Title: The Curse of Bittersweet Kisses
Chapter 18

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel knew he was sick the second he woke. He could feel the sickness working through him, feel the Purgatory spirits churning. They weren’t trying to climb out his throat yet, but he knew it would happen. It was only a matter of time.

He blinked from the bright lights, vision blurring. His mouth was dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed, lips parting. “Water,” he whispered, craving a large glass of it, as if his body was desiccated. Interesting, that need, since he hadn’t needed to drink any liquids before. Not as an angel, not as God.

After another couple of blinks, he could see. He was in a glass case, surrounded on three sides by glass, lying on a padded cushion. A pillow was beneath his head.

Where am I, he thought, trying to remember what had happened. He recalled getting ready for the baptismal ceremony, feeling horrible, and Constance at his side. The room had gotten hotter and…. He frowned. The demon in front of him. He’d been shot, first in the stomach and chest and then in the back. Castiel remembered the sensation of paralyzing energy working through him, pain inside him, and then nothing as darkness pulled him under.

The case was a glass coffin.

They think I’m dead, he thought. Did Dean think he was dead as well? How long had he been unconscious?

Pushing out his hands, he shattered the case and sat up, noting vaguely that the large room he was in was filled with people, many in a line to come up to the case he was in. The sanctuary, he realized. They had him on display in the church. Had they even had time to clean up the blood or was it covered over by a rug or something? Yes, he did see a rug laid out. Perhaps only a day or two had gone by.

The people began to fall to their knees, a chorus of praise rising up, only…their praise didn’t excite him as it once had, or give him the thrill of a fresh zing of energy moving through him. It was merely a low buzz on his skin.

Why should it excite him? He was no longer the God they thought and knew it. He wasn’t the highest of all, not anymore. A bullet had laid him low. While it hadn’t killed him, it had put him in a vulnerable position. Castiel knew that. He felt physically and mentally weak, his body trembling slightly and mind whirling a little. Fear clung to him and he didn’t quite understand the illness he felt inside him. He didn’t think it was caused by the bullets and his body trying to heal itself, because he’d been feeling terrible before he’d been shot. He thought that perhaps being shot may have sped up what he’d already been feeling.

That idea frightened him worse than anything else because he had no idea what had been happening to him then. What was happening to him? Was he being transformed in some new way or was his body simply failing? It could be either. He knew he’d been feverish and knew as well that a fever usually indicated some sort of infection the body was fighting off. He’d have to wait and see.

Had it been the Colt the shooter behind him had held? Maybe. The sensation he’d had of energy throughout his body bore that out and if he’d been further weakened from his God-like state, it might have worked. He might have died for real. The assassination attempt had probably been Crowley’s idea, since Dean had lost the Colt in Carthage and Crowley would have known they were headed there for that mission. He wouldn’t put it past Crowley to have gone in and picked up the Colt when it was safe.

Perhaps it was time to deal with Crowley and appoint a new head of hell.

Swinging his legs over the side of the case, he stood, looking down at himself. His pants, shirt, and tie were new and very close to what he’d been wearing, the coat fresh from being cleaned. The chemical smell was still there, clinging to the fabric. The pants and shirt still had the stiffness associated with brand new clothing.

Castiel took a closer look at the people in the room. There weren’t only people present. He saw one terrified pagan goddess trying to make herself seem small and insignificant to his right. She hurried to kneel when he looked at her. Three vampires stood at the back of the room near one werewolf and five shape shifters. To his left were three ghouls and more monsters that wore human faces mingled in the crowd.

They’d come to see his body and, he suspected, spit on the case.

Also present were a few Reapers, who now disappeared. Death would be wanting a report from them.

The people in the room sank to their knees and one by one pressed themselves to the floor, continuing their chorus of praise and adoration. Slowly, the monsters did as well. He saw Constance in the front row, the only one now without her face to the floor. She was crying, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Had she been the one to put him on display? He didn’t particularly care for that human custom. In death, he would have preferred his remains be given to Dean to take care of -- if his actual death left earthly remains.

Constance stretched out a hand towards him.

The lights in the ceiling began to burst out in showers of sparks, the electronics in the large room all giving off either loud hums or grating static.

Castiel knew exactly what was happening.

The angels were coming to view him as well and if they came into the building, most of these people would die.

He went down the aisle, ignoring the people raising their heads to watch him and the cameras still recording. The areas around the doors were jammed with people, but they moved aside for him and he pushed outside into the parking lot.

Angels appeared on the ground one by one and several in their natural state circled up in the sky looking down.

“How can this be,” one of them said in disbelief.

“He promised it’d work,” another whispered, fear in her voice. “Why isn’t he still dead?”

“He’s supposed to be gone,” a third angel hissed to a fourth.

“Let me guess,” he said, trying to show nonchalance instead of the queasy apprehension that filled him. “You went to the King of Hell for help and he gave you assistance. You planned an assassination with him. You conspired against me after I made it very clear that no rebellion would be tolerated.” From the look on their faces, that was exactly what they’d done. Crowley had dangled the possibility of his dead, rotting corpse in their faces and they’d fallen for it.

Ahh, Crowley, he thought. Once a demon, always a demon, playing every side he could. He must have laughed when he’d realized he could play the angels. What had they traded to Crowley for the assassination attempt? He always wanted something. Castiel decided that he admired them a little for attempting to rebel against him since he’d been quite harsh with Raphael’s followers. He was mildly impressed that some of them had gotten up the nerve to lash out at him in some way.

“You asked and he made a deal with you for…protection, perhaps? Some of you are currently guarding his back.” More startled stares from them. He really did know how his former family thought. He shook his head. “What has this world come to when angels guard demons?” Raising his hands, he beckoned, inviting them to come to him. “I’m still a little weak from waking up, but we can fight if you like.” He wondered if the fight would weaken him further, but at the moment, he didn’t particularly care.

Several took his invitation and Castiel learned fast that he was still able to burn angels just like he had those who’d been Raphael’s supporters. Fourteen died before the rest fled and he was left in the parking lot with the bodies of vessels and wings singed into the pavement. A few of the vehicles in the lot were destroyed and one was beginning to smoke.

“This was your choice,” he whispered to the bodies. “You didn’t have to fight me.” Turning, he saw one camera crew broadcasting out the door and he stepped towards them. “All who do disobey shall be punished,” he said in a clear, loud voice. “Even the angels.”

He left them with that to think about, went to Bobby Singer’s property, and vomited what felt like every Purgatory spirit left inside him. It wasn’t all of them, because he did still feel them there inside. Castiel fell to his knees behind a tower of junked vehicles. He felt feverish and touched a hand to his forehead. The skin was hot. Definitely a fever.

With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his shirt and looked at his chest. There were no wounds and no scars, no sign that he’d been shot at all. His body had healed like it had been. Had the bullet wounds healed immediately and the inside had taken longer? It made sense to him that the outward would heal first and the inward would take a longer period of time. Sometimes, it had been like that as an angel. The inner part of a wound had taken a few seconds longer than the outer.

What did he do now? The church would expect him to come back, but how could he when he wasn’t what they thought he was? How could he go back to healing the sick and so forth? He had Purgatory souls to burn into nothingness, the ones who’d just slipped away from him, and suspected there were going to be plenty more forthcoming. He couldn’t hold them in. He also had Crowley to deal with.

Going to Dean would do nothing. With Castiel’s inability to fix Sam, Dean would be unwilling to assist him in any way. He’d threatened Jo, Sam wouldn’t be receptive since he was the one whose wall Castiel had torn down in the first place, and as for Bobby and Ellen…. He’d threatened Ellen’s daughter and Bobby supported all of them. He’d find no help there. There was no one to go to talk to or to take care of him in his illness, and since he’d tried to replace God, he doubted that one would listen either.

Castiel wept and with each breath he gulped in and blew out sobbing, the wind rose up and whipped across the land. With his tears, rain began to fall and when a burst of anger that he couldn’t stop crying moved through him, a tornado siren went off somewhere. Gray puffs of mist leaked from between his lips as his emotions grew worse and he struggled to stop.

He had to keep calm. Keeping calm was the only way.

Slowly, Castiel got his body back under control.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first order of business was to discover who had been behind the assassination attempt. Dean wanted to know that and then he’d move forward to everything else.

“Who tried to assassinate him,” he asked, motioning for Sam to play the videos. Sam hesitated and he snapped his fingers several times. “Come on, Sam. Play them for me.” After they were finished, he shook his head. “Crowley’s the only name comes to mind, the only demon running around both in and out of hell who has the balls to try it. Had to be Crowley, but how did he get the Colt? I dropped it and wasn’t able to grab it back in Carthage before Cas winked us away.”

Ellen dropped towels onto the carpet and began sopping up that entire pitcher of margaritas she’d spilled.

“He’s resourceful,” Bobby reminded him, handing Jo a bottle of cleanser and a brush. “If he thought it’d work, he’d find a way. Likely he scurried into Carthage after Lucifer and Death were gone and retrieved it.” He got down on his knees and grabbed a section of pizza, dumping it in the trash can Sam slid towards him. The pizza had fallen face down, toppings littering the floor, and cheese sticking.

“I didn’t think it’d work.” Dean reached for the roll of paper towels and tore off several pieces. He bent, wiping up pizza sauce. The rug was going to need an actual cleaning to get clean. “He had god-like powers, more than Lucifer. How --”

“Has, not had. The Colt didn’t kill him, Dean.” Bobby glanced at him and in that glance was worry, but he didn’t think it was worry over the situation with Castiel. It hit him that Bobby was afraid this would send Dean spiraling back down into the depression he’d been starting to come out of. “He’s up and walking again. It didn’t work, it only slowed him down.”

“But it did slow him down,” he pointed out. “He’s not all everything, remember? We established that before. It slowed him down enough that we humans couldn’t tell he was alive. That’s nearly dead, Bobby. It’s something.”

“Maybe it wasn’t Crowley that did it.” Jo called out. “Maybe it was Meg. She was there at the ceremony and she probably still has some sort of supporters. Maybe it was her.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “If you’d seen how she looks at Castiel? No. Meg’s got it bad for him, like high school girl writing his name on her notebook with a heart around it bad. My money is on Crowley.”

“Dean’s right,” Sam said, moving to help Ellen. “Meg wouldn’t kill Castiel herself, at least not until she’d gotten whatever she wanted from him.”

“Besides, she was a Lucifer supporter. In the current regime that’s a no-no. She lost a good chunk of support and has been kind of on the run for awhile.” Dean’s mind went in circles, going back over what Sam had played and how it connected. If the Colt could almost kill Castiel, and Dean thought it was the Colt, then he was vulnerable. Something out there would finish him off. There was some kind of hope.

Ellen sat back, butt to her heels. “Three days. He was down three days and rose again. That remind anyone of anything?”

“It’s a parallel to the story of Jesus,” Dean said.

“Catholic church will probably play it up as Castiel is the antichrist, though. Use it as evidence. That and the sway he has over people.” Sam picked up the soaked towels, took them to the washer and returned with two more towels. “Here, Ellen. Last two down here. Want me to go upstairs and get more?”

“No, I think this’ll do it. Thanks.”

“And his church will fight back about their unbelief, leading us right into a war over whether or not he’s the Messiah, which he isn’t.” Bobby held out a hand, stopping Jo from working more on one section. “I’ve got a steam cleaner here somewhere. We’ll do that later and see if it improves it. It needed a good cleaning anyway.”

The pizza had made a mess, the sauce staining several inches and the smell of margaritas permeated the room.

“You could always put it in the panic room after it dries,” Jo suggested. “Give a nice homey feel down there?”

“There’s an idea.”

Dean took Sam’s chair at the desk and began making plan, scribbling his ideas on the notepad there. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Sam and I will contact Crowley, get the scoop on whether or not he planned the assassination and see what he knows about the Purgatory demons. Bobby,” he pointed at him with the pen, then returned to writing, “you talk to Sheriff Mills, find out if there’s anything else she can tell us, anything weird going on not associated with Castiel. We need to know if there’s anything sitting around in town getting cozy and,” he held up a hand as Sam started to speak, “yes, Sam, that includes Meg. She was last seen at the baptismal ceremony, but Jo said she was buddying up to Constance awhile back. It’s a lead. You know Constance, right Bobby?”

“Know her and despise her. Don’t really want to have a lunch date with her.”

“Do it anyway. Pretend you’re interested in converting and want to hear a personal testimony from someone you know who was healed by him and was there at both his death and resurrection before you make a commitment. If she knows where Meg is, we can gank Meg and be done with her, knock that off our to-do list.” He looked at Ellen. “See if you can’t get Cas to come to you, find out what happened from his own lips. Do your best to get him to open up. Assess his mood, his health and anything else that comes to mind. Figure out where you think he might be on the power scale now.”

“He might not come to me.”

“I think he will. You’ve contacted him a couple times since he pulled you down and he showed up both times. He’ll come, even if it’s just out of curiosity.”

“What about me,” Jo asked.

“Start searching for sightings of the new demons. He let a bunch of that gray stuff loose, lets see if it does correlate with new sightings. It’s been three days. If they’re out there, they should already be attacking people or starting to. Also, start a phone tree to every hunter in our address books. Make sure they’re all aware of the possible connection between silver and safety against the PD’s and ask them to start phoning in or texting us the locations of the sightings they find or work so we can map them and maybe find a pattern of attacks. I know you contacted a lot of people already, but no harm in double checking that they paid attention.” He set the pen down. “And have them let us know if they find anything that works on the PD’s either in mist or body. We’ll need to work as a big, world-wide team to bring them down if they’re the souls inside Cas since he ingested billions.”

“PD’s,” Ellen repeated, with a tiny smirk.

“Purgatory demons.” He found four pairs of eyes staring at him with various degrees of relief and amusement. “What?”

“Nice to see you back in form, son,” Bobby commented, getting up and heading to the kitchen. “I’ll give the Sheriff another call. I’ll bet she’s still in her office or maybe out at the church taking statements or something.”

“I love it when you take charge like this,” Sam told him. “It’s so exciting.”

Jo fanned herself with one hand. “Tell me about it.”

Ellen slowly got up from the floor. “I’ll take a drive after breakfast in the morning, find a good spot, and see if he’ll come to chat. I’ll need sleep to assess him like that though, so I’m going up to bed. ‘Night gang.”

“Whenever you think is best, but be insistent when you do call for him. Get his attention.”

“You want me to wake people up?” Jo went to the kitchen table and pulled out an address book.

With a glance at his watch, Dean decided maybe it was a little late at night to call some people. “Call the ones you know will still be up and running, save the rest for tomorrow.”

He began to gather what they’d need to call for Crowley.

~~~~~~~~~~

“All who disobey shall be punished, even the angels.” Lucifer laughed rather gaily at that solemn promise Castiel made at the camera and Sam realized that, in the excitement of the past three days, he must have forgotten to take his pills. “He does amuse me sometimes.”

The mood of the house had quickly turned sour and Sam set the beer back down on the desk before he tipped it onto the floor by accident.

“Three days. Very Savior and so dramatic. He should have his own television program.” Lucifer snapped his fingers. “Wait. Technically, he does with the media fawning all over him.” He sauntered towards the television, stepping around the mess of the pizza and stretching out a hand to touch the screen. “They’ll really be worshipping him now, but did you see his face when he woke up? And when he went out to meet the angels?”

Sam didn’t say anything.

“Something is wrong and he knows it. Are you paying attention, Sam? Something is wrong. Figure it out. Use it. Push him. Destroy him.” His smile was a bit chilling. “You know you want to.”

Dean snapped his fingers several times and Sam realized he wanted him to replay the videos he’d been working on.

“These things don’t mean anything. Crowley and Meg aren’t important. You can see for yourself that something is wrong with him.” Lucifer returned to Sam and wedged his way between Sam and the computer. It didn’t matter however, as Dean took over, leaning over to work the wireless mouse himself. “Who cares who shot J.R.? It’s old news. Dean’s focusing on the wrong thing here. Why am I not surprised?” His sigh was dramatic. “Of course Crowley snuck back and grabbed the Colt. Did you really think he wouldn’t? A weapon like that that can kill practically anything? It’s worth more than gold to some of you.”

In an effort to ignore Lucifer, Sam watched the cleanup in progress and moved a trash can over for Bobby and Jo. Lucifer continued to chat and comment.

“Actually, he would’ve been stupid not to try assassinating Castiel with it. Crowley does have some smarts. Definitely worth a try, except Castiel didn’t exist in this state when the Colt was made, so there were no adjustments in the process for killing him. It was still a nice try.”

Getting up, Sam went to help Ellen.

Lucifer followed, crouching down and leaning on Ellen’s back. “Meg always did like a pretty face,” he commented as speculation briefly turned to Meg as a candidate for planning the assassination. “She was quite loyal to the cause as well. How eagerly she went about her orders! If only all of them had been so eager.” Sighing, he changed position so he was sitting on the coffee table. “I agree, however. She was too smitten with him to kill him unless he didn’t perform the way she wanted him to or as well. Has a little bit of Lorena Bobbitt in her, if you get my meaning, Sam. Always did, even as a human.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll have to remedy my fall from favor eventually, don’t you think? Demons are so fickle. Always have to have something shiny and new.”

Sam took the towels to the washer.

“Hmm. The Catholic church. They’ll definitely use it. Good observations, Sam. This whole situation is tailor made for that and an apocalypse-Armageddon panic.” He waved his hands in the air, then shook one finger at Sam as Sam picked up the clean towels sitting on the dryer. “I can’t fault Castiel’s sense of theater, though. The entire three day thing was well planned and if he didn’t plan it, it’s still damn good showmanship.”

He took the towels to Ellen and waited.

Lucifer slung an arm around his shoulders. “Surely you have something to say to me, Sammy boy.” He laid his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I sort of liked that drug you were taking. Made me feel drunk. You should take some of that again.” He patted Sam’s cheek with one hand. “It’s good stuff.”

He strode to where he’d put his bag, crouched down, and removed his pills. Dry swallowing one, he waited for it to take effect and for Lucifer to shut up and disappear.

“You know, you have a much simpler way of making me go away, if you really don’t love me.” Lucifer released him and stepped in front of him. With a finger, he gently tapped Sam’s forehead. “You could absorb me back into yourself like you did the other pieces. That’s all I am and you know it. I’m just a piece of you wandering around that you refuse to take back into yourself out of some silly fear that you’ll die in the attempt. You hardly died when you took care of the last ones. You pulled it all together, except you missed me. Understandable since your soulless self was trying to off your souled self himself. You’re the one hurting yourself here, Sam.” He spread his arms. “But take the pills instead if you like. I’m happy to stay here with you and as long as you don’t add me back I’ll never leave you. I promise. Wouldn’t want you to be lonely.” He began to fade from view and as he disappeared entirely, Sam heaved a sigh of relief and went to help Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~

Getting Crowley in place had taken longer than Dean had anticipated, but once he was there, Dean didn’t waste any more pleasantries. “You behind the assassination attempt?”

Crowley stared at him. He had one hand in his pants pocket and the other was holding a glass. He took a sip of the liquid in the glass and shrugged in an unconcerned manner. “Of course I tried to assassinate the self-important shit. Do you have any idea the sort of restrictions he’s put on me?” He swirled the liquid. “Besides, I’m a demon. Treachery is in the job description. He knew that when he got in bed with me.” His rows rose. “Figuratively, you know. He doesn’t swing either way. Pity.”

“Restrictions,” Dean asked, crossing his arms.

The demon held his ground. “He does things like sift through the souls that are supposed to come to me and so on. I’m obliged to run hell the way he wants or I’ll be replaced with someone more cooperative.”

“Someone like Meg, maybe?”

The suggestion brought the slightest of snarls to his face. “That bitch doesn’t know how to handle Castiel, I assure you.”

“And you do?”

“I have so far.” He spread his arms. “I’m still here.”

“So is she,” Sam pointed out.

“In hiding.”

“Yet still breathing,” Dean reminded him. “I think he may even like her a little. They had some tongue action going on a few months back.” Which had been thoroughly gross at the time and was no less gross now considering Castiel should have been able to see her true face. Dean remembered just how repulsive demons actually were to view. “Maybe he does swing one way after all.”

“She’s breathing for now. I plan to take care of that as soon as I can beat her from the bushes. She’s very good at hiding.” He glanced back and forth between them. “Is that all you wanted? Do we have other business boys? If not…” One hand waved at the lines of the trap. “I have work.”

Though Crowley was trying to play it cool, he looked slightly nervous, glancing about the basement every few seconds like he expected someone to show up. Castiel maybe?

“Not so fast. There’s another matter.”

“Oh, the anticipation. Spit it out already.”

“What do you know about the gray mist?”

“You mean the Purgatory creatures. Delightful, aren’t they? A cross between a ghost and demon and gives both a bad name. How are you enjoying them?”

“They’re peachy. What do you know about them?”

“Why should I share that information?”

“Because,” Sam cleared his throat, “if Castiel holds true to form, he could be along any minute to look things over. He likes to come here and stand just out of sight watching. Probably wouldn’t be good for you for him to find you here conspiring with us.” The smirk on Sam’s lips reminded Dean of the one he’d used when his soul had been gone.

“We’re not conspiring and you’ll be just as caught.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean told him. “I’m still here aren’t I? Besides, he’s a little short on common sense these days. Jumps to a lot of conclusions and there’s a slight, microscopic --”

“Tiny,” Sam broke in.

“--chance that we’ll make him believe you came here, caused some trouble thinking he was dead and couldn’t interfere, got yourself caught, and tried to weasel your way out of death by making an alliance of some sort with us. Maybe something to do with the Purgatory demons.” Dean watched him think that over and come to a conclusion.

“Well, I suppose you are his favorite pet, Dean. He might believe you, I’ll give you that one.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll share something. The Purgatory demons, as you call them, ruin humans as hosts for us. Whatever they do to the body makes it impossible for us to gain entry again.”

“We’ve seen how they change the host. Makes them no longer human. You’re incapable of possessing someone who’s been possessed by one of them?”

“I believe I said that, yes.”

He wasn’t sure how that helped them, but it was something they hadn’t known. “How about when one of you is possessing someone? Can one of them possess you that way?”

“Don’t know.”

But he did know. Dean could see it in the smirk on his lips. “I think you do.”

A muscle on his jaw ticked. “I think you’re mistaken.” Crowley half turned away and asked, “Have you noticed where they’ve been primarily congregating these days?”

“Overseas,” Sam replied. “Africa and China. Some here in pockets. The reports are odd. They’re on the news and internet, but there’s been no panic like there should be.”

“That’s a spell, probably cast over the world by Castel himself. Archangels could do that and Death can, of course.” He said it like they should have known it as fact already. “And?” When Dean and Sam merely glanced at each other, he heaved a long impatient sigh. “Why do I deal with you two cretins? Who do we all know who’s been traipsing around the globe putting hands on people in those exact countries? Must I spell it out?”

“Castiel.”

“Yes. Now take a closer look at the who the creatures are possessing and changing right now.”

Dean leaned against the workbench. “The ones he healed?”

“That’s a wide range, isn’t it? People all over the world. Hundreds. Thousands.”

Scary thought. Did raising a person from the dead count as healing? If it did…. Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to finish that thought. If it counted, then Jo and Ellen were among the number of those who could be hurt right now. “You’ve connected those dots how?” They could do a search on the U.S. victims, see how many really had been healed by Castiel, or at least how many had publicly admitted it.

“I have operatives all over the world, Dean. I’m the king of hell remember? It’s my job to know what’s going on with all the demons. Now…a little something in return. What do you know about them?”

“Wear silver.”

He blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yup. Pretty much.”

“That’s hardly worth what I told you.”

Dean shrugged. “You could be lying.”

“So could you.”

“Then, I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Don’t screw with me, Dean. You won’t like what I can and will send at you.”

“You gonna threaten me, Crowley? How about I just leave you here for Castiel? A little present. I think he’ll like that, us catching the demon behind his assassination. Should get us some brownie points.”

“More than a few.” Sam moved to the stairs. “I think we should call him in now.”

“Awesome idea, Sam.” He stepped towards the stairs as well.

“Wait!” There was a slight tinge of panic to Crowley’s voice. “If that’s all you have, that’s all you have. I’m teasing is all. You take things so seriously.” He peered around the basement like he really did expect something to happen. “You should be thanking me about Castiel anyway. Now you know the Colt won’t work. You didn’t have to dirty your hands to find out.”

It was tempting to leave Crowley for Castiel for real. He was contemplating it, dreaming a little of finally being rid of Crowley, but he was right. They should be thanking him. The heat was on his ass, not theirs and if Castiel was out hunting Crowley, he wasn’t going to be watching them. He’d be too distracted. They needed him to not be watching them. Dean looked at Sam, indicating the trap with a tilt of his head.

Sam nodded and stepped to it. He knelt and scratched away a section of one line.

“Much obliged, Lurch,” Crowley said and disappeared.

“Maybe we should have told him about Meg,” Sam said as he stood back up.

“No. Cas will be looking for Crowley.” He emphasized that and after a few seconds, Sam nodded.

“Right. We can…take care of other things.”

“Yeah. Let’s go see if Jo’s got anything yet.”

Dean turned out the light and followed Sam up the steps.