Like Cats and Dogs

Chapter 36

Dean doesn't know how long he's been staring at the ceiling. Doesn't care. It's taken... a while for him to get a handle on himself. His brain is running on an extended loop, cycling through thoughts of Cas and the endless ways he wants to torture Crowley to a bloody death. His chest aches like he's hollowed out, like he's nothing but a gaping hole, and something must not have healed right because there's still a dull throbbing in his knee.

Maybe wasn't the best idea to run on shattered bone. Dean can't find it in himself to give a shit. Whatever's happening to Cas, he knows that it's infinitely worse. Dean can handle a little knee pain.

The whole time, the wolf stays pathetically glued to the mating bond, like if it waits long enough, the thing'll spring back to life. It never does though, and the silence of it is driving Dean up the fucking wall. So yeah, it took him a while to get his shit under control. But he's managing himself. Mostly.

And now he's got a plan. Or an outline, ish. Some kind of idea of what he's gonna do. He gave his pack the night, let them rest while he pretended not to mourn. Now the sun's up, and he's not sitting on his ass a minute longer.

Dean forces himself out of bed, but can't quite bring himself to leave the scent of Cas behind. He grabs a dirty t-shirt from their laundry, draping it over his shoulder and letting the scent of pine trees and damp bark envelope him as he makes his way through the den. It makes him feel like Cas is closer to him. Dean heads towards the Council room, pounding on doors as he goes as a wake up call. God fucking knows how early it actually is, but Dean doesn't care. They're going to find everybody, to find his mate, and they're going now.

With the Council, the Arch, the Seraphs and the Hunters all gathered in front of him, looking bleary eyed but present, Dean finally speaks.

"This ends," he breathes, feeling the aggression building up in his muscles. He wants to rip into something. "Today. We are going hunting, and we aren't coming back until we find them."

Murmurs of assent filter through the room, and Dean barely catches John's nod of approval from the corner of his eye.

"You headed south, last night," Sam jumps in, obviously in agreement with Dean's plan. "Farther than we'd searched on our own. All the evidence pointed west, so we didn't go much more than ten or fifteen miles south of Pack territory."

"We went twenty-five," Balthazar adds, crossing his arms with a heavy sigh. "Still nothing."

Dean wonders how far the humans could realistically be, considering they were transporting unconscious shifters, but with a car in their possession it wouldn't be unreasonable for them to be a hundred miles out, maybe more.

"Then we go further," Dean grunts, undeterred. If south is the direction Cas pulled him, then south is where they'll look.

Surprisingly, Michael is the next one to speak up.

"Last night, did Castiel call out to you?"

Dean tenses, studying Michael with suspicious eyes. He hadn't even really told Sam that that's what happened, so if Michael already knows...

"Anna," he breathes, "she did the same to you?"

Michael nods. "Before I lost her. I can't feel her now, she's too far away."

A chill runs down Dean's spine, a flash of sympathy for Michael who he knows is suffering just as much as he is. The shadows under his eyes are even darker today, a sign of his continuing sleepless nights. His skin is grey and pallid, eyes dull and far away.

"Your bond..." Dean prompts, unable to say the words out loud. It hurts too much to feel the lifeless bond, let alone actually recognizing it verbally.