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In fairness to Dean, Cas had stopped popping up unannounced a few years ago. He’s still prone to flitting away at the drop of a hat, of course, but most of the time he shows up with at least some warning. That, however, is as far as Cas’s charity goes.
Voice flat, Cas stares.
“What is he doing here?“
Dean jumps in his seat, alcohol sloshing over the lip of his glass onto the bar. Cas is paying attention to that, to the flush overtaking Dean’s face, to him muttering as he shakes drops off of his hands. He is pointedly ignoring Benny on the stool next to Dean, the friendly nod and smile and crack about Tweety Bird.
Dean finally looks up.
“Dude, what the hell?”
“I need your help.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches for Dean’s arm in lieu of an explanation. Dean jerks away.
“What, so I’m your handy dandy errand man now? Can’t keep in touch worth a damn, but you’ll zap in when you need something?”
“As opposed to you only asking after me when you need something?”
Dean looks taken aback, and Cas switches tactics.
“Please. I have no one else to ask.”
He watches as something in Dean’s face softens, resigns itself to whatever Cas is going to ask, and.
“Now, hold on. Seems to me you got a real bad habit of flitting off without telling your friends. This makes 3 times now since I met you and your buddy.”
It’s over, just like that. Dean’s face hardens again. Benny’s tone was accusatory and annoying, but Dean’s is different, though Cas can’t place how.
“Where’ve you been, Cas?”
Cas feels it when the silence lasts a beat too long.
“Around.”
Dean’s face twists into a joyless smile, and Cas tries again.
“There’s a museum housing what I believe to be a translation key to the tablets. I’d like your help in retrieving it.”
It doesn’t escape his notice how Dean sits up a little straighter. Cas seizes on the opportunity.
“What, like a heist?”
“Yeah. Like a heist. Like… Indiana Jones.”
Dean’s trying and failing to fight back a smile. Cas allows himself a moment of small, private glee.
“You’ll help?”
Dean nods. He fumbles with bills in his wallet and slaps them on the counter. Benny doesn’t say anything, just drains his drink while giving Dean an odd look. When Dean notices, he loses a little steam.
“Look, Benny, I, uh…”
Benny waves him off.
“S’alright, Dean. I found my way here, I can find my way back to my room.”
When Benny stands, he pulls Dean into a hug.
“You take care of yourself, alright?”
When they part, Cas, impatient, reaches for Dean’s sleeve again. Benny looks like he wants to say something else, but Cas blinks them out of the bar and into a parking garage before he gets the chance. Dean’s once again annoyed.
“We were in the middle of something.”
“In the middle of what?”
Instead of answering, Dean conspicuously pulls out of Cas’s grasp and peers around.
“Dude, where are we?”
“Roughly a block away from Washington D.C’s Museum of the Bible.”
“Didn’t know we had one of those.”
Instead of saying anything, Cas walks towards the elevator and stairs. Dean belatedly jogs after him,
“Cas. Cas! What’s with you, man?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you go completely AWOL for a month, sneak up on me while I’m at a bar talking to a friend, teleport me halfway across the country and won’t tell me what the plan is.”
Cas hesitates. Dean, of course, has chosen this exact moment to pay attention to how Cas is feeling and acting.
“There is a plan, right?”
“Truthfully?”
“Yeah, dumbass. Truthfully.”
“My plan is essentially to walk in and take it.”
Dean looks at him incredulously, and then he laughs.
“Alright. Plan KISS is ago.”
He can tell when Cas doesn’t get whatever it is he’s referencing, and Dean’s smile twitches down just a little bit.
“K-I-S-S. Keep it simple, stupid.”
Instead of saying something that’ll send Dean marching the thousand miles back to his car, Cas glares at him. Dean pretends to look innocent, and keeps that look up all the way into the building.
It’s a quieter break-in than Cas had expected. When it becomes clear that nothing is going to jump out of the shadows at them, Dean starts skulking along the walls, humming some song to himself. Cas is fairly sure he’s copying some character, he just has no idea which one. After three rooms or so, Dean grows tired of play-acting and starts walking straight through the middle of the room with Cas, peering at various exhibits.
“How’d you find this thing, anyway? Been hopping between tourist traps?”
“Intel from a reliable source.”
Meaning it was tortured out of a demon over a series of days.
Dean scoffs.
“You know, you’ve been saying a lot about how what you’ve been doing is really reliable and important and not a whole lot about what you’ve actually been doing.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How come you’re not taking my calls?”
A sharp pain lances through Cas’s head, stopping him in his tracks. Dean stumbles into his back. Immediately, Dean’s voice loses the bitterness.
“Cas? You okay, man? What just happened?”
“Nothing. I… nothing, Dean.”
Dean mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “for fucks sakes” under his breath and Cas prepares for the inevitable earful, but it doesn’t come. Instead, they both whip their heads towards the loud crack that came from the other room. Without a word, their eyes meet and Dean nods.
Cas walks forward, taking measured steps towards the doorway. He’s acutely aware of the fact that Dean’s drunk and defenseless. He’s acutely aware of the singed aura of hellfire coming from the room in front of him. His mind whirs to put together an exit strategy that leaves him in possession of the tablet and Dean alive. This… was a bad plan. An impulsive plan. He realizes that now, with danger starkly in front of him. He should have left Dean and his prayers in that dingy bar, with the dingy vampire. He should have strategized further than “break in and take it”. That much is clear now.
The tablet is the first thing he sees when he steps into the room. It’s nonchalantly thrown in a display case with several other artifacts Cas doesn’t care about. The second thing he sees is six demons and Crowley. Not ideal, but not hopeless.
Crowley strolls forward, hands in his pockets.
“Cas. Fancy seeing you here. And Dean. What a nice surprise.”
Cas slides in front of Dean, as easy as anything. He ignores Dean’s surprised grunt, and wills a blade into his hand.
“Go.”
But Dean just stands there, mouth open like a fish, so Cas takes a step back and presses a fingertip to Dean’s forehead. Just like that, Dean’s gone, and Cas is alone in a room with half a dozen demons. When he turns back to Crowley, he looks just slightly miffed.
“How did you know I would be here?”
“A gentleman doesn’t share his secrets.”
A pause.
“And neither does the King of Hell.”
He gives a cursory glance at the blade in Cas’s hand, and smiles.
“You know how it goes. What the King of Hell wants, the King of Hell gets. And when it’s a tide turning holy object that no demon can touch, a rumor here, a rumor there, and we have our very own Angel courier service.”
He tilts his head towards the display case.
“Do you mind?”
“I will never put something with that much value in your hands.”
“Not looking to put it in my hands. It killed the last two demons I sent after it. I was thinking more of a shipping box.”
Cas tightens his grip on his blade. If he could just--
“I’d slow down if I were you, angel. Smart move getting Dean Winchester out of the line of fire. He’s still untrackable, courtesy of your wards. His pet mosquito, on the other hand. And wouldn’t you know it? Where Dean goes, the vampire follows. He’s very dedicated. It’s quite romantic.”
“You won’t hurt Dean.”
“As long as I get that piece of stone there? Cross my heart.”
It’s an innocuous looking thing, rough hewn stone with an eccentric old dialect of Araimaic lettering scratched into it. It doesn’t look like something worth dying for. It doesn’t look like a meat grinder for the soldiers of Heaven and Hell.
Cas lifts the glass casing gingerly. Takes the stone in his hands reverently. Looks at the text he’s been chasing for weeks. And his heart crashes.
“This is the Book of Daniel.”
“As in not our prophetic Rosetta Stone?”
“As in the Book of Daniel. A heavily warded and charmed iteration of it, but the Book of Daniel. Nothing about the word of god, nothing about prophets.”
Crowley raises an eyebrow at him.
“May I?”
Cas tilts it his way, and Crowley takes a couple of careful steps backwards.
“King Nebuchadnezzar made a golden statue sixty cubits high and six cubits wide, and he set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon. Then King Nebuchadnezzar sent word to assemble the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates, and all the other officials of the provinces to attend the dedication of the statue he had set up. So the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers…”
He looks up from the stone.
“It goes on like this.”
“Well. Wouldn’t you know it. Angels can be backstabbing, lying, and conniving too. I’ll have to take this up with my sources.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving Cas alone in a room of demons.
Cas likes his odds a little better now. No Crowley, no need to play keep-away with a priceless artifact. Six of them, though. Not his easiest fight, not when his abilities feel harder and harder to call to hand, the moment harder and harder to stay present in. But he’s an angel. He was a part of a garrison who destroyed every mighty warrior, commander and officer in the camp of the king of Assyria. He would do what he must.
***
He’s bleeding, a little bit, once it’s all over. Doesn’t care enough to stop it, is mostly concerned with finding a place to rest. Dean is agitated. A quick glance around the room shows a pistol and knife laying on the bed. Cas carefully avoids them when he sits down.
“I disposed of the demons. Crowley disappeared. The translation key was a ruse.”
He finally relaxes and presses a hand to the trickle of blood still coming from a particularly aggravating blow.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
He stands, only wincing a little bit. Dean is on him in a second, finger in his face.
“We don’t do that!”
“Do what?”
“We don’t throw ourselves in the line of fire and zap our friends a thousand miles away where they can’t do anything!”
There’s an itch in the back of Cas’s head. It’s hard to shrug it off.
“I handled it.”
“Like you handled Crowley’s other goons? Like you handled Purgatory?”
Ah. That’s what that itch is. He hesitates before speaking, chooses his words carefully while filing through his memories.
“I’ve told you before, haven’t I?”
Hasn’t he?
“I’m not your responsibility. My safety is my own.”
“No.”
“No?”
He tries to understand what he sees flickering across Dean’s face, but comes up empty.
“You’re not some… lone wolf, okay? You got my back, I got yours. Which means you don’t do stupid vigilante lone wolf stunts. Which means you don’t send me home early like I’m a kid who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.”
“You didn’t have any weapons. You were--you are drunk, and your reflexes are slow. What are you, if not a kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“Your friend. Or at least I’m supposed to be. Lately I’m getting mixed signals.”
Cas sighs, something heavy and world weary.
“My brothers and sisters are… lost. No God, no archangels to guide them. They’re diminished and directionless. Can you fault me for working to help them, after all I’ve done? I’m sorry, I truly am, that you feel abandoned. But they’ve been abandoned twice over. And I caused it.”
Dean scrubs at his face.
“Okay, well. This? Isn’t working. I never know when you’re gonna pick up, when I can actually depend on the angelic cavalry to show up when I need it to. You gotta talk to me, man.”
Cas speaks slowly.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I’m not fighting with you! I’m asking for a little bit of honesty!”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
At this point, Dean has gone from agitated to angry.
“Then tell me. Say one godforsaken thing that’s not I’ve been busy.”
Cas feels lost, and more than a little anxious. It doesn’t help that Naomi, as she often is, is at her desk with a smile.
“Calm down, Castiel. We’ll work through this together.”
“He’s very upset.”
“I know. I fear that you’ve been a touch too dedicated to the cause for Dean Winchester’s liking. We’ll adjust.”
“But what do I say to him now?”
“The truth. Serving Heaven’s cause leaves you with little time to assure him of things. With our numbers dwindled and a threat so pressing, you’ve been doing all you can just to stay afloat.”
The truth. Specifically Naomi’s version of the truth. He repeats it to himself, repeats it again. Naomi clasps her hands.
“Good. Oh, and Castiel? Don’t surprise me next time. No impulsive visits to the Winchesters. I’ll tell you when to go see them. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Dean’s glaring at him.
“I… Dean, you know that there are fewer angels than there once were. You know that a Knight of Hell surfacing impacts Heaven and Earth. I’ve been doing everything I can to keep things no more chaotic than they usually are. And that’s meant I’ve missed calls and prayers. I’m sorry.”
Dean seems to lose a little of his steam. He sighs.
“We can help, you know. You can ask for help. I get it. This is big and important. If it’s that big, call in the favors. Keep us in the loop. Alright?”
“Alright.”
“I’m gonna go grab a Coke. Don’t go anywhere. You’re gonna loop me in when I get back. If you’re not here…”
Cas gives him only the slightest of nods, channel flipping in a way that would drive Sam nuts. Dean doesn’t know where he picked that habit up from. If it’s a thing Jimmy did, or if it’s a Cas original, an impulse to experience as much of Planet TV as possible any time he’s in a hotel room. As settled as Cas looks, as soon as Dean shuts the door on him there’s a part of him that thinks Cas has already gone. That he’s pushing it by leaving him alone at all. But. He needs a moment. It’s not long until he hears the door a couple rooms down click, not long before Benny sidles up to lean against the wall with him. He does a cursory up and down look on Dean.
“Looks like the angel didn’t get you knocked around too bad.”
“Nah. You know him. First sign of danger, and…”
Dean furrows his brow, does his best imitation of Cas.
“Dean, go.”
Benny laughs.
“You know, you’re the only guy I ever met who gets this offended about having his life saved. He knows what he’s doin’, Dean. Now, you’re by no means dead weight, but last I checked those hands of yours didn’t kill demons with a tap. His, though. You get what I’m sayin’?”
Dean jabs a finger at him.
“Don’t you start too.”
Benny puts his hands up in mock surrender, just long enough to convince Dean he’s dropping it. Then he pulls a flask from one of the pockets of his coat.
“You feel like finishing that drink of ours?”
Fuck, he does. But he knows Cas isn’t sticking around, and he knows every second he’s not in the room Cas becomes more and more of a flight risk.
“Rain check. Probably sooner rather than later.”
“He’s still here, huh?”
Dean snorts.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
“Good luck to ya. And you know where to find me.”
Benny walks off, and Dean hears his door click shut again. He lets out one long breath, eyes closed. He can hear the TV, just barely, through the wall. Cas has stopped channel flipping to watch Casablanca. Knowing Cas, he’s enthralled by the old timey acting, the staccato voices and lilting wailing cries that fell out of fashion for more natural, less dramatic choices. He can almost see the way Cas’ll be leaned in close to the screen, the way he’ll murmur something about the human urge to storytell. Dean knows if he’s not careful, Cas’ll do his best to distract Dean away from talking about whatever the hell it is he’s been doing. He runs through what he’s going to say, then runs a hand through his hair and slides his key into the lock.
Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. The room’s empty. There’s no trace of Cas besides Humphrey Bogart on the screen and the fact that the remote is askew where he dropped it. When he picks it up, it’s still warm. He swears, and then he swears in his head, making sure he does his own internal rituals that he knows will direct prayers Cas’s way. He turns the TV off with a click. Flips the remote over in his hand a couple of times. Hurls it at the wall full speed, then climbs into bed jeans and all and goes to sleep.