Chapter Text
“Yeah, Sam, I know. We’re pulling up to the place now. You need to focus on the history and what the hell could have happened here.”
Dean drives along the empty street, they haven’t actually made it to the location yet. It has taken them nearly twenty minutes to get here from downtown where they left Sam. Castiel watches out the side window. There is a high fence with vines and hedge growing along it. He notices a tree that has become so entangled that the fence is now embedded into the trunk. This place has been abandoned for a long time.
Castiel looks across the bench seat at Dean as he turns into a long, dilapidated driveway. He doesn’t say anything, instead, waits for Dean to finish the call with Sam. Dean is agitated. There’s something off about this case, and they both know it.
“Of course we have proper weapons. We have all the damn weapons. Trunk’s loaded with shit that can kill just about anything, since you couldn’t tell me what we’re hunting.”
Dean glances over at Castiel as he listens to the other end of the call. Cas gives him a weak smile. Dean doesn’t respond, he returns his attention to the deteriorated roadway. The rumble of the engine seems louder than usual out here in the emptiness of this dark, deserted location. The car’s headlights penetrate the darkness but barely give enough warning of the potholes and branches that litter the road.
“Fuck! No, not you Sam. This fuckin’ road is shot to hell. Wait, whad’ya mean the Sheriff won’t share any files? Dammit, Sam, we need to know what we’re up against here. Do your job and get the info. I don’t care how, find a way.”
Dean abruptly ends the call and tosses his phone onto the seat between them. Castiel glances down and silently lays his hand over the device so it doesn’t slide around or get lost. Losing his phone would only add to Dean’s foul mood.
Dean continues to curse as he tries to miss one pothole only to hit another. A branch screeches loudly as it scratches along the side of the car. Castiel closes his eyes and grimaces at the sound and the thought of Dean’s reaction once he’s able to get a good look at the damage. He hears Dean growl, not a good sign of things to come.
‘Nothing about this case has gone smoothly’, Castiel thinks, straining to recall any detail he may have forgotten to pass on to Dean, ‘ Teenagers going missing, no obvious pattern, no obvious connections between cases other than they are all local kids’.
“Who the hell did Sam even get this case from anyway?”
Cas raises his eyebrows when Dean directs the question to him, they haven’t said two words to each other since lunch. He clears his throat.
“I’m not sure. He mentioned that the information came ‘through the grapevine’ but I have no idea who directed the intel our way.”
Dean smirks when Castiel makes finger quotes, only to quickly regain his stoic exterior. Cas knows it’s not necessary to use his hands when he quotes, but the reactions he gets from Dean always seem worth it to make a bit of a fool of himself.
“He didn’t mention a name?”
Castiel shakes his head, “No. All we know is that recently a series of teenagers have gone missing from this town. The police suggest that they are run aways.”
“There’s definitely something off. I mean, the Sheriff isn’t cooperating. Sam said he has tried to talk to some of the missing boys friends and they denied that they would run away. There were no reports of unusual deaths or anything. Hell, you helped Sam research before we left. You sure you didn’t find anything? How did Sam even find this building?”
“No, Dean. I’m positive. Were you not listening when we told you that this is the oldest abandoned building in town and the local kids tresspass out here to get into mischief. Besides, you know I would share any new information with you.”
“Hmm, yeah, of course you would.”
Castiel squints and focuses on Dean. “That sounded sarcastic. Are you suggesting that I would lie about this case?”
“What? You lie to me ? Let me think… Yeah. That does seem to be something you’ve gotten better at.”
Burying down the hurt of Dean’s statement, Castiel fixes his eyes pointedly back on the road ahead, “Not listening to me is something that you seem to have gotten better at. But, you’re not referring to this case, are you? You are implying that I lied to you about my grace.”
Dean huffs angrily and stares out the front window too. His face contorts as he attempts to control his feelings.
Castiel has been keeping his dwindling grace to himself. Above all else he needs to be useful to the Winchesters, lest he be tossed out like a broken tool. He knows that Dean thinks very little of his hunting prowess. He has told him more than once that he sucks. Without his powers he’s… what did Dean call him… ah, yes, a baby in a trench coat. Even if that was a while ago, the bite of the insult still stings. He has learned so much and has been hunting with the brothers for years now, surely he has improved. Sam has spent hours upon hours with him on the shooting range. He has been doing weight training and even started running some mornings with Sam. He is doing all he can to increase his body’s strength and stamina. Does Dean even notice?
Castiel misses the ability to soothe Dean with his grace. Although it is not difficult to sense his mood, he doesn’t know what to say to comfort him.
Dean hasn’t responded and after a brief battle of who will break the tense silence first Castiel rolls his eyes and speaks.
“I did not lie to you. I only … kept quiet about specific details.”
“Lies of omission, Cas, I know you’ve heard of those. But hell, that’s something you Angels have always been good at.”
“Yes, I have heard of those. I’ve known you and Sam for years, so of course, I am now well versed on everything involved in lying to those I care about.” Castiel retorts. He sighs, looking down at his lap. “Dean, I am sorry I did not say anything sooner, I just didn’t want you to worry.”
They fall silent as they approach a large, two story building. The headlights bounce off the dingy white walls, the brightness causes Castiel to look up. He studies the exterior. It must have been a fine home at one time, before neglect and disuse attributed to its decay. The paint has flaked almost completely off the walls, and most of the windows appear to have been shattered. As Dean pulls closer, Castiel can see that the front door is leaning against the porch railing. The second step is missing and the railing on the far side is hanging at a precarious angle.
“Great. Think the interior is as bad?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I ain’t taking Baby any closer, don’t want nails or glass getting in her tires.”
Getting out, they meet at the trunk. Dean is already rummaging through the tools and weapons when Castiel steps around the corner of the bumper. He holds out a machete and Cas takes it, strapping it to his right thigh. Together, they load up with knives, guns, holy water, and salt.
“I know you’re not used to carrying these charms, but you're practically human now. Better safe than sorry.”
Castiel nods and hangs the anti-possession charm around his neck first, then adds the Hamsa talisman as Dean gives it to him, fitting them under his t-shirt so they don’t jangle. Charms are good, but he feels more secure with just the knowledge that even though Dean’s angry with him, he is still looking out for him. He tucks a couple of flasks into his pockets and does his best to attach each weapon Dean hands him.
“Jesus, come’re.” Dean grabs him by the utility belt and tugs him closer before beginning to make adjustments. Once satisfied, he shoves Castiel back a step and closes the trunk lid.
Dean shines his flashlight through the opening of the front door. Castiel follows as closely in Dean’s path as he can, minding the placement of his feet. Dean didn’t fall through, so hopefully neither will he.
“Ah, jeez, it smells like dead animals, tomcat piss and rat shit.”
Castiel chuckles, Dean always has a distinctive way of describing things. But, he’s right about the awful odor inside the house. He clears his throat and swallows down his gag reflex.
They make their way through the front room. Castiel notices several weak spots in the floor. He shines his light around, it’s hardwood with stained threadbare rugs placed randomly. The furniture is all displaced and broken, there’s broken glass everywhere and several bricks which appear to have been thrown in through the windows. There’s a large fireplace on the far wall with bits of broken and burnt furniture and lots of cigarette butts. He makes his way to the hearth and pokes around but finds nothing of interest.
He looks back over his shoulder and realizes that Dean has already left the room, following the sound of his footsteps, he quickly catches up.
“You know, you haven’t been hiding your … situation as well as you think.”
“What?”
“Sam’s not the only one who noticed how your grace has been depleting over the past few months.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah, but we didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.”
“Dean, I -”
“Have you told Sam?”
Castiel stops and tilts his head, looking directly into Dean’s eyes. “I haven’t told anyone.”
The moment is suspended in time as they stare into each other’s eyes.
Dean turns away first. Walking down the hall toward the next room. Castiel follows silently.
They make their way through each of the rooms, then go up to the second floor. It’s obvious by the empty beer cans they find lying around that this building has been used by kids partying and perhaps even homeless people have taken shelter here, if the discarded blankets are anything to go by. There are broken bottles and rubbish in nearly every room. The odor up here is distinctly human, less cat piss and more human waste.
“Goddamn! Don’t go in that bathroom.”
Castiel hears the squeak and slam of the door as Dean pulls it shut. He watches as Dean shudders and shakes off the presumably disgusting feeling of whatever he found in there. Cas doesn’t even want to know.
“There’s no sign of anything other than vagrants up here. I think I saw a door to the basement in the kitchen.”
“Alright.”
“Well, you know, we always leave the best to last.”
Castiel rolls his eyes as he leads the way downstairs. Dean is grumbling a few steps behind him.
“...I mean, it’s not like I don’t allow you to have your personal space. You have your own room. You can do whatever you like, come and go as you want…”
“What are you mumbling about?”
“Nothing.”
They reach the bottom of the stairs and Castiel can still hear Dean complaining under his breath.
“...Sam has secrets, too. Everyone keeps secrets. Not like I need to know every detail of your life or something...”
“Dean, you need to focus on your surroundings.”
“I’m focused.”
Cas rolls his eyes, again, at Dean’s idiocy. Turning back down the hallway to the front of the house. They backtrack toward the kitchen. Nothing had changed since they had been upstairs, and all was quiet.
Castiel pauses when the living room floor creaks loudly beneath him. Dean, who is still prattling on, bumps into him. Sighing, Castiel looks back at Dean who is obviously not at all focused. He’s been continually murmuring, apparently about him, ever since they got here.
“Dude, keep moving. It’s not like the whole thing is going to -”
“Dean, do you not hear that?” Castiel shakes his head, irritated by Dean’s attitude, and cautiously steps forward, testing the floor carefully with his weight. With each step he takes, the floorboards beneath his feet flex and groan.
“Dude. Move. Now.”
Castiel has time to take one more hesitant step, before Dean shoves him forward. He feels it the moment the floor cracks, giving way completely and he is suddenly engulfed by thousands of splinters and shards of wood.
Heart in his throat, he leaps forward. Desperately scrambling for purchase. Dean’s hands slide down his back. Fingers grapple at his legs. He grasps at anything within reach. Jagged pieces of wood cut into his palms. Panic grips him when he hears Dean shout out in pain.
In a blink, Castiel is also swallowed by the avalanche of debris and follows Dean into the darkness below.