. Not that he thought he was doing any kind of terrible job, he just didn’t know how to react, and he knew he was going to screw it up eventually.

When Bobby saw Liam flinch or cower, all he could think of was his own childhood, and it was hard to be calm and understanding when all Bobby wanted to do was hunt down the dirtbag who had hurt Liam so badly and send them to Hell, wrapped neatly with a bow. Except, according to Sam, Liam would think any kind of anger Bobby expressed was directed toward Liam, not away from him. Bobby didn’t want that.

And this is why I never had kids of my own.

Bobby tossed out the last of the broken plate and set the dustpan and brush on the floor by the trashcan. It really was such an easy fix—such a stupid thing for any parent to get angry about—and it wasn’t like plates were expensive. Not the kind Bobby used, anyway.

“Hey,” Bobby said, leaning into the library.

Liam looked up from his lap, twisting anxiously on the couch, blue eyes wide and uncertain.

“It’s really not a big deal, kid. It’s just a plate.” Bobby shrugged and shook his head. “I’ll hit the thrift store and get another one for a quarter.”

“I can pay for it,” Liam offered quietly.

Bobby chuckled, trying to laugh away Liam’s nervousness. “I ain’t that broke, kiddo. I can spare a quarter.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “You wanna come help me finish up the dishes?”

Liam nodded at first, and then stopped. He hesitated, slowly sliding off the couch, and then he started nodding again. “Yeah.”

“You still wanna be the dryer?” Bobby asked, returning to the sink full of soapy water.

Liam hopped up on the stool next to Bobby and grabbed his damp towel, nodding quietly.

“Works for me.” Bobby quickly washed and rinsed the next plate, handing it over to Liam with a quiet, “It’s really alright, bud.”

“I’m really sorry,” Liam whispered, taking the plate and drying it very carefully. His eyes never really made it up to Bobby’s face.

Bobby kept washing dishes. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you can be really sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders and handed over a coffee mug with twenty years of stains. “But you really don’t have to be.”

Liam grabbed the handle of the cup in a white-knuckle grip. “Okay.” He started drying the cup, not saying anything else.

Bobby let the silence linger for a moment, but then he decided that wasn’t going to help Liam get his mind off any bad memories or feelings he was holding onto. So, Bobby dried his hand and reached over, turning on the little radio he often used while cooking.

It was a country station—something Dean endlessly groaned about—and Bobby knew from the car ride home that Liam was a fan. Bobby let it play, putting his attention back on the dishes.

Nothing happened right away, but the music helped to take away the awkward silence. Bobby was fine with regular silence, and he kind of like the easy feeling that settled over the room as they worked through one week of their combined dirty dishes.

“…buyin’ on time… without somebody…” Liam’s already quiet singing melted into even quieter humming.

Now, it might have gone against everything Bobby had in him to do ‘cute’ or ‘silly’ things, but humming along to an old country song wasn’t exactly terrible. And it turned out that Bobby humming along was exactly was Liam needed to sing. Still quiet, still with his eyes on the dishes, still afraid, but singing.

Bobby would take it.

“Livin’ on love, buyin’ on tiiime; without somebody nothin’ ain’t worth a dime. It’s like an old-fashioned storybook rhyme, livin’ on love. It sounds simple, that’s what you’re thinkin’, but love can walk through fire without blinkin’. It doesn’t take much… when you get enough… livin’ on love.”

Bobby smiled to himself as the song continued, but as it came to a close, he noticed a troubled look on Liam’s face.

“Hey. What’s wrong? Don’t you like that song?”

Liam looked up and met Bobby’s eyes for the first time since he dropped the plate. “No, I do! I…” He looked down at the bowl in his hands, not really drying it, but not holding it still, either. “Back, um… back at one of my foster homes… there was a girl there, and she had a baby, and she was only fourteen. And… lots of the boys talked about girls that they kissed… or had sex with… and they weren’t that much older than me. Landon kissed a girl when he was twelve!”

Bobby blinked. Times are definitely a’changing.

“And, well… I’ve… I’ve never even held hands with a girl. And I… I kinda like girls… but… I mostly just want to be friends right now. And I like listening to love songs, but… I don’t know. I’m not ready yet.” Liam set the bowl down and stared at it, twisting the drying towel in his hands. “And I don’t know why.”

Bobby was speechless for a moment, but it didn’t last. He put down the dish he had been washing and leaned against the sink, looking down at Liam. “I didn’t kiss a girl until I was twenty-four.”

Liam blinked, staring up at Bobby in awe. “Really?” he asked, mouth hanging open.

Bobby gave him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah. I had a couple dates, and I gave a couple girls a kiss on the cheek, but…” He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I never planned it. I just… had my mind on other things, I guess. I had stuff to sort out.” His father. Murder. His mother. Guilt. Confusion. “I mean, I thought about kissing girls, I just… never met a girl I wanted to kiss. Not until I met Karen.”

“Karen?” Liam echoed, looking up at Bobby curiously.

Bobby looked back at him, barely keeping himself from reaching out to brush a finger over the cigarette burns above Liam’s brow. “Karen. I met Karen, and from the moment I saw her, I wanted to kiss her.”

“Did you?” Liam stared at Bobby with intense eyes, very much needing to know the answer to that question.

Bobby laughed. “As soon as she let me, yeah. We eventually got married, settled down…” Bobby pursed his lips slightly and nodded his head. “She was the love of my life. And even though I didn’t plan it that way, I was still glad she was the only girl I ever kissed. I used to think to myself… that maybe if I had been more ready to kiss, I would have gotten more involved with another girl, and maybe Karen and I never would’ve wound up together.”

Liam blinked, utterly riveted.

Bobby smiled. “My point is, you’ve got time. You’ve got so much time, kiddo. Let other kids do what other kids wanna do. When the time and the person are right, you’ll be ready.”

Liam bit his lip and thought for a moment. “Even though I’m a boy?”

“A’course.” Bobby pushed off the counter and got back to washing the dishes. “Nothing wrong with a boy takin’ his time.”

Liam smiled to himself a little, and he didn’t say anything more after that. Bobby’s answer had, apparently, satisfied whatever doubt or worry he had had.

Huh. Maybe I’m not so bad at this, after all.

“Play meee, some mountain music, like grandma and grandpa used to play, and I’ll floooaat on down the riiiver to a Cajun hideaway—hay—haaaaaaay!” Liam threw his hands up. “Fiddle solo!”

Bobby didn’t even know ‘air fiddle’ was a thing, but standing there, watching Liam play it, Bobby couldn’t help himself. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Hey, boy, it’s me again. It’s been nine days, and I haven’t heard a thing from either of you.” Bobby sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I know I left this on other messages, but I have Liam with me, and he’s fine. We’ll keep looking for you, I guess. Call me when you get this.” Bobby sighed again, pulling his phone away from his ear and shaking his head at it as he hit the red button to end the call.

“Still can’t find them?”

Bobby turned to see Liam sitting on the couch, hands in his lap and head down. Bobby managed not to sigh, but he did rub his head again, which Liam had quickly figured out was a sign of frustration.

“We’ll find’em, Lee.”

Liam nodded his head, but he didn’t seem very cheered up by the statement.

Bobby didn’t know what else to do, though. He couldn’t make any promises, and he had run out of resources to use, and with it being the first week in January, he couldn’t send Liam outside to play and get his mind off things.

Well, he could, but the kid would freeze and wind up covered in mud.

“What if we look for Castiel?”

Bobby frowned slightly. “Castiel?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. But Castiel disappeared just a few days before Sam and Dean. Maybe the angels thought Castiel told them something, so the angels took Sam and Dean. Or… maybe Castiel tried to hide them like he hid me, or… or maybe…” Liam dropped his head and picked at his hands, sniffing quietly. “I just want them to come back. Why can’t we find them, Bobby?”

Bobby exhaled slowly and walked over to the couch, sitting down nearby. “I don’t know, buddy. But we’re gonna keep looking, and wherever they are, they’re never gonna stop trying to get back to us. One way or another…”

Liam sniffed again and dragged his arm across his eyes. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”

Bobby blinked. What? He shook his head. “What on Earth made you think something like that?”

Liam wiped his eyes again, still looking at his lap. “If it weren’t for me, the angels wouldn’t have had any leverage, and maybe Sam and Dean could’a beat them already. I was on the phone with Sam when the angels got them.”

“None of that is your fault, boy.” Bobby shook his head. “And I doubt even Sam and Dean could beat an entire army of angels just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Liam took a shaky breath and mumbled, “I guess.”

Bobby pondered the situation for a moment, and then he stood up. “This was supposed to be a Christmas present…” he walked out into the hall and opened up the closet, “…and Sam and Dean wanted to be here when you opened it…” he sifted through the packages until he found the one he was looking for and then returned to the library, “…but they can be here when you open the rest. I think you should open this one now.”

Liam sniffed, reaching out to take the small package with timid hands. “I forgot all about Christmas…” He turned it over and slowly started pulling at the corners, unwrapping the present with less than a little enthusiasm.

Liam frowned when he saw the box inside. “What’s a smartphone?”

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. It’s a phone but better, I guess. But Sam and Dean said they set it up for you.”

Liam frowned at it, and then he started opening the box. He had a curious look on his face, but his movements were still slow and unmotivated.

Bobby waited patiently as Liam got into the packaging and pulled out the device.

“Okay… so… if they already set it up…” Liam fiddled with the buttons and the screen came to life, revealing a picture Sam and Dean had taken of themselves and set as the background.

Bobby smiled a little. He figured the gift would make Liam sad in some ways, but he was hoping it would give Liam a chance to feel closer to Sam and Dean as well.

“Um… so…” Liam fiddled with the phone some more, going through different menus and options, and he eventually wound up at the videos. “There’s already some on here…”

Liam selected the first one.

“Hey, Liam!” Sam waved at the camera. “I’m really hoping we’re gonna spend Christmas together, but it’s in less than a week, so we might wind up asking Castiel to bring you some of your gifts. If that’s what happened, then we wanted to say—”

“Hello!” Dean butted in and waved at the camera, extremely up close.

“Dean!” Sam shoved Dean out of the way and repositioned the camera so it could see both of them. “Like Dean said, we wanted to say hello. We miss you like crazy, and we’re not gonna give up until we’re all together again.”

“You bet’cha.” Dean grinned. “But until then, Merry Christmas!” His smile grew a little sadder. “We love you, kiddo. Always. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Love you, little man.” Sam blew a kiss to the camera, and then the footage froze.

Liam stared at the phone for all of two seconds before clutching it to his chest and turning his face to hide it in Bobby’s shirt. He let out a little sob but stopped himself from doing it again.

“Good present?” Bobby asked, gently rubbing Liam’s back.

“Uh-huh,” Liam replied tearfully, nodding his head and moving closer to Bobby.

“I think there are some more videos. You wanna watch’em together?”

Liam choked out another sob and nodded. “Yeah.” He pulled away enough to see the phone and fumbled with the controls, tucked tightly against Bobby.

Bobby reached over occasionally to point out which button to press, since Liam was having trouble seeing through his tears, and eventually, the two managed to get another video rolling.

“Hey, Lee!” Dean whispered excitedly. “Sam is out like a light, and I couldn’t leave you out of this glorious opportunity, even if you’re not here right now.” Dean held up a Sharpie marker, and while his face blocked most of the camera, they could tell he was moving around the motel room. “I’m thinking French mustache with little hearts on his cheeks. What do you think? Ooh, should I do his eyebrows? I can make them huge!”

Bobby lost track of how many hours they spent on the couch, going through videos and pictures and messages. He also lost count of the number of times Liam smiled or giggled, and that was worth it.

It was time well-wasted.

“Oops. Caught red-handed.”

“He told me not to tell, ‘cause he said you two don’t get along.”

Bobby blinked, still a little too shocked to scowl, as his gaze slid from Liam to the ghost of John Winchester and then back again.

Liam shuffled in place, looking sheepish. “Um… when Castiel helped me escape, he gave me a gold star—er, bronze, I mean.”

Bobby didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order, and then he looked at John. “So, you’ve been tagging along this whole time?”

John shook his head. “I was at first, even if I had a hard time showing up, but every day the connection gets weaker.” He nodded in the general direction of Liam—or, more likely, the medal Liam had somewhere on his person. “I figure the angel did something, ‘cause I was never attached to the medal before this. Wherever he is, whatever they’re doing to him… he’s running out of juice.”

Liam shuffled some more, staring down at his feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want there to be any fighting.”

“It’s alright, bud.”

Bobby and John looked at each other, realizing they had spoken in unison.

John immediately shook his head. “Oh, no. We’re not starting that.” He gestured in Liam’s general direction again. “I haven’t even been around that much. I’ve been spending whatever time I’ve been conscious looking for Sam and Dean, in between that, it’s just… big patches of missing time.”

Bobby hummed. “Well, have you had any luck?”

John shook his head with a frustrated sigh. “No. But I’ll keep looking.”

Bobby folded his arms over his chest and paused thoughtfully. “Liam mentioned something the other day about looking for Castiel because he disappeared right before the boys did. If the angel did something to make you stick around…”

“Maybe I can track him somehow.” John nodded in agreement. “It’s worth a shot.” He smiled down at Liam, and then reached out to tousle the messy, dark red locks. “Smart thinking, Berkowitz.”

“Berkowitz?” Bobby asked with a cocked brow.

“Yeah.” John shrugged. “Dave Berkowitz? Son of Sam?”

Bobby’s brow arched a little higher. “You nicknamed your grandson after a serial killer.”

John rolled his eyes. “Oh, gimme a break, Bobby.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and glanced down at Liam. “I’ll see you around, kiddo. And even if I can’t find them, you can bet Bobby will, alright? They’ll be back before you know it.”

Liam smiled and took a step forward, giving John a tight hug around the waist. “Okay. Love you, John.”

John spent a brief moment in awkward indecision, and then he gave Liam a little squeeze and muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Love you, too, kiddo.”

With that, John disappeared, leaving Bobby and Liam alone in the living room.

Liam looked up at Bobby, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “Is it really okay that I didn’t tell you?”

Bobby flashed a small smile and nodded his head. “You weren’t doing anything wrong, and it’s not like you lied to me. You didn’t want anybody to fight, and I doubt there was a good time to say, ‘Hey, by the way, my ghost grandad has been following me around ever since I escaped angel jail.’”

Liam laughed at that, and he seemed to relax a little more. “Okay.” He paused, pursed his lips slightly, and then asked, “Do you think John would mind if I called him Pappy?”

Bobby had absolutely no idea, but if John had a problem, he could get over it. “I don’t see why not.”

Liam smiled to himself. “Good.” He then began chewing on his lip again, his expression thoughtful, and then he slowly began to speak. “Why… don’t you and Pappy like each other?”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and let out a soft sigh. “It’s… not that we don’t like each other, we just… don’t always agree.” He let his hand drop down and let out another sigh. “John was in a tough situation when the boys were younger, and… he did some things he probably shouldn’t have. But, uh… but, you know, he did his best.” Bobby sighed again. “He was dealing with things nobody else knew about, and… I don’t think anybody realized how much he was trying to handle all at once.”

Liam frowned a bit, a thoughtful expression twisting his features. “Why didn’t he ask for help?”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck again. “Liam… your dad is supposed to be your hero. He’s supposed to be able to do anything, fix any problem. No dad wants to tell their kid they can’t do something.”

Liam thought about that for a second or two, and then he nodded his head. “That makes sense. There are a lot of times Dad tells me things are okay when I know they’re not because he doesn’t want me to worry.” He nodded solemnly, and then froze up, eyes going wide. “I mean Sam.”

Bobby smiled softly. “I think Sam would be fine with you calling him, ‘Dad.’”

Liam shook his head quickly. “No, I like calling him Sam. Or Sorzie.”

Bobby chuckled softly. “That’s fine, too.”

Liam nodded and ducked his head, embarrassed. Though, why exactly Liam would be embarrassed about calling Sam his dad, Bobby didn’t know.

Huh. Just another piece of the Liam puzzle, I guess.

“When are they gonna get here?”

“Five minutes sooner than the last time you asked me.”

Liam bit his lip and looked out the window, gripping the pane until his knuckles turned white. They’re okay. They’re both okay. They’re okay, and they’re coming home, and we’re gonna be a family again. Liam bounced on his toes, queasy with nervous excitement.

Don’t be so clingy, his inner voice chided. That kind of behavior will scare them off.

But he couldn’t help it. Normally, he was able to resist the urge to go in for a hug or a cuddle or a kiss, but that was when he had already had one or two that same day. He hadn’t seen them in weeks—months!—and he needed them.

He needed Sam.

Not that he didn’t love Dean; he did. He loved Dean, and he loved spending time with Dean, and he had missed Dean terribly.

But Sam was… Sam.

Sam was the one who had taken Liam away from his group home. Sam was the one who helped Liam clean up most of his accidents. Sam was the one who drove him to Walmart at three in the morning just because he had nightmares, and it was Sam he shared a bed with. It was Sam who patiently helped him with his schoolwork no matter how frustrated he got, and it was Sam who didn’t run away after reading every incident report ever made about Liam’s bad behavior. Sam was the one who would sometimes wrap Liam in a blanket, cradle him like a baby, and rock him to sleep, ‘just so he could get some of the cuddles he missed out on at home.’

Liam loved Bobby. Liam loved Dean. Liam was even starting to like Castiel a little bit.

But Liam loved Sam. Liam needed Sam. Sam was Liam’s entire world, Sam made Liam forget how dirty he was, Sam told Liam he wasn’t a mistake or a burden.

Sam was Liam’s dad. And more than anything, Liam wanted his dad.

“When are they gonna get here?” Liam had no sooner asked the question when Baby came flying up the road and turned into the driveway, sliding like something out of a movie. “They’re here! Bobby, they’re here!”

Liam didn’t wait for permission. He bolted from the window and ran to the front door, throwing it open and running toward Baby as fast as his legs would take him. He saw Sam in the passenger seat slapping Dean on the shoulder and saying something, and then the car skidded to a stop. Sam came out of the car just as fast as Liam came out of the house, running toward Liam at full speed.

“Sam!” Liam giggled. “Sam!”

Liam jumped up as soon as he was close enough, and those gigantic and wonderfully familiar hands were around his waist in an instant. Sam lifted Liam into his arms and pulled him close, holding on tight. Liam threw his arms around Sam’s neck and wound his legs around Sam’s hips, holding on for dear life as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“Liam.” Sam pulled away just long enough to kiss Liam on the forehead, and then he crushed them back together. “Oh, buddy, I missed you so much. I thought about you every day; I was so worried.” He pulled them apart, kissed Liam again, and then resumed the hug. “I missed you, Liam. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Liam cried, holding on to Sam, reluctant to ease up on his hold even when he knew it was for a kiss. “It felt like I was gone forever.”

“Oh, buddy.” Sam squeezed Liam so hard it hurt, but Liam wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “I’m so sorry.”

Liam sobbed, fingers curling through Sam’s shirt. “I said I was okay, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay, I wanted you, and they wouldn’t let me go—” he hiccupped, crying harder at the familiar feel of Sam’s hand rubbing circles on his back, “—and I just wanted to be home with you, and Samandriel and Castiel were nice, and they didn’t hurt me, but they weren’t you, and I wanted you, I just wanted you!”

“Shh, buddy, you’ve got me. You’ve got me. I’m right here, I’m right here with you.” Sam separated enough to kiss Liam’s forehead and wipe his tears away. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed Liam tight, and his own voice was thick with tears when he spoke again. “I’ve got you, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

“Can we—” Liam sniffed hard and rubbed his head against Sam’s, tucking his chin over Sam’s shoulder. “Can we open my Christmas presents? And if there are any toys, can we play? You and me and Dean and Bobby, all of us, together?”

“Of course we can. Liam, we’ll play all day if you want to.”

“And—and maybe we could watch a Christmas movie together?” Liam squeaked out the words, barely able to get air into his lungs without sobbing it all back out. “And order a pizza?”

“Done and done, Liam. Absolutely.” Sam kissed the side of Liam’s head, and his hold hadn’t lightened in the slightest, his grip in startling contrast to the softness of his voice. “What do you want to watch? You want to watch Rudolph?”

“I don’t care,” Liam mumbled. “Just wanna watch it with you.”

“We’ll figure it out later,” Sam whispered.

“What am I, chopped liver?”

Liam’s head popped up off of Sam’s shoulder when he heard Dean, and he reached out to give Dean a hug, keeping his legs wound tightly around Sam. Dean put his hands under Liam’s arms, like he would if Sam were handing Liam over, and an unintelligible noise of protest escaped before Liam even realized what was happening.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Dean adjusted his hands and wrapped both arms around Liam, giving him a hug while still letting him stay with Sam. “I missed you like you wouldn’t believe, buddy.”

“I missed you, too,” Liam replied, his voice thick and congested. “I saw the videos you guys left me.” He flashed a faint smile. “You drew on Sam’s face.”

Dean grinned widely. “Yeah, I did.”

“Yes, he did.” Sam sounded considerably less enthused.

Liam giggled to himself and put his arms back around Sam, holding on tight. “I taught Samandriel how to make paper airplanes. It was really funny, ‘cause he’s an angel, and he’s really nice, but he was so serious about making a paper airplane. It took him, like, five minutes to fold it one time!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Aw, man, you gotta be kidding me.” He put his hands on his hips. “Man, don’t angels do anything fun on their own?”

Liam wore an annoyed look to show his agreement. “Apparently not, because they didn’t even know what Scooby-Doo was.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “What? Psh. Well, at least now we know what’s wrong with them.”

Liam laughed, and even though he had no desire to let go of Sam, he realized he had forgotten just how much fun it was when Dean was around. He had just been so desperate for comfort and safety that he had never stopped to ask himself when he had last laughed.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Dean urged, giving Sam a little shove. “Let’s go open presents.”

Liam smiled to himself and rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder, relishing the feel of strong arms wrapped around him.

Safe.

“You know, when I was as Sandover, and my memory was all messed up, there was a guy in the same office as me named Leeland.”

Liam shifted slightly, settled down on top of Sam and ready to sleep all the way through the night for the first time in weeks.

“And I kept calling him Liam. And I couldn’t figure out why. I kept thinking to myself, who do I know with that name? Why do I keep calling him by the wrong name? But it was like… the name ‘Liam’ was just at the front of my mind, and I couldn’t put it anywhere else. And I could feel that it was something…” Sam sighed, lifting Liam’s body and dropping it back down, “…something so important, but I didn’t know what.”

Liam smiled sleepily to himself, feeling Sam’s chest vibrate with every word.

“I missed you so much, buddy. Don’t ever think, even for a second, that I enjoyed taking a break from you… or that I was hoping you wouldn’t come back to me… or that I felt even a nanosecond of relief when I didn’t have to take care of you.”

Liam bit his lip, eyes burning, and he screwed them shut just as Sam started to rub his back.

“I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I woke up every day missing you so much it hurt. I missed making you pancakes, and I missed hearing you sing, and I missed watching you color.” Sam heaved another sigh, and his voice was thick when he spoke again. “I know what you think about yourself. But when you were gone, buddy, I would have killed to clean up an accident in the middle of the night.”

Liam let out a quiet sob and gripped Sam’s shirt, drawing comfort from Sam’s heartbeat and breathing and the steady rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he spoke.

“I know you think I just put up with the nightmares and the accidents because I love you, but I don’t. Those things are part of life, part of life with you, and I miss them when they’re gone. I don’t put up with them, Liam. Those moments aren’t always fun, but they’re moments I spend with you, and every moment spent with you is… is… I can’t even explain it.”

Liam sniffed hard and took a steadying breath.

“My worst day with you is still better than my best day without you, because no matter how good it is, I’ll always end the day by thinking to myself, ‘It would have been better if Liam had been here.’”

Liam sobbed and rubbed his face against Sam’s shirt.

“I love you, Liam. Do you know that?”

Liam nodded, letting out another soft cry.

“I love you so much. You are my little boy, and no matter what happens, that will always be true. No matter where you go, or what you do, or who you become, you will always be my little boy. And I will always love you.”

Liam blinked rapidly, fresh tears rolling down his cheek and soaking into Sam’s shirt. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “I love you, D—Dad.” He was hit with another wave of tears almost immediately. “Why doesn’t that feel right?”

“Why doesn’t what feel right, buddy?” Sam rubbed Liam’s back, patting a few times before returning to circles. “Calling me ‘Dad?’”

Liam nodded tearfully. “I think of you like my dad, and I love you like my dad, but it doesn’t—it doesn’t feel right when I say it, and I don’t know why!” Liam turned his head, pressing his forehead against Sam’s chest and sobbing. “I don’t understand!”

“Shh, Liam, it’s okay.” Sam stroked Liam’s hair. “You don’t have to call me ‘Dad.’”

“But I want to!” Liam cried, turning his head to press his cheek against Sam’s chest again. “I want to…”

“Liam…” Sam inhaled softly. “Maybe it’s just not time. It’s okay if it’s not. It’s okay if it never time. You and I know that when you say ‘Sam’ or ‘Sorzie,’ what you mean is ‘Dad.’ You don’t have to say it to mean it.”

Liam inhaled shakily and let the breath out in a stuttered sob. “I love you, Sorzie.”

“I know you do, buddy.” Sam craned his neck and planted a chaste kiss on the top of Liam’s head. “I know you do. And that’s all that matters. Okay?”

“Okay,” Liam whispered. “I’m so glad you’re home…”

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Sam chuckled softly.

Liam let out a sigh and felt himself dropping off to sleep, his entire body going slack on top of Sam as his limbs turned to lead.

Safe.

His head started to swim, eyes fluttering shut and sending one, final tear down the salty tracks on his cheek.

Loved.

And then, just before the exhaustion and tears and overwhelming emotions sucked him down, he had another thought.

Wanted.

And then Liam was dead to the world.

“So, I still don’t know if you can hear me…”

Castiel recoiled under the force of his brothers, his essence flashing orange and screeching into the void. Had he still been in a vessel, his voice would have been long gone, and he would have been choking on his own tears. Instead, he was suspended in the very essence of pain, torn apart and burned on a molecular level.

“…but we’re looking for you. Pappy—uh, John tried to find you, but he couldn’t.”

Castiel writhed, tendrils of yellow snaking through his flaring shades of royal and navy blue. He screamed, his light flickering out like a dying fire before surging back, a mixture of yellow and bronze. It hurt. It hurt so much.

“Sam and Dean and Bobby are all looking.”

Castiel flashed a light blue for a fraction of a second, the whispered words from Earth bringing him the faintest strain of comfort. He didn’t know why Liam was talking to him, or why Liam would care where Castiel was. It was astonishing that Sam, Dean, and Bobby would look for Castiel, and Castiel was tempted to believe Liam was lying.

But Castiel needed that hope.

“Just hold on. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Castiel twisted and tore, his light shredding into strips as he screeched, the high-pitched ring of agony resonating through the abyss.

“I promise.”

Sam jolted awake with a gasp, scanning the room and quickly zeroing in on the small child standing by the bed. “What is it, buddy?”

Liam fidgeted in place. “Um…” He twisted his hands against each other, dropping his eyes to watch them. “If you… if you still think it’s a good idea to call a therapist… you can.” He glanced up briefly but couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes. “I’d be okay with that.”

Sam was still half-asleep, but he was awake enough to sit up and engage in soft-spoken conversation. “I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” He paused. “Did something happen to make you change your mind?”

Liam met Sam’s eyes for a fraction of a second, and then he was staring at his hands again. “Bad dreams… and stuff.” He sniffed, interlocking his fingers. “I just… I don’t want to be scared to sleep anymore.”

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded understandingly. “I’ll make some calls. We’ll get you taken care of, okay?” It took everything in Sam not to press Liam on the ‘and stuff,’ but he knew it would likely hurt more than help.

“Thanks…” Liam shuffled in place, moving his mouth in silent half-words that never made it off his tongue. He sighed, shoulders hunching slightly.

Sam rubbed his face briefly and pushed the blankets off his legs. “Do you want to go somewhere to distract yourself?”

Liam bit his lip and nodded twice, eyes glued to the movement of his hands.

“Do you have any idea where you want to go?” Sam ran a hand through his hair and stood up, quietly moving toward his duffle bag. “Are you hungry at all? Do you want to find a restaurant?”

Liam shook his head and folded both arms over his stomach, staring down at his feet.

“Okay, so no food.” Unfortunately, Sam didn’t remember seeing much of anything in the town, and what little he did see weren’t twenty-four-hour stores. “Maybe we can just drive around for a bit.”

“We could do school,” Liam suggested quietly. He shuffled in place a little. “Like… maybe you could read me a story?”

Sam smiled, one hand resting in the duffle bag but no longer searching for a jacket. “That sounds like a great idea. Go get your book.”

Liam scurried over to the table in the corner of the room, and Sam got to his feet and returned to bed. Liam ran back to the bed a second later with a brown book in his hands, which he handed to Sam.

“Alright, let’s see…”

Liam crawled into bed with Sam, curling up against Sam’s side and settling in for a long night.

Sam briefly considered putting on a pot of coffee, but he ultimately decided he would wait to see if Liam was going to fall asleep quickly.

“Alright, here we go. Chapter Nine: Moses. ‘It was early spring, 1851, when Harriet decided to go south again to guide her brother James to freedom. Snow still lay in pieces on the ground as she made her way through Delaware…”

“… in the crisp, winter air on the night of Harriet’s death, the North Star, which had guided her and those she conducted to freedom, shone brightly.”

Sam let out a contented sigh and closed the book, looking down at Liam with a sad smile. “Still can’t sleep?”

Liam shook his head, dark circles painted beneath his eyes. It had been far too long since he got a full night of rest. “Could we start another one?”

Sam, who was slowly losing his ability to keep his eyes open, let out another sigh and shook his head. “I think we should try to fall asleep first, okay? I’ll be right here with you.”

Liam shook his head, a quiet whine rising in his throat. “I don’t want to sleep. Please, Sorzie, please don’t make me.”

Sam tried not to let his frustration show, but he was exhausted, and as much as he sympathized with Liam’s fear—as much as it pained him to hear Liam plead—he also knew they both needed sleep.

“I’m not going to make you, but I want you to try. Okay?” Sam pushed Liam’s bangs away from his face. “Dean and I are going to meet Adam tomorrow, and you’re going to stay here. What if you get too tired and fall asleep and have a bad dream when you’re alone?”

Liam pondered that for a moment, and then he offered a tiny, defeated nod. “Yeah, okay… I guess I can try…”

Sam smiled and leaned over, planting a kiss on Liam’s forehead. “Thank you for trying, Liam. That’s very brave of you.”

Liam flashed a weak smile and crawled under the covers, settling down facing Sam.

Sam adjusted the blankets, tucking Liam in before laying down and situating the blankets over himself. He rolled onto his side so he was facing Liam. “Do you want me to play with your hair?”

Liam sniffed and nodded his head, moving in a little closer.

Sam reached out and started toying with the amber locks, combing his fingers through the strands and occasionally running his hand up and down Liam’s spine.

It was mere minutes before Liam was asleep, and Sam knew it had to be due to the severe exhaustion. Liam hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since they reunited two weeks earlier.

And Sam could only imagine how little sleep Liam was getting before they were reunited.

Not to mention, he’s worried about Castiel, and what the angels might be doing to him, and he’s worried about us, because he knows we’re up against something big, and…

And Sam was definitely calling a therapist in the morning.

“Y’ello?”

“Hi, Bobby.” Liam fell back on the bed and idly swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “I’m bored.”

“Bored, huh? Did you do all your schoolwork?”

Liam nodded, even if Bobby couldn’t see him. “Yup.”

“All of it?” Bobby had a playful suspicion in his tone. “Even the math?”

“Yup.” Liam drew the word out and made a popping noise at the end. “Even the math. I only have two problems left, and I need Sorzie to help me with them.” He sighed, kicking his legs again. “They went to meet with Adam and make sure he’s really who he says he is. They left me here in case it got dangerous.”

Bobby chuckled on the other end of the line. “Probably a good idea. You can never be sure what’s gonna happen when your pappy is involved, even if it is old news.”

Liam frowned slightly. “I… don’t really know a lot about him. I know Sorzie and Dean kinda act funny when I ask about him… and I know you and him didn’t get along too well.” His brow crinkled as he continued. “What, um… well, just why, I guess. I want to know why it’s a touchy subject.”

Bobby let out a sigh at that, but he didn’t seem annoyed. “Where do I even begin?” He sighed again. “John’s situation wasn’t an easy one. It’s easy to look back in hindsight and say what he could have or should have done differently, and it’s easy to point the finger when you’re standing on the outside, but… he really did do his best.”

“Okay…” Liam blinked slowly, pulling his legs up onto the bed. “What does that mean?”

“Well…” Bobby let out a sigh. “When Sam and Dean were little, their mom got killed by a yellow-eyed demon. After that, well, I always thought John wanted revenge. But come to find out, the reason he was so obsessed with finding that thing is because something was after the boys. Sam, specifically.”

“Sorzie?” Liam finished, a curious lilt to his voice.

“Yeah.” Bobby paused. “It’s… it’s a long story, and I don’t know if Sam wants me telling it.” He sighed. “Bottom line is John got so focused on keeping Sam and Dean safe that he forgot to see whether or not they were happy. It wasn’t so much that he did things he shouldn't have, it was that he didn’t do things he should have.”

“Like what kinda stuff?” Liam was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Like… going to the park and playing ball. Remembering birthdays and Christmas and Easter.” Bobby cleared his throat. “It was always about training the boys. Taking them out to the firing range, teaching them how to fight, teaching them how to hunt monsters… but never taking the time to teach them how to be kids.”

Liam twisted his lips into a frown, swinging his legs and letting them bounce against the bed. “That’s sad.” He thought for a second. “And then he died, didn’t he? So they didn’t get to make up, and that’s why they act weird?”

“Yeah, that’s part of it. I think another part of it is that they miss him… but they don’t really know how to deal with it. John always acted weird when somebody mentioned Mary—”

It took Liam a second to realize Mary was Sam and Dean’s mother.

“—and I guess it’s just another trait they picked up from him.” Bobby let out a sigh. “A’course, they could’a picked it up from me, too. I never talk about my wife.”

“You were married?” Liam blinked, surprised. He hadn’t seen a single picture or indication of a woman anywhere in Bobby’s house. “Wait. You mean Karen, the first girl you ever kissed? Tell me about her!”

Bobby stammered, caught off-guard, which wasn’t easy to do. “I—well, I…”

“Please?” Liam bit his lip, scooting toward the head of the bed. “I really want to hear about her, and maybe if you don’t act weird about Karen, Sorzie and Dean won’t act weird about Pappy.”

Bobby made a series of hesitating noises, and then he finally relented with a sigh. “Alright.” He took a breath. “Karen had blonde hair down to her shoulders, kinda curled under, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“Bluer than Castiel’s?” Liam asked, jaw dropping slightly.

Bobby chuckled. “To me, they were.”

Liam fell silent and settled in for what he hoped would be a long story.

“We met for the first time when she brought her car in to be fixed. She had sprung a leak, and her radiator kept overheating. She must’ve come in for ten more repairs before I finally got the nerve to ask her out on a date. I was over the moon when she said yes…”

Liam stared down at his hands, shaking, heart pounding in his chest. He watched the gun fall, heard it clatter on the floor. His eyes slowly moved from the weapon to Sam’s prone body.

“Sorzie?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Liam knew Sam was knocked out cold. Sam had been hit in the face with the butt of a shotgun, after all. Sam had been hit, and then Liam had killed Adam with the pistol Sam had been using to train Adam just an hour or so earlier.

It wasn’t hard to shoot Adam. They weren’t that far apart. Liam actually got sprayed with blood upon impact; that was how close they were. It was hard to miss at that distance, even if it was a headshot.

Once Adam hit the ground, his mother had rushed forward to attack. Liam shot her, too. He didn’t remember that shot as much, but he knew he heard the bang again.

“Sorzie?”

Liam numbly dropped his bloody hands and crouched down beside Sam. He pushed the hair out of Sam’s face, surprised to find he was more upset about the gash on Sam’s head than he was about what had happened immediately after.

“Sorzie.” Liam took the hem of his shirt and pressed it down on the bleeding head wound, amazed by his own lack of tears. “Sorzie, you gotta get up.” Liam gave Sam a little shake. “Come on.” He gave him another shake. “Please…”

As if responding to the magic word, Sam started to stir, a quiet moan rising in his throat. His face twisted up in pain, and he turned his head to the side, probably trying to get away from the shirt touching his wound.

“Sorzie?” Liam prodded softly. “Are you okay?” He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he tried to stop them, but he couldn’t help himself.

Why am I crying now? Why not before?

Sam let out a quiet moan, eyes fluttering a few times before opening. He blinked at the ceiling and then looked around, dazed. “Liam…?”

Liam sniffed and nodded, reaching up to wipe his eyes. He got blood on his face. His heart pounded harder and faster with every step Sam took toward consciousness. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he whispered.

“Sorry…?” Sam squinted, blinked, and then opened his eyes. “Liam, what…?” He stared for a moment more, confused, and then he shot up into a sitting position. He pressed a hand over his wound and looked around, immediately spying the bodies on the floor.

“Liam, close your eyes, okay?” Sam reached for the shotgun laying half under Adam’s body. “And cover your ears.”

Liam sat down with his back to the wall and did as he was told, a few tears escaping his eyes when they closed. He pressed his hands against his ears as tight as he could and drew his knees up to his chest, dropping his forehead onto them with a shaky sigh.

There was a pause, and then Liam heard one gunshot. Another pause, another gunshot, and then there was silence.

“Liam, are you okay?”

Liam dropped his hands from his ears and slowly looked up to see Sam kneeling in front of him. He gave a few, jerky nods and resisted the urge to throw himself into Sam’s arms. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered.

Sam shook his head, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “Don’t be sorry, Liam. You did what you had to do. You thought fast, and I’m proud of you. I just…” Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t want this life for you.”

“I know. I know you didn’t.” Liam sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sam sighed softly and reached out, grabbing Liam under the arms. he pulled Liam onto his lap and wrapped both arms around him, planting a kiss on Liam’s forehead. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He kissed Liam’s forehead again. “You saved me. You got rid of two monsters who were hurting people, who were never gonna stop hurting people.”

“But you don’t want me to be a hunter,” Liam cried miserably, ducking his head and moving in close. He didn’t know why Sam wasn’t angry, but as long as things were peaceful, he wanted to be as close to Sam as possible. “You wanted me to stay away from hunting. You only brought me along to meet Adam. I wasn’t supposed to know how to hunt, but I did, 'cause I read Pappy's journal, and—”

“Liam. Shh.” Sam hushed Liam, gently carding his hands through auburn locks. “I don’t want you to be a hunter because I don’t want to you to be in danger. It’s not because being a hunter is bad, and it doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you for knowing what to do, it’s just… I just don’t want you to be hurt as much as Dean and I have been hurt. Does that make sense?”

Liam nodded slightly. It made sense, but he still felt he had disappointed Sam in some way. Sam was so determined to keep Liam safe, and if Liam got hurt, that would make Sam feel bad, and that would be Liam’s fault.

“How did you know what to do?” Sam asked softly, a curious tone in his voice.

Liam shrugged. “I just know lots of things get killed by having their heads taken off, including shapeshifters, and you kept saying that Adam’s mom wasn’t really his mom, so I thought…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders again. “I don’t know. I didn’t have much time to think. It just seemed like a good idea.”

Sam smiled softly, adjusting his arm a little and holding Liam close. “They’re ghouls, which are killed by decapitation or the destruction of the head, so you were right on.”

“Right on?” Liam’s lips twisted as he tried to keep himself from smiling. “So, I hit the nail on the… head?”

Sam tilted his head back and laughed. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

Liam giggled, snuggling in a little closer. “And… you’re really not mad?”

“No, Liam.” Sam shook his head and squeezed Liam tight. “I’m not mad at all. I’m not disappointed, I’m not upset, I’m not hurt. I just wish… I just wish there weren’t any monsters to kill in the first place. I wish you hadn’t been in a situation where you needed to kill monsters. But you being in that situation was my fault, not yours.”

Liam stretched out his legs a little, staring at the toes of his shoes as he pondered what Sam was saying. Beyond his feet lay the blurry, out-of-focus bodies he had shot. “I wish I hadn’t been in that situation, too.”

“I know, buddy, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam let out a soft sigh and ran his hand through Liam’s hair. “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry it’s not fair. This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not your fault.” Liam leaned into Sam a little more, sniffing quietly. “Besides, it does feel kinda good… if I think about them being monsters.” He smiled faintly and looked up at Sam for approval. “I was pretty brave, wasn’t I?”

“You were insanely brave.” Sam spoke in earnest, and there was a kind smile on his lips. “You did a good job, Liam. You did an amazing job.”

Liam smiled to himself, feeling an odd mix of guilt and pride. It made him feel warm inside to get praise from Sam, but his stomach still twisted at the source of the praise. He wasn’t quite sure what he felt or what to do about it.

“We should go find Dean.” Liam pushed off Sam’s lap and stopped just short of stepping in blood. “Just, um, just in case there are any more ghouls.”

Sam also got to his feet, immediately grabbing Liam under the arms and lifting him up. “You’re right.” He put Liam on his hip with a grunt. “Oof. You’re getting heavy. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to carry you.”

Liam flashed a faint smile, but it was hard to be cheerful with two bodies in the room. They’re just monsters. They’re just monsters. They’re bad guys. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“Do you want me to take you back to the motel? You can wait there while I…” Sam trailed off when Liam shook his head vigorously. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go find Dean together.”

Liam was just putting his head down on Sam’s shoulder when he had an epiphany and it popped right back up. “I saved you.” He leaned back so he could see Sam’s face, still holding on tight. “Didn’t I?”

Sam smiled widely and nodded his approval. “Yeah, buddy. You did. You saved me.”

Liam smiled to himself and leaned close, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam rubbed Liam’s back a few times and then started carrying him out of the house. “You saved me in more ways than you will ever know."

“No way.”

Dean looked up from the questionable content of his laptop and looked in Sam’s direction. “You find something?”

Sam nodded, an incredulous smile crossing his features as he stared at the screen. “I found Castiel.”

Dean snapped his laptop shut, suddenly alert. “What?”

“I mean, not Castiel. But his vessel.” Sam motioned for Dean to come to Bobby’s desk and read over his shoulder. “I took a chance and searched a few databases for people reported missing around the time you got out of Hell, figuring that was about the time Castiel took his vessel, and boom.”

Dean leaned over Sam’s shoulder, squinted at the screen, and cursed under his breath. “That’s him, alright.” Either that, or Castiel’s vessel had a twin. “Who is he?”

“James Novak. He was reported missing by his wife, Amelia, the same day you got out of Hell.” Sam leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh, almost deflating as he realized they had come to yet another hurdle. “We found his vessel. Now what?”

Dean felt his own enthusiasm leave, and all he could offer was a shrug. “I don’t know, man.” He snorted, returning to the couch and reclaiming his laptop. “I think we should let Heaven do what it wants with him.”

Sam looked at Dean with a combination of understanding and disagreement. “Whatever hand he may have had in Liam’s kidnapping, he also made sure Liam was as comfortable and connected to us as possible. And, in the end, he was the one who got Liam out.” He paused. “If for nothing else, do it for Liam. He feels guilty about Castiel being gone, and he’s not going to stop blaming himself until he knows Castiel is safe.”

Dean inhaled and then let out a heavy sigh that rumbled into a groan. “Fine.” He opened his laptop and clicked the URL bar. “What did you say the wife’s name was?”

“Uh…” Sam looked back at the screen. “Amelia Novak. Why?”

Dean pulled up Google and put in the name. “I’m gonna see if I can find her on Facebook. I’ll just say I have some information about her husband, try to get a feel for how much she knows about the angels possessing people, and go from there.”

“Huh. That’s actually a semi-good idea.”

Dean snorted, scrolling down the page a little before quickly hitting a problem. “Yeah, I have those every now and then. Where was he reported missing from?”

Sam looked at the computer again and scrolled a bit. “Uh… let’s see… Pontiac, Illinois.”

Dean nodded and added that to his search parameters. “That’ll help narrow things down.”

Sam got to his feet then, leaving his laptop open. “I’ve got to take Liam to his first therapy session. I’ll leave the missing persons report up on my computer.”

Dean glanced up and saw Sam standing there with his fingers crossed.

Dean wet his lips, abandoning his search for a moment. “Do you… think he’s gonna be okay? I mean, it’s his first kill.”

“It’s a kill,” Sam countered, sounding more scared than angry. “Don’t say it like there’s going to be more.”

Dean gave Sam a tired, worn-down, knowing look. “There’s going to be more.”

Sam wet his lips and glanced away. He didn’t say anything, but he clearly didn’t agree. Even if he was willing to train Liam, he wasn’t willing to fully immerse Liam in the hunter lifestyle. Which, Dean guessed, was probably for the best.

If Sam could actually make it work, that is.

Dean opted for a topic change. “You think the therapy’s gonna help if he can’t talk about hunting or running away from his group home?”

Sam nodded. “I do, actually.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “If the therapist is any good, Liam will be taught coping mechanisms that can be applied to all kinds of things. For example… let’s say he learns some ways to stop feeling guilty about what his father did to him. He could then take those skills and use them to stop feeling guilty about killing monsters.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Makes sense to me.” He held his hands up in a brief gesture of surrender. “I trust you, man. If you think it’s a good idea, I’m all for it.”

“Thanks.” Sam smiled slightly. “I appreciate the support.” He glanced at the clock and clapped his hands together. “Well! Gotta hit the road. Text me if you find anything.”

Dean nodded without a verbal reply, turning his attention back to his screen. How do I know which Amelia is the Amelia I want…? He tried typing in ‘James’ along with the wife’s name, but he still got a lot of results. James was too common a name, and really, Dean didn’t even know if the guy went by James or Jim or Jimmy or something else entirely.

Like Sorzie.

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and started making various noises, clicking on a few pages before going back to the search bar for another try. On a whim, he typed in ‘Amelia Novak Castiel.’

Hold up.

Dean leaned forward slightly, squinting at the top result. It looked like a blog that belonged to someone named Amelia… and she had the name ‘Castiel’ in the text of some of her posts.

Jackpot.

Sam was surprised when his phone rang a mere twenty minutes into Liam’s session. Thankfully, it was a little, private practice, and there was no one in the waiting room but himself.

“Hello?” he answered, still keeping his voice down.

“I found her,” Dean replied, and he actually sounded excited. “She had a blog, and in it, she wrote about her husband communicating with an angel he called, ‘Castiel.’ She thought he was totally crazy, so I doubt she knew anything useful about the angels, but she at least knew her husband thought they existed.”

“Do you know where she is?” Sam glanced at the door to the room where Liam and the therapist were, and then he stopped. “Wait, did you say she had a blog?”

“I haven’t found an exact address, but she’s definitely from Pontiac. And yes, she had a blog. It looks like she updated every other day or so, but she hasn’t made a post since… about five days after Castiel took Liam to the cabin. That was almost five months ago.”

Sam could hear Dean moving around in the background, probably already packing up to go to Illinois. “Do you think something happened to her?”

“Well, the demons know Castiel. If they figured out who the vessel was, it makes sense that they’d want to pick his brain and see if he knew anything about what the angels are up to. Maybe Amelia and Claire got caught in the crossfire.”

“Claire?” Sam echoed, scratching idly at the fabric of his jeans. “Who’s Claire?”

“Daughter.” Dean moved around some more. “She’s about Liam’s age. Amelia wrote about her, mostly. Some kinda Mommy Blog.”

Sam crinkled his nose. “Weird.” He couldn’t imagine posting all of his parenting troubles on the internet for the world to see. Or even all of his good parenting points for that matter.

“So, you think something happened to the whole family?”

“I don’t know, but we’re gonna find out.” Dean paused. “I figure we should leave ASAP, so swing by to pick me up, and we’ll hit a drive-thru on the way.”

Sam bit his lip, hesitating. “Actually…” He inhaled, bracing himself for Dean’s reaction. “I was thinking maybe you could take Liam to Illinois without me? So, uh, so I could train with Ruby some more?”

There was dead silence on the line for a full five seconds.

Sam rubbed his face. “I know you aren’t big on the whole demon blood thing, but with everything going on with Liam, I haven’t been focusing enough on my training, and if we want to get rid of Lilith—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard the spiel.” Dean was silent for a moment, and then he sighed. “Fine. Do what you have to do. I’ll take Liam to Illinois.”

Sam tried not to be discouraged by Dean’s lack of support. “I think it’ll be good for both of you. Most of the time, we’re both around, and Liam defaults to me because I’m the safest interaction for him. Maybe you two can stop off somewhere and do a little bonding.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he sounded a little less confrontational when he spoke again. “Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea, I guess.”

Sam smirked to himself. Success. “Okay. So, we’ll be back in about an hour, and I’ll give Liam and Baby to you, and you can be on your way.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Sam went to hang up the phone, figuring that was the end of the conversation, but he stopped short when he heard Dean’s voice again.

“Hey, Sammy?”

Sam crinkled his brow. “Yeah?”

“Be careful. Okay?”

Sam allowed a soft smile to pull at his lips, and he tilted his head back to rest it against the wall. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

Two seconds later, the line went dead, and Sam hung up on his end as well, a smile lingering on his lips. Because maybe Dean wasn’t supportive of Sam’s actions, but he was still supportive of Sam. Dean still cared, and that was enough for Sam.

It was more than enough for Sam.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Dean picked up a Wendy’s chicken nugget. “Observe.” He used the nugget to scoop some chocolate Frosty from his cup like a tortilla chip, and then he put the whole thing in his mouth.

“Ew!” Liam’s face twisted up in disgust. “That’s gross!”

Dean chewed for a few seconds and then spoke around his food, holding out the Frosty cup. “Don’t love it ‘til you try it.”

Liam’s face was still twisted up, but he hesitantly grabbed a chicken nugget and approached the cup. “Are you sure you’re not tricking me?”

Dean swallowed his food before replying. “Dude, it’s literally the best thing ever. Just trust me.”

Liam gave the food a wary onceover, and then he dipped his nugget into the Frosty the way Dean had. He gave Dean a final, suspicious look and took a bite. There was a brief second of tasting, and then his eyes lit right up.

“What did I tell you?” Dean grabbed another nugget, dipped it, and put the whole thing in his mouth. “It’s Heaven on Earth.”

Liam double-dipped—not that Dean minded—and put the rest of the nugget into his mouth. “This is so good!” He chewed a bit, covering his mouth. “How is it this good?”

Dean held up a finger, grabbing some fries and dipping them in the same way. “Do not question the deliciousness of a chocolate Frosty. Embrace it and move on.”

Liam laughed and grabbed another nugget.

For about three minutes, there was nothing but silence and enjoyment of fast food, but then Liam slowly began talking.

“So… we’re going to see this guy who was Castiel’s vessel, but… it’s not actually Castiel?”

“You got it.” Dean sucked the salt from his fingers and wiped his hands on his jeans, turning the keys in the ignition. “We’re gonna see if he knows anything about where Castiel is or what the angels are doing with him.”

Liam nodded solemnly, finishing off the last few french fries and putting all of their garbage back in the paper bag. “Do you really think he’ll know something?”

“He might.” Dean turned to look behind them, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking space. “I don’t know whether or not vessels can see what’s going on when they’re possessed. We’ll have to ask James and see what he remembers.”

Liam hummed softly and nodded, going quiet for several seconds. He pursed his lips, tilted his head, thought for a second, and spoke again.

“What else can you dip in a chocolate Frosty?”

Dean didn’t know why he expected anything less than a massacre where Heaven and Hell were involved. Yet, somehow, he had been holding out hope for finding James Novak and his family alive and well in their little cottage in Pontiac, Illinois.

“Hasn’t anyone noticed them missing?” Liam asked, poking his head through the door Dean had opened. “Ew.” He drew back and covered his mouth and nose. “That’s nasty.”

Dean offered a heavy sigh and a nod. “Yeah. That’s the smell of old blood.”

“Are they… are they dead in there?”

“I don’t think so. Dead people have a different smell.” Dean shouldered the door open and cautiously entered, one hand resting on his firearm. “Wait a sec.”

Liam waited obediently by the door.

Dean looked down first, noticing the large pile of mail accumulating behind the door, and then he looked around the house. It was chaos, with an overturned recliner and a broken coffee table being the most notable things. Dean turned his body slightly and cleared the kitchen next, noting it was relatively in order; though, it looked like dinner had been interrupted.

“I think we’re good.” Dean relaxed a little, letting his hand fall from his gun.

Liam nodded and stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind him. “So… now we investigate?”

Dean took another look around as he nodded. “You got it, buddy.” He walked over to the living room and immediately found a large bloodstain behind the overturned recliner. Either Heaven didn’t want Castiel escaping and going back to his vessel, or Hell saw an opportunity to get a foot in the pearly gates.

“More blood over here, Dean.”

Dean stopped and turned in a circle, feeling a brief surge of panic when he didn’t immediately see Liam. “Where are you?”

“I think it’s the master bedroom.” There were footsteps, and then Liam poked his head around the corner of a nearby hall. “This way.”

Dean followed Liam’s lead into the back room and found another, larger bloodstain on the floor. Oddly, there didn’t appear to be any signs of a struggle in the bedroom. If this all came from the same person, whoever it was is definitely dead. He frowned at the sight of a tan overcoat lying on the bed.

“Well, this looks familiar,” he muttered, grabbing the jacket and feeling around the pockets and sleeves. “So, he gets home, takes the coat off… goes downstairs to have dinner, and sometime before bed, he’s attacked.” Probably his wife and kid, too.

Huh?

Dean pulled two pieces of folded paper from the right jacket pocket. He dropped the overcoat and unfolded the first paper, an incredulous sort of smile pulling on his lips when he saw Liam’s artistic flair on the page.

“Hey, look.” Dean held the paper out toward Liam, trying to draw his attention away from the bloodstained floor. “Castiel hung onto your drawing all this time.”

Liam gingerly took the paper from Dean, and it put a little smile on his face, so Dean considered it a success.

Now, what’s this? Dean unfolded the second paper, squinting in confusion when he saw his own handwriting.

“…Sammy and I aren’t looking for you because…”

“…we’re looking for you because we…”

“…down here doing everything I can…”

Crap. When Dean wrote the letter, he hadn’t even realized he was using present tense words. They weren’t supposed to be looking for Liam, they were supposed to be tucking their tails and obeying, and Dean basically plastered the word disobedience on his own forehead.

But Castiel covered for him. Not to trick Sam and Dean, because he never told them about it, and certainly not for Heaven. Castiel covered for Dean because…

What? Because he cared? It didn’t seem like he cared.

But clearly he did, at least to some extent, or he wouldn’t have covered for Dean. He wouldn’t have kept Liam’s picture. He wouldn’t have tried so hard to get Liam home.

“Where’s Castiel now?” That was Liam, and the quiet, tentative tone told Dean Liam was expecting the worst.

“I don’t know, buddy.” Dean let out a sigh and refolded the paper in his hands, tucking it into his breast pocket and grabbing the coat from the bed. “But he’s not here, and this scene is old. Somebody’s going to come looking for the Novaks eventually, and we don’t want to be here when they do.”

Liam nodded affirmatively, folding the paper in his own hands and putting it in his pocket. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Dean tousled Liam’s hair and headed for the door. “Sounds like a plan, little man.”

Dean wasn’t even halfway through his first step when the phone rang. Dean looked at Liam, who looked back at Dean and shrugged.

Dean ventured into the kitchen, following the ringing noise until he located a landline on the kitchen counter. Dean looked at Liam again, and then with a ‘screw it’ sort of expression, he grabbed the phone and answered.

“Novaks.”

“Hi, Mr. Novak, my name is Felicity, I’m with Saint James Medical Center. Do you happen to have a relative by the name of Jimmy who has been missing?”

Dean’s face screwed up in confusion, but he decided to roll with it. “Uh—yeah, actually. How did you know?”

“We think we may have found him. He gave his name before he passed out. He’s about six feet tall, mid-thirties, with black hair and blue eyes.” There was a brief pause and some clacking on the other end of the line. “Does that sound like your Jimmy?”

“That sounds exactly like him,” Dean muttered, a little speechless. He gave Liam a thumbs up, and Liam’s eyes brightened hopefully. “You said, uh, you said he only gave his name. Is he unconscious now?”

“Yes, he’s currently in a coma. He was collapsed on the side of the road and gave his name to the person who called 911, but he was unconscious by the time paramedics arrived. Thankfully, there’s only a few Novaks in the phone book.” Felicity sounded entirely too cheerful given the circumstances. “He isn’t in intensive care, and the doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Do they have any idea why he’s comatose?” Dean asked, both to play his part as a concerned friend and to get information about where Castiel had been for the past five months.

“Well, there’s a limit to how much I can share over the phone, but I will tell you he had a lot of superficial wounds. It almost looked…” Felicity cleared her throat. “Um, anyway, he had also been laying outside for a while in the cold rain. But, again, he’s being treated, and they expect a full recovery.”

Dean nodded slowly, making an ‘uh’ sound to cover his thinking time. Superficial wounds could be torture, and that could be either Heaven or Hell, but being left on the side of the road sounds like neither. “Uh, okay. Well, we definitely wanna get there ASAP, so where are you guys at?”

“2500 West Reynolds Street. We’re here in Pontiac.”

“Perfect.” Dean was already inching toward the door. “We’re leaving now.”

“Alright. If he wakes up, is there anything you want me to tell him?”

“Just tell him Dean and Liam are coming to see him. He’ll know who we are.” And then, as angry as he was with Castiel, he added, “And tell him everything is gonna be okay.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Thanks. Okay, bye.”

Dean hung up the phone and looked at Liam, immediately trying to ease the worry he saw in those wide, blue eyes. “He’s okay. I mean, he’s in rough shape, but the doctor thinks he’s gonna be fine. He just… hasn’t woken up yet.”

Liam didn’t look reassured. “He’s in the hospital.” He looked down at his feet, shame washing over his features. “This is all my fault.”

“Hey, hey, hey. No.” Dean tossed the phone onto the counter and knelt down in front of Liam. “This is not your fault. Not at all. Castiel made a choice. He knew what the consequences would be and he did it anyway.”

“Because of me!” Liam shouted, tears welling up in his eyes.

Dean wet his lips. “Liam, you didn’t make him do anything.”

“But I kept saying I wanted to go home!” Liam cried, dragging his arm over his eyes. “And I was miserable, and I kept having dreams, and he felt bad, and that’s why—”

Dean shook his head, interrupting. “No, buddy. No. Your reaction was normal. You shouldn’t have been kidnapped in the first place.” He put his hands on Liam’s shoulders, squeezing them. “He got himself into the mess, and he had to get himself out of it.”

Liam dropped his head, his voice choked with tears. “He wouldn’t have kidnapped me if I wasn’t important to Sam and you, and Sam never would have taken me if I had just pretended to sleep!”

Dean shook his head. “Woah, buddy, slow down.” He rubbed Liam’s upper arms. “Sam adores you.”

“Sam feels bad for me!” Liam shot back, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “He only came back for me because I said I wanted to sleep and not wake up, and I only did that for attention, and now everyone’s getting hurt, and it’s all my fault!”

Dean was pulling Liam into his arms before he could finish. “No, no, no, no, no. No.” He shook his head, rubbing Liam’s back. “Liam, buddy, we love you. Do you have any idea how many sad stories we’ve heard? How many people we’ve felt bad for? We’re hunters. We walk away from all of them.” He kept rubbing circles on Liam’s back, holding him close, not knowing what else to do. “Sam didn’t adopt you because he felt bad for you. He adopted you because he wanted you. Because he looked at you, and he saw something special.”

Liam sobbed into Dean’s shoulder, gripping Dean’s shirt in his fists.

“Castiel helped you for the same reason. He saw something special in you, something that helped him realize what he was doing was wrong.” Dean stopped rubbing for a moment to wrap the arm around Liam and give him a hug so tight he was almost afraid the little body would break. “None of this is your fault, Liam.”

“Then why do I feel this way?” Liam cried, pressing his face into Dean’s neck, hot tears dampening their skin.

“Because, buddy, feelings… they lie. They lie a lot. Figuring out how to tell when they’re lying is just a part of growing up.” Dean sighed, lifting Liam from the floor and letting little legs wrap around his waist. “I wish I had a better answer for you. I wish I could make you stop feeling like this.”

Dean started making his way out to Baby as he spoke, because he really didn’t want to get caught in a bloody house with a kid that wasn’t his.

“Look, Lee… let’s pretend it really is your fault for a second. Because it’s not,” Dean put as much emphasis into the word as possible, “but if it was, you don’t beat yourself up over it.” Dean opened the passenger door and put Liam in the seat, crouching beside the car with a smile. “You make it right. That’s what a Winchester does.” Or at least, that was what Winchesters tried to do.

Liam reached up to wipe his eyes. “Okay.” He sniffed. “I’ll try.”

Dean smiled and tousled Liam’s hair, hoping Liam’s relief was genuine. “I’ll help you out if I can.”

Liam offered a weak smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Dean got the idea Liam had once again submitted because someone insisted, not because he believed what was said. As soon as a new thing happened, he would blame himself for it, and then the blame from all his previous ‘mistakes’ would come rushing back.

What I’d do if I ever met his parents… But Dean couldn’t think about that. It wouldn’t help Liam, and it wouldn’t help them all be closer as a family. Onwards and upwards.

“You ready to go?”

Liam offered a small nod.

Dean tousled Liam’s hair and then stood up, shutting the passenger side door and walking around the front of the vehicle. “Hospital, here we come.”

“So, Cas is comatose with torture wounds and pneumonia, but they’re expecting him to wake up soon. I think Lee and I are gonna find a motel and hang around here for a little while.”

Sam shifted by the window, peering out as he spoke into the phone. “Alright.” He glanced over his shoulder, flashed a smile, and then looked back out the window. “Listen, Dean… Ruby and I were talking…”

Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam could sense the wall going up.

“She has a lead on where Lilith is going next.”

“That’s nice.” Dean didn’t sound impressed or open-minded. “Why does that matter?”

Sam wet his lips and tried to stay as non-oppositional as possible. “Dean, I know we had been hoping for more time, but… I’ve been training, and I’m getting good, and if we have the chance—”

“No. No way.” To Sam’s surprise, Dean didn’t sound angry. He sounded worried; terrified, almost. “No, you’re not ready. Okay, Bobby and I were holding you back, and I get that that’s our fault, but you haven’t been practicing enough. You can’t go after Lilith. Not without some backup, and I can’t help you right now.”

“I’ll have Ruby with me, Dean,” Sam tried. “I wouldn’t go into a fight like that alone.”

“No,” Dean insisted. “It’s not safe.” Dean lowered his voice. “You’ve got a kid now, Sam. You can’t afford to take any chances with this.”

“But Dean,” Sam huffed out an incredulous little laugh, “it could be over.”

“Sam, I said no.” Dean heaved a sigh, and Sam imagined he was running a hand through his hair. “Not yet, okay?”

Sam wet his lips and nodded faintly. “Okay.” There was no point in arguing. “Okay, you’re right. It’s too soon.”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t say anything for a second, and then he heaved a little sigh. “We’ll get her, Sam. It’ll all be over soon, just… just not yet.”

“I know. I was just getting impatient. We’ll wait.” Sam pressed his lips together. “I’ll talk to you and Lee later tonight, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll keep you posted on the Cas situation.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Sam pulled his phone away from his ear and sighed, snapping the device shut.

“No go?”

Sam turned slightly and looked at Ruby, not missing the warm thrum that coursed through his veins from the blood she had given him. “Dean’s never going to give me the green light on this.”

Ruby put her hands in her pockets and looked at Sam expectantly. “Then what do we do?”

Sam looked at his phone for a few seconds, and then he shook his head. He shoved the phone into his pocket and grabbed his jacket from the back of the motel chair. “Where are we headed?”

“Ilchester, Maryland.”

Sam put his jacket on and gave it a few tugs to adjust it. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?” Ruby asked, pulling her hands from her pockets and taking a few steps toward the door. “If Dean finds out—”

“I said let’s do this.” Sam strode past her and grabbed the door, swinging it open and letting himself out. “Come on.”

“You’re the boss.”

Sam didn’t say anything to that. He certainly didn’t feel like the boss; he felt like he was cornered and out of options. He felt like he was tired of waiting for Dean not to get cold feet, and then he felt bad for thinking that way. He felt like a dad who wanted to raise his kid in a safe, happy, demon-free environment, and he felt like a dad who was running out of time.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He could feel something—possibly Dean’s years of influence—nagging at the back of his mind, telling him he shouldn’t have done it.

But when Ruby asked him which way to turn out of the parking lot, he didn’t tell her to go to Bobby’s. He told her to go to Ilchester.  

And then he turned his phone off.

“You’re not going to spend the whole trip staring longingly at your phone, are you?”

Sam glared faintly, but he couldn’t quite muster up the anger to tell Ruby to shut up. Instead, he turned his phone over in his hands again, staring at the power button and trying to decide if he should press it.

“Just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Sam snorted. “I could change my mind.” He shook his head, snapping the lifeless phone shut. “I just keep thinking… maybe Dean was right.”

“Right about what?” Ruby asked, glancing over from the driver’s seat.

“Everything.” Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window. “I don’t know. Draining an entire person?”

“You’re gonna need more juice than I can give you.” Ruby kept her eyes on the road while she spoke, but she seemed sincere. “You had to know it wasn’t going to be as easy as the other demons you’ve killed.”

“I guess I was trying not to think about it.” Sam put his head against the window with a sigh. “Where are we going to find someone to drain?”

“We know Lilith is in Ilchester.” Ruby glanced over at him. “We find the local hospital, and we’ll find her personal chef working in labor and delivery. We can get Lilith’s exact location out of her, drain her, and get it done.” She offered a small smile. “You’ll be back with Liam this time tomorrow.”

Sam let out a soft sigh and looked at the phone in his hands again. I can’t turn it back on. If he did, Dean would talk him out of killing Lilith. And if Dean couldn’t, just hearing Liam’s voice would take away Sam’s ability to commit cold-blooded murder.

It’s not cold-blooded. It has a purpose. This has to be done.

He continued the mantra in his head, trying to convince himself he was making the right move. He tried, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Liam, and all he could think about was how dirty his hands would be the next time he picked Liam up.

I have to do this.

Sam tossed his phone in the ashtray and looked out the window.

I have to.

Dean swung his arm back and threw it forward, releasing the bowling ball at the perfect moment to send it flying down the lane. It struck the pins, knocking down seven but leaving him with a split.

“Ha! You’re stuck!”

Dean turned around and spread his arms, approaching Liam. “What, you think I can’t get a split?”

Liam shook his head with a grin, twisting his foot against the slick floor.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He smiled then, grabbing the dark green ball as it came out of the machine. “But I’ll still give it a shot.”

Dean turned around and faced the lane, holding the ball up near his chest. He swung it back as he took a few steps, and then he swung it forward, watching it go down the glossy aisle.

It missed all the pins.

Dean and Liam both laughed as Dean turned around and walked back to the waiting area. Dean sat down with a heavy sigh and settled in to watch Liam take his turn, his thoughts immediately wandering to the wounded angel they had left at the hospital.

Visiting Castiel was easy, but without proof that they were family, the hospital was keeping pretty quiet on Castiel’s physical condition. Of course, Dean could tell just by looking that it wasn’t good. There were cuts and bruises all over Castiel’s face, neck, and arms that were probably a preview of what covered his entire body, and the whole ‘comatose’ bit was a clue.

Dean had offered ID and explained that they were cousins—hence the different last name—but either the hospital had strict rules or the nurse was shrewd and knew something wasn’t right. She said she couldn't give information to anyone but a first-degree family member, and it wasn’t until later that Dean thought of a way around that barrier. By then, it was too late to change his story.

“Dean, it’s your turn!”

Dean pulled himself from his thoughts and got to his feet, looking down the lane just as the machine knocked the four pins over. “Hey, you did pretty good.”

Liam smiled as he sat down on the chair across from Dean. “Thanks.”

Dean got up and grabbed his green ball. He walked toward the lane, and as his body started going through the motions of rolling the ball, he drifted back down into his thoughts.

Sam’s right about us needing his powers to get out of this mess for good. I didn’t want to admit it, but… without Sam’s power, we have no long-term plan for dealing with Lilith. Do we really want to be running from demons and fearing more supernatural kidnappings for the rest of Liam’s life? It’s bad enough we have to worry about losing each other to the job, but…

“Dean! You got a strike!”

Dean took a split second to register what was said, and then he threw his hands in the air. “Hey!” He turned around and bowed theatrically. “Thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoyed watching a master.”

Liam laughed and got to his feet, going for his own, bright red ball.

Dean moved away from the lane and sat down again, watching Liam and trying to keep himself from getting lost in thought again. Liam was too observant not to have already seen it, but Dean could still do his best to try and keep it from doing any kind of damage.

Liam’s ball hit the pins, knocking down at least half, and Dean held his hand out for a high-five.

“Good one!”

Liam high-fived Dean and then moved in for a hug.

Dean quickly maneuvered his arms around Liam and returned the hug, a curious quirk in his brow. “What was that for?”

“Nothing. I just love you.” Liam smiled, planted a kiss on Dean’s cheek, and then moved toward the machine to await his ball.

Dean smiled to himself, an incredulous huff of laughter passing his lips.

You’re something special kid.

Liam threw his ball down the lane again.

You’re really something special.

“What do you mean Sam didn’t come home last night?”

Dean could only imagine how he looked, standing in the hospital lobby with a kid on his hip and a phone to his ear, trying to help Castiel sign the necessary forms to leave against medical advice. He probably looked like SuperDad; Full House meets House M.D.

“What do you think I mean?” Bobby snapped from the other end of the line. “I mean he didn’t come home last night. I thought maybe he went to a bar to unwind since Liam’s with you, but it’s after lunch, and he’s still not back.”

Dean wanted to curse out loud but couldn’t, for obvious reasons. He also wanted to explain the Lilith situation to Bobby but couldn’t, for obvious reasons. Of course, he also couldn’t leave Bobby in the dark, for obvious reasons.

“Sam can’t—” Dean sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment and bending his knees. “Okay, buddy, you gotta stand on your own. I can’t hold you anymore.”

Liam slid down Dean’s leg and stood right next to him, sticking close and looking worried.

Dean put the phone back against his ear and lowered his voice to a whisper so the receptionist wouldn’t hear. “Ruby gave Sam a lead on Lilith. I told him not to follow it, but he obviously didn’t listen.”

Bobby cursed, and Castiel tensed up where he stood.

Dean made a note, but he was hardly going to ask Castiel for an honest answer with normal people around. Mixing Castiel, honest answers, and the public sphere was a recipe for disaster.

“Your name.” Dean tapped the paper. “Sign it. James Novak. Go.” He tapped it again when Castiel looked confused, and then he put his attention back on his phone. “I take it you tried to call him.”

“It’s going straight to voicemail.”

Dean swore and immediately put a hand on Liam’s head. “Sorry, bud.” He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to take the pen from Castiel and sign the papers himself. “Keep calling him, Bobby. We’ll be on the road in ten minutes.” He snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket.

Castiel signed the last paper and handed the stack over to the receptionist.

Liam tugged on Dean’s jacket sleeve. “Dean, I’m really hungry.”

“I know, bud.” Dean heaved a sigh and pulled Liam in for a quick side hug. “We’ll stop somewhere to get something.” He looked at the receptionist and nodded in Castiel’s direction. “Is that all you need from him?”

“That’s all for the papers,” she said, taking said papers and clipping them together. “We just need his insurance information, and then we’re good to go.”

Dean grabbed his wallet, nudging Castiel on the arm. “Go sit down awhile. Catch your breath.” He handed the card over and waited for the inevitable question.

“I see your last names are different. What’s your relationship to the patient?”

“We’re cousins. His folks died in a house fire when he was twelve, so my wife and I took him in. He kept his name, but he’s on our insurance plan.” That was the story he should have used when trying to get information about Castiel’s condition, but strokes of genius rarely arrived on schedule.

Liam tugged on Dean’s jacket sleeve again. “Dean, is there a Wendy’s nearby?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, buddy. We’ll look for one, okay?”

Liam nodded and once again grew un-obstructive, staying close to Dean but being careful to stay out of the way.

“Here you go, Mr. Walsh.”

Dean took his insurance card from the woman behind the counter and put it back in his wallet. “Thanks.” He folded the wallet up and shoved it in his pocket, taking a look around and quickly finding Castiel in the lobby chair closest to the doors.

“Come on, bud.” Dean gave Liam a little nudge on the back, and they walked over to where Castiel was. “You’re gonna need some help walking.” It wasn’t really a question, but he waited for Castiel to nod, anyway. “Kay. Liam, I need you to hold onto my jacket when we cross the street, because I’ve got to help Cas.” Crap. I was supposed to say Jimmy.

Whatever. If anybody asked, Dean would make something up about a nickname. If Sam could become Sorzie, James could become Cas.

“Dean.” Castiel grunted as he got to his feet, and he grunted again when his arm was dragged around Dean’s shoulders. “We have to stop Sam.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean snapped, keeping his voice down.

Castiel shook his head, wincing as they walked toward the exit. “No, you don’t understand. He—” Castiel broke off and bit down on his lip, canting forward slightly.

“Woah, easy.” Dean tried to keep Castiel upright and keep himself from bumping Liam in the head. “Let’s get to Baby first, then we’ll talk.”

They got outside, and Liam clung to Dean’s jacket like he had been told when they walked across the street. Once they were close enough to the car, Liam broke away and got in on the passenger side while Dean carefully helped Castiel into the backseat.

He’s in really bad shape.

Castiel slumped forward in the seat, exhausted by the short jaunt from the hospital to the car. “Dean… Lilith isn’t going to… break the final seal.”

“Hold that thought.” Dean slammed the door, checked traffic, and then got in on the driver’s side. “What did you say?”

Castiel tried to catch his breath. “Lilith isn’t going to break… the final seal.” He shook his head, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow. “She is the final seal. If she dies… the end begins.”

Dean managed to keep himself from cursing that time around, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. “Dangit, Cas. If you—” He stopped short, glancing at Liam, and then he heaved a defeated sigh. “You’re lucky you’re on our side now.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, choosing instead to hang his head in silence.

Dean looked at Liam, who was also silent but looking significantly more worried, and he let out another sigh. “Let’s get food first. Bobby’s going to keep calling Sam, and Cas, you’re gonna keep talking.”

Castiel leaned forward between the two front seats, slouched against the passenger side. “What would you like to know?”

“Where Sam is headed, for starters.” Dean couldn’t quite keep the cold edge out of his tone, but he didn’t want to be too angry in front of Liam. “Where is Ruby taking him?”

Castiel wet his lips and shook his head. “I only know it is as St. Mary’s Convent.”

Dean threw his hands up incredulously. “Do you have any idea how many St. Mary’s Convents there are in the United States?”

Castiel flinched slightly.

Dean took a breath and let it out, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. St. Mary’s Convent. What else can you tell me?”

Castiel shook his head weakly. “That’s all I know.”

“Really, Cas?” Dean glared at the rearview mirror. “Are you really toeing the company line right now?”

Castiel’s face screwed up in a brief expression of confusion, but then he shook his head seriously. “Dean, they didn’t tell me. They saw how close I was getting to you and your family, and…” He sighed. “I don’t know when the information started going bad. But I know St. Mary’s Convent was something mentioned before I even got you out of Hell, and I’ve always known what Lilith’s role was.”

Dean took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm. He was angry and frustrated—mostly because he didn’t know how to help Sam—but he couldn’t deny that Castiel had more than paid his dues. Castiel had been tortured for up to five months—maybe more, if time worked differently in Heaven the way it did in Hell—and he looked miserable. He had done the right thing, at great personal cost, and he wasn’t refusing to help now that he had experienced the consequences. He was trying, which was more than Sam was doing, so Dean couldn’t be angry at him.

Dean could, however, be angry at Sam.

He knows better. I know he knows better. Even if Lilith wasn’t the seal, he wasn’t ready.

Dean glanced at Liam.

I know he wants to get Liam safe as soon as possible, but this is crazy.

“It’s alright, Cas. You did good.” Dean heaved a sigh and put the car in drive. “Let’s get some food and then get back to Bobby’s. We’ll… figure everything out after that.”

Liam turned around in his seat and looked at Castiel, resting his chin on the back of the seat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Castiel forced a small smile and nodded. “I’m fine, Liam. Thank you.”

Dean glanced at Castiel in the rearview mirror, but he couldn’t tell much about Castiel’s condition. He seemed conscious enough, but he was definitely tired, and his hand never quite left his lower-right abdomen.

“Seatbelt, buddy.” Dean tapped Liam on the shoulder as he pulled away from the curb. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

Liam quickly got his seatbelt on. “Castiel, put your seatbelt on.”

Dean had to smile to himself, just a little. He had to smile at the notion of a little boy telling an angel to put his seatbelt on. He had to smile a little more at Castiel struggling to put on the seatbelt, probably having no idea what he was doing but wanting to make Liam happy.

He had to smile because he needed one.

“Okay.” Dean put his hands at ten and two and grabbed the wheel. “Here we go.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Ruby.” Sam watched the nurse walk into the hospital with a sick twist in his gut.

Ruby leaned back against the side of the hospital building, arms folded over her chest. “We’ve been over this. I wouldn’t tell you we need it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I know how delicate you are.”

Sam snorted derisively. “Sure.” He folded his arms and drew them in close, shoulders slightly hunched. He didn’t like the idea of killing the host, even if he had done it a million times before. It was different, going after someone and kidnapping them… draining them slowly… and the demon would likely leave the human in control during the murder, trying to get under Sam’s skin.

“If we don’t stop her, she’s going to take a baby for Lilith to feed on.” Ruby mentioned it in an offhanded manner, but Sam knew the comment stemmed from her inability to go five seconds without conniving. “Its her or the baby. Make a choice.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam snapped. “Let’s get her and get out of here.”

Ruby pushed off the wall and walked toward the hospital, assuming Sam would follow.

Sam almost did, but he stopped short and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen, wondering how many calls and voicemails he had already missed.

Maybe I should call him… try to explain…

“Sam! You coming or what?”

Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket and followed Ruby toward the building. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” He could check his phone later.

“I just wish I could speak with Sam.”

Dean glanced up from his phone and looked across the table at Castiel. “No kidding.”

Castiel shook his head and pulled his blanket around his shoulders a little tighter. “She knew, you know. Ruby knew. She knew about us taking Liam, and she knew I was tricking you—”

Dean’s interest was piqued at that, and he set his phone aside to put his attention on Castiel.

“She summoned me—the wench—to give me advice on how to lie to you.” Castiel ran a hand through his hair and then covered his eyes, rubbing his face. “I just wish I could tell Sam; I wish I had told him when I had the chance.” He dropped his hand to his lap and sighed, tired eyes lingering vacantly on the center of the kitchen table. “This is all my fault.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he reluctantly shook his head and offered a quiet, “It’s not that simple, Cas. We all played parts.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sam wouldn’t have been vulnerable to her in the first place if I hadn’t left him.”

Castiel reached up and rubbed his forehead. “If I still had my powers, I could locate him. I could—I could do something, but—”

Dean shook his head. “Cas.” He sighed. “You can’t think like that. You gotta focus on what you can do.”

“Which is what?” Castiel objected, his voice bursting out in quiet shout. “I can’t do anything, Dean. I am functionally human for an undetermined amount of time. I can’t help you.”

“Hey, now. Humans aren’t that useless.” Dean offered a faint smile. “You can help like a human, and maybe…” He sighed. “Maybe that’ll be enough.”

Castiel gave Dean a judging look. “And how likely do you think that is?”

Dean shook his head. “Not at all.” He looked at his phone and pressed the green button to call Sam for the thirtieth time. “But we have to try.” He shrugged a ‘screw it’ kind of shrug and pressed the button.

Liam pushed Castiel’s hair back and pet it a few times, trying to do it the way Sam would, and then he sat down and criss-crossed his legs. He sat in silence and watched Castiel’s sleeping face with worry on his own.

I wonder if he’s having bad dreams.

Liam let out a sigh and looked over at the cluttered desk Bobby had been using to research Sam’s location. Why did you leave again? More importantly, why didn’t Sam want him anymore?

After all the pain and stress of being kidnapped, and then of being home with Bobby but unable to find Sam and Dean, how could Sam leave him again? What had Liam done that was so terrible?

“I know that face.”

Liam turned and looked up at Dean, and when he blinked, he felt a tear run down his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

Dean crouched down and then eased into a sitting position, crossing his legs the way Liam had. “That’s your ‘bad thoughts’ face.”

Liam reached up and wiped his eyes, sniffing lightly. “Yeah.”

Dean frowned sympathetically. “What kinda bad thoughts are you having?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his lap. “I dunno.” That wasn’t really a lie; he didn’t know what exact thought he was having. He just knew there were vague ideas and emotions. “Why is Sam gone?”

Dean heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, buddy… Sam’s confused.”

Liam blinked and sniffed, slouching against the sofa. “What does that mean?”

Dean wet his lips and rubbed his neck a few more times before dropping his hands into his lap. “It means Sam thinks he’s doing the right thing. He’s… he’s trying to fight this really bad demon who’s been after us for a long time, and… and it’s a good thing. But he’s not talking to us, and that’s not good. He needs his family—just like I do, and just like you do.”

“We have to stick together,” Liam said seriously. He had learned, at least with Sam, that things worked better when he relied on family. “Things go bad when we do it alone.”

“Exactly.” Dean offered a weak smile and reached out, tousling Liam’s hair. “We gotta stick together, and… Sam knows that, he just… isn’t thinking right now.”

“Because he’s twitterpated?” Liam sniffed, and then, after a little pause, “I heard you talking about Ruby.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he offered another small smile. “Something like that, buddy.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Sam is just… in a difficult place right now. He’s having bad thoughts of his own, and… and he’s making some bad choices because of it.”

Liam wiped at his eyes a little and blinked a few times to clear away the tears. “So, what do we do?”

“Well, we have to find him first.” Dean reached out and nudge Liam’s cheek with a smile. “And then we have to remind him how much we love him. And we need to tell him it’s time to come home.”

Liam looked down at his lap, thinking for a few moments before quietly asking, “We all still love him, right?”

Dean’s expression looked hurt for a moment, but then he managed to put a little smile on his face. “Yeah, buddy. We all still love Sam and want him to come home.”

Liam nodded, and he felt a little better about the situation. Maybe Sam wasn’t trying to leave Liam; maybe Sam needed saving again, like he did in the house with the ghouls.

“How do we find him, Dee?”

Dean let out a sigh and shook his head. “We keep researching. St. Mary’s Convent until we get a hit. We keep trying to call him.”

Liam nodded his head and looked back at Castiel, who was still sound asleep. “Castiel can’t help?” he asked, turning his head back toward Dean.

“No, buddy.” Dean shook his head. “Castiel is human until he gets better.” He gave a tight smile, and when he reached out to tousle Liam’s hair, there was a stiffness to his movements that hadn’t been there before. “He can’t help right now.”

Liam looked at Dean for a long moment, and then he put a hand on Dean’s knee. “Are you okay?” he asked, peering up with wide, blue eyes.

Dean wet his lips and smiled. “I’m fine, buddy.”

Liam wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t want to argue, so he smiled and put his hand back in his own lap. “Okay.” He glanced at Castiel to make sure he was okay, and then he looked back at Dean. “I love you.”

Dean smiled and leaned forward, planting a quick kiss on Liam’s forehead. “I love you, too, buddy.” He tweaked Liam’s nose. “And so does Sam.”

Liam wasn’t sure that was true, either, but he still didn’t want to argue. He just smiled and nodded his head, hoping Dean was right and Sam wasn’t trying to run away.

Maybe I can give Sam a call on my phone… in case he’s mad at Dean or Bobby.

Liam kept that idea to himself for the time being. He wasn’t sure Dean would approve, and he didn’t want to take a chance. He had to do something to help them get Sam back home.

He had to.

“It won’t help to worry about them.”

Liam didn’t move from where he sat on the porch step, his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees. “Are you worried about them?” he asked simply.

Castiel sighed, not responding right away but eventually confessing. “Yes.”

Liam didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

Castiel slowly approached, the porch steps creaking under his feet, and then he sat down next to Liam. He wrapped his blanket around himself a little tighter and sighed softly. “I heard you.”

Liam frowned, but he didn’t lift his head from his knees and he didn’t stop staring out at the scrapyard. “You heard me?”

“You talked to me while I was… missing. I could hear you. It brought me a lot of comfort.” Castiel adjusted his blanket and drew his knees up slightly, leaning forward to mimic Liam’s hunched-over position. “I think… I think Sam is willing to listen to Dean. And I don’t think he would have been quite so willing without you. You kept his heart soft.”

Liam crinkled his nose, staring down at his feet. “What does that mean?”

Castiel hummed softly, staring down at his feet. “Well, Sam is currently using a kind of substance to fight demons that can…” Castiel struggled for a moment. “It… has a habit of making the people who use it very angry. But I don’t think Sam has been angry… and I think that’s because of you.”

Liam looked out at the salvage yard and sighed. “Yeah. Maybe.” He shuddered and rubbed his arms, the cool, spring breeze sending a chill down his spine.

Castiel quickly opened his blanket and moved closer, draping the warm fabric around Liam’s shoulders. “They’ll find their way home,” he assured. “They always do.”

Liam stayed close to Castiel, still hugging his legs to his chest and still resting his chin on his knees. He stared out at the junked cars and the gravel driveway leading up to Bobby’s house. He stared at the place Baby was normally parked. He stared at how empty it was.

“I hate demons,” Liam muttered. “I wish they would just go away and leave us alone. Monsters and angels, too.” He quickly reached over and grabbed Castiel’s shirt, realizing what he had said. “Not you.” He gripped the fabric in his fist, still staring out at the empty parking space. “You’re not allowed to leave.”

Castiel pulled Liam against his side and kept the blanket wrapped around both of them. “If Sam and Dean let me stay, I’ll stay.” He rubbed Liam’s upper arm and squeezed him in a side hug. “I promise.”

Liam sniffed, blinking away the tears in his eyes. He couldn’t be sad. He had to stay happy, or Sam and Dean and Bobby would have one more thing to worry about. They would have one more thing to fight about. Liam was so tired of all the fighting.

Liam twisted his feet in the gravel, watching his own movements hazily. He took a small breath and leaned into Castiel’s side. “Can you tell me a Bible story?”

Castiel had a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Of course.” He pulled the blanket around them a little tighter, holding the ends together in front of them. “Let’s see. Well, I was telling you about the Israelites last time, wasn’t I?”

Liam nodded as he curled into a ball, soaking up the warmth of the blanket-tent. “Yeah. They complained a lot, and God sent mana from Heaven.”

“Exactly.” Castiel looked out over the salvage yard with an almost wistful expression on his face. “Well, if I recall correctly, the last time I told you about them, they had just been punished by God. He was making them spend forty years in the desert. Do you remember that?”

Liam nodded his head. “Yeah, because they wouldn’t go where He said.”

“Correct.” Castiel leaned back against the steps and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Well, it was a long forty years, but when it was done, the Israelites were given another chance to go into the Promised Land.”

Liam leaned in a little more and felt Castiel’s voice rumbling through his ribcage.

“By the time the punishment was over, Moses had died, and a man named Joshua was put in charge. Now, before trying to enter Canaan, Joshua sent two spies into the land to investigate, and he told them to take a special look at Jericho.”

Liam reached out and grabbed Castiel’s shirt, tugging on the fabric as he sought comfort. He hoped—he really, really hoped—the story would take his mind off Sam and Dean.

“Now, while the two spies were… well, spying, they came across the house of Rahab the prostitute.” Castiel rubbed Liam’s shoulder and upper arm as he spoke, still keeping the blanket around them. “Rahab was a very shrewd woman, and she knew of the power of the God of Israel, so when she realized where the spies were from, she hid them up on her roof.”

Where are they? Why won’t Sam answer his phone? Why is Dean so angry at him? Why— Liam screwed his eyes shut. Stop. Listen to the story.

“The King of Jericho caught wind of what the spies were up to, so he sent soldiers to Rahab’s house. They told her to hand over the spies, but Rahab lied and said they had already left. She then went up to the roof to talk to the men, and she asked them to deal kindly with her family. The Israeli spies promised her they would.”

Liam sniffed, staring blankly at Castiel’s light blue, flannel shirt. It was soft, and he liked how it felt when he rubbed his face against Castiel’s chest. “Did they do what they promised?”

“They did.” Castiel rubbed Liam’s back a few times and then returned his hand to Liam’s arm. “Not only that, but after they rescued her and her family from the attack, she lived among them, and she became part of the lineage of Jesus.”

“Lineage?” Liam blinked and tilted his head back to meet Castiel’s eyes, his gaze locking onto something for the first time since Castiel came out. “What does that mean?”

“Well, your lineage is where you come from. Your parents have parents, and their parents had parents, and their parents had parents, and so on. That is your lineage.”

Liam rested his head on Castiel’s chest again, nodding slightly. “Oh. So… she was Jesus’s great-great-great-great-grandmother?”

Castiel had a smile in his voice when he spoke. “It was a few more ‘great’s than that, but yes.” He squeezed Liam a little. “She was a very important woman in history.”

Liam crinkled his nose, somewhat confused but happy to have the distraction. “Why?”

“Well,” Castiel started, his tone matter-of-fact. “Rahab was a prostitute, and she wasn’t one of God’s chosen people, but God still chose her to be a part of His family and His story.”

Liam felt a sick twist in his gut. Why won’t Sam answer his phone? Does Dean even know where to go to find him, or was he lying to make me feel better? He quickly dragged his thoughts away from Sam and Dean. Focus on the story. Focus on the story. Liam took a breath. “Why is that important?”

For a moment, there was nothing, but then Liam felt a finger under his chin. Castiel tilted Liam’s head up and met his eyes, a small smile pulling on the corner of his mouth.

“It’s important because it reminds us that no matter where we are, and no matter what we’ve done, and no matter who we’ve been, God still loves us and has a plan for us. All we have to do is ask Him for help.”

Liam thought about that for a moment, and despite his every effort, his brain made a beeline for the topic he was trying so hard to avoid. “Could we…” Liam shifted a little, hiding in Castiel’s blanket. “Could we pray for Sam and Dean?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, and when Liam looked up, there was a surprised expression on his face. But, after a moment of thought, Castiel nodded his head and offered a small smile. “Of course we can. Do you want to start?”

Liam nodded his head and closed his eyes, clasping his hands together in front of himself. It had been a long time since he prayed, but he remembered bits and pieces from an after-school program he had once attended, so he didn’t think it would go too badly.

“Dear God,” Liam started, trying to remember the moral of Castiel’s story. “I know it’s been a really long time… and I know I’ve done some stuff I shouldn’t have…” He had done a lot of things he shouldn’t have. “But, um, but Sam and Dean need help. And I know they’ve done some bad stuff, too, but…” His throat closed up, and the backs of his eyes started to burn. “But I need them to come home. I need them to be okay, and—” he choked back a sob, “—I just need them. I—”

Liam burst into sobs, grabbing onto Castiel and crying into his shirt. He held on for dear life, his body trembling, the cool breeze chilling the tears on his cheeks. He felt Castiel’s large hands envelope his waist, and then he was being lifted into Castiel’s lap. He immediately latched onto Castiel’s neck and hugged him tight, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Father,” Castiel started, picking up where Liam left off. “Please bring Sam and Dean home to us, safe and sound, and please give Liam peace while we wait for them to return. Amen.”

“Amen,” Liam finished, sniffing quietly, hoping the prayer would do something to help put his family back together.

Castiel squeezed Liam tightly, tucking his chin over Liam’s head. “They’re going to be alright, Liam.”

Liam sobbed and shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he let out a little sigh of defeat. “No, I suppose I don’t. But I do believe it, even if I can’t know for sure.” He rubbed Liam’s back a few times and then hugged him again. “I truly do believe—”

“Hey!”

Liam’s head popped up when he heard Bobby’s voice coming from the house, and Castiel stopped speaking midsentence.

“You boys want some hot chocolate?”

Liam thought about it for a moment, and then he looked at Castiel and nodded.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Liam and slowly got to his feet, situating Liam on his hip as he walked toward the front door. “Hot chocolate would be wonderful.”

Liam didn’t say anything in regards to the offered drink, but he silently continued his pleading for Sam and Dean’s safety.

Please, please, please, please, please, please…

“What, no devil’s trap?”

Sam stared at the demon-possessed nurse he had tied to a chair in the middle of the room, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “I don’t need one.”

She gave up struggling and sneered at him, snorting a laugh. “Look at you, all ‘roided up. It’s like A-Rod and Madonna over here.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, exerting pressure on her body from every side. “Where’s Lilith?”

The demonic nurse only snorted again, but it wasn’t nearly as convincing when she couldn’t breathe. “You’re here,” she panted. “You’re telling me—you don’t already know?”

Sam increased the pressure until she screamed, and then he let up. “We know she’s in Ilchester, but we don’t know where in Ilchester she is.” He increased the pressure on her body again. “So start talking.”

The demonic nurse shook her head and glared up at him, chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Yeah, you are, actually.” Sam folded his arms over his chest and let out a small laugh. “And with good reason.”

“Look, what’s my upside?” She looked at Sam expectantly, then to Ruby, and then back to Sam. “I tell you, you kill me. I don’t tell you, you still kill me. I get away somehow, Lilith will definitely kill me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So, where’s my carrot?”

Sam’s lips curled into a smirk as he dropped his arms to his sides. “I think what you should be worrying about is what happens before you die.” He extended his hand, fingers curling slightly, and the screaming began.

Me I’m not mad.

Liam looked at the message for a long time before he sent it, and once it was through, he stared at it some more. He idly tapped the screen, not sure of what he wanted to say next.

Me I was. But I’m not anymore.

Liam sat up in bed and looked out at the window, willing Baby to come up the driveway with two passengers. He thought back to the reunion after his stint with the angels; to the way Sam half fell out of the car trying to get to Liam as fast as possible.

Me Just come home. Please.

Liam heaved a sigh and fell back into the sheets, trying to convince himself to sleep but still clutching his phone in his hand. Sorzie would want me to sleep. Of course, normally, Sorzie would be there to read him a story or hum ‘You Are My Sunshine’ on a loop until Liam faded. Normally, the phone in Liam’s hands wouldn’t be the only contact Liam had with his dad.

Normally.

Me Please.

Dean shot past Ruby’s Mustang and threw the Impala into a wide turn. He slammed on the breaks and skidded to a stop in the gravel, putting the car in park and tearing the keys from the ignition. He threw his door open, got out, and let the door slam shut behind him.

That’s St. Mary’s Convent. Dean looked over at the Mustang, but it was empty. He’s already inside.

“Sam!”

Dean took off running toward the old church, gravel crunching underneath his feet. He flew through the main door and found himself in a long hall with voices at the end of it. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, heart hammering on the inside of his chest.

“Sam!”

He turned a sharp corner and saw an open doorway with Sam, Ruby, and Lilith beyond it. He hadn’t even opened his mouth to shout again when Ruby looked back at him. They locked eyes, she smirked, and then she extended her hand and the sanctuary doors slammed.

“Sam!”

Dean ran at the door and kicked it with all his might, but it didn’t give. It was an old building; the door was probably solid wood. Dean kicked it again, and then again, and then a third time, but nothing happened.

“Sam! Sam, she’s the seal! Lilith is the seal!”

Dean looked around for something to help him and grabbed a standing candelabra. He held on tight and rammed it into the door. He rammed it again, and again, and he couldn’t hear anything from inside, and he was panicking, and he rammed it again, and again, and again.

It gave—finally—and Dean ran into the room, drawing his knife.

Ruby straightened up and moved away from Sam, who was collapsed on the ground. “You’re too late,” she said, lips curled into a smirk.

Dean saw red. “I don’t care.” He rushed forward, and Sam moved in time to grab her and hold her in place. Dean thrust the blade into her gut and twisted it hard, growling into her ear, “I waited way too long for this.”

Ruby crumpled to the ground, but Sam followed her down a moment later. He looked up at Dean with blood on his face and tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, grabbing Sam by the jacket and dragging him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” Sam bent over, out of breath and disoriented. “I thought—”

“I know, Sammy, just run!” He started dragging Sam. “Come on, man, run with me.”

Sam took a few steps and then stopped, watching the center of the room in shock and horror. “Dean… he’s coming.”

“Sam!” Dean shook Sam as hard as he could, grabbing Sam’s jacket in a white-knuckle grip. “Run!” He jerked Sam, pulling him toward the broken-down door and dragging him down the hall. “Come on, Sammy, we’re almost out!”

They both stumbled when the ground began to shake beneath their feet, but as soon as they had their balance, they were running again.

Dean could feel his teeth chattering together from the violent rumbling underfoot. “Come on, Sammy!” He finally let go of Sam’s jacket so they could go to different sides of the car. “Get in, get in, get in!”

Dean jumped in the driver’s seat, shoved the keys in the ignition, and brought the car to life. He threw it in drive, turned the wheel, and floored it, sending a spray of gravel out behind them.

“Dean…”

Dean ignored whatever it was Sam was trying to tell him, completely focused on escaping before all Hell literally broke loose.

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Okay? Just—” Dean pushed the pedal down even more, watching the needle on the speedometer slowly approach three digits. “You screwed up. It happens.”

“Not like this,” Sam muttered.

Dean watched the needle hover shakily over 110, and he looked in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t see the convent anymore, which he considered a victory. “Do you think—”

Dean gripped the wheel as an explosion shook the air, the world behind them suddenly engulfed in blinding white light. He felt the Impala lurch ahead, thrown forward by the force of the explosion, and he had to use all his strength to keep Baby’s wheels on the old, dirt road.

“What the—?” Sam turned around in his seat. “I can’t see anything at all. It’s just light from every direction.”

“Well,” Dean grunted, gripping the wheel and keeping Baby as steady as he could. “At least it’s lighting up the road in front of us.”

Sam turned back around and sat in his seat, not saying anything. Dean knew the guilt was still weighing heavy on Sam’s mind, and as much as Dean wanted to assure him that everything was okay, Dean was still angry.

“I…” Sam deflated before he could get another word out. He looked out his window and rested his chin in his hand, staring blankly into the well-lit forest.

Dean tried to keep his temper in check—tried to focus on the fact that Sam was safe—and he somehow managed to prioritize. “You gotta call Liam.”

Sam wet his lips. “I don’t have my phone.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh… I left it in the Mustang.”

Dean patted himself down and grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket, handing it over to Sam with a quiet. “There.”

Sam took the phone almost numbly, not saying a word.

Dean let the silence settle over them, still soothing his wounded pride and trying not to focus on what Sam had done wrong. He’s alive. He’s still breathing. He’s sorry. He couldn’t let himself get bogged down in the negative. He had to keep it together, for everybody’s sake, and he couldn’t do that while thinking of all Sam had done wrong.

“Hello?” Sam paused, a confused frown twisting his lips. “Who’s this?”

Dean tensed up, his mind quickly supplying any number of terrible things that could have prevented Liam from answering his phone.

“Oh, Castiel. Sorry, I didn’t…” Sam trailed off and then sighed. “I, uh, I just wanted to check on Liam. If I could…” Sam listened for a few seconds. “Oh. Okay.” He shook his head. “No, no, let him sleep. I’m sure he needs it. Dean and I are on our way home… just… just have him call me when he wakes up.” A few more seconds of silence and some nodding. “Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the light starting to die down. “Little man’s asleep?” He looked back at the road ahead of them, slowing down to the more manageable speed of ninety miles per hour.

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat and put Dean’s phone back in the pocket it had come from. “From what Castiel said, it… uh, it sounds like it took a long time for him to finally fall asleep.”

Dean couldn’t stop the biting remark from jumping off his tongue. “Gee, I wonder why.”

Sam didn’t say anything to defend himself, his gaze wandering down to his lap and then returning to the wooded area outside.

Dean let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Your face is all bloody.” He wet his lips, approaching even the most innocuous topics with caution. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” was the quiet, almost incoherent reply.

Dean gave Sam a disbelieving, suspicious look. “Haven’t you lied enough for one day?”

Dean was half joking, but Sam flinched at the words anyway.

Dean put his eyes back on the road with a sigh. “Just… tell me the truth. Are you okay?”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he did, his voice was soft and defeated in a way Dean had never heard before. “I think I’m alright. It was just… hard.” He shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the passenger side door. “I’ll be fine.”

Dean tossed around his jumbled thoughts for a minute or two, running down a list of all the ways he could respond to the situation, and he finally decided to go with the one instinct that had never steered him wrong.

“Get some sleep, Sammy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Sam barely managed to look at Dean, his features awash with shame and self-loathing, and then he looked down at his lap again. He folded his arms over his middle and leaned into the door, resting his head at an awkward angle and closing his eyes.

Dean took his foot off the pedal and let the car dwindle down to sixty miles per hour, and then he reached out and tousled Sam’s hair. He put his hand back on the wheel and shifted his attention from Sam to the road.

They had a long way to go to get them back to Bobby’s house, and in the meantime, they had no idea what Lucifer was doing or where he would be or how to avoid him. The only thing they knew for sure was that the Devil was definitely topside, and everyone on Earth was in danger until that changed.

Dean let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

Now what?