Chapter 1
Love came down at Christmas; love all lovely, love divine; love was born at Christmas, stars and angels gave the sign. - Christina G. Rossetti
1. On The First Day Of Christmas
Dean and Sam sat side by side on one of the two motel beds, staring at the prone figure lying on top of the ugly brown and tan bed covering of the other. They sat shoulder to shoulder, as they had done many times before, as they would probably do a hundred, million times later, just gaping at the man who was John 'Johnny' Adams. Possible tax accountant. Definite vessel for the angel Castiel. Still out of it after - what - four hours since they checked into this hotel on the outskirts of East Lansing?
The man didn't move, except to breath, arm folded over his head, body sprawled in a way that Sam could never imagine Castiel doing. Castiel was many things, but relaxed wasn't one of them. He watched the other man's chest rise and fall, and felt a tingle of wonder go through him, all over again. Sure, the angel obviously cared about him and Dean - Dean a whole lot more, but eh. And yeah, the angel showed he had faith in them in a million little ways - but this. This was huge. Trusting them to keep an eye on his vessel. A guy so beloved by God he was Chosen to carry around one of His angels.
Now, Sam loved his brother. Loved his brother more than his own life and his own soul, in fact. Loved him enough to tumble down from grace in mourning him. Dean was his hero - his cornerstone in 'do the right thing' - Dean was mother and father in a way that John Winchester never quite mastered. If God should have chosen anyone to be his warrior, Dean was it, and Sam was totally cool with that. Sam could never fight like Dean could, never hold on and just keep fighting hard no matter the odds. That was Dean's purview. That was Dean's strength.
Still, it was so damned cool being in the same room with a guy who had so much fucking faith that God said, 'Here, totally awesome human! Have an angel.'
Even if it looked like the guy might never wake up from his nap until Castiel was ready to come back and get him.
Beside him, Dean finally shifted, and coughed. Sam looked over at him, and Dean looked back at Sam. Then they both turned to look back at Johnny. Dean cleared his throat, then scratched the back of his head. "You think he's still supposed to be passed out like this?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure. I mean, I'm not exactly up on angelic possessions. Besides the fact that Johnny's absolutely fine, which we never get in demonic hostile take-overs."
He watched his brother purse his lips, "Well. I guess he needs the sleep. I mean, angels must take a lot out of you." Dean canted his head at Johnny. "Christ - he really is nothing like Castiel, is he? Just a normal guy, like us."
Sam nodded his head, then frowned. "Since... when were we normal?"
Dean paused, and then cleared his throat. "Well. You know. Normal for paranormal."
Sam bobbed his head again, before he pointed at himself. "Half-demon, half-human with creepy powers." He switched the finger to Dean. "Raised from Hell, to fight for God." He pointed to Johnny. "Vessel for the Archangel of Thursday." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and just arched an eyebrow at Dean, before repeating disbelievingly, "Normal?" He snorted. "We are not even normal for the National Inquirer, Dean."
Dean looked at him for a long, long moment, and then his hand connected to the back of Sam's head. Hard enough that Sam saw stars briefly. He winced, as Dean copied his pose, elbows on knees, with a grumbled, "Shut up? You know what I mean."
"Ow." Sam said tartly, before he looked over at Johnny's sleeping body, and weirdly, he did know what Dean meant, exactly. Johnny without Castiel seemed like some guy they would ask to pass the salt in one of their diners. Or someone they might meet in a bar, someone who would be joking around with them and maybe they'd share a beer and a few moments as real people. He let his eyes skim down the man, focusing on Johnny's face, and the dark hair that fell in his face. He narrowed his brown eyes thoughtfully. "Is it just me, or is his hair ... floppier, now?"
He felt Dean leaning a little into his space, peering at Johnny's hair. "Yeah ... I think you're right. There's none of that - my hair spikes upwards through the power of the Lord - hair gel goin' on."
"Huh." Sam said, a little surprised, before something else occurred to him. "Hey Dean?"
"Yeah, Sam?" Dean asked, and he could hear the distraction in his brother's voice.
"I think we're being kinda creepy right now." Sam said slowly. "Watching him sleep like this."
"Ye-ah." Dean exhaled softly. "Pretty sure you're right. Somewhere, up there," and Sam twisted his head to see his brother glaring a little at the ceiling, "Cas is laughing his ass off at me."
"Heh." Sam stretched a little, before he eyed the other bed. Looked like they were sharing. "Guess we should get some sleep, ourselves. It's late."
"Yeah, long day of fuck knows what, tomorrow." Dean sighed, as he started to kick off his boots. "If you cuddle me in your dreams, dude, I am smothering your shaggy head with my pillow."
Sam yawned, as he got up to dig through their bags for individual sweatpants. "Yeah, well, if you at any point call out 'Castiel', or 'Jessica', I am putting my foot on your ass and pushing you out of bed. I call bathroom side, too."
"Asshole." Dean grumbled, as he stripped off his flannel, and tossed it at Sam's head, while catching his sweatpants and rolling to the other side of the bed. They both changed quickly and with the same easy indifference to each other's near nudity as they had for years of sharing the same space, then continued with their normal night routines.
Sam had just finished brushing his teeth, and was wiping his mouth, as he eyed Johnny, then over at his brother. Dean was checking to make sure their guns were loaded, before he tucked them under their pillows. Dean looked at Sam, then over to Johnny, before he shrugged, answering Sam's silent question by getting up the bed and pulling off Johnny's shoes. Sam hung up his towel, and then helped Dean lever Johnny up, so they could slip the coat off, and get him under the covers, and get the other man tucked in as he slept on, oblivious. The trench-coat was respectfully hung over the back of a chair.
In a few minutes, the Winchesters themselves were all settled in, besides fighting for covers.
Sam rolled on his side, half to keep his side of the covers taunt over his taller form, and the other half to watch Johnny for another moment longer. Beside him, Dean rolled over, and he could feel Dean's knuckles rapping on the back of his head. Dean's voice was soft. "Dude. He'll be there in the morning."
"Yeah ... yeah." But he did note the shift in the mattress, where Dean leaned himself up to look at Johnny, and he repressed a smile as he twisted to lie flat on his stomach, "Night Dean."
Dean grunted, and dropped back to the bed, before turning to face the window. "Night, Sam." After a moment, Sam heard his brother snicker and whisper. "Night, John-boy."
Yeah, there was really only way to respond to that. A pillow to Dean's laughing face.
2. The (Really Early) Morning Of The Second Day
Johnny opened his eyes, completely disorientated.
He blinked, staring up at the stained hotel ceiling, trying to remember how he got here. It wasn't that he hadn't gotten used to losing hours, because frankly with Castiel he was used to losing entire days. There was such a week of conflict that Castiel kept him buried, safe and asleep, the entire time.
Castiel, however, was gone, and Johnny was having a hard time figuring how he got from the cold, diner parking lot to warm and comfortable in a bed, shoes and jacket off, and the blanket tucked firmly up to his chin. He leaned up slowly, noting he seemed to be in some sort of motel room and that the motel room was, well, cruddy. Just a cheap place to crash for the night. He could just see the outlines of duffel bags, a laptop, and his reliable trenchcoat, hung carefully and neatly over one chair. Like whoever had taken it off had a lot of respect for the person wearing it.
Huh.
He twisted his head the rest of the way, to see the other bed, and saw the Winchester brothers, sleeping. Sam curled up, as much as he could with that tall frame of his, and Dean half-sprawled, completely open. They looked peaceful - far more peaceful than they had in any of the dim memories Johnny had of them. All he could seem to recall was them brimming over with energy - always moving, faster or slower, getting places too late or just in the nick of time. The Winchesters never seemed to just stop.
But look at them. Sleeping like babies.
They must have brought him here.
He felt warmth start in his chest, spreading out, as his lips curved into a smile. Castiel's words before he left Johnny's body slipped through his brain, soft as silk. Do not be afraid. I will return for you. In the meantime, know that you will not be alone. Johnny had assumed the angel had just meant, well, spiritually. He didn't know that the angel arranged vessel-sitters.
He rolled to the other side of the bed, so he didn't wake up either one of the Winchesters, and headed into the bathroom. He relieved his strangely full bladder - dear God how much coffee had he had? - and then splashed water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, the button down shirt that felt brand-spanking new and the same slacks from the day that Castiel came to him. He looked at his hair - sweeping it away from his face and looked at himself. He looked ... better. Tired, rougher, but better. If that was possible. Castiel was taking good care of him - well, them. Johnny wondered briefly why he had no issues with just being a passenger in his own body - but then again, he'd been a passenger in his own life for months before this.
He was here now, though. Just in time for Christmas.
"You need a nice long holiday." He said to himself, then wrinkled his nose and snorted. "And a shave." Mental note, teach the angel about safety razors and five-o'clock shadow.
He turned off the lights, and blinked into the darkness. Well that was something else he would have to get used to - suddenly light-flared darkness again. He had to get used to everything - all the human things he handed over to Castiel because God needed Castiel and that meant they needed Johnny, and he certainly needed His Lord and his - well, subletted angel, because Castiel had him, had God, had Dean and -
Johnny's jumbled thoughts apparently got caught up with his jumbled coordination, because he tripped over his own shoes in the dark, and fell down to the ground with a, "OOOF!" and a loud whump. Sigh. And ow.
That was bad enough.
What came next was just terrifying, because the second he fell, there was the sounds of two more bodies making noise and hitting the ground, the light-switch beside the bed suddenly blared to life and when he blinked and pushed himself to his knees, he found himself looking down the cold barrel of a gun and the near murderous face of Sam Winchester, who was also on his knees, which abruptly turned to the panicked face of Sam Winchester. The young man, well younger than him anyways, yelped, "Jesus Christ! Johnny!"
Johnny just stared, as Dean Winchester popped up from the other side of the bed like a whack-a-mole, his own gun cocked and his glare furious, then confused. "The hell - Johnny? Are you okay?"
Johnny swallowed, and shook his head. "No."
Sam and Dean automatically shifted their stance, Sam glaring towards the bathroom, Dean towards the front door to the room and the single window. Dean's voice was quick, but decisive. "What was it? Demon? Ghost? Something else?"
"Sam ..." Johnny said slowly, watching as Dean shot a Look over at his brother, and Sam just looked baffled. Johnny swallowed, pointed, and whispered. "Sam ... has a gun? In my face."
Sam blinked, looked down at his gun, and as if he had his fly down, let out an embarrassed little, "Oh!" and put the gun down to his side, but he didn't put on the safety. Frankly, Johnny was just happy to have it out of his face. Also they were still scanning the room - Sam had started to move towards the bathroom and Dean had flicked the curtain aside. For his part, Johnny pulled himself on the bed, into a sitting position, just trying to get his breath back.
The bathroom light clicked on, then off, and Sam came back out, frowning a little, "Bathroom's clear."
Dean had the same sort of frown, as he looked away from the window. "So's the parking lot."
Johnny winced a little, and looked from one brother to the other. "Would you believe me if I said the great threat was my loafers?" He pointed down, and shrugged sheepishly. "I tripped over them."
Dean and Sam shared a look, and Sam winced himself as he clicked on the safety to the gun, before sitting down on the bed next to Johnny, with a quieter, "Oh."
Dean scratched his head with his own gun, clicked on the safety and much to Johnny's relief, shoved it back under his pillow before he came to sat on the other side of Johnny. For a long moment, they were all quiet. Johnny spoke up into the silence. "Sorry."
Besides him, Dean snorted. "Don't think you should be the one apologizing, Johnny. We're the paranoid fucks that nearly took off your head."
Johnny nodded his head a little, before offering a half smile. "It just means you're prepared. Like ... really, warrior boy scouts. I'm just. I'm not used to dealing all this ... up close."
"Well, you won't be dealing with it. At least not over the holidays." Sam said firmly. "We're on vacation."
Johnny couldn't help it, he felt a faint smirk tug on his lips. "Do the good guys get a vacation?"
"Well God doesn't seem to object." Dean said tartly, "Since he's taking all his angels up for one hellva party. So yeah, we're going get some down time."
"No argument from me." Johnny huffed out a breath, before leaning his entire body between his knees. "I say you've earned it."
"I think we've all earned it." Sam says quietly beside him, and Johnny is absurdly grateful to be included. He needed it, he realized sadly. Needed to be part of a 'we'.
"Yeah - but man - we are changing digs." Dean said firmly. "We got the time and we can get the mileage. We should spend Christmas in not the middle of mother fucking Michigan. Don't get me wrong, they make sweet cars but no way am I celebrating my first Christmas vacation in years in Michigan."
"Yeah?" Sam grunted, and Johnny the weight shift on the bed as the taller man dropped back against the mattress. "Where are we going? Connecticut? Maybe we could join up with Bing Crosby and Danny Kay."
"Who?" Dean asks, and Johnny turns towards him , shocked to find an utterly confused look on the elder Winchester's face.
"Bing Crosby. Danny Kay, White Christmas?" Johnny asked slowly. "It's a Christmas classic."
Dean shrugged. "I might have seen it when I was little - but man, seriously - Christmas never was my deal."
Johnny tilted his head - now where have I heard that before? - before his lips quirked. "Well then, that sort of narrows things down." Both Winchester men looked over at him curiously as he checked his watch. "If we get going now - we could be there in eh - twelve hours or so."
"Go where, Johnny?" Sam asked, both eyebrows arching, with his arms tucked behind his head. Johnny thought to himself suddenly that if he was the kind to have a type, Sam would be more Johnny's than Dean was. Johnny always did have a weakness for the tall, puppy-eyed ones.
"A place where there shall be endless hot chocolate, sugar cookies, evergreens, Christmas lights and Santas. Where there is every holiday movie known to mankind." And he should know, he bought them. He felt very cheesy saying this, but the little smiles that tugged on their faces made him keep going, putting out one hand in a dramatic gesture. "Winchesters, we travel to New York State. We travel to the home of one Johnny Adams. For there, Winchesters, is where your Christmas awaits."
To which his stomach replied to with a horrendous grumble, and he eyed it for ruining his dramatic moment. Dean smirked, eyes flashing, and - okay - maybe both of the Winchester boys could have been Johnny's type but there's no way he'd hit on an angel's 'chosen', and Goddamn had it been so long since he had gotten laid? He blamed Castiel. For all that Johnny was beloved of God, he at least had allowed himself the very human sin of masturbation, once and awhile.
He was so worried about his sexual needs that it took him a moment to tune into Dean talking about other ones, "... all we need to do is pack up, and go." He eyed Johnny, "But before we trek to Johnny's Christmas-land, I'm thinking breakfast."
Sam looked thoughtful. "I'm thinking it too."
Johnny's stomach rumbled again and he sighed. "I'll go you both one more specific. I'm thinking blueberry pancakes. Sausage. Orange juice. Maybe eggs."
Dean's sudden chuff of laughter caught him off-guard, but both of them were grinning at him. The elder Winchester drawled, "Johnny, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Johnny grinned back - feeling strangely calm, and quiet. Castiel was right - where-ever this weird journey took them, he was not going to be alone. He'd be going with - well, at least hoped would be - friends.
3. Even Earlier On The Third Day Of Christmas
It was less like twelve hours and rounding more on fifteen when they finally had gotten close to Johnny's place in Northern New York state. They hadn't really gotten going until after they had scarfed a huge breakfast - Dean was impressed by Johnny's ability to demolish a considerable stack of blueberry pancakes - but he guessed after so many months of living off of oatmeal and apples and other wholesome food, you'd eat a big pile of whatever was put in front of you. Then there was the bad weather, the holiday travelers, the whole nine yards of driving. It was a pain in the ass and exhausting and at some point it started snowing and slowed them down again.
Sam drifted off somewhere in Pennsylvania, just after they had eaten dinner, and Johnny was so quiet that Dean was sure the other man had fallen back into another coma. He turned on the radio, and shifted through channels till he got the one rock station that wasn't blaring all those annoying Christmas songs. Sure, he was all about celebrating the holiday - but damn - give a guy a break already.
The music was the Rolling Stones, and he sang along quietly for a line or two, before Johnny's voice started him in the back. "You know, once you get warmed up, you're not half bad."
Dean started, jerked, and then let out a soft and short stream of curses, "Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking pogo stick -" but he stopped abruptly when he caught Johnny's shocked expression in the rear-view mirror, and promptly bit his tongue back to finish lamely, "...patting little bunnies, and shi - stuff. Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I thought you were sleeping."
So eerie, to see that face so like Cas's and yet not, lean forward across the back of the seat, folding his sweater-covered arms over the leather in a very-un-angel like movement. Dean glanced sideways long enough to see Johnny shrug. "Been asleep for so long - every time I close my eyes I'm not sure where I'll wake up again. It's better when Castiel's here. He keeps things straight, lets me know what all the blank spaces add up to in my memory so I don't feel so lost."
Dean glanced sideways again, his voice a little gruff. "You miss him?"
"Yeah." Johnny sighed softly, and Dean could hear the shift on the leather, as Johnny looked at him. "Don't you?"
Dean pursed his lips, getting that itchy feeling between his shoulder-blades. Like he had forgotten something, like there was something he needed to have by him and it just wasn't there. He had that a lot lately, when he actually thought about Castiel not being around. He coughed, and thumped his hands against the steering wheel. "I guess. But he's always running off, so I'm kinda used to it, y'know. Just one of those things."
He can hear Johnny beside him, fingers roaming over black leather, his voice quiet so he doesn't wake Sam. "He doesn't want to go. I mean, there's duty, and then there's you."
"I thought I was his duty." Dean said wryly, shooting an amused look over to Johnny.
Johnny sighed, "Dean, I think you and I can agree on the fact that that line got blurred a long time ago."
Dean let that thought sink in - silently pleased to know that he was more to Castiel than a job, even though he knew that. It was still good to hear it from someone else. Weird as it might have been, coming from Castiel's own vessel, which brought a whole other realm of questions, "Do you - ah - do you mind?" Do you mind that I've been kissing an angel through you, mind that I want to do a lot more than kiss, are we using you? Questions that swirled his own mind. Questions that couldn't be ignored because Johnny was a person and not a meat puppet.
Johnny's response wasn't what Dean thought it'd be, though. It was contemplative, as if the man had been thinking on it for awhile - for all Dean knew he had been. "You know, I really didn't like you much when we first crossed paths."
Dean blinked, and then jerked his chin towards the other man. "The hell - why the hell not?"
"Because you put about twenty rounds into my body and then stabbed me with a demon killing knife?" Johnny said, and it's something that Dean can hear the wry grin on the other man's face.
"Oh." Because really, yeah. He added lamely after that. "Sorry."
"Don't be. If I hadn't started out hating you, I don't think Castiel would have spoken so eloquently in your defense." Johnny sighed, quietly, and spoke again, fondness in his tone. "He has such faith in you - it's awe-inspiring."
Dean arched an eyebrow, both pleased and uncomfortable. "Says the guy that God picked to be the body-buddy of an angel."
He felt Johnny shift against the seat again, so he was facing him, and Dean looked sideways to seen earnest brown eyes on his. "God chose both of us, you know. I have faith, sure, and I guess I'm a good man, but I've seen what you can do, Dean. Castiel shared his memories with me. He's right, you know. You don't really know how much you deserve to be saved."
Yep, right back into uncomfortable. Dean let his hands grip on the steering wheel, trying not to imagine them coated thickly with someone else's blood. His tone was a little curt."You wouldn't be saying that, if you knew what I did."
"That after thirty years in Hell you ended up torturing people?" And Goddamn, if Dean kept turning his head so quickly towards Johnny, he was going to end up with whiplash or they were going to be head over wheels, in a ditch. He managed a ten second stare where Johnny met his gaze - ah there was the Castiel in him - with an implacable gaze. "And the fact for ten years after that you tore people apart, liked it, and every single day of that - you hated yourself a little more. Every day, Dean, every day you hated yourself. And there's something else that Castiel told me, something that I think ... I think you made yourself forget."
"Yeah? What's that? I gave everyone a frigging lollipop after I took them off the rack? Just to soothe the sting of being eternally damned?" Dean smarmed, because if he threw sarcasm at this conversation, Johnny wouldn't keep going. Wouldn't lance the wound again that Castiel had already stabbed right through, by loving him. Healing was as painful as getting the wounds in the first place.
"No." Johnny said, his voice soft, as if he knew that he was pulling out shrapnel from Dean. "You kept on screaming, Dean, even when you were off the rack and putting other people on it. And when you were screaming, you were screaming for help. From your brother, from anyone." He sighed softly, and Dean could feel the puff of air against his ear. "You wanted someone to save you."
Dean swallowed spit and fear, wished he could close his eyes and deny it it, but he knew it was true. Knew how long he screamed for Sam, for his Dad, for anyone, until it just became intermingled with the pain and the loss and the guilt. "So ... apparently, I never stopped screaming. And that was good enough for God? Just the begging of one damned sinner?"
"Dean, you screamed so loud that Heaven heard you, from the depths of Hell." Johnny snorted softly. "The depths, Dean. The demons had you well in the pits, just in case. Or did you honestly think that God left you down there, for forty years for kicks? It took Castiel that long to find you."
Dean gnawed on his bottom lip, his stomach curling at the thought of Castiel wandering the pits of Hell, looking for him, putting his angelic ass in danger every single minute. He sighed. "Castiel shouldn't have done that. God shouldn't have made him risk himself like that, for me."
"You know, you have this idea of God, Dean..." He could almost hear Johnny shaking his head, and the man actually let out a quiet, wry laugh. "God ... might be off, sitting somewhere, unreachable by cellphone and all that, I don't really know. But that doesn't mean He doesn't care. When we pray, He hears us, and He sends us an answer to our solution. It's our choice to accept that answer, or not. Free will. I chose to let an angel ride in my body, and pull me along the ride for the end of days, because it answered my question in my faith. You chose to love an angel, even though you don't think you deserve him, because it answered your prayer of being saved."
"Yeah? And what about Castiel? He sure as Hell didn't ask to go down to Hell to fetch me. He sure as didn't ask to be risking your life for God's Orders." Dean countered, that little niggling voice still crawling around in his head, not worthy, not worthy, not worthy to be here, not worthy of an angel's love, not worthy of a brother's faith, not worthy.
Johnny was silent for a moment, thoughtfully so. "Dean ... did it ever occur to you, that maybe, just maybe, you are the answer to Castiel's prayers? I mean - he told you. He's told me. He has doubts... concerns, about the justness of his Orders. He needed to find meaning. To me, at least, there was nothing more meaningful than falling in love. Nothing, not even seeing Castiel, was more life affirming, than giving my heart to someone and them having the trust and faith in me, to give theirs back."
Dean gnawed on that bone for a moment, before he arched an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that an angel, falling in love with a human, can be considered a Gift from God?" He snorted. "Not sure you'd be so certain on that if you knew what I was thinking of doing to Castiel last night. R-rated. With chocolate pudding."
Johnny choked on a laugh besides him, before his tone took on a more severe touch. "What I'm saying is that God doesn't make deals, Dean. He offers chances. I took one. Castiel took one. And you took the largest one of all, trying to believe in something that's not a gun or a Winchester. I'm saying the act of having faith is more than enough reason for God to love his wayward cursing child, whatever you might think. And the last thing I'm saying, is that I think Castiel fell in love with you for a reason, and vice-versa."
Dean arched an eyebrow over his shoulder, his expression still musing. "All right. I might buy into that." He smiled, his hands loosening on the steering wheel. "At least I know what God sees in you, oh angelic-wonder boy. You talk a good God game."
"Oh, wouldn't my minister father love to hear that." Johnny chuckled, before tapping him on the shoulder. "We just crossed the New York state line. The turn-off should be coming up soon."
"All right." Dean kept his eye on the road, as he heard Johnny retreating to the backseat. He glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the other man tilt his head back, and he spoke quietly. "Thanks. For all that."
He watched Johnny tilt his head back up, dark hair falling over his face with a quiet smile. "No, Dean, thank you."
He blinked, a little confused. "For what?"
Johnny shrugged. "You asked if I minded - all this? I don't. Because this gave me back my faith in my fellow man, and that was more sorely lacking than your faith in the Almighty. So really - thank you, Dean. Thank you for giving me something I never thought I'd have again."
Dean nodded his head in silent, if not slightly confused acknowledgment, before turning his attention back to his driving. Sometime soon, he was going to have to ask Johnny what he meant by 'losing his faith in humanity'. Right now though, there was the road, and if there was one thing he had learned on the fucking insane trip he was so far, was to keep his eyes on the road.
Because you just never learned where it just might turn.
4. On The Fourth Day Of Christmas
Sam woke up to silence, and promptly panicked. He jerked awake, sleepiness stripped away from him as he stared around the room where he had found himself, and he stared at the neat white walls that were totally unlike any motel they had stayed in awhile, not even any motel that he had stayed in while Dean was in Hell. He closed his eyes slowly, and then opened them, giving his mind a moment to catch up with his body, kicking past the adrenaline.
He wasn't alone. Dean was around here somewhere, because they weren't in a motel, they were in fact in someone's home. Johnny's home. Yes. Okay. Sam exhaled, putting one hand through his hair, not surprised to find nervous sweat there. They had gotten here last night and they had all been so completely wasted from spending all that time in the car that they just stumbled into the house. Sam could barely remember how he got upstairs, much less that he stumbled into bed.
Now that he was, well, a little more with it, he looked around the room and blinked. It was not ... small. The bed he was in was comfortable, easily a queen all on its own. He bounced on it once or twice, whistled softly, and pushed himself up. Nice guest room - or maybe it was just a family one? Neither he or Dean really asked much about Johnny's life before Castiel. Maybe he should take the time to do that.
He grabbed his jeans off the floor, surprised he went to bed without them, but it was awfully toasty warm up in here. Which was odd - the place should be dead on freezing, what with it being New York in the middle of winter, and all. He tugged them on, thoughtful. Johnny had asked to use one of their phones - must have called ahead, gotten all the utilities turned back on, then poof, turned on the heat when they got there. It was surreal in it's normalcy.
Sam was contemplating whether or not this meant Castiel had been the one to get the power shut off in the first place - and what a funny image seeing an angel waiting on hold with that terrible 'musak' was, heh - as he stepped into the hall, and suddenly he had that off-kilter feeling again as he stared.
"Holy crap." He muttered, looking up and down the massive hallway. This place, if the second story was any indication, was huge. Brief images of Johnny working for the Sopranos or the Corleones briefly wandered across his imagination, and he quickly quashed them. God wasn't backing the Mob. Obviously whatever Johnny did in his real life, he was really, really good at it.
He heard snoring from across the broad hallway, and he stepped across it to peer inside the one partially open door. Dean was sprawled out over the bed, drool coming out of his mouth and his hair all over the place. The sight made Sam grin, and dig for his cellphone, because when your brother is conked out and ridiculous looking, of course you took an embarrassing picture. He smirked as he eased himself back into the hallway, when the smell of cinnamon caught his attention. He sniffed, again, and followed it like a bloodhound.
It led him down a flight of stairs, past a huge living room with big plush furniture, through an entertainment area, and down a short flight of stairs into a wide and warm kitchen. He stared for a moment, taking in the bright and yellow paint, the blue and white counters, and a glint of morning sunshine caught something glass besides him and he turned to see a picture of Johnny and another young man - brown-eyed, light brown hair and a mischievous twinkle to his face. The other young man was trying to shove an entire hot dog into his mouth and Johnny was laughing. A happy moment, caught in time.
"Handsome pair of guys, huh?" Sam turned towards the sound of Johnny's voice, and stepped further into the kitchen. Johnny was there, cooking bacon on a larger-than-believed possible-stove, and the smile he offered Sam was strangely pensive.
"Yeah ... " Sam touched the picture briefly, putting two and two together. "This was your lover?" He looked around the kitchen, his lips pursuing. "And this place was your home."
"Inherited it, from Bryan's dad, two years ago. Only decent thing that man ever did for his son." Johnny turned over the bacon in his pan. "Totally uninhabitable, though. Bryan redid the kitchen from top to bottom. He loved to cook - but he'd still eat the grossest things." A sad tilt was added to his smile, as he nodded towards the direction of the picture. "Like chili dogs."
Sam nodded his head quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he wandered further in, "Well, looks like he wasn't alone. Whatever it is, it smells great." He gestured to the series of bowls and other kitchen equipment. "You need help?"
Johnny paused, and then nodded his head. "Yes, that'd be great. We're making apple pancakes - Mom's old recipe. If you could cut up and pare the apples?"
Sam nodded, and went to the fridge, which was just cool enough for things to be inside. There wasn't a lot in there - dozen eggs, milk, bag of apples. Obviously Johnny had made a supply run this morning. He took out the apples, and started washing them, as Johnny covered the bacon and went back to mixing. The silence held for another moment before Sam felt the need to speak up, "Ah, so, this is a really nice place. You and Bryan must have done well."
"Bryan was in advertising - he could sell anything to anyone." Johnny's voice was quiet, and then amused. "As for me - well - Dean wasn't too far off with his assessment of my wardrobe. I was a holy lawyer."
"A holy ... lawyer?" Sam frowned, as he pulled out a knife, let Johnny hand him a bowl.
Johnny smiled suddenly, brown eyes crinkling around the edges. "I represented a number of churches in the area. You know, property disputes, filing of paperwork, one or two civil suits, a few favors done for the parishioners whose kids got in trouble." He snorted softly, as he whisked batter in a glass bowl. "They used to call me God's Personal Litigator. Sunday in church, rest of the week making sure no one broke the Ten Commandments."
Sam grinned, knife cutting through the apples smoothly and neatly. "Looks like you were smiting long before an angel decided to come and knock on your door."
"Yes, well. I wasn't practicing much, after Bryan died." Johnny said, his voice going quiet again. "I wasn't doing much of anything, really. Nothing good, anyways."
Sam felt the sudden stab of empathy - of understanding. He got this part, probably better than Dean would. Being the one around when the ones you love are dead and gone. Losing your mind, your sense of self. He spoke slowly, a little hesitantly. "... After my girlfriend Jess died, I turned to hunting. For vengeance, mostly, to get the demon that killed her and my Mom. And after Dean died, I turned to it again ... but it was in grief, in rage. I used my powers, I drank and overdosed myself. Hell, I slept with a demon." He cracked a weary smile in Johnny's direction. "I guess what I'm saying here is that whatever you did, I'm sure I got it beat."
Johnny looked at him, sunlight brightening his dark hair and eyes, and Sam thought to himself, Damn, God sure likes his pretty ones, doesn't he? He didn't flinch when Johnny put down his bowl and came towards him, but he felt something sharp in him shift as the other man reached out and touched him, squeezing his arm. "I'm not going to judge anyone who had to mourn like I did, Sam. You've lost a lot of people. God isn't going to hold it against you for going crazy. What He is watching, though, is what you do now."
Sam let out a shuddering breath, feeling that deep, crushing feeling of 'overwhelmed' coming over him again. "Patience and faith, that's what they said. I just. I don't have an angel waiting to sit in and take away my problems." He paused, and made a face. "I'm sorry, Johnny, what an ass thing to say."
"Yeah, well, I'm going to counter it with an equally bad thing, so we'll be even." Johnny curved his hand up to Sam's shoulder, his voice faintly mocking. "At least you have a family, a brother who loves you more than his own life." He squeezed, and Sam could feel Johnny's warmth course through him. "You're not alone, Sam. Dean's here. Your friend Bobby is here. I'm here, and in the future, Castiel will be here, too. We all have our burdens - we're just going to have to learn how to help each other carry them."
Sam's lips twitched, and he nodded his head slowly. "You're right." He paused, and added dryly, "That was a really dick thing to say." He cracked a smile, tiny and fluttering, but real. "Thank you."
Johnny smiled, all brightness and that tiny touch of sadness that made Sam frown a little, want to ask what was wrong. He parted his lips, question on the tip of his tongue, when the kitchen door swung open and he and Johnny both turned to see Dean blinking blearily into the kitchen.
Dean eyed the both of them, before a faint smirk cracked on his face. "Did I interrupt a Brokeback moment? Because I can totally leave."
Sam blinked at him, looked over at Johnny who was equally confused, before they both got the same look of 'he did not just go there, did he?' on their faces. Johnny said dryly, "Does he always think 'sex' before anything else?"
"Yep." Sam said, with equal dryness. Johnny patted him on the shoulder, gave Dean a disapproving look, and went back to his batter. For his part, Sam just shook his head and started cutting apples again. He looked over at Johnny, their eyes met and they smirked at the same time as they said in unison, "Pervert."
"...Wow, it is way too early to be creeped out by all this male-bonding." Dean muttered, "I'll argue about how gay you two are - figuratively and literally - after I've had my coffee." There was a perk in his voice. "Oh, hell yeah, bacon!"
Johnny immediately went to go defend the bacon, while Dean tried to get around him, and their mock fight made Sam crack another grin, one that he didn't let the other two men see. Their vacation, he thought to himself, was off to a typical Winchester start.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
5. On The Fifth Day Of Christmas
"No." Johnny said firmly, as he finished going through the pile of clothes that Dean and Sam had bought for Castiel and going with the jeans and button-down t-shirt options. He was on vacation, after all. Castiel could armor back up in the 'holy tax accountant' suit when he was back - and gracious, now Dean had him saying it ...
"Dude." Dean's exasperated voice cut through his thoughts. "We're not going to stay in your house, and eat your food and run up your electricity bill, and not help you pay for shit."
Johnny sighed, turned to Sam, but the younger Winchester has the same stubborn look on his face and Johnny sighed again, with a touch of aggravation. He pointed a finger at the both of them. "I will not be a part of credit card fraud. I won't be around to care when you do it again out there -" and he waves his hand to include the entire country, " - but not in my own backyard."
Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam sighed himself, but Johnny put his hands on his hips and glared at the two of them until Dean put up his hands in a, 'Okay, Okay' gesture and Sam sighed again, but added. "Well, I guess we can go out and make some quick cash."
"Doing what?" Johnny turned towards them, suddenly perturbed by the way that they looked guiltily at one another. He didn't think either one would out and out mug another human being - they seemed to have a healthy disdain for credit card companies but people they tried to treat fairly. Drug dealers? No, they didn't smell like weed and they wouldn't sell anything harder. What did that leave? He looked them over, and his eyes widened. "Not ... ah ...you know?"
They both looked back at him, then at each other, seemingly confused. Dean waved his hand in a 'please expand gesture'. "No-o, we don't know?"
Johnny couldn't believe he was about to say this out loud. "Frequent a lot of - uh - truck stop bathrooms?"
He was pleased and relieved to see, when comprehension struck, that the comically horrified looks on their faces probably matched his. Both Winchester boys started shaking their heads, sounding like motorboats with their. "Noooo no no no no no ...." before Sam cut in with a firm, "We hustle pool, Johnny, not, ah, anything else."
"Yeah, not. With the. No." Dean gave Johnny an exasperated look. "The Hell, man?"
Johnny waved his hands, "Hey! You're pretty!" He paused, an idea striking him, but he quickly shook it off. No, far too painful, way too much possibility of old hurts rising to the surface. At the same time, though... "I know a place, where that could work to your advantage."
"I sure as Hell hope you mean hustling pool and not, you know, being in a porno or something." Dean said, eying the other man warily, before his expression brightened. "Unless you know someone who does the really smoking hot ones with the women dressed like they're in private school? And the plaid skirts ... " Johnny and Sam both stared at Dean again, making Dean cough. "I ... uh, like Catholic schoolgirl outfits."
Sam's response was dead-pan and utterly mystifying. "Two. Timing. Dirty. Angel. Deflowerer." Then he smiled at Johnny. "Back on topic. What place?"
"It's just this place I know, in Syracuse. It's kind of a drive, but we'll get there just in time for things to get interesting." He paused, and added. "I lived there, until last year, so, you know, it'll be like a family trip back."
He wasn't sure why he added that, but it seemed to be the impetus to get the boys involved, because curious looks came over both of their faces as they both agreed to the trip. It took them five hours, a diner stop in which Johnny insisted that he pay, Dean growled and Sam sighed, and another hour after that, driving around Syracuse as Johnny kept pointing out places he knew from his days from being a native, "That's the house I grew up in, there's where I spent my first day of school. There's the apartment I had when I first had my own place, that's where two of my exes got into a fist fight - one of them was a girl, actually, and that's the Macy's I worked at ..."
Dean perked up at that one, "The one where you met Bryan, right?" and Johnny felt his heart twist in his chest, as he feared it might, but Dean's almost proud look of recollection kept him from doing anything more than smiling and nodding.
Finally, he found it, wondering briefly how he couldn't have forgotten where it was in the first place. Familiar brick building, with McDermott's Pub in big red letters on the front. Dean and Sam climbed out, both of them lifting an eyebrow at each other, before they looked at Johnny questioningly. Sam said slowly, "It's a bar."
"Yep." He found himself grinning at the deepening bafflement on their faces.
Dean spoke slowly, "There aren't .... bars anywhere close to your place?"
"Just trust me," Johnny said quietly, making his feet move forward, towards the front door. "All your questions will be answered within."
He pulled his - well - Castiel's coat closer as he walked through the piles of snow and slush. He pushed open the front door, gesturing for Dean and Sam to follow, which they did, looking wary. He tripped on the step going in, and the only reason he didn't go face first into the soft red carpet which he once kissed in gratitude, was because Dean and Sam caught his arm and kept him upright. He was never so grateful in his life for the two of them, standing behind him as he pushed in past a group of guys going out.
He pushed in the inner door, and breathed out. Exactly the same. Same wooden booths and tables, same decorations on the walls, same weird mix of modern music and old classics. The same old crowd of men, a scattering of women, but all of them checking out their fellow gender and not the opposite one.
"Holy ....crap." Johnny blinked, as he turned to face Dean, who was looking around with a half-bemused, half-uncomfortable air. Green eyes met Johnny's, and he could suddenly tell that the elder Winchester was resisting the urge to jab a finger in his direction. "You brought us to hustle pool in a gay bar?"
Johnny bit on his bottom lip - laughing was mean, he shouldn't suddenly laugh because he was pretty sure he might start crying like a girl after that - and shrugged. "I repeat my much previous statement. You're pretty, so you'll clean up here. Besides ..." He breathed out, and turned again, knowing that someone spotted him, and word was getting around the bar, "Like I said. Family trip. I know you won't rob my family blind."
"Family?" Sam asked slowly, just as someone, yeah that was Alex, all long limbed and bad dye-jobbed, poking his head up from over by the pool table as he yelled out, "OH MY GOD! JOHNNY!"
Johnny smiled sheepishly at the boys, "I just thought, ah, well, if you're not comfortable, we can go. I'll just say 'Hi' real quick and -" but then Alex had his arms around him and was hugging him so tight he couldn't breath, but it didn't matter because it was Alex and he hadn't seen him in months. Not since the funeral. Not since Castiel.
Alex was talking, like he always did, a mile a minute, punching him one minute for disappearing off the face of the earth and then wrapping his arms around him, his rainbow colored piercings pushing into Johnny's skin hard enough to hurt. Johnny didn't have the guts or the heart to let him go, and he looked over his shoulder at Dean and Sam. Hesitantly, he said quietly, "Hey, Alex, I want to introduce you to some friends of mine."
Alex lifted his head, and blinked, and stared, before he grinned and put one hand on his hip, "Oh Johnny, please do."
There was a silent look between brothers, and Sam was the first to stick out his hand, with a surprisingly big smile, "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."
Dean nodded and crooked one of his charming half-smiles, as he also stuck out his hand, "A definite pleasure, Alex. Johnny's told us nothing about you, so please feel free to lie as much as you want."
Johnny closed his eyes, biting on his bottom lip, before opening them and mouthing a silent 'Thank You' as Alex chortled with glee, "Oh wait until the others meet you two - they'll think they've died and entered Mid-Western Heaven. Just you follow me, we'll give you all the good dirt on our boy, Johnny."
"Oh Dear." Johnny said aloud, rolling his eyes with amusement. "Give me a minute, Alex, I need to give these boys fair warning until what they've gotten into."
"You bet, honey. Just don't let them fall behind, all right?" Alex beamed and hurried off, shouting at the top of his lungs. "I TOLD YOU, RYAN! AND HE BROUGHT US PRESENTS!"
Johnny visibly winced again, before he looked at the boys. "As you can see ... you can hustle them to your heart's delight. They'll probably be too busy - you know - staring. Maybe proposing marriage."
Dean and Sam exchanged another one of their 'brother' looks, before Dean snorted a laugh, "Hey, my standard rule applies. Anyone who grabs my ass is buyin' the beer." He paused by Johnny, raising one finger, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Also, you're so the one explaining this to Cas. Not touching this with a ten-foot pole."
On the other side, Johnny felt Sam's arm around his shoulders, leading him after Dean. He heaved out a breath, sighing a little as he tried, really hard, not to lean into Sam's comforting touch. He was home - with friends, old and new ones.
So why did he make himself come all the way back here, when all he wanted to do was run?
6. Way Too Early On The Sixth Day Of Christmas
The names of Johnny's friends ran like this - Alex, Jimmy, Mark, Ryan and Emerson, who everyone called Em-bot. Dean wasn't sure why, but eh, they were cool guys, and he was officially going to review everything he had thought about what happened in a gay bar, because there was very little leather and no freaky guys trying to tug down his trousers and make his dick be acquainted with their metal covered mouths. Nope; Johnny's friends just came here to sit back with a couple of beers, play some poker, and maybe pick up someone warm for the night. Dean felt something warm and felt like discovering a universal truth - or some bullshit like that - that guys were always guys. No matter who they wanted to get into bed.
What really sold it for him, though, was the fact that after the fifth guy came up and started eying Dean like he was made of steak instead of flesh and he was starting to wonder if he was going to have to do some demon-smiting, Ryan threw his cards down on the table and gave the guy the tongue lashing of a lifetime, starting with, "Listen you goddamned sonvabitch, if you don't stop lurking over us like the hungry man-panther you are -" and finished with, " - so go play Desperation somewhere else, because we're playing poker here!"
Now Dean had never had any problems with gay people - just, you know, mild panic over being gay himself which hey dude, seriously. After a lifetime of banging chicks you had to wonder at the switchover, right? Right. Of course, now he was convinced he wasn't gay, just a true and pure Angelofthelordsexual, he'd give good money to have one of the lesbian waitresses hit on him, instead of a variety of gay men who kept on 'wandering up' to say 'hello'. Frankly it was fucking distracting. So after Ryan spoke, he decided Johnny's friends were Awesome. After they finished this game, he was taking his considerable winnings and taking them all out for pie.
He kept an eye on Sam for the first hour or two, but soon saw he had little to worry about. Sam had it completely under control. He played pool like Dad had taught them, drawing out his fellow players with ease and friendliness, and it helped that every guy came up to ogle his ass and thus, has their own asses handed to them. Sam took their money with a smile, accepted their drinks with grace, and removed their hands from different part of his person with a completely gentlemanly attitude. Dean was proud of him
The Winchesters cleaned up subtly, and were well-behaved besides, which were the two significant parts of a grift. Especially when you were running more than one. Sure, the money was going to be good, but Dean and Sam had a quiet conversation when they went to buy the first round. They wanted some answers, about Johnny, about why he took them here, of all places. Well, sure, gay bar was a great way to make some money without really cheating because these guys apparently would be throwing this much down just to get them drunk? But this bar, around this time of year, where Johnny hadn't been back in months?
Yeah. The Winchester senses were a'tingling.
So Dean made sure that the beer kept flowing in Johnny's direction, and when Johnny wasn't drinking beer, Sam halved the shots he kept getting with the other man. This served two purposes. One, Johnny was mellow and happy, looked less sad and just stupid-happy with drink. Two, he was definitely becoming more pliable.
The third part of this plan, however, relied on good background checks - and Dean wasn't sure when getting the truth out of Johnny became a case, but hey. He'd rather hunt out a kindly beloved-by-God gay man than a demon. Any day of the week. Especially when getting information involved drinking beer and playing cards with Johnny's closest friends.
Of course, he was sort of at a loss to how to start. Gossip sessions were more Sam's deal, and frankly Dean wasn't much of a 'let's share our feeeeeeeeeelings' kinda guy. How did Sam start? Usually with some kind of emotional sharing bullshit. Dean could handle that. Open up a little. Any minute now. Yeah.
"Your call, Dean?" Emerson said, looking up from behind his glasses, a frown on his face. "You all right, dude?"
Crap. He was literally sitting here, opening and closing his mouth like a god-damned fish. He closed his mouth with a snap, and then croaked out. "Fine. Just. You know. Stuff on my mind. Right ..." He looked at the pot, and his cards. He had a comfortable lead here, not worth losing it because he couldn't have a Ellen moment. "I call, and raise."
The other men shuffled through their cards, muttered here and there, while Dean tried to find a good segue-way into 'So why the hell did Johnny drag my brother and I out here when he lives five hours away?' Huh. Actually. "So, why the hell did Johnny drag us out here when he lives five hours away?"
The five men sitting at the table looked up from their cards, blinking, and Dean felt a sheepish blush touch his ears as he said wryly. "..Too blunt?"
Alex looked around the table, and pursued his lips. "No, just. Well, Dean honey, I'll be honest, I don't really know. I mean, we all have our suspicions because this is a very Johnny thing to do - making a pilgrimage out here - but, he's ... changed. The old Johnny wouldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth, and if it wasn't for the fact that he came in with you and your brother, didn't look so good ..."
Dean thinned his lips and tapped his cards on the table. "You would have thought he got lost in the bottle, or something worse." He wasn't sure if the truth would make them feel better or in fact send them into a panic and honesty - hey your friend is a vessel for a hot angel! - might not be the direction to go. Either way he held his tongue.
All five men nodded, and Alex spoke again. "The last time we saw him, he was torn up, not really thinking straight. We wanted him to stay here in Syracuse - not go to that giant masoleum back on the western side of the state, but Johnny insisted. He and Bryan finished that place a week before Bryan ... well, and Johnny said it was his home, and he was going to live there. We haven't heard word one from him in six months."
Six months ago. Damn. He was already rotting down in the ground at that point, and his soul was being used as a pincushion by Alastair himself. He wondered what Sam was like at that point, and how far past Johnny had gone. "I guess some people just grieve harder. It's hard, losing someone."
The five men looked at each other, and then one by one, they all looked at Dean, Mark tapping his cards on the table, pushing back messy, dark hair. "... You don't know, how Bryan died, do you?"
Dean sat up a little, looking from one man to the next, his lips pressed together. He wasn't going to like this. Not one bit. "No, but I'd like to."
Mark heaved out a heavy sigh, and all the five men's faces fell to mourning. Emerson looked around, before speaking quietly. "Bryan wasn't lost, he was taken. Brutally, by five men with a lot of hatred and too much beer." He looked behind Dean, and Dean half turned to look where Johnny and Sam were standing, laughing about something. Like the world hadn't just taken another abrupt left turn.
Dean's stomach twisted inside, as Emerson continued softly, "He was murdered, Dean. And Johnny blames himself."
Chapter 2
7. On The Seventh Sad Day
Sam wouldn't tell Dean this, but since agreeing not to use his powers, he sort of felt like Willow from Buffy; The Vampire Slayer. Sixth season, to be precise, where Willow ended up being dumped by Tara for using bad magics and she realized she was an addict and had to be cut off for the safety of all. Then there's that one episode where Willow is old school and uses her computer and logic and saves the day, instead of magic, and it makes her feel better about herself. Sam felt that way every single time that he took over the research end of things - see, God, he's useful and he's being good - and it takes the sting out of knowing that in the end he might be the thing that slows Dean down.
He tried not to think of what happened to Willow, corrupted again and mourning, at the end of that season. He really, really did.
Especially since now he's got something so much more disturbing to deal with, as he pulled up the details of Bryan's death. The kitchen that the dead man built is deceptively warm and inviting as he reads, the coffee Dean made still sitting at his elbow, ignored as he feels his guts turn. He couldn't drink it now, no matter how good it smelt. He's pretty sure it would taste of bitter hatred and disgust.
The kitchen door swung open, and Dean slid in, a light dusting of snow on his hair. "Coast is clear - he's still down at the market. Man, am I glad he can't drive stick." Sam wasn't sure what was on his face, but the second Dean looked at him, his brother's expression went tight. "Bad?"
Sam put his hands to his face, and rubbed it, before letting his fingertips rest against one another. Sort of a silent attitude of prayer. "According to the reports that - that Johnny and his friends made - Bryan was walking away from McDermott's, alone, to the convenience store down the street. Nothing major - he apparently went to buy some gum, and he picked up a package of those Hostess cupcakes. They found the bag with his body."
He wet his lips, looking away, for a moment, just to compose himself, before he looked back to Dean. "Five guys cut him off before he got back. They didn't know him - just knew he was gay - and they were drunk and ignorant..." He clenched his hands into fists, forced them down. "They had pipes, and bats, and lighters... Dean, they dragged him into an alley and beat him. Just ...beat and tortured him, to death. Not more than a block away from the pub."
He swallowed. "Someone passing saw them leaving the alley and went to investigate. She called 911, tried to get help, but ...it was too late. He lost too much blood, took too much internal damage. He died on the table, at St. Mary's, not an hour later."
"Jesus." Dean's disgust was thick, and Sam watched his older brother stand up, anger riding in every line. "People, man. People. Biggest fucking monsters I know."
Sam nodded his head slowly. People. They would do the most outrageously horrible things to one another, to their next door neighbor or one of their own relatives, and not blink twice. Hell could take lessons. "The woman made sure to give her statement to the police - the five sons a'bitches are rotting in jail as we speak, Thank Christ." Otherwise ... he didn't even know. Darker impulses ran through his mind and he squashed them. He didn't do that, anymore.
Dean leaned against the counter, his expression mirroring Sam's divided feelings - half like he wanted to hit something and the other half resisting the urge. He squeezed the counter-top with his fingers, and exhaled. "Okay, so, what do we do now?"
Sam opened his arms wide in a helpless gesture of, 'I have no clue', when the back door opened, and Johnny burst through, exclaiming, "Okay, have I mentioned how much I love short..." Sam jerked to action a touch too late in closing the computer screen, and he saw the way Johnny's eyes widened, and then became knowing as he lamely finished his sentence, "...cuts." He put the bag of groceries down, facing away from them, as he continued speaking softly. "Because they save time, getting home so you can see the crime scene photos of your dead lover. That's always pleasant."
Sam shot Dean a helpless look, as his older brother stood up, "Johnny - we just ..."
"You wanted to understand. Wanted to know why I invited you home, when I barely knew you, wanted to know why I dragged you to a bar, half-way across the state. You wanted to know what was going on because obviously, I'm acting a little crazy, even by your generous standards." Johnny interrupted, as he started to rifle through the bags, looking for something. "So you did what Winchesters do. You decided to stick your nose into my business."
Dean sighed, and looked at him directly, even though Johnny was not meeting Sam nor his brother's gaze. "What do you want us to say? That we weren't worried? That we decided to look up how your boyfriend died because there was nothing on cable?" He stood up straight, his eyes boring into the side of Johnny's head. "We're not like Alex or any of those guys. We don't have the history you got with them, and we never knew Bryan, never knew about your life together. Hell, to be fucking honest, we don't know much about you. But we're trying. We're opening up here. Might be nice, if you did the same."
Johnny jerked a little like he'd been hit across the face, and Sam winced in sympathy. When Dean got honest, he didn't pull any punches, and Sam wondered if Johnny just felt like he got a good right cross to the guilt center. Johnny ran one hand through his hair, a gesture that suddenly sang of the angel, and stopped what he was doing as if he realized it. He stared at his hand and sighed, "I ... I really wish Castiel was here."
Dean looked over to Sam, and Sam rose to his feet, moving to stand by Johnny's side. "Why, Johnny?"
Johnny lifted his head, and there was something so sad, so lost in his eyes. He sighed. "Because he understands. Without me having to say. It's so easy, when all my sins and faults are laid out bare and he doesn't care - because I'm just a good man - or at least he thinks I'm a good man..."
"Johnny ... what could you have possibly have done that would have been so bad?" Sam asked, not touching him, but making his presence known. He didn't dare look at Dean right now - between the two of them they had racked way too much self-recrimination and guilt. He couldn't look in Dean's eyes and see the same look he was getting in Johnny's.
Johnny pressed his hands to his face, his voice low and pained. "I didn't go after him."
Sam frowned, but then comprehension settled in. "Outside of the ... bar?"
Johnny nodded his head, and he wasn't crying, but his entire upper body trembled. "We had a fight. A ... a really bad one. Yelling, screaming, complete and total blowout. It was so ...so stupid. He was jealous, I was tired, it got out of hand and I said something I shouldn't have. He walked out, said he was going to get some gum and talk to me when I wasn't being such a .. an asshole." He looked up, and stared at the wall opposite. "He walked out the door, and the next time I saw him he wasn't Bryan anymore. He was just this bloody ... pulpy mess. The man I loved, the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and he was just ... gone."
Dean's voice was soft, "Johnny - that's not your fault..."
"He was jealous. He thought I was cheating." Johnny whispered, almost as if he hadn't heard Dean at all. "I let him walk out into the not-great part of town because he thought I was cheating and he deserved to wander around in the dark alone. I could have gone - should have gone. He'd be alive today if I hadn't."
"And what were you gonna do, huh, against five armed guys?" Sam knew that tone in Dean's voice - felt glad it was going in another direction than his for once. Worry and over protectiveness translated straight into anger, and Sam glanced over to see Dean pointing a finger at Johnny. "Flutter your big, brown eyes at them? What the hell could you do?"
Johnny stepped forward and roared into Dean's face, his fists clenching at his sides, "I COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING, ANYTHING! BUT I DIDN'T AND NOW HE'S DEAD! DEAD AND GONE! AND I'M ALONE, ALL ALONE! "
The smaller man abruptly stopped yelling, as if shocked at the sound of his own voice, and silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the sound of his silent panting.
Suddenly it's like there was claw around Sam's heart, reaching in and curling tight, piercing it, because that's how much it hurt to remember Dean's death - Dean lying dead in his arms. Dean being torn apart and Sam, helpless against the wall while Lillith laughed at him. Just laughed. He closed his eyes tight, and whispered. "And you're helpless, when it's taken out of your hands like that. Then all you can do is stand there, and hold tight, even though there's nothing left to hold onto."
He opened them to find Dean and Johnny staring at him, Dean's heartache naked on his face and Johnny ... Johnny looking like he and Sam were speaking in their own perfect language.
So Sam continued, "And you're holding on to grief, and you're holding onto anger, and self blame, and you hate yourself. You hate yourself, so damned much. So you give up things. You give up - your job, your loved ones, your sanity. I tried to give up my soul." He paused, feeling his eyes sting, but he didn't cry, and he was silently proud of how steady his voice was. "What did you give up, Johnny?"
"People." Johnny's voice is tight, his face contorting briefly. "You'd think ... as much as I believed, as hard as I did, it would have been God, right? But - but God didn't make those men hurt my Bryan. They were just people - angry, ignorant people, and I couldn't ... I couldn't stand to be around anyone. I hated humanity - I hated everything about them. I hated their fear, and their ignorance, I hated their fake sympathy at the funeral home and I hated their sincerity." His voice went soft. "I couldn't work, after that. I couldn't go into the grocery store, for goodness's sake, without being filled with rage. I had a meeting, with Bryan's lawyer, about signing papers? I sat there, as he said nice things, comforting things, and all I wanted to do was throttle him. Beat his head into his desk because - because he was alive and Bryan wasn't and he was part of the whole damned universe that had taken my Bryan from me."
Sam stared at Johnny as he exhaled again, looking down at the ground, his voice softer. "That was the day I decided I had gone too far. That I had to stop this downward slide of hatred, or I would be completely lost. I came out of that meeting, and went to the nearest church. I fell on my knees, and I begged, I pleaded, for a direction, a purpose, something that would tell me what to do ... and Castiel came. He came down, and offered me a choice, and I took it without a moment's hesitation. Because God had answered my prayers."
He finally looked up, and met Sam's eyes, and his brown eyes welled, "But now, knowing you two, knowing what you've gone through ... and that you fought to stay, the both of you, I've got to wonder. All this, all this craziness is just me, wondering." He let out a sigh, looking to the ceiling. "Wondering if I actually chose this, or I just saw a way out, and I'm just running away."
Again, Sam found himself without words as Johnny turned and stepped past Dean, out of the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone in a silence that seemed to seep the brightness of the kitchen with it.
8. On The Eighth Day Of Christmas
The first thing Johnny realized was that he was not waking up on the floor where he was pretty
he passed out last night after consuming an entire bottle of amaretto, but in fact was being jostled up and down from the very firm shoulder of one Dean Winchester.
The second thing he realized that he was in fact staring down at Dean's very nice jean-covered ass, and he wondered briefly what Dean would do if he leaned down and goosed him.
The third realization was that he was still pretty drunk, if that seemed like a good plan.
The fourth realization was if he was drunk, being held upside down and bouncing was going to be a bad idea sooner than later. He closed his eyes and willed himself to not throw up - for Dean to put him down - and for it to be someplace cool so he could rest his head against it. As if Dean could read his mind - and if he could Johnny was definitely putting him up for the coolest superhero ever outside of Spider-man - Johnny felt himself being lowered into something cool, and hard, and he pressed his face happily against the side of the ... wait. This was the -
Cold water sprayed down on him from his perfectly pressurized shower head and he yelped and floundered at the bottom of his bathtub, "Aw Jeez Darn CRAP! DEAN! SAM!"
Dean was leaning against the wall on one side of the tub, and Sam was sitting on the toilet, and both of the smug jerks were smiling as if nothing was wrong. Sam leaned forward, elbows on knees, his expression completely innocent, "Good morning, Johnny. Glad to see you're up!"
"Good idea, best thing in the world after an all out-amaretto bender. Nice, cold shower. Really gives your system that jolt it needs in the morning." Dean added, his lips curving up in one end.
"I loathe you both, and I want to set you on fire!" Johnny snarled, but rather ineffectively since all he could do right now is flail around the bottom of the bathtub. "Lots of fire! Burning fire! Hot, flaming, painful fire!"
Sam looked solemnly over at Dean, "He's cranky when he wakes up."
"Pity party hang-overs are never pretty, Sammy." Dean answered with equal mock seriousness. "So we should let him turn on the warm water, strip off his wet drunk clothes, probably puke? Then we'll drag his grumpy ass out shopping."
"That sounds like an awesome plan, Dean." Sam looked over at Johnny and his thundercloud expression. "Not sure how well Johnny is going to like that, all things considered. He might just get stubborn."
"Yeah, yeah, I figured he might put up a fight once he was a little more with it." Dean said, nodding his head, before he smiled perkily. "That's why I figured on dragging him out as naked as a jaybird if he puts up too much of a fuss."
"Wow, dragged out naked in winter. Ingenious." Sam said slowly, widening his eyes comically wide.
"And pretty smart, too." Dean waved his hand in the air to an invisible crowd, "Thank you, thank you, No, thank you." Then he smirked down at Johnny, "Soooo, we'll see you downstairs in what, twenty, thirty minutes?"
"Fire." Johnny growled in response. "Lots and lots of it."
Dean smiled at Sam, who grinned back at his brother and got off the toilet. Sam called out over his shoulder. "We'll put clean clothes outside the bathroom door, and coffee will be ready when you hit the kitchen. See you in thirty."
Johnny snarled again, without anything really behind it, and sighed as he leaned across the space to turn on the hot water. His soppy wet clothes were tossed out of the shower itself, and he made himself stand under the spray. His muscles started to un-knit, and he groaned in silent relief. What was it about a warm shower that made facing the rest of the day easier?
It was a saner, cleaner, and slightly less groggy Johnny that made his way into the kitchen to find one of his travel mugs waiting for him, and a half full coffee pot sitting next to it. He poured himself a full measure, added milk and sugar, and stumbled out of the house into surprisingly bright December sunshine. Had to be the hangover, he told himself, as he moved towards the Impala, crunching through snow. The car was already purring and blaring out some old hair rock as Johnny opened the passenger door. Sam smiled cheerfully up at him, to which Johnny responded with leaning down, pulling the handle that released the front seat and shoving it forward to send Sam's face solidly into the dashboard.
Johnny climbed into the backseat to Sam's howls of protest and Dean's snorted laughs, put his coffee down on the floor and leaned across the front seat. Then he smacked Dean solidly upside the head, knocking the elder's Winchester's sunglasses off his face, snagging them up with his free hand. Dean let out a yelped, "Ow! Hey!", but Johnny silenced him with one raised finger as he slid the sunglasses on his face.
He waited until both Winchesters were sitting there, gaping at him, and he slowly lowered his finger as he picked up his coffee and said softly. "Fire. Burning, vengeful FIRE. I hath brought it, and you shalt take it." He slouched in the backseat and muttered softly. "Thank you."
Sam touched his nose gingerly and Dean rubbed the back of his head, as they both looked at one another, then back at him with a silent nod of acceptance. The Impala started as Johnny grabbed his coffee again and settled back against the leather seat, wincing at the sun again. The rising sun, if the tilt of the sky meant anything. He pushed his sunglasses further up his face and slumped a little more, squinting. Early start, indeed. "Where ... exactly are we going shopping, anyways?"
"There's a mall around here. Best to get there before the Christmas crush starts, you know." Sam was lounging back against the seat, and when he turned the morning sun turned his face and hair into a halo. Johnny briefly wondered how Heaven could even doubt that Sam was one of their own creations, and he felt a stab that they could lose him. Through their machinations, through Hell's, maybe even through Sam's.
He doesn't say any of that, though. The only thing that comes through his muddled brain is, "But Dean hates malls."
"Eh. I'll deal." Is Dean's curt reply, and it's a stunning reminder of how hung-over Johnny that he can't even drudge up an argument or a curious comment to that statement. Instead he worked on making his head not explode or his stomach turn itself inside out in protest. He winced as they reach the mall, wondering where they would end up, but Dean pulls the Impala way out by the Sears, and all three of them hoof it the seeming mile or so to its doors. Johnny finds himself book-ended and speed-walked between the two Winchesters, until they reached the center of the mall, where one of those nature-in-fountains were, and Dean pushed him firmly down on the cool, flat marble surrounding the thing. "Sit. We'll be right back."
Johnny didn't even have the energy to protest, because he was never a drinker, and this hangover was literally kicking him right in the butt. He put his head in-between his knees and breathed out through his nose, willing his head to stop aching and the bile to stop rising. He listened to the tinkling water from the fountain, to the murmur of voices all around him, and just tried to get himself back into balance. Liquor hadn't chased away the aching pain inside, so now he felt his heartbreak and sadness, topped by all this physical misery.
He didn't know where Castiel was in Heaven, what the angel was doing right now, but he had a feeling that where ever he was, Castiel would be disappointed in him.
It's the sound of a little girl laughing that made him look up. He hadn't realized how close they were to the Santa pavilion, and it was still early so there weren't that many people crowding about. Still, there was a sizable line of children and parents. Little boys and girls, smiling, laughing, some crying but most of them looking a little excited and scared. Some of them were clinging to their parents, who looked loving and exasperated, but excited themselves. There was a joy there, that settled into Johnny's bones, and he slipped off his borrowed sunglasses, looking around more intently.
There was a young man on a cellphone who paused in his conversation to hold open the door for a much older woman, with a smile on his face when she thanked him.
There were two teenage girls chattering over a bag as they passed him, one of them saying, "She is so going to DIE when she sees this, totally worth the money ..."
There was a couple walking arm in arm, bags in their hands, pausing to admire furniture. He felt his heart squeeze, and then, surprising himself, felt it let go.
Someone cleared their throat close to him, and he jerked his head back to find Dean and Sam standing there. He blinked at them, confusion filtering into gratitude as Dean handed him a McDonald's bag and Sam handed him a smaller brown one with one of those small aspirin packets in it, before they flopped comfortably on both sides of them. He swallowed the aspirin down, took a hit of orange juice, and started in on the greasy breakfast, feeling his stomach settle.
And while he did this, Sam and Dean sat silently. All three of them watched the mall start to fill up, then Santa appeared to the cheers of children, and around them, people passed by on their way to doing this thing and that thing. Christmas music, cheery and tinny, could barely be heard over the bright hum of humanity.
They sat still and watching, while life kept moving on.
Johnny started to smile knowingly, a smile he shared with the Winchesters. He was unsurprised when they returned it, with the same nods from before. The silent 'you're welcome' hung in the air like the carols blasting through the mall speakers, and for the first time that Castiel had left, Johnny felt at peace.
9. On The Ninth Day Of Christmas
"Jesus Christ!" Dean grunted, and off of Johnny's harassed expression on the other side of the tree, he sighed and added wryly, "Was about due to be born at this point - or six months ago? Was a carpenter? Is awesome?"
Through the branches he could see Johnny rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and the other man sighed. "Just hold the tree in place, Dean?"
"I'm holding it, I'm holding it." Dean shifted his grip, bit back another curse as the branches tried to attack his face again, and let out a huge sigh of relief when the tree was secured firmly into the base. "This isn't a Christmas tree, it's a goddamned -" he paused and rolled his eyes as Johnny gave him another look. "Gosh darned attack fir. I am frigging spitting up needles here, dude."
"Whining about malls, gay bars and holding up Christmas trees." Johnny smirked as he stood up straight. "Are all super-hunters big sissy girls?"
Dean glared at him, jabbed a threatening finger at Johnny while the man's smirk just widened. He upped his glare as he yelled out-loud. "Sam! How are those lights coming?"
"Well, I think I got all the bulbs replaced..." Dean turned towards the kitchen door, where Sam emerged, and he felt his lips quirk up as he saw his brother, covered in Christmas light strands - they were draped over his shoulders and dangling all around his impossibly tall form. Sam didn't see his look, because he was frowning at the string he was running through his fingers, "But frankly I'm still not sure I didn't get the colors all messed up." He looked up, and then frowned deeper at Dean's grin. "What?"
Dean responded to the question by leaning down, and plucking up one of the socket ends of the lights. He found the nearest socket, and pushed in the connector, suddenly lighting up Sam like he's the Vegas strip. He grinned wide and wicked at Sam's confused look, turning that smile to Johnny as he hooked a thumb towards Sam. "All we need to do is to drape some tinsel over him and stick him in a corner, and I think we're done, dude."
Sam's eyes widened as he looked down at himself, and the Little Brother Glare to end all Glares followed that, while Johnny coughed-laughed, and finally cleared his throat as he walked over to Dean and grabbed him by the arm. "All right, down to the entertainment center with you."
"Me? What did I do?" Dean mock-grumbled, even as Johnny maneuvered him down the hallway, and away from still-glaring-and-might-possibly-jump-him-later-Sam.
Johnny snorted and lifted one eyebrow. "Tree mishandling and suggesting we up and decorate your brother? You're so twitchy that you're starting to make me nervous. You go downstairs, watch some cartoons and if you're a good .... largely sized demon hunter, we'll let you help us make baked goods later on."
Dean sighed heavily, even as he was silently thrilled to be out of the decorating side of things. Bunch of fluffy nonsense. He didn't mind the tree-chopping or even the lugging around of decorations and shopping bags, but decorating was right out the fucking door, as far as he was concerned. "Fine, fine. But there better be Christmas cookies involved, that's all I'm saying."
He climbed the last landing of stairs into Johnny's ridiculously large 'entertainment center', and dropped on the sofa, flicking on the TV with a touch of the remote control, letting out a sigh of relief. Finally, down to the man part of this holiday - sitting around on his ass and watching TV. He flipped until he found a channel playing Warner Brothers cartoons, and kicked off his boots as he settled in to watch. Within minutes, he was slumped backwards, fast asleep.
And somewhere in sleep, someone was calling his name.
He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at the ceiling of the Impala, and there was a hand on his shoulder and for a moment he wondered if he had drifted off in the middle of a stake-out and how many embarrassing pictures had Sam taken before he had woken up - when the gravelly voice registered and he twisted his head quickly.
Castiel nodded at him, expression solemn but his blue eyes gleaming in the faint light coming from outside the Impala. "Good evening, Dean."
Dean rubbed one hand across his eyes, before letting his gaze rest hungrily on Castiel again. "Dream?"
Castiel tilted his head in assent, the hand on Dean's shoulder going to run through his hair almost tentatively. "It is the only way we can communicate at this time, without my vessel." The angel's blue eyes shifted from the top of Dean's head to Dean's face. "Thank you, for taking care of John."
"Well, it's kind of a mutual thing." Dean shifted, just making himself more comfortable, not at all moving into the warm touch of an angel, thank you very fucking much. "He's a good guy. Really good. Kind of beats himself up a lot. But, really ... a decent man."
There was that soft noise, an exhalation that almost sounded like a noise of an amusement that meant Castiel was laughing. The angel responded, his gravely tones soft. "Mm. I wonder who exactly that reminds me of."
Dean snorted himself. "Gee, I wonder m'self." He smirked at the angel, knowingly. "What is it with you and lost causes, Divine One? You just like us broken ones that much?"
Castiel looked off out of the side window, his fingertips still rubbing into Dean's scalp. He nearly purred in pleasure, but he bit his tongue as the angel sat and contemplated the statement. Finally, those blue eyes found Dean's again, as Castiel responded slowly. "A good soul cannot be broken, Dean, not permanently. No matter how battered it has become." Those fingers twisted into his hair slightly. "Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to the realization, Dean Winchester, one day even you will accept the truth of that."
Dean sighed, pressing his rough cheek again the leather, taking some comfort from it's familiar smell. "I'm not broken. I don't need to be saved." He didn't say he didn't deserve to be, but from the look on the angel's face, he didn't have to.
"Because there is never anything wrong with Dean Winchester?" Castiel's voice was soft, but not gentle. Saying with few words that the angel thought differently.
Dean looked back at him, feeling his jaw tense, but those blue eyes would not accept any lies. He huffed out a sharp breath, keeping his answer vague."Maybe. Maybe... not."
Castiel's eyes glimmered in the darkness, "Kicking and screaming, Dean Winchester."
Dean felt his chest twist tight, a hard lump suddenly letting go and warmness filling him, and it took everything in him not to ask for ... well. Everything. To ask Castiel to stay, to ask him if Dean was what this angelic being really wanted. Feeling like a lost little boy, looking into a safe, warm place and just waiting for the door to be shut in his face, like it had before.
As much as he thought about it, as much as he wanted to believe, he couldn't. Maybe it was just the fear in his belly; Hell, maybe it was pure hunter instinct. He just knew that God couldn't offer him something this good without there being a catch. So, he was either paranoid, or God was playing the biggest Charlie Brown vs Lucy and the football moment of all time. 'Here you are, Dean! You can have your life and salvation and Castiel too! All you have to do is kick the football. I swear I won't pull it away.'
No, Dean had been around the block one too many times here. You didn't get to come back from the dead, and get your soul saved, not even mentioning getting to eat your angel food cake too.
So instead, he closed his eyes and muttered with a snort, "I don't scream. Screaming is for girls. And for Sammy."
"You're impossible, Dean Winchester." Castiel's voice is that mix of frustration and affection, and again the angel makes that noise that sounds like a laugh, but not quite. Dean opened his eyes, hoping to catch the angel in a smile, or maybe just a glimmer of it - but all he saw was the ceiling of Johnny's rec room.
Ah. Fucking great. He was awake, alone, and the damned angel hadn't even said 'Goodbye'. He grumbled as he sat up straight, pushing his hand down on the sofa cushion, "Typical. Fucking typical. I don't know how many times I've told that fucking winged bastard - don't leave without saying ..."
He trailed off, as he turned to the spot beside him on the sofa, where his hand rested. It was warm, as if someone had been curled up next to him, and had just gotten up to go. He traced his fingers up along the back - yep - same feeling of warmth. The impression of a body, next to his, close enough to touch.
One corner of Dean's mouth lifted upwards, and then the other. He glanced towards the ceiling, and said quietly, "Goodbye." He looked at the sofa, then up again, his voice quiet and knowing, "I miss you too, Divine One."
10. On The Tenth Day of Christmas
"Are you positive you don't just want to come in with me?" Johnny asked for the third time, and Sam sighed, for the third time, before responding.
"I'm positive. It'll be fine." Sam said, as he glanced away from driving to flash the other man a comforting smile. "It's nothing personal - I just don't think me going into a church right now is going to score me any brownie points with the man Upstairs. Especially after what Dean and I did to the last church we were in."
Johnny sighed, and Sam could hear him shifting around on the seat. "Sam, I don't think anything is going to happen to you, if you walk into a church-"
"I agree. I don't think God will strike me with lightening, or anything like that." Sam glanced upwards at the slightly overcast sky through the windshield. "In fact I'm willing to bet right now - God and I are a 'pause' in our relationship." However scary that thought was.
"That's not what I meant." Johnny's tone was tart. "What I mean is that I don't think that anyone is going jump out around the corner of the vestibule and come at you like some hokey black and white monster, or something."
Sam sighed, as he shook his head. "Oh, it could happen." His lips curved into a sardonic smile, and he spoke wryly,"After all, it's Thursday."
He could hear the frown in Johnny's voice, "What does that have to do with anything?"
Sam shrugged, as he headed down the main drag of Johnny's town, nicknamed by Dean, ButtfuckofNowhere, New York. "Trouble likes us on Thursdays, for some reason."
"You know, I would call you on stupid superstitious behavior ... but you're fighting for your soul against blood put into your veins by a demon, your brother was brought back from the dead by the Heavenly Host - you're both hunters - and you're with me. A vessel for the Angel, Castiel." Johnny's voice, already amused, broke into a soft laugh, "Which, if now I recall, is the Angel of Thursday."
"So you see where I might be a little cautious." Sam said, his lips quirking up around the edges, before pointing to the public library, that sat across from the church Johnny wanted to take some time to pray in. "I'll be there." He parked the car, giving Johnny a comforting slap on the shoulder, before opening his own car door. "And you just come and get me when you're done."
Sam climbed out of the Impala, jumping a little when Johnny practically materialized next to him, bringing to mind every single time Castiel just appeared out of nowhere. Even though he knew the other man had been in the car with him, and just came around the back while Sam was setting the parking brake - he still had to stifle a yell. He glared half-heartedly down at the other man, "Jes - Jeez, Johnny! Did Castiel imbue you with angel-ninja techniques?"
"Yes. It's part of the vessel package." Johnny said wryly. "Along with free dry-cleaning and a healthier than normal diet." Sam felt brown eyes sweep over him, tinged with worry. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
"My abnormal height and considerable muscle mass assures me that whatever happens in the next hour? I'll be okay." Sam smiled, waving Johnny off as he nodded towards the church. "I'm fine. Seriously. Say 'hi' to God for me, all right?"
Johnny offered a smile - it was a small one, but still enough - and sauntered up the steps to the church doors. Sam waited a beat to make sure the other man had entered, before exhaling, turning in a slow one eighty, and headed across the street to the library. He didn't even make it all the way across the street before he felt her, and half-turned, to find Ruby there waiting for him.
He sighed, and stuffed his hands into his jacket as he walked towards her, because of course she had followed them here. It was Thursday, and apparently, it was time for Sam to deal. With practicality, and hopefully without him and Ruby getting into a knockdown, slap-around fight. "Hello, Ruby."
She sauntered up to him, dark-haired, dark-eyed, beautiful and tempting, and angry as Hell she had escaped from. She put a hand out and shoved him backwards, hard. "Hello, Sam." Another push. "How have you been, Sam? What have you been up to, Sam? Seen any angels lately, Sam?"
Sam held out his own hand, a little surprised to see Ruby flinch backwards. He shook his head, and put his hand down, "I'm not the one who ran away in Michigan, Ruby."
"What did you expect me to do, Sam? Stick around while that place became Angel Central?" He watched as she snorted, and started to pace the street in front of him. "Don't tell me - they gave you the big hallabaloo about getting your hand slapped if you go after Lillith on your own."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "It'll be a little bigger than that, Ruby." He shook his head, "They told me I don't have the right to judge, who lives and who dies. That's God's job." He quieted a little. "...They told me they would finish me, if I kept down this path."
Ruby shook her head, pacing back and forth, "And you're going to let them tell you what to do? What about Lillith, huh? What about the end of the frigging world that she's bringing about? Just going to sit back and let the angels handle that one? Because they've been doing a spec-tac-ular job so far, Sammo."
Sam felt his jaw tighten, as he followed her movements. "Listen, just because you don't agree on which way this is supposed to pan out, doesn't mean the same result isn't going to happen. This is the End of the World, Ruby. I'm pretty sure the angels aren't heading down to Disneyworld!"
All right, except where they sort of were. If Heaven could be considered the funnest place on Earth, which he sincerely doubted.
"Really? So they're out there, fighting the good fight? Then why does the world seem light on that angel-fresh-smell?" Ruby countered.
Sam swallowed - had the other demons noticed that? - but kept his voice curt. "It's Christmas time, Ruby, what do you think they're doing?"
"Apparently, harp playing while the world burns." Ruby smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "Are you going to honestly tell me, you, Sam Winchester, are just going to wait around while people are dying?" She took a step towards him, her eyes wide and pleading. "Sam, you're the only one strong enough to do something."
He could feel the conflict rising in him, felt the tension tightening in his jaw, but finally he shook his head. "... No, no. I ... can't do this. I'm not the one. Dean's the one. And Dean ... Dean's strong enough to stop this." And if he wasn't, then Castiel would ensure that he was. Well, him and Cas. Together. He clenched his fists together, looking at Ruby with a tight, and can feel it in his throat, everything in him begging her to understand, "I've got to have Faith, Ruby. I've got to."
Because he had so little else, at this time. He was so broken down and tired - he had to believe in something. He had to believe that Dean would be the warrior Heaven and his little brother always thought he was. He had to believe that stepping back wasn't going to hurt Dean, but help him. He had to have faith that a distant God and his band of kind-of-mostly-assholish angels knew what they were talking about.
Ruby's lips thinned, and she straightened that slender body of hers, the one that Sam had lost himself in when all else was lost. Her eyes are hot and angry, and something else. "Fine, Sam. Just fucking fine. How about you call me when you decide to get your head out of the angels proverbial crotch, and stop sucking their metaphorical dicks?"
"Ruby ..." Sam called after her, and when she turned, her face still filled with none-too-subtle anger, he almost took back the question. He set his shoulders, manning up. "You said you had something to tell us, in Michigan. What was it?"
Ruby's eyes flashed, and he tried to think he didn't see the black there, but he knew he did. "There are rumors going around. Angel got offed, and no-one knows who did it. But it wasn't Lillith, and it wasn't her friends. People are saying there's a new game in town." Her mouth twisted. "So tell your feathery friends to watch their backs. They might find a knife stuck there, one of these days."
With that, she stalked off, her boots stomping down the sidewalk. He watched her go, and something in him lurched and wanted to follow her. He could find the thing killing the angels - he had the power to stop this. Ruby could help him. They could do it together. He could still be with her, and not have to sacrifice everything, right? Right?
The one thing that stopped him was that he wasn't sure if it was him thinking those thoughts, or the demon blood still in his veins.
The world seemed to fall quiet, waiting, as Sam stood in the middle of the street. Finally, he lifted his head to the sky, sweeping messy bangs from his forehead as he said out-loud, "Okay. So this is me. Having faith. Waiting on you guys." He was silent for a moment, before he whispered, "Don't make me regret it."
He sighed, and started back across the street towards the library, his eyes shifting down the street, where Ruby had disappeared. Maybe she had been right. There were six billion people on this planet, and the angels didn't seem to be taking this war seriously. Or at least, most of them didn't. Christ, if the fight for the rest of humanity came down to him, Dean and Castiel ... what the hell were they going to do?
"What I need is a sign." Sam muttered, hands stuffing into his jacket, as he walked into the library. "Dean always gets signs. I'm not asking for much. Not even a burning bush. Maybe like a burning weed, or something. Maybe just let me know what you want us to do."
That was when his cellphone went off, stopping Sam in his tracks. The librarian behind the desk gave him a dirty look and he swallowed and smiled sheepishly as he backed out of the library again to pull it from his jeans. There was a waiting text message, and Sam swallowed as his fingers fumbled to click it open.
It said simply; When you're done being HOLY, get me DONUTS.
Sam frowned, and then checked the sender. Dean. He snorted and shook his head. Not exactly divine intervention, but his expression became thoughtful. Maybe God's little way of telling him to let it go, just for a few more days. Just get lost in a few more days of laughter, and Christmas, and donuts.
Because if angels were getting murdered, the days ahead were going to be dark.
He stared at his phone for another moment, before turning around and jogging over to the church, opening the big wooden doors, and found Johnny praying in one of the back pews. The man looked over at him, brown eyes wide, as he whispered, "I thought you weren't feeling religious?"
Sam shrugged, as he went down on his knees, folding his hands in front of him, whispering as he put his eyes to the cross behind the altar. "I'm not. But I sure as hell am feeling talkative." He looked up to the church's ceiling, muttering, "I just hope someone up there is listening."
11. Again, Way Too Early On the Eleventh Day of Christmas
"I knew I should have gone shopping by myself." Johnny sighed, as he turned his cart around the corner, eying the Winchester brothers. "Seriously, what is your combined mental age right now? Ten?"
Dean and Sam looked at each other, and then at the toy swords they were cheerfully beating each other up with. He knew he should have known better when they said they wanted to go to Walmart with him. He needed some last minute things and this was the only store open at 2 in the morning. He should have known by Sam's smile, quickly repressed, or the gleam in Dean's eye. Really, he should have known by the way they both ran off and abandoned him the moment they got into the store. He could see them running all the way to the toy department, leaving him to do his shopping all on his lonesome.
Right now, both of the guilty parties looked at him, looked away, scuffed their heavy work boots on the linoleum. Both of them cleared their throats, and both of them sounding sheepish as they said, "Sorry, Johnny."
Johnny gave them both a mock glare, before rolling his eyes, "You wouldn't do this to Cas ... all right, all right, stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. Go pick out some toys." He amended that after the gleam in Dean's eyes doubled, "Two! Two toys each!"
Dean slapped a hand against Sam's chest and gleefully clutched the sword in his hand. "Number one, down. Nerf guns, here I come."
Johnny let out a heavy sigh, looking up at a still sheepish Sam. "I am giving you the money - with the clear understanding that whatever weapons he gets - he's going to use them on you."
Sam's lips curved into a grin, and then his face changed. Something between a frown as as if Sam was sucking on a lemon. "Understanding noted." He turned on his heel, raising his voice, "Dean! No guns!"
Johnny shook his head, grinning as he wheeled the cart backwards, and then headed back to the food aisles. He caught sight of his reflection, rolling along, looking like he was a moment away from a laugh. He grinned at himself, and pushed the cart forward, along this long aisle of mirrors, his reflection cast back at him. Castiel would be glad to have the vessel back, and in such good shape. Well-fed, happy, and ... at peace, he finally realized. Not to mention, weirdly enough, looking forward to Castiel's return. For all that it was him being dragged along for the most Hellish ride of his life - Johnny enjoyed it. It was purpose. It was, as Bryan would like to say, 'one fucking good adventure'.
Maybe it was the thought of Bryan that made him glance at the mirror, and realize that he was being followed.
Fear swam through him, and he thought about cutting back around and getting Sam and Dean - but no - the men were closing in on him. Like jackals. Just far enough not to draw suspicion from the security cameras, but close enough that they were definitely herding him. He breathed out, slowly. Damn, what if these were demons? There was too many of them for him to outrun. He might be able to take out a few of them with the holy water flask he had in his pocket, but that would just buy him time. At least he'd be able to call out for help, before they descended on him.
Oh-ho, great. They were herding him into the bathroom. Where there were no cameras. Johnny's lips pressed together, and he looked skyward as he whispered simply, "Cas ... Help."
And then he was rushed, one of them grabbing him by the arm and shoving him into the bathroom, a surprisingly large room. He was pushed towards the far wall, and he spun around to face his attackers, all five of them. He had his flask out in an instant, and tossed the contents over the two by the door who ... blinked, and looked confused. And damp.
Johnny blinked in turn, and then he let out a laugh, a high and shaky relieved laugh. "Oh Thank God! You're just prejudiced assholes!"
The five of them had gone from grimly pleased to utterly confused, and one of them asked, looking like he'd like to take a step away from the 'crazy man', "And just what the fuck did you think we were, fag?"
"Demons." Johnny answered promptly, "I mean, you guys aren't much better - but seriously, five demons? Just me? I'd be seriously ...well, fucked, pardon the word."
He held up as one of the men opened his mouth to speak, quietly relishing the befuddlement that made all five men stop and eye him warily, "Before you go on your diatribe, and your sexual innuendos, and try to get me to beg to save my life - let me tell you something. I know you guys. I know what you'll do. I know that you're going to walk out of here and think yourselves men, but all you'll be? Are monsters. The five of you - you took my lover from me. You beat him to death with your pipes and your fists and your hatred. And I hated you right back - I did . I hated the whole human mess for creating men like you. But after this year? I've gotten a lot of perspective, and now... I just feel sorry for you."
One of the men, a gruff looking guy in a red trucker's cap literally spat in his direction, "You? Feel sorry for us?"
"Weird, huh?" Johnny felt something in him loosen, and finally float away. The last remnants of
resentment, of anger, perhaps. Leaving his soul free to feel sympathy, even pity again. "But to be honest - you guys just don't get it. You're so wrapped up in your petty little injuries and fears of what you don't know, you don't realize that there's bigger things out there. Bigger than you, bigger than me. There's more evil - more unbelievable evil than what you're trying to commit here. And there's more beauty, and grace, and - and love, than you'll ever have a chance to feel."
He exhaled, thinking of Castiel. Thinking of how a creature of grace could love a man like these; rough-hewn and simple in his tastes and his beliefs. He dropped his gaze to them, and hid a grin while they all looked at each other nervously. This wasn't part of their plan. He wrecked it by being a whack-job. He added with gentleness. "Maybe because I've seen these things, that I'm willing to let this go. That I'll tell you, right now, that you want to walk out of here."
The man in the red cap was the leader, and he was evidently trying to get this party back on track because he flicked out a knife, his dark eyes bright with confused anger, "Oh do we? And why the fuck do we want to do that? You protected by some fucking higher power?"
"Well, yeah." Jimmy said, with a touch of sarcasm. "But seriously, I was just trying to keep you from getting your asses kicked by them." He nodded his head to a spot behind them, where the Winchesters stood waiting.
The five men turned, and that was when Sam smacked two of them in the face, head on, with two red rubber balls that reminded Johnny of days of high school gym, and then the taller Winchester stepped forward to put his fists where the balls had landed. Dean had a wiffleball bat that he grimly and efficiently used to beat the crap out of the two men in front of him, the plastic bat swinging around and cracking fingers and knees brutally. The man with the knife was so started that he didn't see Johnny heading right for him, so all he could do was let out a surprised 'oooooof' noise as his back slammed into the sink. He dropped the knife, but looked like he would just kill Johnny with his bare hands.
Well he would have, if the light fixture above his head hadn't, inexplicably, suddenly fallen loose from its bindings and landed right on the man's head, knocking him right to the floor.
It took them all but ten minutes to finish the fight. Then there were five men down, one through angelic assistance, and the bathroom looked like the floor of a UFC match. Dean looked around with satisfied smirk, and then shot an exasperated look at Johnny, "Seriously dude. Five minutes. You were out of our sight for five frigging minutes."
"Your talent for trouble seems to have rubbed off?" Johnny panted, catching his breath as he glanced at the ceiling, smiling. "Thanks Cas." He nodded at the Winchesters. "Thanks, guys."
Sam shook out his fist, wincing as he prodded it for bruises. "Thank us later, when we're out of here."
"Yeah, seriously, let's scatter before we have to answer too many goddamned questions." Dean sighed as he looked at his wiffle-bat. "Aw, damn. I got dumb, ignorant hick blood all over it. No way am I buying this now." He tossed it over his shoulder as he opened the door for all three of them. Which was what made Johnny, on their way out, grab Dean another wiffle-bat. Along with two state-of-the-art remote control cars for Dean and Sam, as well. The very least he could do was, he thought, was to ensure they both had three toys. The surprised and pleased expressions on their faces was thanks enough.
At the register, the cashier handed him his credit card, while Sam and Dean started pushing the cart out to the Impala, half riding on it, and while she eyed them with disgruntlement, she asked Johnny curtly, "Anything else you need?"
Johnny cocked his head back at the question, and suddenly smiled, dark eyes bright, peaceful and clear. "Not a thing. I'm totally good." He started to walk towards the banks of double doors, and looked over his shoulder, "Oh yeah - the bathroom in the back? You might want to have someone go and clean that up. It kind of looks like someone dumped trash all over the place."
His smile brightened, at her vaguelly confused expression, and he offered a cheery, "Merry Christmas!" before he walked out of the doors, leaving more than Wal-mart behind him in his wake.
12. On The Twelfth Day Of Christmas
"Dude, we've been together for nearly two weeks. We ate your food, slept in your beds, dragged your drun ass out of depression. - Johnny, I let you take me to a gay bar, where guys bought me more beer than I've ever bought a girl I wanted to bang - and now you're having 'trust issues'?" Dean scoffed, loudly, in Johnny's face, "Quit your bitching, and just put on the damned blindfold."
Johnny gave him another leery look, that Dean met flatly, and continued to stare at the blindfold in his hand. Dean rolled his eyes as Sam spoke up from behind them both, his tone a lot more gentle and reasonable than Dean's had been, "C'mon, Johnny. You don't want to ruin our surprise, do you?"
"So this surprise isn't going to be another inadvertent cold shower?" Johnny asked dryly, but he finally lifted the blindfold to his face, tying it into place.
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, as he took Johnny by the shoulders and steered him towards the front door, muttering grumpily, "I should, for the amount of bitchin' I've been getting."
Sam smirked back at him, tossing him Johnny's coat, slipping on his own. "Don't worry, Johnny, no one gets drunk-dunked on Christmas."
Dean finished slipping on Johnny's - Cas's - coat, and pushed him gently towards Sam as he pulled on his own. "Listen to Sasquatch. He speaks truth." He watched Sam make sure that Johnny was well and truly snug in the coat, and the blindfold was on straight, before nodding his approval and opening the door for the both of them. Watched while Sam said something to make Johnny laugh, before pulling a wool hat over the dark hair that actually behaved for Johnny, where it never had for Cas.
He ignored the ache in his chest. Not much longer, until the angel came back, and not much longer until Johnny left. Weird, how your heart could pull in two different directions. However, if he was going to be honest with himself - yeah, the angel was preferred. His lips twisted, as he thought to himself, Castiel, preferred in a taste-test choice by 9 out of 10 hunters named Dean Winchester. His soft 'Heh' earned him a narrow-eyed look from Sam, who he flashed one of his more innocent looks in response.
He was fiercely happy that Sam finally got Johnny out the door, and that neither one of them could really see his face after he followed them out, making sure to lock up the house behind them. He was on board for the warm and fuzzy crap today - after all it was Christmas. But he'd be damned if he let his brother see him looking like a soft-eyed, lovesick moron. The angel made that look be there, the angel was the one who got to see it.
It was a good time for a drive, though. The sun was starting to drop down on the horizon, the road was smooth, and he and Sam were fighting over Aerosmith or Christmas tunes, and he could hear Johnny snorting laughs from the backseat. The car was warm, running slick, and there was snow on the ground and not a single monster in sight.
It was the best Christmas Eve Dean could remember in 27 years, although the one last year with the porn mags and just Sam was pretty damned good too. Even with almost getting eaten.
He followed the directions he and Sam had taken the day before, and slipped the car up the long and silent hill, until they reached their destination. He met Sam's gaze, who nodded at him solemnly, before they both got out of the car together, and Sam fetched Johnny from the backseat. They made their way carefully along the path, until they stopped, and Dean tugged off Johnny's blindfold, letting the other man open his eyes.
Sam pressed lightly against Dean's side, a source of warmth, as they both waited quietly, as Johnny looked over the grave - squared away and clean, as vigorously as Dean could manage. All the leaves and debris swept away, dead weeds pulled away, revealed the simple black marble headstone that simply read Bryan and the dates of his life and death. The red roses that Sam insisted on stood in their tall matching vases, flanking it. Dean watched Johnny's shoulders rise, and then fall, a little shakily, before the man turned to look back at them. Brown eyes met theirs, and they were wide and wet and Dean felt like looking away because he never dealt well with men crying.
Himself, most of all, but that was neither here nor there.
As if Johnny sensed it, he swallowed, and wiped his face clear, and managed a quiet, "Thank you, boys." Anything else seems beyond the man.
Sam's smile answered for him, and Dean just scratched the back of his neck and shrugged at the same time, his words a little stiff, "S'nothing. You know. Uhm, we'll leave you to, y'know, commune. Or whatever."
Johnny looked like he wants to hug them both, and Dean was relieved when all he did was nod his head gratefully, and turned to press his hand against the top of the grave. Sam nudged him with his elbow, and they walked back around the gravestones, their boots crunching in the snow as they approached the Impala.
"So, you want your present now, or you want to wait until later?" Sam asked, and Dean arched his eyebrows up at his brother, watching as Sam shrugged, a grin lighting up his brother's face, "I might have just given in to the sentimentality of the season, and brought it with me."
"I always knew you were a soppy bitch." Dean's lips curved into a smirk, before he squinted up at the swiftly darkening sky, "I might have brought along something for you too." He can see Sam smirking at him out of the corner of his eye, and he pointed a finger at him. "This does not make me as girly as you, though."
"No, of course not. You're the 'manly' Winchester. Any day now I expect you to start wearing a cowboy hat and spit tobacco." Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Where's my present, jerk?"
"Cowboy hat might cool." Dean popped the trunk, "Chewing tobacco though dude? And ruin these gorgeous white teeth?" Which he flashed for Sam, as he tossed a awkwardly wrapped in plain brown paper package at him. Sam looked at it oddly, lips quirking up in a way that made Dean ask suspiciously, "What?"
Sam shook his head, grinning, before he went to the passenger side door of the Impala. He pulled it open, and then popped open the glove-box, to pull out a much neater wrapped package, with Santas dancing merrily over a background of dark blue, the same size and shape as the gift he'd just given to Sam. Dean eyed his brother, and started to open the package, his tone mockingly conversational,"So, there was this store in the mall."
Sam smirked and started to open his own package. "Small little place? Might have a sign up there about 'make your own t-shirt'?" Dean watched, grinning a little, as Sam opened the wrapping, then read what Dean had inscribed on the front of the plain black t-shirt in blazing white print. His brother snorted, "'#1 Angel Fanboy'. Cute, Dean. Reaaaaal cute."
Dean snorted a delighted laugh, until he unwrapped his own shirt and read aloud, "'Pervy ... Angel Deflowerer'." He made a 'hnngh' noise in his throat, before shooting his now smug brother a dirty look, "Hi-lar-ious, Sammy."
"You're welcome." Sam smarmed, snickering even as Dean slapped him hard in the chest with one hand, before he shook his head, "Thank God Cas isn't here to see these."
Dean shook his head and cracked up, "Oh damn, can you imagine trying to explain these? The look on his face? I would not stop laughing. I'd die friggin' laughing, at that look." He glanced sideways at Sam, his smile suddenly going fey, "You know, he's going to be here in a week..."
"Dean, you are not even suggesting we wear these when Cas is here for New Years." He looked at his brother's gleaming eyes, and held up the t-shirt like a shield against Dean's mischievous grin, "No! Noooooooooo. He's an angel of the Lord, Dean!"
"Are you saying God doesn't have a sense of humor?" Dean said archly. "I refuse to believe that of the apparent deity that gave me The Three Stooges can't enjoy a good chuckle." He snorted softly, looking over the snow-covered graves. "Just look at our lives. Comic drama don't come any better than us, Sammy."
Dean felt the long, quiet, look of Sam's, and then a heavy, mocking sigh. "... If he decides to smite us, I am using you as a human flesh shield, Dean."
Dean grinned, his eyes gleaming a little. In one week, he'd be seeing Castiel, touching Castiel, tasting him, doing a multitude of dirty and wonderful things with him. Add to that he'd get a few laughs out of the heavy levels of confusion on Castiel's face, and it looked like the best New Years ever was coming right behind Christmas.
Johnny emerged from the path - his breath was heavy and his eyes were still looking a little damp, red around the rims. Dean looked at Sam, and Sam looked back at him. Silently, they both held up their individual t-shirts solemnly to their chests, the crinkle of plastic almost loud in the stillness of the cemetary. There was a moment where Johnny stopped, and his look of befuddlement was almost, almost a match for the angel's, but then Johnny did something Dean was sure he would have to coax, carefully, out of the reserved angel.
Johnny laughed. He laughed good, and hard, and maybe a little louder than necessary, but it's ten times better than the grief that was there a minute ago. Maybe he wasn't Castiel, Dean suddenly though to himself. Maybe this isn't the guy Dean wanted to be with more than anything else in the world. Right now, though, with his brother beside him and Johnny - good ole Johnny - grinning at him - Dean finally got it.
Johnny was family - like Bobby was family, and Ellen and Jo and a score of others who they had lost along the way. But there Johnny was, tucked into the circle. Castiel drew them together, and now Dean was bonded. They were in this war together; he, Sam, Johnny -- and Castiel. Castiel, in his own way, was showing Dean that he was never going to leave him.
Dean was going to give the angel some kind of Hell, for playing him so well. He just wasn't sure if it was going to be before or after he managed to find a way to thank the holy bastard.
Preferably, with his pervy-angel-deflowering-mouth.
Epilogue - And A Partridge, In A Pear Tree...
Johnny finished tying his tie, looking at himself in the mirror, neatly pressed and solemn again in his dark blue suit, the lighter blue of his tie bringing out the warmth his eyes. He fixed the cuffs of the crisp white shirt, then the jacket, looking down to make sure he was neat, tidy, and otherwise put together.
He glanced at the clock beside his bed - 7:25 a.m, December 26th. He gave it a little curt, acknowledging nod. It was time. He reached for the trenchcoat, slipping it over his shoulders before sliding the gloves on over his hands. The angel would forget about the cold - hopefully he'd figure out the use of the hat so Johnny wouldn't lose his ears. He cracked a wry smile at the thought of Castiel struggling to figure out how to pull a hat on his head, as he walked out into the hallway, and closed his bedroom door behind him.
He walked down the long hallway, pausing as he looked first into Sam's bedroom, and then over into Dean's. Both of them slept soundly - Dean snorting softly as he rolled over on his side. Johnny's smile went soft at the sight of them, then he set his shoulders, and kept walking. Had to keep moving, now. He paused at the small table beside the door, and pulled out the short letter for the boys, putting it next to the Impala keys. As an almost afterthought, he dug out his own ring of keys, slid off the one to the house, and nodded. They'd take care of his place, if he never came back.
The air outside was crisp and sharp, just like a winter morning should be. He breathed it in, breathed out again, sending a cascade of white air through the beginning flickers of light coming from the east. Dawn, the time for new beginnings. Starting over. Johnny smiled, as the sun lifted, and he could hear Castiel's mind whispering to him, first faint, now getting stronger. The angel was coming.
Like the first time, Johnny opened his arms wide, and looked up to the sky. He didn't know how rough this ride was going to get. He didn't know where this particular road was going to lead him. Heck, he didn't even know if he was going to live to see the next day - much less the start of a new year, the war, any of it.
He knew, though, that no matter what happened, if his time came, the two men would bring him home, one way or another. And the angel descending on him, would keep all his promises. He closed his eyes as the light from above nearly outshone the rising sun, and he whispered as Castiel cascaded into him, purity and Grace flowing into him like a heavenly waterfall, "Welcome home, Cas."
"He gone?" Dean's voice was gruff, catching Sam's attention as he looked up from reading the brief note Johnny had left them. His brother's face was a little closed off, even as he rubbed his bare chest and yawned. Even just waking up, Dean could have his personal shields up in a moment. Sam nodded his head, flipping it around so Dean could read it as well. Dean's eyes skimmed over the few words, his lips twisting around the edges, before hazel eyes lifted to meet Sam's, "Well, we're burning daylight. Let's pack it up, and get going."
He headed back up the stairs, grumbling, "S'not like the end of the world's gonna wait for us while we have brunch."
Sam's lips quirked up at the bleak humor, and he went to put the note down and follow Dean upstairs. He paused, however, and then palmed the key Johnny had left them. Later on, when he locked the front door with it, Dean didn't say a word as Sam slipped the key, not under the mat, but in his own pocket. Then they were on the road again, but the key was a comfortable press against Sam's leg, and occasionally, he would reach down to his pocket to touch it, and make sure it was still there. That the past ten days had happened, and all those bright memories were actually his, and Dean's, to keep.
The key remained, a solid reminder. Sam smiled every time he took his fingertips off it again.
The note said this; You two made this a home again, so I want you to consider it yours. Thank you, for everything. - Johnny.
Thunder growled in the distance, but the storm was still weeks off. It would hold, for a little while longer.
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