If she could, she'd start all over again, take Bill and Jo far, far away and...
The wooden slats of the sagging top step dig into the backs of her thighs, but she doesn't move. It's too hot to change out of her cut-offs and tank top and into something better suited to protecting her skin, and she's feeling too lazy to move to one of the equally rickety chairs on the porch. If she closes her eyes and concentrates, she can hear the faint whine of the fans whirring in the back bedroom, but otherwise, there's no sound. Even the crickets have given up and headed for cooler pastures. Unlike other nights, this is a good quiet. The first in a long, long while. She should go ahead and head outta Dodge while it's still dark, but she's got time yet. Dean's always out for a good couple of hours after sex – she'll be long gone by the time he wakes up. And if it makes her a coward to sneak away in the dead of night, then so be it. Being called names has never bothered her much, especially not when she's got more important things that need her attention. She only hopes Dean will forgive her one day. More than anything, she hates that she's the next person in a long line to cut out on him, but she knows herself well enough to know that she can't get him involved. Not in this. He's got his own path, and she's got hers, and that's the end of it. At least, she's not leaving him completely on his own. "It's alright, Cas, you don't have to lurk back there like a ghost," she says, without turning. She'd know the sound of Castiel's deliberate footsteps anywhere. Not to mention, the air always coalesces in a vacuum whenever he appears. She wonders if it's the wings or something else. Castiel sinks beside her on the top step. He's long since ditched the much-maligned suit and trenchcoat, but it still looks weird to see him in a pair of jeans and a nondescript blue t-shirt that's no match for the vivid blue of his eyes. Although the casual clothing does make it easier for him to blend in a crowd, the effect is mostly ruined by the fact that Castiel never shows any reaction to the heat. Ellen guesses angels don't sweat. Must be a nice trick, she thinks, and tries not to think about how sticky her skin feels. "I have disturbed your contemplation," he says, in that deep, gravelly voice that's so at odds with the slenderness of his borrowed body. "I'm sorry." She shakes her head. Only Cas could make that sound sincere. She's gonna miss him. "Don't be. I wasn't contemplating so much as communing with my good friend Jim Beam." Castiel looks around the front yard, then gives Ellen a puzzled look. "I do not see anyone else." "One day, you're gonna learn irony," Ellen smiles, then pats his knee. It's too bad she won't be around to see it. For all that he's got millennia on her, sometimes he reminds her of a young colt. All wide eyes and earnestness. It's kind of endearing. "Jim Beam's a type of bourbon." She holds up the half-empty bottle. "Feel like joining me so I don't feel like so much of a lush?" Castiel opens his mouth, then appears to think better of what he'd been about to say. Silently, he nods, and Ellen passes him a full shot glass. He downs it in one swallow, without even grimacing. "I had hoped to speak with Dean. There's been...news." The way he says it, Ellen knows it can't be good. Then again, it never is. Not these days. But she refrains from asking. If she asks, then he'll tell her, and then she'll be tempted to stay and help. She knows that song and dance. Not your fight, Ellen. Not anymore. "He's getting some shut eye now, but I expect he'll be up at first light," she tells him, and ignores the pang in her heart at the thought of him waking up alone. "I shall wait here, then," Castiel replies with that serious set to his jaw, and seems to settle on the step like he'd be prepared to wait as long as it took for Dean to stumble out, bleary-eyed and in desperate need of coffee or about twelve more years of sleep. She can't even imagine possessing that sort of patience. "You love him, don't you?" she ventures, but it's not really a guess. She's suspected for a long time that there's something going on between them. Not that either of them had been especially discreet. "We have..." Castiel pauses, as if searching for the right word "...a connection," he finishes. "One that transcends my role as his protector." He makes it sound so prim. But Ellen knows, better than just about anyone, that Castiel's got hidden depth and passion just lurking under his starched surface. "Well, God knows he needs a protector, so I'm grateful to you." She holds up the bottle. "Want another?" Castiel holds up the shot glass, and offers what, for him, passes as a smile. "Is this what you would call bonding?" "Something like that," she chuckles, without irony. Here, with only the stars overhead and the junked out cars strewn along the grass like silent sentries and the trees around them as witnesses, the truth comes a little easier. And the truth is, she's tired. She's so goddamn tired, and the road ahead of her stretches out into infinity. It feels good to simply relax, and know that Castiel expects nothing of her, wants nothing from her. "So, what do you think happens now?" "I do not know." Castiel looks out to the horizon, but she can tell that his attention is far away. "There have been rumors that the angels might return to the host of Heaven and regroup." Regroup? Since when do angels need to regroup? Ellen's no fool, and she knows Castiel knows it, too. Regroup sounds a lot like retreat to her. Like maybe the angels are thinking of giving up. "And what happens to you if they do?" "Again, I do not know. My Father trusted me with a mission – to keep Dean safe and alive for the final fight with Lucifer. If I abandon him now..." He leaves the rest unspoken, but Ellen doesn't need the words. If Castiel leaves, then he'll have abandoned Dean just like everyone else. Just like she's about to do. "Does Dean know of your decision?" Castiel asks abruptly, as if he's read her mind. And maybe he has. She wouldn't put it past him. Of course, he might have noticed the backpack sitting beside her, too. "No. Better not to have the argument. But, could you...?" She unzips one of the pouches, and places a slightly crumpled envelope in Castiel's hand, closes his fingers over it. It feels like passing a torch, and some part of her soul dims in the action. "Could you make sure he reads this? When the time's right?" "Of course." His smile is at once weary and warm. "Are you certain you don't want me to look for you? I could cover more ground, and faster." "No, this is something I gotta do on my own. She survived Detroit, Cas. I know she did." Knows in her heart of hearts, and that's something that no one can take away from her. "You do not have to explain your faith to me, Ellen," he says, simply, and she lets out a small breath. Yeah, she probably doesn't. Dean's in safe hands. And Ellen has a job to do.
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