Chrysler Almighty

Dean hasn't been dwelling too much on Samuel and Crowley; he's too dazed to think much beyond the fact the hulking great thing sharing the car with him is an empty facsimile of his brother, that it fed him to a vampire because it doesn't have a soul and getting an inside man was expedient and logical, and fuck morals, fuck the collateral damage. His gut rolls queasily at what that collateral damage could have been, at how tempted he was as he pushed Lisa up against her bedroom wall, how he shoved Ben into the guard rail... how easy it might have been to just tip the kid over the top and down the stairwell before ripping into his neck. Dessert. It sends an icy chill of dread through him, and he raises the bottle in silent toast and drinks to Veritas, who made sure Lisa had enough brains about her to do what he should have had the guts to do himself after Sam – Sham – appeared out of the past.

He feels that familiar displacement of air whisper across the back of his neck, and he doesn't turn around, just takes another swig of the liquor.

"You're drinking excessively, Dean," Castiel says, neutral as ever.

Dean rolls his eyes, huffs out morosely. "What the fuck do you care?"

There's a brief silence before Castiel replies. "You need to be alert," he offers carefully. "There's no precedent for your brother. He might take risks with his safety. With your safety."

Dean twists the dial from low up to simmer. "He already took risks with my safety, Cas, when he stood by and watched me get turned." He glances over his shoulder, sees the angel standing stock still and impassive. "Where the fuck were you then?" he continues, a vicious snap. "No wait, don't tell me – looking for angelic weapons of mass destruction. If I'd had one of those at the time, would you have showed up then? And maybe snatched it out of my hand before flapping off back to the clouds and leaving me to that monster?"

Castiel's eyes flick away and down, and he might even look guilty. "Dean—"

"Don't Dean me, you sanctimonious sack of shit," Dean barks aggressively, shooting to his feet and striding up close. "I needed help. Your help, since it turns out my brother is still the fucking antichrist because of you guys and your grand fucking Paradise-found plan. And where the hell do you get off teleporting out of here every time you're needed, anyway?" He's right up in Castiel's face now, almost yelling. "My brother is soulless. Do you get it? He gave it up to save our asses, Cas, yours and mine, and the whole fucking planet. And it turns out Crowley has his soul, which means I'm on a demon's payroll. So where the hell do you get off vanishing into thin air when he needs you to, when we, when I need you to... to. When I need... "

He stops, and Castiel hasn't moved, and his expression hasn't shifted, he's still just staring back at Dean, his eyes blank and unreadable. When he finally speaks, his tone is ill-tempered and acidic enough to set alarm bells ringing in the small part of Dean's brain that's still sober enough for rational thought.

"You need, Dean? What exactly is it that you need?"

Dean blinks for a moment, put on the spot by a question he wasn't really expecting and can't formulate an answer to because he has this odd feeling it might lead him to something he hasn't quite managed to rationalize. He half turns, dips his head into his hand, and deflects. "Forget it, I don't even know any more. And what the fuck is the point anyway? Profound bond my lily-white ass. A whole fucking year. You never came. What the fuck was that about? You got what you wanted and dumped me." He glances back, huffs out in derision. "You coldhearted sonofabitch."

As Dean finishes the sentence, the color drains from Castiel's eyes, turning them slate-gray and steel-cold. He leans in closer and Dean stands his ground as Castiel speaks right into his ear, so close Dean can feel the angel's breath mist his cheek and his lips ghost across the skin there.