Highway to Hell

Chapter 5: Change of Plans

I was sipping on a mocha frappe reading a local newspaper in Nowhere, USA when the sound of flapping wings barely made it to my ears. A strong hand grasped my shoulder from behind.

"We're leaving," a familiar deep voice whispered harshly in my ear.

"We're sorry, the person you're trying to reach currently doesn't give a shit. Please leave a message after the fuck you." My eyes didn't leave the tiny print as I flipped the page with one hand and took another sip of the frappe.

The coffee shop suddenly turned into an abandoned warehouse, my drink and newspaper gone from my hand. "Hey!" I spun around to see Castiel looking more pissed off than I'd ever seen anyone before, and that's coming from the daughter of a psychotic bipolar alcoholic. "What's the big deal, Cupid?"

"It's been over a week," he said in his monotone way.

"Yeah, and?"

"I told you three days."

"And I told your errand boy two days ago to tell you to leave me alone."

He reached into his trenchcoat picket and pulled out a small baggie. "He also gave me this." He held it up for me to see.

I smelled it before I saw it. I ran forward and snatched it out of his hand. His other hand grabbed my wrist with an iron grip. "Tell your entourage to stay out of my stuff," I hissed.

"Would you like me to tell Dean what you've been up to?" His grip tightened.

I winced. "Dude, he doesn't give a shit!" I almost screamed at him. "He made it clear, he wants nothing to do with me anymore!"

He let go of my wrist. I stuffed the bag in my jacket pocket and watched as he walked away from me. I wiped a stray tear from my face and sighed deeply. "What are you doing, asswipe?"

He stopped a few yards away and looked back. "Don't move." He disappeared.

I groaned, and after a few moments pulled the bag out and studied it. I opened the bag and sniffed it, smiling to myself. As soon as I got away from Dumbo and his circus freaks I was planning on finding a nice quiet spot in the Rockies and rolling one up.

"You're gone for a week and you're already a druggie."

I jerked my head up to see Dean leaning against a support pole, arms crossed. His body was stiff, fingers tapping on his arms, eyes clouded with... disappointment? Resentment? Guilt? I couldn't tell. His shirt was wrinkled, jeans creased, boots coated in a mix of dirt and blood. When was the last time he had showered? And where was Sam?

"Dean," was all I could muster up. My body refused to cooperate. My stomach twisted into complicated knots, coming up into my throat and growing. I didn't know what to do. Should I zap out of there? Run over and hug him? Stand there like a deer caught in headlights? My subconscious opted for the third, and I stood there awkwardly, bag of green near my face.

He sighed and shook his head. "Now I know you were better than this."

"What can I say?" My mouth said without my permission. "When someone you look up to basically says they hate your existence, it's normal to take it out on a fifth of vodka and a few joints."

Guilt flashed across his eyes. "Orion-"

I cut him off. "I don't care enough. Why did he bring you here?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at his shoes. What was up with him? I'd never seen him this nervous. Dean was the rough tough don't-let-your-emotions-show soldier. Why was he acting different?

"Sam misses you," he suddenly blurted out.

I felt my eyes widen, my face burning. It caught me off guard. "Sam.. misses me?" I repeated.