The Winchesters stared.

Cas promptly ignored them, snapping back the hammer with relative ease and placed the gun down. He reached over and picked up a new gun, saw that it needed cleaning and without permission from either boys, began to take it apart.

"Wow," Sam said. "I guess Dean taught you how to do that."

"Among other things," Cas mumbled, picking up a rag. "Once my mojo left, I was pretty much useless. The very first time I picked up a gun, nearly shot my foot off."

"I thought you broke your foot," Dean said.

"Two different foot stories," Cas grinned. "But you two seriously have to stop staring at me like that. I feel like I should be stripping."

Sam made a face. "Sorry. I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like 'stripping' out loud. Or cleaning guns. Or having facial hair."

"Well, once the apocalypse happened, I learned to adapt." He shoved the cleaning rag down the barrel, gave it a few quick swipes.

"So I guess you didn't find God, huh?"

Cas didn't slow down in his cleaning, didn't even blink. "Obviously."

"And Jimmy? What about him?"

Dean stepped forward, his voice lowering. "Sam…" he warned.

"It's alright," Cas said. He placed away the barrel and turned to Sam. "To be frank, I honestly don't know. His soul could still be inside, but I haven't felt his presence in years. Personally? I think he's dead." He turned away. "Why all the open-wound questions? Trying to hear how bad it gets?"

Sam said nothing. Cas answered anyways. "It's bad."

"Okay, enough," Dean announced loudly. "I'm going to grow a uterus with all of this drama. Sam, no more questions. Cas, shut up."

"Hey, he asked."

Dean ignored him. "Sam, have you found out where Shelia is buried?"

When Sam didn't answer right away, his eyes still trained on Cas, Dean said again, "Sam!"

Sam's gaze flickered to Dean and he sighed. He leaned over to his open laptop and flipped the screen towards him. "South End Cemetery," the laptop screen showed a picture of a beautiful grass hill, as little white headstones dotted the scenery. "Real high class. According to the website, it costs over five thousand just be buried here. Better the scenery, higher the prices."

Dean made a face. "Jeez, what's the point if you're not going to be around to enjoy it?"

"It gets better," Sam continued. "The money isn't just for the scenery, the cemetery also has security cameras and guards."

"What? Why?"

"To keep people like us out. A lot of these corpses are buried with their jewelry. They don't want anybody grave robbing them."

"Don't lump us into that category. We're not robbing them; we're simply digging one of them up so we can toast her bones."

"A hunt?" Cas suddenly spoke up, sounding interested. "Can I come?"

Sam and Dean threw each other looks. "Aw, come on," Cas insisted. "If Past-me could trust me to be alone with you guys, it means I'm not dangerous." He snapped the shotgun back together and inwardly winced at the implication. "Not to you guys, at least."


"It's not a ghost!"

The realization came a bit too late as zombie-granny suddenly grabbed Sam by the hem of his shirt and threw him. Sam landed hard, the muted thud only helped echo the sound of his pained cry.

Dean brought up his gun and shot double barrel into Zombie-Granny's chest, hoping it'll slow her down. Shooting rock salt at a zombie had as much effect as spraying water on a fish. Dean cursed and wished he'd trusted his instincts and brought his armor piercing rounds. He ducked and rolled under the zombie's arm, kicking out a leg to trip her.

Granny-zombie stumbled and fell and Cas, seeing the opportunity, jumped on her. With his knees he pinned her flailing arms, using his weight to hold her down. He quick whipped out his iron knife and began slashing at her neck.

Granny was screaming, calling him a "Dead mother fucker-!" before he cut through her vocal cords. He kept slashing downwards till he exposed the neck bone, shoved the knife between the vertebrae and twisted.

Granny went still.

Cas moved off of her, breathing hard. His hand ached from the violent act he just committed, but since the bitch was dead- for good this time- he could handle the pain. He wiped his brow and looked up. Dean was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean muttered, turning away. There was a rather sick look on his face. "Sam, you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam grunted, holding his arm gingerly. "I need to ice my shoulder, but other than that, I'm fine."

"Okay. You go to the car. Cas and I will dispose of the corpse."

Once Sam was gone, Dean gave a soft sigh and turned back to the decapitated corpse. Cas followed and wordlessly helped him pick up Granny and threw her back in her desecrated grave. He noticed Dean was avoiding his eyes. "Never expected to see you so squeamish."

Dean threw him a dirty look. He started to pour salt into the grave. "Never expected to see you decapitate a zombie."

"Why? You've seen me kill before."

"Yeah, but it's usually…" He gave a short slow wave. "Very Jedi-like."

"I'm not an angel anymore," Cas reminded him as he poured gas into the grave.

"Don't get me wrong. I think it's very cool you can still kick a lot of ass despite losing your mojo but…" he shrugged. "I guess I'm just glad you didn't turn out to be asshole, like everyone else."

Dean lit a match and tossed it into the open grave, watching it go up in flames.

Cas suspected Dean had only said that to save face. It was obvious Dean felt uncomfortable around him. Uncomfortable by the constant reminder that the future is totally and utterly fucked.

Except, for Cas, he was uncomfortable with Dean. Dean, who would murder in cold blood because it was necessary. Dean, who tortured a demon for seven hours straight, long after it had spilt its secrets. Dean, who once beaten a man to near-death because the idiot had the nerve to bring Sam up in a conversation.

This was not that Dean. This Dean still cared about his fellow human beings. This Dean who bit his tongue at times because he knew his words would hurt. This Dean still had hope.

They trudged back the Impala in tense silence, and Cas barely gave Sam a glance before going into the backseat.


A/N: There was suppose to be more to this, but because of school and a million of other things, I forgot what else was suppose to go in here. Alas, one more chapter to go. Next one is the longest.

Truth be told, I'm hating this fic a little, just because I feel it's not measuring up to my usual standard of writing. I will most likely rewrite certain bits. Especially the beginning. That annoys me the most.

R/R, peeps.