Work Text:
Coal Country, Virginia. . .
Dean keeps himself busy these days, working, researching new cases with Sam, saving people, hunting things. You know, the family business. He wishes he didn't have to sleep at all, but even Dean Winchester runs out of steam after being up for days on end.
When he can find nothing else to do, he crashes out on his back in his T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, and often drunk. Eyes dry and red, staring at the ceiling with a headache pounding at his temples, he can't help himself, he remembers Purgatory.
He's tried drinking himself into a stupor to forget it, getting stupid, blackout drunk to avoid the memories, but it doesn't work. They come back to him like vengeful spirits, ripping at him, tearing at him, worrying away at his consciousness:
Cas just vanished, leaving him alone in the dark the moment they got there, his heart sunk as he heard the first stirrings of movement in the forest around him. He and Benny looked for Cas everywhere. Benny and Dean, slashing at fang-toothed souls in the forested ever-gloom of Purgatory.
The worst part of the killing was how much Dean liked it. It had always been a necessity before, getting rid of vamps and Rugarus, angry spirits and demons with Sam. He’d killed and been done with it. It’s like Sam keeps him sane somehow. But in Purgatory, he looked forward to the next fight, the next killing. He dreamed about it. He loved the feel of hot blood on his hands, the way his knife slid through flesh and bit to the bone.
He remembered bloody bits and chunks of the time they were surrounded by monstrous zombie-like creatures with shredded skin, snarling and clawing at them, even as Dean and Benny hacked pieces off them: arms, ears, hands and finally, the heads, which stopped them for good.
But not before a swipe of one of the monsters clawed hands got Dean across the forehead--three vicious, deep rents in his skin, blood pouring down his face, obscuring his vision. He armed it off, panting wildly, exhilarated, looking around in every direction to make sure no more monsters were on their way, and then running hell-bent to the next spot that might be safe. They ran into Cas, crouching down by the river for a drink of water, afterward, after a year of looking for him. Dean was in shock, still half-crazed from the fight.
"Cas?" Dean rushed to his friend, so glad to see him and crushed him in a hug that Cas hadn’t returned. “Cas! Damn it’s good to see you!”
“How did you find me?” he’d asked, warily.
“The bloody way,” Dean admitted.
Cas had been hiding out from Leviathan for a year, trying to keep them away from Dean.
Dean wakes out of thin sleep so many nights now, tangled in the blankets, to find himself shaking all over, bellowing, "Cas?" His breath ragged, just as exhausted as he'd been before he finally fell asleep.
As if Cas would be there, standing by Dean's bed. No, he totally failed Cas, left him behind in Purgatory. He wonders if Cas is okay all the time. Yeah, there's a lot of shit he's ashamed of from Purgatory. "Shoulda just called it hell and had done with it," he groans, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and rolling out of bed.
Looking back at the bed, he thinks what a luxury it is, just having a mattress and a pillow, sheets and blankets. Even if he doesn’t sleep well or much these days. He rubs a hand over his face, remembering sleep in Purgatory, what little there was of it: the deep silence and stillness of the forest, as if a bird had never sung there. Always feeling like you had one eye open, both ears peeled for any out of the ordinary sound. He thinks back and realizes that the only thing he was ever afraid of in Purgatory was of losing Cas.
And that’s exactly what he’d done, wasn’t it? Cas is still there, the poor bastard. . . And it’s all Dean’s fault.
________________
Sam has already been out while Dean was asleep. Probably went for a frickin' jog and green smoothies, he thinks.
As Dean stumbles out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, Sam slopes back in along with a blast of frigid winter air, a newspaper folded up under one arm, two coffees and a bag of doughnuts in his hands. Snow dusts his hair and shoulders. "Mornin' Sunshine!" Sam calls, smiling. Dean doesn't remember a thing after his tenth shot last night. And Sam looks awfully amused about something.
"What?" Dean growls, daring Sam to say something, anything.
Sam raises his eyebrows, "Oh, nothing!"
"Yeah, yeah..." Dean grumbles, not meeting Sam's eyes as he grabs a coffee out of Sam's hands. "Walk of shame, I know..."
"Hey, man, take it easy," Sam says, worry furrowing his brow, which only irritates Dean more. He knows everyone's been freaking about him since Purgatory. Knows he's been a live wire.
"So whaddawe got?" Dean asks, having trouble with the little plastic tab on the top of his coffee. He finally gets it and then burns his mouth taking too hasty a gulp. "Son of a—!"
"Dean," Sam says warily, setting his coffee on the table and falling into a broke-down armchair. "You should really get more--"
"I need a case, Sammy!" Dean interrupts. "I've rested enough. It's been weeks!" He takes another, more cautious sip at his coffee and discovers that Sam has put sugar in it. Again. Trying to sweeten him up maybe...
"Okay, okay," Sam throws up his hands in defeat and opens the newspaper on the table, leafs through for a minute and points to an article. "This guy, two towns over, apparently broke every bone in his body last night."
"Aaannd?" Dean prompts, as he takes a big, irritable bite of a jelly doughnut.
"While sitting in his lazyboy recliner watching tv. In his locked, fully burglar-alarmed house on the third floor. Plus, it’s the third case in this area in two months."
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Dean crows. "Sounds right up our alley. Let's get on it, Sammy!" He stands up, but Sam puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down into the chair.
"Can we at least have some breakfast first?"
__________________
After breakfast, they brave the snow to drive the Impala to the coroner’s office in Briery Creek, wearing suits and flashing their FBI badges. “Morning, sir,” Sam says in his best ‘agent’ voice. “Agents Johnson and Young. FBI. We’re here to see about your unusual death case.”
The coroner, a raw-bones skinny guy wearing tiny round glasses tries to get a good look at the IDs, but they stow them back in their coats officiously. “What’s the FBI interested in this case for? I thought you only concerned yourself with big-city dealings?” His voice is deep, really deep, which is disconcerting, coming from someone so tall and thin.
“We’re with the office that investigates unusual deaths,” Dean says, looking serious. Sam sighs and rolls his eyes.
“So, you’re like, what? Scully and Mulder?” The coroner smirks. This has been said before, Dean thinks, wanting to punch the guy out, but at least he hasn’t suggested that he and Sam are gay for each other yet. . .
“Something like that,” Sam agrees patiently, smiling. “Now can we see the body please?”
“Sure, sure,” the coroner says. “Come on back.”
________________
In the morgue, the coroner slides open the metal drawer, but leaves the body bag zipped. “Have at it, boys,” he says, waving as he walks out.
“Funny guy,” Dean mutters, shaking his head and unzipping the bag to reveal the corpse.
“Jesus,” Sam whispers as they get their first look. “That had to hurt!”
“Hell yeah,” Dean agrees, staring down at the poor guy, who looks strangely flattened. He allows that when you have every bone in your body broken, probably this would be the new normal. “He’s like oatmeal inside.”
They look over every inch of the poor guy’s crushed body. No unusual markings, unless you count a body-sized bruise as unusual. . .
“What the hell would do something like this?” Sam wonders aloud. “And they found him just sitting in his armchair in front of the TV.” He snaps on some gloves and forces open the guy’s mouth, shining the flashlight from his cellphone all around in there. They’ve seen cases where people have had strange monsters who fed from inside their mouths, spells on scrolls stowed under people’s tongues, you name it. “Nothing unusual here,” he says, shrugging.
“I wonder what he did for work?” Dean asks. “I mean, like maybe all three cases have something in common?”
“Right,” Sam agrees. “We’ll check on that next, I guess.”
__________________
Back at the motel, Dean stands over Sam’s shoulder, looking on at Sam’s laptop until Sam shoos him off. “Back off, man—you’re hovering! Why don’t you go lay down or something, and I’ll tell you when I know anything.” Times past, Dean didn’t want anything to do with the research, but now, things are different. Everything’s different.
So, Dean throws himself down on the bed and sighs. Sometimes he wishes he liked to read. He is tired, still, so he focuses on falling asleep, feels his aching muscles slowly relaxing, one by one. . .
And suddenly, he is back in Purgatory, having a dream that was really all memory. He was lying on his side near the fire, trying to get warm enough to fall asleep, tiny shivers wracking his body because it was so damned cold at night there. He was completely alone. Benny was off somewhere, probably hunting, and Cas. . . Well, Cas was never around.
Dean felt so alone, so raw, emptied out and chilled to the bone. He wondered if he’d ever see Sam and the Impala again, if he’d ever get out of Purgatory. He thought how even the worst times on Earth were better than this. He wished he had someone to talk to, or some alcohol to forget things for a while. And then a slight, cool breeze blew his hair around and there was Cas, standing on the other side of the fire in his ridiculous trenchcoat, looking as shattered and lost as Dean felt. Dean sat up, feeling unreasonably angry even as he hated himself for how much his heart lifts at the sight of his friend. “Cas?”
“Dean, I. . . I just had to check on you to make sure you were all right,” he said softly, without blinking.
“Well, I’m fine,” Dean growled, pulling his knees up, wrapping his arms around them for warmth and scooting closer to the fire. He hated the petulance in his own voice. “Why don’t you just go back to. . . well, to whatever it is you do when you aren’t with me.” Those days, he was so messed up, he begrudged Cas every minute he spent away from him.
“Dean,” Cas looked haunted. “You know I’m like a magnet for them. I’ll draw them to—”
“I know, I know!” Dean said, putting his chin down on his knees and staring into the fire, anywhere but into Cas’ eyes.
“I know you’re lonely,” Cas said, and Dean glared at him for noticing. “I am too, but. . .” He took a step towards Dean around the fire, and. . .
_________________
“Hey, Dean!” Sam calls, and Dean opens his eyes in alarm to find himself back in the motel room, feeling chilled.
“Whaaa?” His voice comes out sounding as groggy as he feels.
“You all right, man?” Sam is standing over him, looking down, worried. “You were calling out Cas’ name like you were—”Dean sits up and pushes Sam away. Doesn’t want Sam thinking he’s too precious for this world or anything.
“Just a. . . a bad dream, all right? Is that okay with you?”
Sam softens and tries to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but of course Dean pushes it away. “It’s fine, Dean. . . Listen, I found a connection between the cases.”
Dean tries unsuccessfully to straighten his hair out as he stands up, pulling his shirt down and back into place. He’s glad he doesn’t have to think about the dream. For now. . . “What is it?”
“Turns out that all three of these guys worked for this mine outside Briery Creek.”
“Huh,” Dean says. “So what’s in that mine?”
___________________
It’s a Tuesday, so the mine is open. Dean and Sam go to the trailer that passes for a front office (why are they all like that, Dean wonders?) and flash their badges at the secretary, a pretty twenty-something girl with long red hair in two loose braids that hang down on either shoulder. She’s wearing a heart-shaped gold locket around her neck with scrollwork etched into its front. The nametag on her desk proclaims her name is ‘Andi’. Dean pours on the Winchester charm with a big smile.
“I heard about y’all askin’ around,” she tells Sam with wide eyes, completely ignoring Dean. He gets it. Sam is cute, like a puppy dog apparently. He is not. “What can I do to help?”
Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Well Andi, you remember those three guys who all died over the last couple of months?”
“Oh yeah!” she brightens and fiddles with her necklace. “Every bone in their bodies broken? That was real sad. Big news, too.”
“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I bet. . . Well, they all worked at this mine around here.”
Andi looks puzzled at this. “Well, that’s probably not so weird, because near about everyone works doin’ something for this ol’ mine. . . ”
“Riiight,” Sam says. “Well, can you think of any old legends or ghost stories from this area that involve the mine or. . . or anything from around here?”
“Ghost stories?” Andi asks, perplexed. “Didn’t y’all say you was FBI agents? What are the—”
“Listen, Pippi—” Dean interrupts. “If you heard tell that we were in town asking questions, you probably also heard that our office investigates strange deaths. So yeah, we’re looking for any weird stories, ghosts, whatnot, that people might tell around these parts.”
Sam looks at Dean as if to say, “WTF?” but Andi seems to have gotten it. She thinks for a second, and then looks up.
“Ya mean like that old story about Wretched Molly?”
“Could be,” Dean agrees, feeling like now they’re getting somewhere with this. “Why don’t you tell us?”
“Okay,” she says, settling back in her chair, still talking mostly to Sam, who sits in one of the chairs opposite Andi’s desk and leans forward, fully engaged. “So, a long, long time ago, they say that Wretched Molly’s husband caught her cheatin’ on him with another miner, and he brought her up to the one of the shafts and pushed her down, where she died. And no one ever found her body or nothin’, on account of the shaft collapsing right after that. Now, parents always try to scare their kids into behavin’ by sayin’ Wretched Molly will come and get ‘em.”
Dean and Sam look at each other, satisfied. “I’d say that qualifies,” Sam tells Andi. “Do you know what Molly’s last name was, by any chance?”
Andi shrugs. “Who knows? That was ages ago. We all just know her as Wretched Molly.”
“Okay,” Sam says, shaking her hand. “We really appreciate the help, Andi.”
“Oh, sure thing!” she lights up even more, smiling and blushing.
_______________
The Briery Creek library is a tiny brick building that smells like dust. They sit in old wooden school chairs together in front of the one microfiche machine to try to find Wretched Molly. Sam looks like a giant, perched on his little chair.
They’ve got all the microfilm from 1890 to 1910 for the moment, guessing that a name like Molly was probably popular in that time frame. It’s been a long, boring afternoon, going through decades of dull newspapers. After so many crop failures, wedding announcements, new fire engines, Dean’s ready to tear his hair out. The librarian hadn’t a clue what year Molly’s death might’ve happened, or if it even had happened at all. “Every mining town has a haunted mine story,” she’d told them, disparagingly.
“Jesus, it’s cold in here,” Dean frowns. “Don’t they have heat anywhere these days?” He’s cold all the time, ever since Purgatory. It’s like his soul is chilled somehow.
“Feels fine to me,” Sam mutters absently, as he scrolls through 1908. “Wait a minute! Right here!” he says, pointing at the faded screen, at an article.
“Listen to this: ‘Local woman murdered. The mystery of Molly Benson’s disappearance has been solved. Her husband, Elijah Benson, came forward on Tuesday and confessed that he had caught her cheating on him and pushed her down the Wildcat bell pit, killing her. “I cannot live with myself anymore!” he allegedly told Sheriff Long.’” Sam turns to Dean. “This is it, Dean!”
“But if this is a vengeful spirit case, why wait almost a hundred years to start goin’ rogue?” Dean muses.
“Well, maybe her body was disturbed or something?” Sam suggests.
They ask the librarian if anything unusual has happened with the mine recently. “Nothing unusual, not that I know of,” she says, looking irritated at being interrupted at her crossword puzzle.
“Well, have any shafts been reopened, for example?” Dean asks. Sometimes subtlety isn’t called for in these situations. And Dean has never been a master of that art anyhow. That’s Sammy’s department.
The librarian thinks for a second and then nods. “They did reopen a really old vein recently—the Wildcat vein. I guess it was a bell pit—where they sink a shaft and dig coal out all around it until the roof collapses.”
“Why would they reopen it?” Dean asks.
“Well, they have better mining technology now, obviously,” the librarian tells him, as if he is a stupid first grader.
“And was anything strange found when they opened the shaft up again?” Sam asks.
“How would I know?” the librarian shrugs. “What do I look like, Google?”
___________________
“Everyone’s a joker,” Dean grumbles as they leave the library, shuffling through the slushy snow on the ground. “And why couldn’t we ever have cases in frickin’ Hawaii? I hate snow!” He kicks at it angrily.
“Dean, why don’t we just go back to the motel, you can take a hot shower and—”
“I’m fine, Sammy. . . Let’s just get to that mine, figure this damned case out and get somewhere warm.” He really is cold all the time now.
He lets Sam have the keys to the Impala on the way over to the mine and looks out the window at the snowy road spooling out ahead of them. He wonders how Cas is. If Cas feels alone and lost. Remembers the dream/memory he had earlier, and what he would’ve seen if Sam hadn’t woken him up:
“Don’t,” Dean warned Cas, putting one hand up, and Cas hesitated, his hands balled up by his sides, staring at Dean in that disconcerting way, like he never needs to blink.
“Dean,” Cas whispered, taking another step toward him, as if Dean really was a wild animal that he needs to gentle into submission. “You’re shivering.”
“Well, it’s frickin’ cold here, Cas. What do you expect?” Why did he have to be so angry all the time? It was Cas’ fault they were there after all, but somehow, after a year of trying to find Cas, Dean didn’t know how to feel anymore. He he had just been so happy to see Cas still alive, himself and not filled with damned souls or trying to take over the world or play God or whatever. It still haunted him that he and Sam tried to kill Cas not so long ago.
Cas took another couple of steps toward Dean, who decided not to protest anymore. “Come here,” Dean told him softly, finally looking him in the eyes.
_____________________
At the mine again, they find Andi at her desk. She looks surprised, but pleased. “Oh, hi!” she says to Sam. Honestly, is Dean totally invisible or something?
“Hi Andi,” Sam says. “We were wondering if you could tell us anything about when the Wildcat vein was reopened a few months ago?”
“Like what?” she asks, shrugging and toying with her necklace.
“Well, did they find any bodies when they reopened it?”
“Oh yeah,” Andi’s voice gets all hushed. “Like this old skeleton, all jumbled up at the bottom, you know?”
“So what did they do with the bones?” Dean asks, knowing they have their answer.
“Well, I don’t rightly know,” Andi says. “I’d guess they put them on the slag heap or something.”
“They didn’t bury them?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Andi says. “They don’t have much time for stuff like that here.”
“Where is this slag heap?” Dean wants to know. Andi tells them how to get there.
__________________
The slag heap is too close to the mine itself, so they’ll have to wait until it’s dark to try to find the bones. Not optimal, but that’s the job, Dean thinks. It’s never optimal.
So they head back to the motel, where they’ll try to get some rest until it’s time to go. Where Dean will have more time to think. Just what he doesn’t want.
Somehow, he manages to fall right to sleep, even without a drink to help him along.
As always, he was back in Purgatory. He just couldn’t seem to escape it. He couldn’t even control what comes back to him. No, he’s brought to Cas that night at the fire:
Cas sat down next to Dean on the hard ground, looking far too grateful. Neither of them said anything for a while. The only sounds were of the fire crackling and popping. Dean could feel the warmth radiating from Cas’s shoulder next to him. He wanted to just lean into that warmth, absorb it.
“Dean, I’m really sorry,” Cas told him, with a quick sidelong glance. “I hate that you have to be here. It’s all my—”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been over this. Benny’s gonna show us where the human exit is and then I’ll take you both home.”
“And you know I don’t think that will work for an angel,” Cas said, looking at him straight on, his eyes wet and shining.
“Cas, you have to try!”
Cas looked tortured, his blue eyes anguished. “Dean. . .”
“We’re family, Cas. And I don’t leave family behind.” Dean couldn’t help it, he shivered from the cold and huddled more into himself.
“Dean, you’re going to freeze to death. At least let me warm you up?” Cas slid one arm tentatively around Dean’s shoulders, and that did it. Dean found himself leaning into Cas’ warmth, resting his head on Cas’s shoulder. He hadn’t been touched by another human being in a year—not that Cas exactly qualifies—but he’d take it.
_____________
“Time to go, sleepyhead,” Sam says, shocking Dean into the real world. Once again, he hauls himself out of bed, goes and splashes some water on his face, brushes his teeth and off they go.
“Dean. . . I know I’m not supposed to say anything,” Sam begins as they’re driving back to the mine.
“Then don’t!” Dean says. “Just don’t, Sammy. . .” But Sam has never been one to listen.
“I know you’re really worried about Cas,” Sam says. “But we both know it’s not your fault he’s there. We just have to hope he’ll find some way to get out of Purgatory and come back to us.”
“Yeah, thanks for the pep rally, Coach,” Dean says lamely. Is he that obvious? He does miss Cas, that’s for sure. He misses seeing the trenchcoat, the guy’s stupid angelic misunderstandings, hell, even his unwavering innocent stare. “You’re wrong though,” Dean says fiercely. “It’s my fault Cas is still there.”
“Dean, you told me what happened,” Sam says. (Not everything, Dean thinks) “Cas let go at the last minute. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, I know. . .” Dean says.
“Let it go, man,” Sam tells him. “There’s nothing you can do until we see him again. And we will.”
Dean’s not so sure. He can’t imagine how Cas would get out of there. . . He can’t imagine never seeing his friend again. He’s lost so many people. His mother, his father, Bobby, Jo and Ellen. . . He can’t count them all. . .
___________________
For once, it’s not hard for Sam and Dean to find something. Andi was right: they apparently just threw poor Molly Benson’s bones right on top of the slag heap. (Who does that?) They only had to dig for a couple of minutes before coming across a jumble of bones and a gaping skull. “Let’s light ‘er up, Sammy,” Dean says, digging out a container of salt and his lighter.
“Whoa, whoa! Not so fast,” Sam says. “We’ve got to move the bones away from the slag heap first, so we don’t set the whole pile on fire.”
“Oh, right—coal,” Dean says.
They pile her bones about ten feet away, pour gas and salt all over the pile, and then light it up unceremoniously. “Rest in peace, Wretched Molly,” Sam says, unexpectedly. “Poor woman. . .”
“That poor woman just killed three innocent men, Sammy.”
“Still. . .” Sam muses, shaking his head. “No one should have to die like that.”
They stand and watch the flames until they burn out and then cover what remains with shovels of slag from the heap and head home, ready to leave the next morning.
_________________
In the middle of the night, Dean dreams again:
“I’m so tired, Cas. . .” Cas patted Dean’s back awkwardly. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take, you know?”
“I know,” Cas agreed, his voice hushed. “Why don’t you go to sleep, and I’ll watch over you?”
“What about attracting monsters?” Dean teased, raising his eyebrows at him.
“I’ll keep my eye out for them,” Cas said, not getting the joke. “Come on, lie down and rest.”
Dean nodded wearily and lay back on his side, pillowing his head with one arm. He couldn’t help himself. He fell asleep moments later, exhausted. A while later, he woke up to find Cas sitting beside him, poking at the fire with a stick, his other hand softly on Dean’s shoulder, watching him intently.
Dean watched his profile for a bit before saying, “Come on. No sense in us both being cold and tired. Lie down with me, Cas. You deserve some rest.”
“What about attracting monsters?” Cas teased. Okay, so he did get the joke.
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Dean promised.
Instead of lying down next to Dean, Cas curled up directly behind him and slipped an arm around his waist, resting his hand on Dean’s chest. Dean felt a rush of warmth in his stomach and chest and stiffened for a second, but then let himself relax into it. It just felt too good to feel a body next to his, even if it’s Cas. Especially because it’s Cas. . . He hadn’t been warm in the whole year he’d been in this damned place.
“Is this all right, Dean?” Cas’s worried voice rumbled against Dean’s back.
“Yeah, just don’t go all Brokeback Mountain on me or anything,” he joked nervously.
There was a moment of silence, and then Cas said, “Dean, although my angelic body is rather large, I’m hardly the size of an entire mountain! And my vessel contains my angelic body perfectly, so you won’t be in any danger.”
“Okay Cas. Thanks for clearing that up for me. . .”
_________________
“Dean, wake up!” Sam says, and Dean groans and rolls over to see Sam towering over him for the third time today. Or is it tonight? He doesn’t even remember. He can still feel Cas’ body pressed against his back, his arms wrapped around him, and he can’t help himself: he blushes.
“What is it?” he asks, gruffly.
“You didn’t hear all those sirens just a minute ago?” Sam asks. “About three different emergency vehicles just went by the motel really fast.”
“Yeah, it was probably a fire or something, Sammy. Go back to sleep.”
“I just had a funny feeling about it, Dean. But I guess maybe you’re right.”
________________
Dean finds it hard to go back to sleep, but when he does, he was back in Purgatory as usual. Unfortunately, it isn’t back to the memory of lying by the fire with Cas. This time, he was at the human exit from Purgatory, holding Cas’ hand for dear life and trying to pull him through the exit before it closes on him. He felt incredible forces pulling on him, forces that know he didn’t belong here, forces that want him back on Earth, and Cas in Purgatory.
“Cas, hang on!” he shouted, feeling his sweaty fingers slip a little more every second.
“I can’t, Dean!” And he just let go and Dean was flung backward, away from Cas.
“No!” Dean shouted. “Cas!”
______________
The next morning, as they’re checking out of the motel, the clerk asks them if they heard about the poor guy who was found, crushed to death in his bed last night? Sam looks at Dean like, I told you so.
When they get outside, Dean says, “What the hell did we miss, Sammy? We burned those bones. Could we have missed one?”
“I feel like maybe we did miss something. . .”
“What?” Dean wants to know.
“Remember when we talked to Andi?”
“Who?”
“Dean, the girl at the mine office!”
“Oh, right. The one who’s hot for you?”
“Dean!” Sam snaps. “Well, she was wearing this really old-looking necklace that she kept playing with,” Sam says. “She just didn’t seem someone to own something that nice, you know?”
Dean doesn’t remember a necklace at all. Just how she totally ignored him for his brother. “So?”
“Well, I wonder if she got it when they found Molly’s bones? Like, I wonder if it was Molly’s necklace?”
______________
Back at the mine office for the third time, and it’s snowing again. (Really?!?) Andi’s sitting behind her desk, scrolling through tumblr on the big old computer. She’s wearing the heart-shaped pendant again, or still. “That’s a pretty necklace, Andi,” Sam tells her and she blushes.
“Oh, thanks! Mr. Simpson, my boss gave it to me a couple of months ago. It’s real old.”
“Do you know where he got it?”
Andi looks off to the side and shakes her head quickly. “Not really, no. . . I’m not sure, you know?”
“Andi,” Sam says seriously. “I think that pendant may have belonged to Molly Benson—Wretched Molly?”
Andi shakes her head again. “To a dead person? Ew, gross! Mr. Simpson wouldn’t do that, would he?” But she doesn’t look convinced, looking at the necklace in her hands as if it is a dead fish instead of made of gold.
“He might have,” Sam says. “Andi, we need to have that pendant so we can make sure Molly’s spirit can rest.”
“Is she the reason all those men died?” Andi asks. Apparently she believes in ghosts. Good for her, Dean thinks.
“Yes, and this is probably the only thing still tying her to this world, Andi.” Sam holds his hand out for the necklace, and Andi takes it off and hands it to him.
“Okay, if y’all think it’ll help. . .”
“It will, Andi. You’ve done a good thing,” Sam tells her.
_______________
That night, they bring the necklace back to the slag heap, where they light a pile of coals on fire and wait until they’re red-hot embers and put Molly’s necklace on the fire to melt. As it begins to soften, they hear a soft “Ahhhhh,” all around them and feel a cold wind blow right through them.
“That must’ve been about the easiest vengeful spirit case we’ve ever had!” Dean says.
“Everyone’s gotta catch a break once in a while, right?” Sam replies, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Hopefully that’ll be the end of this. Now let’s get back to the Impala and get out of dodge!”
_________________
Dean lets Sam drive again (all right, it’s practically unheard of, but he’s tired) while he rests his eyes in the passenger seat. He wonders what Molly thought as she was dying. Did she wonder if she would ever see her lover again? Did she even have time to think as she fell?
He can’t stop dreaming about that night with Cas. . .
They lay, pressed together for a long time, neither of them sleeping. (Well, Cas didn’t need to anyhow) Dean felt a tingling everywhere Cas’ fingers touch against his chest as if they were filled with electricity. Finally, he worked up the courage, slipped his hand into Cas’ hand and held it tightly, interlacing their fingers. “Thanks, Cas. . .”
“For what, Dean?”
“For being here. With me.” Dean turned around to face Cas, feeling crazy, feeling so much fear for once.
Cas looked back at him, as he always did, his blue eyes deep and hurt, somehow. Dean put his trembling hand on Cas’ waist, under the trenchcoat, not even sure what he was doing. He slid his hand under Cas’ white shirt and felt how smooth and warm the skin was there. “Dean,” Cas murmured, his voice hoarse.
“Shhh,” Dean said, and pressed his forehead to Cas’.
Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him in closer, until their chests were just about touching. Cas felt like a wildfire this close, so warm and alive. Cas took his hand and gently tilted Dean’s chin up until Dean was looking right into Cas’ eyes. They just stared at each other for a long time, Dean thinking, am I really going to do this? Am I?
And then their lips pressed together, both of them groaning with satisfaction. Dean had lied to himself for a very long time, telling himself he didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t have feelings for Cas that went beyond friendship. And then he’d see the way Cas looked at him when he thought Dean didn’t see him. The longing in his eyes. Well, Dean guessed that just like Vegas, what happened in Purgatory stayed in Purgatory. . .
Cas broke the kiss at last and looked at Dean again for a few seconds, a shy smile on his face. “Dean, I. . .”
“I know. . .”
______________
“Dean, maybe it would help if you talked a little about Purgatory,” Sam says a while later. “It’s obviously weighing on you, man. . .”
Dean doesn’t say anything for a long time, just watches the broken yellow line disappearing under the Impala as they speed through the night. “I don’t know, Sammy. . .” He shakes his head slowly. “Maybe some bodies are better off staying buried. . .”