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"All right, come on."
Dean can't bear to think right now, so he does what he does best--shoves it all away and keeps moving.
He practically has scrape Sam off of the floor. Dean isn't one hundred percent sure what Cas--Lucifer--did to him, but whatever it is left him completely drained. Dean slings one of his brother's stupidly long arms around his neck and sets about dragging him into his Spartan room.
"'M sorry," Sam mutters as Dean makes sure that he doesn't topple off the bed.
"No more caffeine for you."
Sam huffs out an exhausted laugh, but all Dean manage is a small smile that drops as soon as he's out of the room.
The bunker is compromised, he knows that. But Sam needs rest, and not the kind you get in a car or a motel room. Dean wants to vanish into his own room more than anything, but they don't have time.
He packs.
He's been doing it all his life, moving from one place to the next. This is different, because for once, he'd thought he just might get to stay. Even with Lisa and Ben, he'd known it was too normal to last. He'd made the mistake of thinking that an underground bunker in the dead center of the country was just enough to their side of weird that it could stay.
Right. Guess not.
As much as he's teased Sam about his dumb card catalogue, it's proving its worth right now. Dean probably screws the entire thing up by plucking out the important information, but it hardly matters now.
Two and a half cards on angel studies. Everything Sam has on pre-biblical lore. The list of websites that have proven accurate over the years.
Using Sam's system, he finds everything he's looking for. It amounts to something like fifteen books from the Men of Letters collections and two singed copies from Bobby's library. In Sam's attempts to digitize the library, he probably managed to get at least another twelve on a flash drive, so Dean pockets that, too.
He stumbles upon Kevin's rumpled notes tucked carefully in a folder, more organized than they were when their writer was still alive. Dean swallows past the lump in his throat, remembering another friend taken from them in this very room, and puts the folder on top of his pile.
There's a trunk he remembers seeing when he and Sam were going though one of the storage room. It's already spelled-up, so all he has to do is drag it into the library. The books fit perfectly. He hauls the full trunk into the war room and places it neatly on top of North America.
Now that he has the research squared away, it's a question of personal belongings. Dean has squirreled away more than he cares to admit over the last few years.
There's the memory box he and Sam have been lugging around since forever with the pictures of Mom, the trusty green cooler and a few of the awesomer (though maybe not practical) weapons that aren't already in the car.
Unfortunately, his memory foam mattress won't fit in the back of the Impala.
Dean ventures into Sam's room to make sure that there isn't anything his brother might want. A beginner's guide to ASL is the only thing on his nightstand. Resolving to tease him about Eileen later, Dean tucks it under his arm before heading for his room.
He has to take a deep breath before he steps across the threshold.
Dean hadn't had a room since he was four years old. He'd never called the one in Indiana in his head anything other than Lisa's room. Having his own is surreal.
Had been surreal.
All in all, there isn't much to pack. He changes back into his own clothes, partly mourning the loss of his favorite boots to the submarine. Dean ends up taking an extraordinarily soft blanket and a worn copy of one of Vonnegut's that he's pretty sure Cas has--had--been stealing.
Once everything is spread out on the map table, it really hits him. They're leaving.
Shaking off the dull ache in his chest, Dean goes back into Sam's room to wake him. He's curled up in an insanely small ball, considering the size of him, the blankets cocooned around him. It had been a pretty common position for him after the last Lucifer debacle, but it's been a while since Dean last saw him like that.
"All right, no more beauty sleep. C'mon, get up."
Sam untangles himself from the sheets, scrubbing his uninjured hand across his face. If Dean hadn't had the unsettling feeling that they're running out of time, he might have offered to help clean out the wound on his palm. As it is, he flicks the lights a few times to get Sam moving faster.
"What's the hurry?" Sam asks, squinting at the light as if it had caused him personal offense.
"We can't stay."
Sam follows him into the war room. Dean can see the exact moment he realizes. Sam's face crumples like a paper bag.
"The books--"
"Relevant ones are in the trunk."
"Charlie's decoder?"
"In your bag."
They stare at each other for a moment. Sam's mouth tightens into a thin line. Dean knows he's going through the same options Dean himself had a few hours ago.
"The sigil on the sub. You can recreate it, can't you?"
Dean takes a deep breath. "Yeah, but then it'd be a siege. We'd be stuck waiting him out, and I think we'd lose that game."
Sam doesn't argue after that. The two of them carry everything to the car. With the protection on their ribs, it's still impossible for Lucifer to track them. Dean is pretty worried about him worming his way into Sam's head again, but they'll cross that bridge when they get to it.
"Anything else?" Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. "We're good."
Overstatement.
They concentrate on getting as far away from the bunker as possible. Sam picks New York and Dean doesn't have any better suggestions. Halfway there, Sam finally insists on switching, so Dean drops off as they cross into Indiana.
He knows it's a dream the moment he opens his eyes. It's the same dock Cas had met him on years ago to deliver a message.
When their eyes meet, Dean clenches his hands into fists. Not fists that he could throw, but fists with his nails digging into his palms to keep himself calm.
"Dean."
How could he have ever thought Lucifer was Cas? He hadn't gotten the intonation right. Slowly, Dean releases his hands. There are crescent shaped indents on his palms.
"How'd you break free?"
"I didn't. He," Here Cas makes a face, halfway between defeat and disgust, "allowed it."
Dean can't think of a single reason Lucifer would do that, so his defenses slam back up.
"He wanted me to deliver a warning. He let you go today, but it won't happen again."
Dean scoffs. "Well, you can tell him that if we kicked his ass to Antartica today, we can do it again."
The corner of Cas's mouth twitches at that. "He was aiming for a fishing boat. I may have helped him miss."
Despite everything, the mental image of Lucifer getting dunked in the ocean nearly makes him laugh.
"Cas."
And before he can register what he's doing, he's crossing the space in between him and Cas and pulling him into a gentle hug. It's not like the other hugs before. It's more desperate.
"Why'd you do it?"
But he already knows, so Cas doesn't answer. Instead, they both stand there a moment longer.
"You have to go." Cas's voice cracks. "He'll be back."
Dean steps back, and it feels like the hardest thing he's ever done. The dream shatters, and Dean's eyes fly open.
Sam looks over, concerned. "Bad dream?"
Dean doesn't answer.
They've lost their home base and their best ally. They have an arsenal in their trunk, twenty-nine books and enough determination that they've already stopped one apocalypse.
Dean closes his eyes and prays. I'm coming, Cas.