“Lorcan Murphy is using magic to track us,” Dean said. “And the critter isn’t his.”

“Better and better,” said Sam, glaring at them both. “We’re in way over our heads, you realize this, right, Dean?”

“It’s just another job,” Dean muttered and put his hand over his eyes.

Sam said accusingly to Castiel, “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said and Dean lowered his hand to look at him. “But you are not dead yet, and you will not be if you listen to me. Go. Now. Bobby’s place is safe and Dean needs to rest and heal. I will return when I can.” And then he was gone.

Sam stalked around the room a moment or two, and then punched the wall, hard enough to dent the drywall. “Shit,” he muttered and shook his hand.

“Try not to punch the walls, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Every time he says jump you ask how high! And he just admitted it, he doesn’t know if we’re going to come out of this one!”

“Sam,” Dean said, “we never know if we’re going to come out of any one. And sometimes we haven’t. God know, I should be dead a thousand times over and you’re just as bad. But we’re not dead yet and we’ve got a job to do. So, how about we take Castiel’s advice and get the hell out of here? I don’t want to face Lorcan again anytime soon. Man’s a dick.”

“Right, fine,” Sam said. “Going to do anything about the bleeding first?”

“New bandage,” Dean said and wobbled into the bathroom. He pulled down his jeans, wincing at how the cotton pulled on the wound, and clumsily changed the bandage. The bleeding wasn’t as heavy as he feared, but it had bled through the bandage and jeans.

He could hear Sam rattle around the room, throwing books into his bag and checking the drawers for their possessions, and sighed. He’d had friends Sam didn’t like before — hell, Sam had had friends Dean didn’t like, too, look at Ruby — but this was different. Sam’s instincts had turned out okay before, but this was Castiel. An angel, for God’s sake. One of the good guys, one of the few people to be completely honest with him, and Dean sometimes thought Castiel was turning into one of those best friends guys always had in movies. Someone you could say anything to, who wouldn’t judge you, someone who was always on your side no matter how one-sided the fight.

He was tired of defending Castiel to Sam, make no mistake about that. He didn’t know what else Castiel could do to prove he wasn’t going to abandon them.

Sam rapped on the door. “You ready yet?”

“Yeah,” Dean said and pulled up his jeans. “You’d better drive. I’m hoping the Percocet will set in soon.”

“Okay,” Sam said, hefting the duffel bag. “Do you want the briefcase up front with you again?”

“Yeah, please.” He hesitated as Sam unzipped the duffel and took the briefcase out. “Hey. Sam. About earlier –”

“Forget it,” Sam said. “We keep having the same fight over and over and I’m sick of it. Just . . . be careful, Dean, okay? Please? We still don’t really know what he wants from you.”

“We know he wants us to stop the Apocalypse,” Dean said as he put on his jacket. “That’s enough for me.”

Sam started to answer, but just pressed his lips together and took the keys when Dean held them out.

***

Lorcan paced his study, seething. On the sofa, his two employees were comforting each other as best they could without looking at his memorabilia, as they made no bones about the fact that it gave them the willies. Grady, whose brain was as slow-moving as his fists were big, was having a particularly hard time of it — who would have guessed that a hired killer would have such strong feelings about tangling with angels?

Jerome was patting his back and saying, “Now, now,” and Lorcan stopped in front of them, his hands on his hips. “Mr. Murphy,” Jerome began.

“Shut up and listen. This doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s different. They still have the Cup and we still have to get it back.”

“Sir,” Jerome said, and even though Lorcan glared at him he went doggedly on. “This is the real thing, sir. It’s more than my brother can take.”

“All of this,” Lorcan said, sweeping out his arm to indicate all of his artifacts, “is the real thing, too. Don’t be scared off by one little angel! We’re working for something bigger here!”

“Mr. Murphy,” said Grady, wringing his hamlike hands, “what’s bigger than God? I can’t do this.”

“God is dead,” Lorcan said and Grady looked even more distressed. “I serve another master. And you boys serve me, let’s keep in mind. You’re not going to let one guy scare you off a lucrative job, are you? One little guy?”

“An angel,” Grady said. “That’s what you said. An angel is protecting those guys.”

“What my brother is trying to say,” said Jerome, “is that we may need to renegotiate our pay, if we’re going to face something so . . . unusual.”