Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For someone who doesn’t run at all if he can help it, the older Winchester brother could definitely run fast. Sweat dripped steadily down his forehead and into his green eyes as he sprinted along a dimly lit country road, cutting sharply left towards a recently cut field, stacks of hay dotted throughout it, wrapped and ready for removal. There was a metal gate, locked, and a sturdy wooden fence dividing the farmer’s space from the road.

Dean’s legs pumped, his thighs aching, and his chest heaved, but he didn’t slow. He carried a shotgun, wearing boots and plaid rather than anything intended for running, and despite the sweat, he wore a pleased grin.

As Dean vaulted up over the fence, the edge of his shotgun knocked against the metal and he fumbled, dropping the weapon down into the grass below. Shit, he thought tiredly. I can come back for it. Just gotta reach Sammy.

Lungs on fire, he tore through the first field into a second of knee-high wheat, screaming his brother’s name as he headed towards their planned meeting point—an old-fashioned red barn that flanked the opposite side of the farmer’s territory.

“Any time now, Sammy! Yesterday would be good!”

He flew through the barn door, his chest aching from the long run. He quickly spun and worked to close the door behind him, lowering a beam of wood into place to brace it.

“Sammy!” Dean turned, wheezing desperately, looking into dark corners with an increasingly frantic expression.

Gasoline had been spread about, he could smell it—so he knew his brother had been there, following through with their plan. Dean’s job had been to lure the werewolves down into the barn away from the town. Sam was setting up the barn and should have been there ready to welcome Dean’s stinky new friends with a big ring of fire and a spray of silver bullets.

A solid thud rattled through the barn as the first of Dean’s followers threw herself into the double doors, swiftly followed by three or four of her comrades. The entire building shook.

Backing into the middle of the floor, still yelling for his brother, Dean pulled out a small handgun from his waist and checked the magazine. Three silver bullets left. He’d seen at least nine werewolves run at him from the nearby town alleyway.

Not great odds.

Wishing he had his shotgun back, he set his feet and screamed one last time for Sam as the door started splintering.

Raising the gun and smoothly breathing out in preparation, Dean pushed down his panic as much as he could. He had years of experience bluffing his way through near-death experiences, this would be no different, he hoped. He just had to hold out until Sam reappeared. Once they were done, he could cuss him out over a cold beer.

THUD!

CRASH!

The first wolf shoved its ugly muzzle through the gap and Dean’s bullet caught it right between the eyes.

The second and third of the beasts pushed through immediately behind, and he wasn’t so lucky.

Pushed to his knees with foul breath bearing down on him, Dean closed his eyes.

Terrified, he began to pray.

A groan rose in Dean’s throat, but never quite made it to his lips. Vague, blurry flashes of light and roaring sound hit him, interspersed with dark and silence.

There was a deafening screeching and splintering of wood as a black, 1967 Chevy Impala took out the barn doors and slammed its brakes right in front of him.

Shotgun shells blasted… his shotgun.

A flapping trench coat and a furious expression.

Silence, again.

Blood covered hands, frantic but gentle, gathering up the torn wide remnants of Dean’s legs and chest, growling and yelling in a language that wasn’t Dean’s own. 

Damn angel was cussing me out in Enochian, he registered, beginning to black out again.

The bumping of the Impala's wheels tearing through the wheat field brought Dean to consciousness. Or a slow, fuzzy semblance of consciousness, at least.

A low moan fell from Dean’s mouth as his eyes struggled to open, falling on a strikingly handsome man with messy, dark hair and eyes like deep salt pools. Castiel was sat in the driver’s seat beside him.

“Cas,” Dean croaked out. “You came.”

“Of course,” the angel responded solemnly. His eyes remained resolutely forward.

Dean thought he could hear feral growling in the distance behind them. Unable to turn his head, he put two and two together to work out that there were werewolves chasing his speeding car. Remembering the Impala taking out the barn doors, he spared a brief prayer for Baby's condition, before refocusing on the driver.

“You’re angry.” Dean tried to move his head in Castiel's direction, but his lungs seemed barely capable of breath let alone actual movement.

“You should have waited for me, Dean.” Castiel’s rumble was furious but also tinged with resignation. The situation wasn’t a new one. “You should have contacted me long before you did.”

“S-sorry,” Dean mumbled weakly. His left arm seemed to be the only appendage that would cooperate, getting as far as reaching to Castiel’s wrist as he held the wheel of the battered Impala.

Cas shifted, releasing the wheel and turning his wrist to grab Dean’s hand in his own as he steered the car onwards with his other hand. Dean blinked blearily at their clasped hands, registering something he wasn’t sure of and couldn’t, currently, really focus on.

“Just stay with me, Dean,” Castiel responded gently, though Dean noted that the angel’s eyes were dark and troubled. “I did what I could to stop you bleeding out, but we need to get somewhere safe, so I can help you further—just stay still.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered closed again and Castiel pressed more firmly on the gas pedal, eating up the distance back to town at a thoroughly illegal pace.

“Keep talking to me Dean—Dean?” Castiel’s concerned voice raising in panic and his solid, squeezing hand were all Dean was aware of as the darkness took him back.

“Dean!”

Dean could feel a tingling chill flowing through him as a dilapidated ceiling cleared into view. He breathed in a shuddering, painful breath, the feeling of grace pumping through his body both familiar and somehow comforting.

It wasn’t a sudden blast as he was used to. This was slower, more careful. Healing a minor wound with an angel’s grace took a mere second, but knitting a shredded body back together took more work, Dean realized.

He lay on top of the same motel bed he had slept in the previous night, the faded green blanket pulled up to his hip bones. It felt strangely heavy around him. To his left, Castiel sat on a hastily pulled up chair next to the bed, his hands spread out on Dean’s bare chest. His eyes were closed as he worked.

Dean turned his head slowly, watching Castiel for a moment as he gathered his breath.

“Thank you,” he murmured, hoping he was smiling at the angel but not quite sure if his facial muscles were cooperating.

“Welcome back.” Blue eyes opened to meet Dean’s as Castiel withdrew his hands. He gave Dean a small, rare smile. The angel reached for Dean’s hand, holding it as he indicated that Dean could use it to lever himself up and sit back more comfortably against the pillows. “How are you feeling?”

Grimacing, Dean rearranged himself as he responded. “Like I got shredded by a pack of werewolves, and then stripped and roofied by an angel.” He gasped weakly, surprised at the effort simply talking took.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s almost accurate,” he said. “Except the werewolves did practically all the stripping. You barely had any skin when I got there Dean, never mind clothing.”

The werewolves… the barn… Sam.

“Sam—” Dean immediately began to struggle upwards as his memories raced back.

Castiel held tighter onto Dean’s hand and used his other arm to firmly pin him to the bed.

“No. Dean, you have to rest. I couldn’t see Sam when I rescued you—but I couldn’t see a body either, so no need to assume the worst. I’ll head back out to look for him as soon as we have you on the mend—"

Dean began to interrupt, but Castiel continued angrily.

“One Winchester at a time! You need to be sensible for once, Dean. You had organs on the outside of your body instead of the inside, by the time I got to you. You will not move.”

Defeated, Dean blanched a little.  He hadn’t realized it was quite that bad.

“Alright Cas,” he murmured, squeezing the angel’s hand reassuringly. “Just… find my brother, okay?”

“Of course, Dean.” Placing his other hand on the Dean’s forehead, Castiel gathered up his grace and went back to work.

Stepping back into the empty barn in the early morning light, Castiel surveyed the scene before him. A thick pool of blood coated the hay-strewn floor where Dean had fallen. Shaking his head, Castiel raised a hand to will it away, having no desire to remember the scene of his best friend seizing, flayed to the bone as he’d burst through the doors with the Impala.

Dying. Dean had been dying, Cas recalled dully. Even seconds later…

Stepping forward, Castiel shook the thoughts away. He could yell at Dean later. First, he needed to find the younger Winchester brother, and finish off any remaining werewolves that hadn’t already fled.

Using his grace, he had gotten Dean well on the mend and then sent him into a deep sleep, knowing from experience that was the only way to stop him from worrying about his little brother. Though at well over six feet tall and with shoulders like a football pro, Sam was hardly the ‘little’ Winchester. Nonetheless, Dean worried. Always.

Castiel had returned to the barn to see if he could pick up a trail. His grace somewhat depleted from Dean’s intensive healing, the angel was a little weary as he picked his way through the dilapidated structure, making note of several werewolf bodies he’d need to dispose of.

The building still smelled faintly of gasoline. Near a small side door, Castiel found the red gas canister that Sam had used. He had created the circle of flammable material that should have been waiting for Dean when he arrived, but it had never been lit. Castiel knocked the can curiously with his boot; it was empty.

He stepped out of the side door, calling out, “Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

The field was quiet. Then, there was a small rustle in the patch of trees to Castiel’s right—it was just enough to tip him off to the leaping werewolf before he landed. Twisting to catch the beast mid-flight, Castiel had him down in one swift move; on his back with one of his boots on the beast’s chest.

Reaching forward, Castiel shoved a little into the creature’s mind, forcing him to transform back to his calmer, more human visage.

Calmer, Castiel thought grumpily, but definitely not nicer. This dude stinks.

The angrily thrashing male beneath Castiel’s foot looked to be mid-fifties, with lank, greying hair that hung past his shoulders and one slightly off-center eye. Leaning down onto his knee and applying pressure to the wolf’s chest, Castiel heard his ribs begin to crack before the monster got the message and stopped fighting.

Must be purebloods, Castiel considered calmly. The full moon is over.

“My friend was here last night,” he questioned flatly. “Tell me where he is.”

The bad eye struggled to focus on the angel, hovering slightly to the left of looking him in the face, despite the werewolf’s best efforts. “Fuck you,” he spat out.

Castiel sighed, snapping a few more ribs with his foot. “I’m tired, wolf. Don’t mess with me.”

A scream of pain erupted from the werewolf, and blood splattered out of his mouth. He must have pierced one of his lungs. “I can’t!” He gasped desperately. “She’ll kill me if I tell you!”

Castiel’s smile was cold. “Well, then you are in a tight spot because I’m going to kill you if you don’t.”

The panic in the creature’s eyes was palpable. “No! No, no! She—no!”

Before Castiel knew what was happening, the creature reached up, grasping his own face in his hands. He wrenched his own neck to the side with a sickening crunch.

The werewolf’s terrified mismatched eyes glassed over in an instant, dead.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since Castiel had returned their motel to tell Dean about the werewolf who had killed himself rather than talk.

He had searched the barn and surrounding area for several hours into the night, before realizing he had not a single lead to go on. Knowing that the werewolves had answered to a ‘she’ turned out to be no help at all; every day since he had returned to the barn, searched the fields, and pounded the pavements of nearby towns. All of it wasted time with no results.

They were in southern Wyoming a way off Route 80, an hour out from Evanston in a tiny town that, other than the pack of werewolves they had chased here from Rock Springs, seemed to have absolutely nothing to hide.

Castiel had struggled to keep Dean in bed. By the second day, he had yelled until Castiel half-carried him out to see the damage caused to the Impala by the angel’s run-in with the barn doors. Luckily, beyond a few dents and scratched paint, the door had put up little resistance. Nonetheless, Dean was displeased.

Dean was often displeased with Castiel, though the angel figured he deserved it, much of the time.

On the morning of day three, Castiel retrieved his well-used badge from his duffel. It announced him as a simple human with the power to get information that sometimes even an angel could not: a fake FBI Agent named R. Plant. There were others, Slade, Hagar, and Ulrich, references he didn’t understand until more recently; They’d all been meaningless names when Dean had given them to him many years ago. The concept of lying to get what you needed had been elusive back then, but now it was as ingrained in him as anything else. He slipped the badge into his trench coat pocket. It was time to go bigger. Sighing, he pushed himself off the edge of Dean’s bed where he had been sitting.

“The police station should be opening soon Dean,” he said dully. “I should go and speak to them, see if they have any leads I can follow.”

“Then I’m coming with you.” Dean shuffled to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the unpleasantly brown motel carpet.

“Dean…” Castiel looked at him, chastising. “You really should be resting up—”

Dean ignored him, standing stiffly and reaching towards his duffle for a clean dress shirt.

Castiel watched him for a moment, before sighing and rubbing a hand across his face. He knew it was no use to argue. Instead, he reached out a hand to the man’s shoulder.

“Dean—please. I’m sorry. I know I’m failing you. I just have no idea what—"

Dean turned stiffly back around, clasping the angel’s arm and looking him in the eye.

“No, Cas. Stop. This isn’t your fault. You saved my life—” Dean’s intense green gaze softened as he exhaled heavily. “You saved my life and I’ve been so wrapped up in worrying about Sammy I’ve barely thanked you for it. If you hadn’t been listening for my prayer, I’d be werewolf kibble, we both know it.”

“You were werewolf kibble,” Castiel replied testily. Sighing, he pulled his human friend into a brief, tight hug. “You really had me scared, Dean,” he confessed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Dean spoke above his friend’s shoulder. Clapping him on the back, he released him. “I’m glad you showed up,” he added with a little nod.

“Always, Dean. If you call, I’ll be there.” 

Dean’s walk was slow, but he did his best to look mostly normal as they moved up the steps to the police station. He was much improved from the state Castiel had found him in, for sure, but he still felt weak enough that he hadn’t made a fuss when Cas insisted on driving.

As they introduced themselves to the small-town officers, Dean watched Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He smartly produced his fake FBI badge, asking questions in a low, calm tone. The angel had come a long way in his interactions with humans since they first met.

Still stiff and tired despite Castiel’s copious healing over the last couple of days, Dean was content to let the angel take the lead on this one. He only interjected with the odd question or two. It didn’t take the duo long to realize that the police knew jack-shit about what was going on in their town.

With a polite departure, they headed back to the Impala.

Dean always fidgeted when he rode shotgun; it was a rare event and he just never quite knew what to do with his hands if they weren’t on the wheel. He settled for digging through his box of cassette tapes while Castiel circled the parking lot, looking for the one-way exit. About to slide one into the tape deck, Castiel’s hand came out to cover the slot in the dash, preventing him from slipping in the AC/DC tape he’d decided he was in the mood for.

Looking up at the angel, Dean was surprised to see a small grin on his lips. “What? You don’t like AC/DC now?”

“Oh, I do,” Castiel replied calmly, the tiny grin still quirking the corner of his mouth. “But I thought the driver got to choose the music.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, seeing the tiny glint in Castiel’s eye. He’s playing with me, he registered. Damn angel is actually teasing me.

“Well… uh…” Dean took a moment to respond, finding himself laughing instead. “Driver chooses the music,” he agreed, “but only because it’s you!”

He waved the AC/DC cassette threateningly at Castiel, though he couldn’t help but smile.

“Driver chooses the music,” Castiel agreed, his grin growing as he added, “and shotgun does what?”

Dean laughed again, giving up and dropping the AC/DC tape back into the box.

He’s trying to cheer me up, Dean realized. He’s trying to play around and keep me distracted so I don’t worry about Sammy. It was fruitless of course, he’d worry regardless, but he warm fondness spreading through his chest as he dramatically shoved the old box of cassettes towards the angel.

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole,” Dean completed how own oft-used phrase, his voice warm and mirthful. “Bitch.”

“Ass.” Castiel threw back casually.

Much to Dean’s horror, Castiel had no interest in his box of old classic rock tapes. They got returned to the wide dashboard where they usually lived, and he gestured for Dean to pass his small duffle up to the front of the car while they drove.

Castiel didn’t carry much when they went on hunts, not having the need for multiple changes of clothes and the weapons options that the Winchesters did. It turns out one of the few things he did pack, though, was an old cassette tape of loud, mid-nineties rap and hip-hop songs.

Slipping it into the tape deck with another small smile, Castiel settled back in his leather seat to drive them both thirty minutes north, where the next town with a police station was.

“I hope we do find Sammy soon,” Dean commented dryly, “or me and you are going to come to blows about music choices.”

Castiel glanced sidelong at him, winked, and turned the volume up.

It had been a long day by the time they returned to the motel. They could have moved to a nicer establishment, but Dean wanted to stay put in case Sam came looking. Castiel admitted it was logical, but the room definitely left a lot to be desired. Even though he’d used his grace when Dean wasn’t looking to whisk all of the bloodstains off the sheets, the beds still felt a little skeevy.

Not that it bothered Cas as such; he spent the night sitting alone in the single chair next to the bed, or—unbeknownst to Dean—circling the town on foot all through the night, looking for any sign of Sam.

His heart felt heavy as he shut the door behind Dean and himself. They had no clues at all, and not even a direction left to start in the morning.

“Dean?” Castiel stepped over to where he sat on the edge of the bed, awkwardly shaking off his jacket. “Let me help.”

“I got it, Cas. I can take a damn coat off,” Dean snapped. As soon as he said it, he shook his head and looked up to where Castiel hovered awkwardly, frowning. “Sorry. I’m sorry dude. I’m just getting on edge again. It’s just—man.” He exhaled, leaving the sentence to fade.

“I know.” Castiel’s expression smoothed as he lowered himself to sit in the chair next to the bed, reaching to tug the coat from the remaining third of Dean’s stiff arms. “I understand.”

Folding the jacket, he reached over to place it on the foot of the spare bed. He contemplated it thoughtfully for a moment, before removing his own trench coat and placing it next to it.

Dean watched him, a little surprised. “So, it’s not glued on,” he quipped lightly.

“Of course it’s not,” Castiel puzzled at him, before catching his tone. “Oh. Yes. Well usually it doesn’t really bother me, but I felt like taking it off today.”

Pulling a brown bag towards him across the bed, Dean reached inside for a beer. Passing one to the angel without comment, his gaze was distant as he sucked down the first mouthful.

After silently progressing down the first half of the bottle, Castiel eventually sighed and spoke again.

“I’m sorry Dean. I tried to distract you as much as I could today, but the fact remains that we still have no leads on Sam’s location.” He looked down at the beer bottle, picking at the label.

Dean didn’t respond for a minute; Castiel knew he wasn’t saying anything Dean didn’t know. When he looked up at Castiel, he wore a strange, sad smile.

“You say sorry too much, you know.”

The angel raised his eyebrow in confusion at the response. “I’m... sorry?”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “See.”

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Dean cut Castiel off with a small smile. He took another gulp of beer before turning more fully to face the darker-haired man in the chair. “You know, it was nice to see you like that today. I know you were trying to cheer me up—and I appreciate the effort. You don’t have to do that. But I do like seeing you a little less stiff.”

“Stiff?” Castiel repeated quietly.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t like me stiff?” Castiel asked nonchalantly, peeling at his label.

“No Cas, of course I like you—" Dean only caught the wolfish grin on the angel’s face halfway through his sentence. “You—you dick.”

They both laughed, to Castiel’s pleasure. It was better to see any expression at all on Dean’s face than the one he’d most often worn since they’d lost Sam; blank, and lost, and angry.

Castiel saw Dean watching him as he laughed, a strangely fascinated expression drifting across the man’s face as he looked at him. In the reflection of the motel’s TV, Castiel could see his own face splitting and crinkling with genuine laughter. He wasn’t sure what Dean was looking at, but if it made him smile, so be it.

For just a brief moment, Dean looked like he’d seen a ghost as he watched Castiel’s wide, gummy grin, but a warm smile settled back onto his own face within an instant.

Castiel felt the absence of Sam heavily, and he knew that for Dean it must be like he’d lost an arm. But the angel was trying to ease the ache.

They talked about dinner, quietly grateful for each other.

Chapter Text

Day four without Sam dawned cloudy and wet. Dean and Castiel made the short walk to the diner next to the motel for breakfast. Castiel watched Dean’s movements, and Dean saw him smiling at his smoother gait.

“Starting to feel better?” Castiel asked conversationally as they slipped into a booth.  

“Not too bad, considering my ribs were on show just a few days ago,” Dean responded easily. “It’s like I’ve got a guardian angel watching over me or something.” He winked.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You know there’s not really a classification of angels which is anything like that, Dean.” He chided mildly, waving over a waitress. Having caught her eye, he turned his attention back to Dean. “Guardian angels, as such, don’t exist. But nonetheless, I am yours.”

Dean felt a small flush heat the back of his neck as he opened his mouth to let Castiel know the comment didn’t sound quite as he’d intended, but at that moment the waitress stepped up. She looked between the two of them, back and forth. Dean didn’t know if she’d heard Castiel’s words, but she certainly gave them a look.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, smiling widely and taking out her notepad.

“Two black coffees.” Dean indicated himself and Castiel. “And a plate of pancakes, sausage, and syrup. Want some eggs, Cas?”  

The angel had no need to eat, but Dean knew he sometimes liked to try things, and eggs had been a surprising hit back home at the bunker a few weeks prior.  

Castiel shook his head, though. “No thank you, Dean. I only like them when you cook them for me.”

The waitress knocked Dean’s arm gently with her elbow, grinning. “Aww, you got a sweet one there.”

Dean blinked.  The waitress slipped away before he could correct her, so instead, he turned his incredulous gaze to Cas. He distracted, was pouring over a small flyer of specials with the utmost interest.

“Cas, you should really be more careful what you say around people.” Dean chuckled awkwardly.

Castiel seemed confused, his brow furrowing although he didn’t lift his eyes from the flyer. “What do you mean? My comment indicated that angels were not real, in case that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, she—" Dean shook his head. “She thought we were together.”

It was Castiel’s turn to blink now. He looked back and forth between the two of them, his brow creasing further. “But we are together, Dean. I’m right here.”

“No, I mean…” Dean sighed and waved his hand. “You know what, never mind.”

Castiel looked at him in bewilderment for a second longer, before he returned to his fascinating flyer and Dean was spared any further thought on the subject by the arrival of his coffee.

Walking back to the motel to pick up the car, Dean indicated to Castiel to give him back the keys to the Impala, which the angel had been driving for the past few days. Dean had found that he was surprisingly relaxed about the angel being behind the wheel; he trusted him with his Baby. But, nonetheless, Dean missed driving.

“I think I’m good to drive now, buddy,” he said.

Nodding, Castiel scooped the small bundle of keys from his coat pocket and dropped them into Dean’s hand. He walked around the low, black car to slide into the passenger seat.

“So, where should we start today? Another sweep of the barn?” Dean asked as he started the engine. She purred to life smoothly, as if happy to have her driver back.

“Yes, I suppose.” Castiel’s voice was quiet and thoughtful, causing Dean to shoot him a look.

“What is it Cas? What’s your reason to be down, huh… coffee no good?”

Castiel glared, stiff and chastising. “I miss him too, Dean. I’m worried.”

“Right.” Dean winced a bit. Little selfish there, Winchester. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Sam is your friend too.”

Castiel nodded, his frown small and passing quickly. “I know. You and he get wrapped up in yourselves sometimes, but you aren’t the only person to care about him, Dean.”

“Of course not.” Dean pulled out onto the road to drive the now-familiar route to the barn. “I guess Sammy and I have only ever had each other—it’s just habit. I wasn’t trying to say you didn’t count, or anything ridiculous like that. You’re family.”

Castiel nodded, but he was quiet for the rest of the journey.

When they pulled up next to the red barn, Dean stepped out first, reaching behind him to secure his gun into his waistband before he approached the barn. After idly patting his sleeve, checking the weight of the angel blade that he always tucked there securely, Castiel stepped into motion beside him.

Once inside, Dean stopped. “You cleaned it up?” He asked, indicating the patch of floor where Castiel had mojo’d away the thick pool of blood Dean had lain dying in.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t very pleasant to look at.”

“Right.” Dean chuckled. “I guess not. A bit gooey I suppose, probably a few chunks…” he jested lightly, poking at the straw with his boot.

“Stop that, Dean.”

Dean turned to see Castiel frowning at him somewhat heatedly.

“Stop dismissing your’s and Sam’s worth to me as if I don’t feel anything," Castiel bit angrily. "I try hard enough to show you that I do, despite my inexperience with your human modes of communication.”

“I…” Dean faltered. “That wasn’t what I was doing.” Though … I guess it was what I was doing, really. Damnit.  

He turned to look at Castiel fully and respond, but the angel had already marched away, striding toward the side door of the barn. The set of his shoulders was stiff and frustrated, but nonetheless he spoke calmly once Dean had followed him over, back on task.

“So, we know Sam was here—this is the gas can that he used, exactly as I found it.” Castiel nodded at the red plastic can near his feet. “I suppose we can assume he left, or was taken, out of this door.”

Dean nodded in agreement and was about to step out of the door to look around outside, when something stopped him, niggling at the back of his head. Something wasn’t right.  

He paused, looking down at the gas can thoughtfully for a moment before it hit him.

“Cas!” He called the angel back. He stared down at the rectangular plastic container, and when he spoke again his voice came out low and tense. “That’s not our gas can…. ours is years old. This one is clean and new.”

Suddenly, Dean spun on his heels and dashed back to the Impala. Castiel followed closely, silent. Dean thumped open the trunk. There, prepped and ready in the back, was their can of gasoline. Still full.  

Dean felt dazed. Looking up at Castiel’s expression, which mirrored his own confusion very clearly, he rubbed a hand over his face. They looked at each other, clearly thinking the same thing for a moment before Dean voiced it.

“We have no proof that Sam was ever at the barn. Just that someone wanted us to think he was.”

Rain pelted heavily against the windscreen of the Impala as it purred back into town. Dean and Cas had both been quiet for the whole ride. They had spent almost the entire day combing the barn but had found no sign of Sam at all, in effect leaving the place with less idea of what happened to Sam than they began with.

They’d kept searching, but eventually, Dean had gruffly told Castiel to get back in the car. They planned to head back to the motel and quickly change so that they could scout out hardware stores and gas stations in the area, on the trail of a recently purchased gas can.

It was a long shot, but all they had.

There had been a weighty silence between the hunter and his angel friend all day, but Dean wasn’t inclined to discuss it at that moment. Thinking that his brother had been grabbed by opportune werewolves had been horrific enough, but as it seemed more likely that it was a premeditated kidnapping, Dean slipped into a particularly sour mood.

Buttoning his suit jacket, he moved back to the Impala to wait for Castiel. He quickly looked up a list of nearby gas stations, and other stores that might be relevant, on his phone.

“There’s an old-fashioned hardware store just a mile down the street,” Castiel said quietly as he ducked into Baby’s passenger side. “I passed it several times, hunting for Sam while you were healing.”

Dean nodded, wheels already turning. “Alright, we’ll check there first. I’ve got a list, otherwise.”

They ducked inside quickly. Dean reached up to dust the rain out of his hair as he stepped towards the counter, spraying tidy droplets over himself and even Castiel as he edged into the small space next to him. They both flashed their fake FBI badges, flipping them open quickly with a practiced air.  

“Agents Rudd and Slade, FBI. Got a minute for a few questions, Mister…?”

“Addams, Diggory Addams.” The elderly proprietor nodded at them, seeming a little nervous but not excessively so. “What can I do to help you, sirs? It’s usually so quiet around these parts,” he fretted.

Castiel offered a reassuring smile. “We won’t keep you long, Mr. Addams. We’re following up on some arson cases a couple of towns over.” The angel lied easily, which somehow gave Dean a little wave of excitement. It had only been a few years back that Castiel couldn’t even see the point of a decent lie.

Dean nodded along, agreeing with his partner. “Yes, a nasty spate of fires. We’re trying to track down the source of the equipment used—do you sell gas cans here, Mr. Addams?”

“Yes, I do. Don’t sell many, small town…” Diggory Addams was gesturing to the far wall of the store, drawing their attention to the shelf of empty gas cans that were displayed up above some garden tools. “Sold one about four or five days back, that’s been the first for a while. In the country like ‘round here, most people already have ‘em.”

Castiel quickly thanked the man and gathered some more details about the buyer, who the man seemed luckily familiar with. He handled the gathering of an address, leaving Dean to stare.

Dean’s eyes were caught on the shelf, which was lined with the brothers of the exact gas can they had found at the barn.

Chapter Text

“That looks to be the place.” Dean pointed through Baby’s windshield out into the dark night, past the dime-sized raindrops that crowded the glass.

The street was unassuming, quiet by the time of the evening Dean and Castiel arrived. It looked like an older suburb, with poorly maintained but clearly loved houses; the shingles were loose, but flowers bloomed. Older couples and seniors, Dean guessed, rather than younger people with families and multiple incomes.

“We should leave the car back here,” Castiel murmured as he squinted through the foul weather. “It seems likely that whoever took Sam already knows what you drive. No need to announce our presence ahead of time.”  

Dean nodded in agreement. Anxiety knotted his stomach as they made a stop by the trunk, loading themselves up with an assortment of weapons. Worry about what they might find in the house made him jittery, a fact that he hated and tried to hide. He fidgeted, occasionally clenching his fists while he thought his way through the arsenal in the trunk, deciding what to take.

Double checking his sleeve where his angel blade rested, Castiel seemed satisfied with his preparations and looked over to Dean, watching him closely while he waited.

“We’re closer, Dean.” He offered quietly, resting a hand on the slightly taller man’s shoulder for a brief second. “Hopefully Sam is in that house and we’ll have him back within an hour.”

Dean smiled. He was grateful for the angel's reassurance and for his presence in the past few days, even if he sometimes did a piss-poor job of showing it. Catching Castiel’s arm as he began to turn away towards the house, he halted him quickly.

“Look, Cas...I’m sorry if I came off like a jerk this morning. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just been worrying about Sam and you know that always messes me up.”

Castiel nodded slightly but said nothing.

“Thanks for being here Cas,” Dean added.

“You don’t have to thank me again for saving you, Dean. I want to find Sam too,” Castiel said as they closed the trunk.  

“I was thanking you for your company,” Dean corrected him quietly. “For distracting me, being a good friend. That stuff. Making me smile despite everything.”

At that, Castiel lit up a little, nodding. “Oh. Well, you’re welcome, Dean. You know I always enjoy our time together.”  

Exchanging another little smile, the duo stepped quietly up towards the house. They split to either side of the path, blending themselves into the bushes at the side of the driveway without even conferring. With nothing but eye contact and the occasional nod, they moved around the property in silence, perfectly in sync after years of hunting. They checked the perimeter of the house twice, finding nothing out of the ordinary.  

“No sigils or wards as far as I can tell,” Castiel murmured as they squared up in front of the doorway of the large, if slightly ramshackle, ranch-style home.  

Dean nodded. “Alright then. Here goes.”

Climbing up the two steps to the door, he knocked firmly, his gun held discreetly behind his back.

He waited a few moments before knocking again.  

Dean looked back to Castiel with a frown. “There were two cars parked down the side. Someone should be here. Either they don’t want us to come in, or they’re unable to answer.”

Castiel nodded in agreement, shouldering Dean’s shotgun and gesturing for him to move forward into the house. “Alright then. Kick it down, I’ll cover you.”

The old, red residential door only took one firm kick to swing wide, spraying splinters of neglected, slightly damp wood across the hallway floor. 

“Hello?” Dean called into the darkness.  

There was still no sound and no light. Dean stepped inside, taking the first door into what he assumed would be a living room or dining room of some kind. He groped along the wall for a light switch.  

He heard Castiel’s quick attempt at a warning sound just a second too late.

There was something large stretched out beyond the doorway, right where Dean’s ankles didn’t expect there to be anything. With a loud curse, he stumbled. Tumbling unceremoniously straight down, he hit the edge of a piece of furniture and crashed—loudly—to the floor.

“Dean!” Castiel flicked on the light, hurrying to Dean's side and offering him a hand up.

Dean let out a low groan, his already-sore body deeply unappreciative of the sudden meeting with the hardwood flooring. He reached for Castiel’s hand, but then his eyes moved past it, and Castiel’s hand was left empty. Instead, Dean pointed past him, to the cause of his fall.

“Well crap,” Dean said, green eyes fixed on the body of the woman that he had tripped over.

“Indeed,” agreed Castiel, frowning at the peaceful, elderly corpse.

“Should we call the police?” Dean asked, quickly closing the front door so they could confer without any neighbors wondering what was going on. “What are we looking at here?”

Crouching down and placing the shotgun beside him, Castiel sniffed the body deeply.

Ugh. All these years, still creepy buddy, Dean thought.  

The woman was elderly, but neat, with a clean floral dress and her pure-white hair coiffed into a twist, held with an ornamental wooden pin. She was slim, but not neglected as the house looked to be.

Other than being dead, she looked fine.

“I don’t think this is a police kind of thing Dean,” Castiel said solemnly. With one finger he pried open the jaws of the corpse, flicking a small brown hex bag out of her mouth.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean rubbed his face in exasperation.

Reaching to pull a cloth from a nearby side table, Castiel carefully used it to cover his hand before wrapping the hex-bag within it. He sighed, and tucked it into one of the deep pockets of his trench coat to investigate later. “Come on,” he indicated with the shotgun in his other hand. “Let’s check out the rest of the house.”

Splitting up, they quickly covered the rooms.  

“There’s no Sam down here, and no basement,” Castiel yelled from the first floor, calling up the stairs to Dean. “What about an attic space?”  

“I’ll look,” Dean called back.

He looked along the ceiling on the landing, but saw no obvious entryway, so he continued on. Stepping into one of the bedrooms, he turned on a light.

The space looked to be a guest room, neatly made up but lacking the lived-in feel that most frequently used rooms had; the bedspread was perfectly smooth, there were no pill-bottles or water glasses on the nightstands, only an old-fashioned alarm clock and a carefully curated little pile of books, all of them shiny and new-looking in their uncreased covers.

Dean looked around critically, practiced in the way he methodically searched for anything out of place. It only took a moment before he blinked, eyes alighting on the mantle above the small bedroom fireplace.

“Cas! Get up here!”

He heard the angel bounding up the stairs several at a time. Seeing that Dean was in no danger, he slowed.  

“What, Dean?” Cas craned his neck him, following Dean’s confused eyes and pointing finger.

On top of the mantle was a small display, typical of so many families—a couple of high school yearbooks, stuffed bears, graduation caps, photographs of what would have to be assumed to be the granddaughter of the dead lady downstairs.

Above the mantle was a college pennant—Stanford, Castiel noted.

Beneath it, there was a framed picture. It was more casual-looking than the others, without posed photography or a fancy background. It looked like it had been taken at a big party or social event.

It was a picture of Sam.

Chapter Text

Dean sat back on the motel bed, the pillows haphazardly squashed behind him, looking down at the photo in his hand. Sam looked to be about nineteen or twenty. 

Definitely a picture taken at Stanford, Dean decided. 

Sam, shorter-haired and hopeful faced, had a red solo cup in hand. He was stood with his arm around a petite blonde woman with bouncy curls, busty and grinning up at Sam in obvious attraction.  

I guess Sammy really did like blondes in college, Dean pondered, remembering Jess’ long, bright hair. But this girl, whoever she was, was definitely not Jess.

He had grabbed the frame down from the mantle while Castiel removed their fingerprints and put in an untraceable call to the local police about the old woman. Now, late evening and back at their motel, Dean sat the simply framed photograph on the nightstand, brow furrowed. 

Both he and Castiel had been focused on finding Sam in that house. But they hadn’t, and now a decade-and-a-half old photograph was all they had. Dean exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face. What have you got yourself into, Sammy? He found himself thinking. I don’t even know where to begin with this.

The door clicked as Castiel stepped into the motel room, his tan trench coat swooping dramatically around him as he shut the storm outside. He carried a brown paper bag in the crook of his arm, a white plastic bag dangling from the same hand.

“Cas! Where've you been? I thought you went to pay the room rental for another night.” Dean quickly passed his hand over his face again, trying to brush away his melancholy expression before the angel could see.

“I stopped by the diner to get you some food,” Castiel said as he brought the bags over to Dean’s bed. “Our waitress from this morning was there. I said you were waiting for me in our motel room and I wanted to get back to you as soon as possible, so she rushed an order. She was very nice about it.”

Dean coughed abruptly, quickly tamping down a hysterical laugh before he could confuse Castiel any further. He shuffled back on the bed, sitting up straighter and reaching out to take the bags from Cas.

“That’s great, buddy. What’d you get?” Dean asked eagerly, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand.

Passing the bags over to Dean, Castiel didn’t answer. He began removing his boots and coat, instead, looking somewhat regretfully down that the small puddle he’d left near the door. He was soaked from head to toe. He took the wet items to the small bathroom, leaving them to drip next to Dean’s jacket.  When he returned, Dean was searching excitedly through the bags on top of the bedspread.

Castiel allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile.

“Dude, there’s like four kinds of pie in here!” Dean said, placing the plastic dessert containers onto the comforter in front of him almost reverentially.  

“They have a buy-one-get-one special on pies after seven o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Cas responded, gesturing to the other bag. “There’s other stuff too.”  

The flyer he was staring at during breakfast, Dean suddenly remembered. He felt a rush of fondness for his friend, smiling as he pulled up his knees to sit cross-legged on the bed and gestured for Cas to join him.

He’s really trying to cheer me up. Another thought quickly followed, and Dean looked up to the angel’s face as he settled onto the bed. He’s worried about me.

“This is awesome Cas, really. Thank you.” Dean delved into the other bag, pulling out a fifth of whiskey and a larger polystyrene box of hot food. Flicking it open, two steaming cheeseburgers and a bed of fries awaited him.  

“It’s just dinner, Dean,” Castiel observed calmly, pushing up his shirt sleeves to his elbows as he somewhat awkwardly mimicked Dean's position, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, facing each other with the food and whiskey bottle balanced between them.

“No.” Dean shook his head, popping a couple of fries into his mouth and speaking around them. “You keep looking out for me. Filling the silence. Being a friend. I know you’re trying to step up because Sam is gone, and you’re worried about me.”

Castiel fiddled with the cap of the whiskey bottle, cracking it open. “I am,” he admitted. “I’m just trying to keep your spirits up, so you worry less. But honestly Dean, I’m also selfish enough that I enjoy your company more when Sam isn’t around. I’m probably more relaxed just with you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“When Sam is here, you and he have so much history that I just don’t know. Jokes I don’t understand. You have each other.” Castiel shrugged, pausing to take a deep long swig of whiskey before passing the bottle over to Dean with a smile. “I love you both, but it’s just a little less overwhelming when there’s one Winchester at a time.”

Chasing a bite of cheeseburger with a glug of alcohol, Dean smiled oddly, one half of his mouth quirking up. It looked a little sad, but neither of them mentioned it.  

They sat companionably, flicking on the TV to babble in the background. A documentary about some Peruvian ruins came up as they channel surfed and Dean realized with a pang that if Sam were here, he’d have been forced to watch it. He looked over at the nightstand where the strange picture of Sammy and the unknown girl sat.

I’m gonna do everything I can to find you, Sam. He promised himself firmly. Moving his eyes back over to the angel on the end of the bed, he added mentally, And I’m not going to fall apart. I’m gonna keep it together, with Cas’s help.

“Hey Cas, catch,” Dean said suddenly. From Dean’s reclined position on the bed, a fry came curving through the air and hit Cas firmly on the cheek.

Castiel looked utterly baffled. “Dean?”

“You’re supposed to catch,” Dean cackled, before tossing another fry.

“Dean!” The second fry smacked Castiel in the forehead.

Laughing openly now, Dean threw the angel a bone. “With your mouth, Cas. Like this…”  

Dean held out the container with the remaining fries, indicating for Castiel to throw one at him. With a look of confusion, Castiel selected a large specimen with care and chucked it towards Dean’s face.  Tilting his head to the side, Dean almost had it—it bounced off the corner of his mouth. “Close.” Dean grinned before selecting his next projectile.

As the morsel arched through the air, Castiel eyed it calmly. He tilted his head precisely at the very last moment, and the fry landed directly on his tongue. He swallowed it, grimacing at the taste before a tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth.

“Satisfactory?” Cas asked, smug.

“Woah, Cas! Those angel senses—that was great.” Dean replied, slightly awed at his reaction speed. “How about…”

Dean picked up two more fries, throwing them in quick succession, clapping as they disappeared easily down the angel’s throat.  

They moved onto trick shots then, laughing and hogging the whiskey bottle between throws.

It was very late, Dean guessed, when he woke up. He was stiff-necked and still slumped against the wall behind the bed rather than laying down.  The room was almost completely black save for a slither of moonlight through the ill-fitting yellow drapes. He looked over and saw Castiel sat in the chair beside the bed. His eyes were closed, and he was perfectly still, his white dress shirt making him stand out slightly against the patterned walls in the dim motel room.

Does he really just sit there all night? Dean wondered, resting his gaze on the angel’s serene face.  

A feeling of guilt prickled at Dean’s chest as he watched Castiel, sitting alone, just waiting. I’m a selfish person, sometimes, his mind supplied. I don’t ask enough about what he does. What he thinks, what he wants. He was right. Sam and I are always wrapped up in ourselves and our jobs.

Castiel’s eyes opened smoothly. He’d just been resting, after all; the angel didn’t sleep. He looked at Dean as he shuffled down to a more comfortable position on the bed, gazing back at him in the dark.

“Cas?” Dean had turned to look at the ceiling, but his voice carried softly over to the angel, thick with sleep.

“Yes, Dean?”

“I never mean to leave you out. When Sam’s here.” Dean’s low voice didn’t raise any louder; more whispers in the dark than a conversation for daylight.

“I know,” Castiel responded plainly, lacing his fingers in his lap.

“Are you lonely, Cas?” Deans face turned to the angel then, and even in the shadows, Castiel could feel his piercing green eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel answered simply. “I believe that’s what the feeling is called. Humans seek out closeness or friendly proximity with others to chase it away. I can’t really do that. Even with my grace restored, I—” His tone changed, as somewhat sad note tinged his words. “—I’m definitely more human than I used to be.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he felt a touch of shame joining his guilt. He needs people close to him. There’s no one he could talk to who knows what he is, the things he’s done. I was here all this time… but I wasn’t.

Wordlessly, Dean shuffled to the far side of the bed, leaving the other half free. He patted the mattress.

When Castiel didn’t move, Dean sighed. The angel had come on leaps and bounds in his communication with humans since they’d first met, but it seemed that non-verbal cues might still needed a little work.

“Come and sit on the bed Cas. You don’t have to watch me from a chair while I sleep, I’m not a museum exhibit. We’re friends, you can be closer than that.” You aren’t alone, Dean added mentally as the angel slid over, crossing his legs up on the mattress and leaning back against the wall.

Minutes ticked on surprisingly comfortably, and Dean pulled the blanket over his shoulders, feeling himself doze back towards the edge of sleep.  

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas’s whisper was almost imperceptible, but Dean fell into slumber with a smile on his lips. 

In the dark, Castiel rested a tentative hand on Dean's head, idly stroking at his sandy hair. He watched over him as he drifted off.  

Dean woke slowly. He engaged with the thoughts drifting through his sleep-hazed mind for a moment, squeezing his eyes closed, keeping out the day.

Oof. A little heavy on the whiskey. I need to remember to drink water before I sleep in my old age. Nuzzling into his pillow sleepily, he raised one arm in a stretch. Time to get back on the Sammy hunt. Hit up the neighbors, town records, anyone who might know more about the people in that house.  

He was raising a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes and jump back into hunter-mode, when his pillow moved.  

Green eyes flying open, he realized that during the night he had curled across the mattress and worked his way across the bed until he was half on the other side. His pillow turned out not be a pillow at all, it was actually Castiel’s thigh. The angel sat with his legs out in front of him, watching something idly on the motel’s tiny TV with the volume off. One of his large hands rested on Dean’s side as he lay with his head smooshed into Cas’ lap.  

Dean jerked up suddenly, a little embarrassed, earning him a surprised and confused look from the angel.  

“Morning, Dean. How did you—” Castiel cut off suddenly, lurching forward to steady the nightstand. Dean had knocked it when he flew up off Castiel’s lap.

Too late for even Castiel to stop it, the framed picture of young Sam and the mystery girl tipped forward onto the motel floor.

“Oops,” Dean muttered. Sliding to sit at the edge of the mattress, one foot on the floor, Dean bent over and reached for the simple wooden frame. The glass had cracked across the front, distorting his little brother’s face. As Castiel stood from the bed and stretched his body out on the way to turn off the TV, Dean opened the frame and slipped the picture out.

Throwing the broken frame into the trash, he moved to lay the photo down on the bed while they got ready, when he noticed there was something on the back of it.

“Hey, Cas—” Dean turned to him. “Look at this!”

Castiel took the photograph, turning it to see the scribbles on the back.

“Faith and Winchester, Kappa Sigma party May ‘03.” Castiel read slowly, before handing it back. “So, our mystery girl has a name.”

Dean frowned, thoughtfully. “Sam would have been twenty… I guess this was just before he met Jess,” he mused. “So why was the hex-bagged grandma keeping a photo of her granddaughter and some random guy, or ex or hookup, or whatever, in her spare room?”

Castiel shrugged, spreading his hands. “I have no idea, Dean. Maybe we should start with the neighbors?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded swiftly, energized by even the tiniest lead to work with. “Let’s grab some coffee and get going.”

Chapter Text

“Agents Rudd and Slade, FBI,” Castiel introduced them easily as a man in his mid-thirties opened the door.  

“We’re here to ask a few questions about the neighborhood, specifically the house next door,” Dean continued for him, tucking his badge back into his suit pocket. They worked together very smoothly these days, unlike back when Castiel had first tried his hand at hunting.  

“Sure, Ms. Hawley? Rich said he saw the police take her body out last night,” the man said. He shuddered slightly. “Sorry - I’m Rob. My husband and I have lived here about sixteen years, and she’s been our neighbor that whole time.” The slightly graying man extended a hand out to Dean.  

Shaking it firmly, Dean nodded. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss, Rob. Did you know her well?”  

“We didn’t socialize or anything, but we’d always chat if we met at the mailboxes or if we were in the yard. When we first moved here…” Rob sighed, rubbing his beard almost sadly. “Despite her age, she was one of the most accepting people on the street. Rich and I never hid what we were but some people didn’t like it. She helped me scrub graffiti off our front wall once,” he laments.  

“Did she live alone? Ever talk about family?” Castiel interjected, his brow creasing in concentration, causing a little bump of tanned skin to gather at the top of his nose.  

“She kept her personal stuff pretty close to her chest," Rob admitted. "She did have a daughter, Annalise, and a granddaughter that she was very proud of. She was a smart kid I think, went to a good college and all. Never saw any men, honestly. The daughter and her kid visited sometimes….they used to be chatty and visit constantly, but a year or so after we moved here we heard a huge fight in the middle of the night and they suddenly stopped visiting.”  

“So, about fifteen years ago, then? 2002, that kind of time?” Dean said as he cast a sideways look at Castiel.  

“Around ‘03, I’d say. Never saw the old lady have a visitor since. Sorry, is this about her death? I mean, she was just old, right?” Rob asked, narrowing his eyes slightly suspiciously.  

Dean gave him a bland smile. “Of course. We just have to paint a full picture,” he said.

***

“I don’t even know if this is genuinely a lead or if we’re just desperate,” Dean admitted with a sigh, lolling his head back on the driver's seat headrest as they sat in the parked Impala. He closed his eyes briefly and sat for a few minutes in quiet contemplation.  

“It’s all we have, Dean.” Castiel eventually rumbled. As Dean opened his eyes to look at him, he gestured around at the surrounding street. “It seems fruitless to stay here much longer. There’s no sign of Sam in this town—we don’t even know if he made it to the barn, or if he was picked up at the motel.”  

Dean nodded mutely as Castiel continued.  

“We should probably get on the road. I can take a look at that hex bag if we can get some supplies,” Castiel offered, sounding uncertain. “See what I can make of it.”  

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Cas.” Dean reached to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Pulling onto the road, he was quiet as he drove them towards Route 80. He paused Baby on the overpass, idling quietly, seemingly undecided about which direction to take.  

“Where are we headed, Dean?” Castiel asked quietly.  

One direction would take them on back through Wyoming a little until they could turn off and head back to Kansas. The bunker would have the supplies Castiel needed. The other direction would take them through Utah and Nevada, eventually down into California. After a few more moments, Dean pulled out onto the Interstate.  

“I guess we’re headed to Stanford, buddy. Time to channel your inner frat boy,” Dean said. He grinned over at Castiel, but it was a hollow expression.  

The drive down to Stanford would take about twelve hours, Dean guessed. Throw in a motel break when they got tired and a couple of gas stops, they could probably be there by lunch the next day.  

Castiel was mostly silent as they drove. Dean knew that the angel felt uneasy about leaving Wyoming, just as he did. He’s worried, like me, he reminded himself. Reaching over as they coasted easily down the busy road, he rested a hand on the angel’s knee to draw his attention.  

When Castiel’s ethereally blue eyes turned to him, Dean forced a smile. “I think this is what Sam would want us to do. He’d use his logical brain.”  

“Right.” Castiel murmured, nodding. “I know. It just feels wrong to drive into town with him and then leave without him.”  

“Yeah.” Dean gave Castiel’s knee a squeeze before letting go.

Setting both hands firmly on the wheel, he gave a little sigh before resigning his eyes to the tarmac.  

***

Dean drove hard, and they reached Reno before night fell. Pulling into the first roadside motel they spotted, he paid for a room before detouring across the parking lot to a chain pizza store, not wanting to search any further for sustenance. Castiel’s healing had done wonders, but he still felt tired and a little like his muscles had run a marathon without any training. Any other time, he knew he’d have driven through the night to get closer to finding Sam, but he just couldn’t.  

Dean sat back in their booth, looking over to Castiel as they waited for the waitress to arrive.  

“What’s your plan when we get to Stanford?” Castiel asked him quietly, peering at the menu with a critical eye.  

“I’m not even sure, really. It was so long ago, I doubt there will be anyone there who remembers Sam or that girl,” Dean sighed, picking up the salt shaker and putting it straight back down again, merely to occupy his hands.  

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true. But maybe the fraternity mentioned on the picture will have a director or house mother of some kinda that might recall. Almost all fraternities have someone like that.”  

Dean raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Didn’t honestly picture you as the frat type, Cas.”  

The angel opened his mouth to respond, but the waitress arrived with their beers.

“What can I get you boys to eat?” She purred, her eyes firmly on Castiel.  

“I’m not hungry, but I think my friend would like a pizza,” Castiel responded politely, nodding toward Dean.  

“Just a large meat supreme.” Dean requested. He smiled at her, but despite writing down his order it seemed that she barely even looked at him, turning straight back to Castiel.  

“You’re sure, handsome? Nothing on the menu taking your fancy?” The brunette asked, smiling flirtatiously.  

Castiel smiled very politely back at her. “No thank you, ma’am,” he answered, shaking his head.  

“Well suit yourself, honey. If there’s anything you’d like before you leave, you just let me know—even if it’s not strictly on the menu,” she insinuated. With a wink, she stepped away from the table.  

Castiel turned back to Dean, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “She was, uh, nice,”  he commented awkwardly.

How much of a flirt do you have to be for even Cas to notice? Dean thought with a little amusement. He cleared his throat. “What’s the matter Cas, she not your type?”  

“No.” If anything, Castiel's looked even more uncomfortable. “Not really,” he responded shortly.

Dean was surprised to feel a little relief in his chest. He coughed suddenly to cover his odd reaction and took a swig of beer, determinedly returning to their prior conversation.  

“So, you know some stuff about fraternities? I barely finished high school, so, y'know. Not really my area of expertise,” Dean confessed.  He looked down at the table for a moment, suddenly feeling a little stupid and unworldly compared to the angel sat across from him.  

To his surprise, Castiel reached across the table and covered his hand with his own, just enough to get Dean’s attention back before he withdrew. He was smiling; that know-it-all smile he had a habit of wearing when he knew exactly what Dean was thinking.  

“I personally don’t know anything about American colleges, Dean. By your human standards, I barely qualified for a job in a gas station, remember?”  

Dean smiled slightly. It was so like Castiel to take the time to remind him that angel or not, they were very alike.  

“Jimmy was in a fraternity though,” Castiel continued, tapping the side of his head briefly. “So it’s all in here.”  

Of course, Dean thought. Jimmy Novak probably did all that stuff. College, good student, track team. Then find a wife, good job, church on Sundays.  

The pizza appeared and Dean offered Castiel a slice. Initially, he shook his head, but blue eyes stayed on the slice as Dean brought it to his mouth, almost curiously watching his friend swallow it down. Picking up the next piece, Dean tried something different. Reaching across the table, he brought the pizza up to Castiel’s face, poking at his bottom lip with it playfully.  

“Just try a bite Cas, it’s not going to hurt.”  

Castiel’s eyebrows pulled together a fraction, showing the briefest uncertainty at Dean’s feeding of him. His thick lips parted though, and he obediently took a small nibble.  His face creased oddly. “I can tell the taste is there, but its split over so many molecules it’s hard to find,” he tried to explain with a sigh. “I remember it being delicious as a human, though.”  Castiel sounded a little melancholy.

“You miss being human,” Dean stated suddenly, as if the idea had just struck him from nowhere.

“Some parts of it, yes,” Castiel admitted.  

“But…why?” Dean was baffled, pushing the pizza aside to concentrate on their conversation now. “How could being human possibly stack up to the wonder of being an angel, of having grace for christ-sakes, in any way at all?”  

Castiel’s smile was calm, as if explaining something to an eager child. “There’s a lot to appreciate about being human, Dean. Food, art, joy, love. Those are all human things. Not to say angels can’t learn to understand those things—I have begun to understand a lot, even with my grace returned, thanks to you. It’s more that angel’s don’t naturally focus on those things as humans do. They don’t pull at our souls, because we don’t have souls," Castiel continued patiently. "If we experience them, it has to be by choice, and its—” Cas paused, looking around the restaurant for a moment as if searching for words. “—different,” he finished lamely.  

“Different how?” Dean asked and leaned into the conversation further, his curiosity evident.  

“Overwhelming,” Castiel clarified. “Like with the food. I can’t enjoy the taste because my tongue feels every individual molecule instead of overall flavor. Art is a difficult concept for logical creatures such as angels, but we can appreciate beauty; my Father made us that way. Other feelings, like sadness and joy and love…” Cas shook his head as if clearing his mind. “Most of the time, it’s like I can observe feelings from behind frosted glass. If I chose to acknowledge the feeling, it’s like a hurricane. I believe angels feel more strongly than humans—that’s why so many of us succumb to vices of some kind if we walk on Earth.”  

Dean nodded, not wanting to interrupt the angel but finding himself unable to help it. “You never really did, though. Burger time with Famine aside,” he reminded Castiel with a grin.

“Not to that extent, no,” Castiel admitted. “It’s easier to hide behind that glass I mentioned. But in the years since I fell, that’s become a lot harder. It’s like the glass gets thinner.”  

The angel’s eyes dropped, and he picked at one of the napkin balls Dean had discarded during his meal. Silence fell around the pair, and Dean felt it - it was personal, quiet and trusting. Castiel years back wouldn’t have explained any of this to Dean, wouldn’t have even tried.  

Standing, Dean squeezed the angel lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”  

He found that his hand rested lightly on the base of Castiel’s back as he guided him towards the door, throwing enough cash down on the table to cover his pizza.  

***

Dean swung open the motel room door and dropped the bag he had fetched from the Impala onto the end of one of the twin beds. It was a fairly spacious room, not bad for what he’d paid, very sparsely furnished but with fairly pleasant decor compared to the dumps they usually stayed in.  

Stepping up to the low dresser that served as a nightstand between both beds, he slipped his gun out of his waistband and put it on top, before lowering himself to the bed to remove his boots. He looked up, seeing Castiel stood somewhat awkwardly in the doorway.  

“What’s up Cas?” he questioned, unbuttoning his thin blue shirt.  

“Nothing, I just, uh,” Castiel answered as he made for the other bed, sitting opposite Dean, “nothing.”  

Dean let it go, stepping into the bathroom to wash the day's road dust and sweat off his face and quickly brush his teeth. When he stepped back into the bedroom, it hit him, seeing Castiel sat stiffly in the middle of the far bed. Oh. There’s no chairs in here. Usually, he'd sit next to the bed all night so he can watch over me. Dean smiled to himself, realizing that once upon a time that concept had freaked him out.  

Now, he just wanted his friend to be comfortable.  

Well, I guess in at least this one tiny way, I can be glad that Sammy’s not here to see this. Dean chuckled nervously under his breath as he settled onto his own bed, sliding under the blanket. He silently counted to three in his head before holding the covers open on the other side of the bed, feeling a slight flush behind his ears as he looked over at the angel on the other side of the room.  

“Well?” It was all Dean could manage to roughly get out, but thank God, Castiel understood.  

The relief that flashed across Castiel’s face was genuine and palpable in the room as he shucked off his trench coat, toeing himself out of his black boots as he stood next to the bed. He sat down on the mattress, pausing for a second to look back over his shoulder at Dean.  

“Are you sure?” Castiel’s voice was low, and his intense blue gaze seemed like it held a lot more questions. Regardless, he didn't ask anything else.

Dean nodded, not sure he trusted his voice, but holding the angel’s gaze.  

Castiel tucked his feet up, slipping into the bed.  

Castiel was practically fully clothed and there was at least a foot and a half of space between them, but suddenly Dean was aware of every inch.  

It looked like Castiel was about to ask one of those held questions, turning his head toward Dean and parting his lip slightly. Dean rolled quickly onto his side away from the angel, just vaguely aware that whatever it was that Castiel was going to say, he didn’t have the answers for quite yet.  

Chapter Text

Sunlight trickled in through the motel window, the Nevada heat beginning to warm the air already, dust motes dancing reflectively across Dean’s vision as he slowly woke. Something tickled slightly at Dean’s nose. He opened his eyes to find a messy shock of dark hair nuzzled into his neck at his shoulder, his own head tilted down to breathe in amongst the soft, clean strands.  

Dean froze awkwardly…. but didn’t begin to backup or move. That smell … . he thought. It was heady, like a drug. Something between the smell of heat on the first spring day of the year and the ozone smell at the top of a mountain. Somewhere in his mind, Dean was certain that this was Cas’s smell; not Jimmy’s, not whatever he’d picked up on Earth, but his. Dean inhaled deeply before he could help himself, reveling in the exquisite, previously unknown scent.  

It was another second before the realization hit him; the angel was asleep.  

He was curled to Dean’s side, his head nudged into the hunter’s neck. His hands were held up to his chest in fists, as if he’d been desperately trying to make sure they didn’t relax and go anywhere they shouldn’t. He looked peaceful. Angel’s don’t need sleep. Dean considered dully. Oh. They don’t need it … . doesn’t mean they can’t do it or don’t want to do it. I’ve never asked past the first part.  

Guilt prickled at Dean’s chest again. As if in penance of the feeling, he cautiously lifted an arm and gently enveloped Cas, pulling him towards his body carefully so as not to wake him. The angel’s balled fists pressed into Dean’s baggy sleeping t-shirt as he curled naturally into his chest. Why didn’t he ever sleep before, if he could? He looks so vulnerable asleep … .. Somewhere in his subconscious, Dean knew that was the answer. Cas was vulnerable sleeping, he had to feel safe to do it.  

Dean was very conscious of his own heartbeat and of his many thoughts and questions about his own behavior the past week. There were other questions too, about Cas’s behavior and the things they’d spoken of that he’d never shared quite that way before, but Dean pushed it all aside and just lay, warm and safe, nuzzled down into Cas’s hair.  

At least a half hour had passed before Dean felt the angel wake.  

Cas’s eyes fluttered open reluctantly...and he froze, taking in where he was. He could feel Dean’s arm around him, holding him against his chest. He could also feel the hunter’s breath on his hair and knew from his heart rate that he was awake. Unsure, he found himself unable to move for a minute.  

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice drifted down to him, so full of uncertainty and fear that Cas almost ached for him.  

He looked up, to see the same emotions mirrored in his green eyes. The hunter began to pull back, the uncertainty winning.  

Feeling Dean’s withdrawing arm like a loss, Cas’s hand shot out to grab it before he even realized what he was doing. “No,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. His eyes dropped back down to Deans chest, finding the crumpled band shirt much easier to speak to. “I’m sorry…. I don’t need to sleep but sometimes its…”  

“It’s okay Cas.” Dean’s voice was low. “Kinda seemed like you needed this.”  

The arm that Cas held slipped back around him, pulling the angel in close to the hunter’s chest once more. He could hear Dean’s heart hammering through his ribcage.  

“You’re scared.” Cas commented, placing once of his hands over Dean’s chest to feel the vibration of the beats.  

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well… yes. My best friend just woke up while I was practically cradling him in my arms and I…. well I don’t know what that means.”  

“I don’t know either.” Cas whispered into his shoulder, closing his eyes again for a moment.    

They stayed like that for a few minutes more, before Dean began to shift.  

“Sun’s well up,” he stated, his voice back to normal. “Time for us to hit the road and see if anyone remembers Faith Hawley or my brother.”  

Cas nodded, pushing the covers back and beginning to roll out of the bed.  

******  

It took just less than four hours for Baby to roll them onto the Stanford University campus. There had been no talking on the way there, the silence softened by the strains of Dean’s music collection so as not to be uncomfortable.  

Hopping out of the car, Dean waved down a passerby who he figured was dressed douchey enough that he had to be in a fraternity. Dude is wearing deck shoes and has a sweater tied around his shoulders, Dean thought incredulously. If movies have taught me anything, he’s my guy.  

“Hey, I’m looking for directions to the Kappa Sigma house?” Dean questioned with a smile.  

The kid raised an eyebrow. “Little early and a little old for the party, don’tcha think?”  

Dean bit back a bitchy retort, just wanting to end the conversation and move on with their lead.  “Definitely. I’m just delivering something to the house,” he offered.

The kid shrugged and pointed east. “Well, Greek Row is that way. Just look for the Kap-Sig sign.”  

Dean pretended not to see Cas’s raised eyebrow as he got back into the car, peeling Baby away from the sidewalk and changing lanes to head east.  

As he drove onto the street of huge, old frat houses, Cas signaled for him to slow down and park. He’d been tapping away on his phone for a few minutes. “It looks like the Director of Kappa Sigma is a Mr. Henry Parkman; he’s had positions in the system for at least 20 years as far as I can tell. Seems like he might be our best bet.  

“Good job buddy. Let’s start with him.” Dean agreed, stepping out onto the sidewalk.  

He paused to pat Baby’s slightly mangled hood, flicking at some peeling paint. She looked out of place on the fancy street, and it was almost like Dean was trying to reassure his battered car he still loved her. Cas hid his smirk.  

Dressed in their FBI suits (or in Cas’s case, his everyday clothes), the pair stood on the porch of the imposing Kappa Sigma building and pressed the doorbell.  

Someone who Dean assumed to be a young pledge opened the door.  

“Agents Jones and Plant, with the FBI. We’re looking to speak to Henry Parkman?”  

The boy’s eyes widened with curiosity, but he let them in. “Sure. He’s in a meeting I think but I’m sure he’ll make time for you, gimme a minute.” He indicated for them to take a seat in the hallway.  

He returned after a few minutes, waving for them to follow him into a large office right off the main entrance.

“Anderson tells me you are FBI?” An extremely tall, straight backed gentleman offered a hand across his large oak desk, dismissing the young assistant with a nod.

“Yes sir. Jones and Plant.” Dean indicated himself and Cas, lowering himself into a firm and unwelcoming chair opposite the director. “We have questions about two young persons who may have attended Stanford about fifteen years ago. They may or may not have been members of Kappa Sigma, but we know they at least socialized here.”

Henry Parkman raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you, Sirs. They’re not serial killers now, are they?” He grinned, but Dean could tell from his tone that the man was only half joking.

“No, no.” Dean responded with a smile, reaching into his coat pocket for the photograph.

Cas sat quietly, but he was watching the exchange and Dean knew he was taking in every mote of detail.

“Does the name Sam Winchester ring any bells?” Dean continued, holding onto the photograph for a moment.

“Oh…. Yes. He wasn’t a Kappa Sigma, but he was a good student. The name sticks out though – my wife is a law professor, and I recall that he planned to go on and study law. It seemed like he just disappeared over night though and never finished entry.”

Well, we know that’s true, Dean considers, looking quickly to Cas. At least the guys memory seems reliable.

“What about a young lady named Faith Hawley?” Cas questioned quietly, indicating the photograph Dean held.  

The director’s eyes widened as he reached for it. “That’s another name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he breathed out, looking down at the picture and shaking his head slightly. “Oh yes. That’s her alright.” He returned the photograph.  

“What do you remember about her?” Dean probed, curious as to the older man’s reaction.

“FBI, you say?” He leaned back in his winged chair, observing Dean and Cas over the top of his fingers, bringing them together in an arch in front of his nose.

“Yes, Sir.” Cas confirmed, flicking his badge one more time for good measure.

Henry Parkman nodded slowly, before standing up and walking to the door. He closed it, before turning back to them. “Then I will be frank with you, even if you think I’m just a crazy old man.” Dean and Cas both sat up, their interest peaking .  

“Faith Hawley was an unremarkable student at first,” the Director began, stepping back to his chair. “She was a member of a Sorority and as such she socialized with a lot of our boys. History major, if I remember correctly. She seemed sweet enough, well liked I suppose, though I never myself spoke to her. Then suddenly… it was like she changed overnight. Started bringing fantastic test scores, papers that went above the professor’s heads. Some of her friends at the time said she disappeared at night…” his voice dropped. “and there were rumors that she had erratic moments, seeming like a whole different person at times and then fine the next. Faculty of course, suspected drugs.”

Dean nodded slowly. Of course they would.

“Just like myself, the Sorority Director Alice Baker had the right to enter and search Faith’s room at will. I saw her in the staff lounge that night…” The director paused, looking from Dean to Cas and back. “The things she said she found… she was in a panic. She thought the girl had gone crazy. She planned to call campus security the next morning and have the girl investigated, but….”

“What happened? What did she find?” Dean prompted, leaning forward in his chair.

Henry’s eyes flicked back and forth between them again, as if assessing whether the duo would think he was nuts. “Blood. Jars of it, stashed under the bed and in the dresser… and other things, bones and knives and books that…..” he shook his head. “the way she described it made it seem like the girl was into some awful things, at best. Unfortunately, Ms. Baker never made it to reporting anything. She suffered a brain hemorrhage in the night.” The directors voice was tinged with sadness. “It was one of our greatest tragedies here on Greek Row. By the time our attention returned to Faith Hawley… she was gone. Cleaned out her room and vanished off campus without a trace. We asked her friends of course, but they said she had told them she had got what she came for, whatever that means.” Dean and Cas exchanged a look.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Parkman – any other details at all that you can recall?” Cas’s question came out quite intensely, and the Director frowned slightly.

“Not really, Agent Plant. I remember that her family never came her when she disappeared – that seemed odd. Her mother was told but she seemed unconcerned. Beyond that…” the tall man leaned back in his chair, spreading out his hands before him. “It was a long time ago. If I think of anything else I can let you know.”

*****

Dean and Cas drove back out of the college area so that they could find a cheap motel later that evening. They had spent the afternoon quizzing other faculty and Greek system leaders but had found that most remembered nothing, and the ones who did recall something gave them even less information than they found at Kappa Sigma.  

Dean lowered himself down into one of the cheap wooden chairs that the motel had provided, loosening his tie and throwing it down onto the table with an angry sigh.

“Nothing,” he stated flatly.

“I wouldn’t say that Dean.” Cas came to sit on the end of the bed closest to the table, so he could face Dean while they spoke. “We know that Faith Hawley was either a witch, possessed or some other kind of supernatural creature. The timing all matches up with your brother and the fight at her grandmother’s house back in Wyoming. That’s more than we had this morning.” The angel’s voice was low, soothing.  

“But we have nowhere to go from here Cas!” Dean slammed his fist down on the table, before exhaling sharply and leaning forward, his head in his hands.  

Cas remained silent.

“I’m sorry.” Dean murmured after a moment. “I just hoped for a more than a trail that went cold fifteen years ago.”  

Cas reached forward, pulling at one of Dean’s hands until the hunter rose from the chair and swiveled to sit on the bed next to the angel.

“It’s not your fault. Shouldn’t have yelled.” Dean admitted gruffly, his voice thick with misery.

“I know. You just want Sam back.”  

Dean nodded. He felt Cas stretch an arm around his shoulders, pulling Dean towards him in a cautious hug.  

“I want him back too, Dean. We won’t give up…. I’ll be by your side until you find him. Like I always am.” Dean relaxed, turning his cheek against the Seraph’s shoulder. He was vaguely aware that his arms had risen to hug Cas back and that they were sat at the end of the bed, holding each other in a tight, almost desperate cling.  

Dean felt something flutter against his temple, like the very softest, most chaste of kisses. He turned his red-rimmed eyes up to Cas’s blue gaze, unable to read what was there.  

“Did you just….” He questioned quietly, reaching up to touch his temple where he was fairly certain Cas had just pressed his lips.  

“I’m sorry, Dean…. It just seemed like you needed it.” Cas whispered.

Dean noticed a slight heated flush around the angel’s collar, and for some reason the very human reaction delighted him.

“It’s okay,” Dean found himself saying, not pulling back even though part of his mind was screaming at him to. He rested his cheek back on the angel’s shoulder and they sat for a few more minutes, both unsure, but both seeming to need something from the other in the heavy space that had been this messy week.

When Dean rose to go shower and sleep, the air felt suddenly cold.

Chapter Text

At first, Dean wasn’t sure why he woke up; the red glow of the clock showed him it was only thirty minutes past midnight. When he came to his senses a little more he found the blanket caught up awkwardly around him as if he’d been thrashing and turning, most likely the tied-up feeling what had caused Dean to wake.

Reaching down to untangle the bedding and smooth it out, Dean realized with an odd pang that the bed was empty apart from him. He’d slipped into it when he finished his shower and had dozed quickly, the frustration of the day leading to fitful sleep. The hunter sat up and his eyes searched the dark for Castiel, finding him sitting in the chair at the end of the opposite bed.  

Oh. Dean thought, There are chairs in this motel room. I guess there was no need for him to use a bed.

He registered a vague flutter of disappointment in his chest. I like him being close. The dark seemed to make it much easier for Dean to be honest with himself.

How did we begin this strange dance? He considered with a slight panic. Each of us giving a little more each time, then waiting to see what the other gives back. Who started this?

The more important question burned at the back of his mind. What even is this? Is it anything at all?

Dean didn’t have the answers, so he did what he often did when faced with something he didn’t understand—he stopped thinking and blundered on.

“Cas? Did you…” Dean cleared his throat, his voice cracking with sleep. “Did you not want to sleep tonight? To, uh, to share the bed with me?”  

Even though it was dark in the room, Dean still found himself looking down at his lap as he sat on the mattress, sheets bundled at his waist.  

Castiel didn’t respond, though Dean heard the chair creak and sensed movement.

“It’s okay if you don’t of course,” Dean hurriedly added, speaking to the sheet. “I know you don’t sleep mostly. I just thought—”

The bed lurched slightly as Castiel sat down next to him. “I did want to,” the angel clarified in a low rumble. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to. I thought maybe I…” he paused and Dean looked up, seeing his tongue dart out to moisten his lips like a nervous gesture in the low light. “I thought I pushed too far earlier. Made you uncomfortable with me.”   

He doesn’t have the answers either, Dean suddenly realized. He has no more clue what we’re doing than I do. Somehow, that made it easier.  

Reaching out a hand, which he realized too late was trembling slightly, he touched a cautious couple of fingers to Castiel’s face, cupping his cheek “I do want you to.”  

Dean felt Castiel’s slight gasp, more than heard it.  

They were still for a moment, before the angel’s brain seemed to kick into gear and he brought up his knees, slipping down under the sheet.  Slowly, he lay back on the pillow, looking up at Dean. Then he raised his arms, his gesture decisive even if his eyes glinted uncertainly in the dark. He held his hands up like a kid asking for a hug—the simple action made something in Dean’s brain click into place. He’s lonely and worried and so am I. We both need this.  

Deciding not to think about it anymore, Dean slipped down under the sheets into Castiel’s arms and they simply held each other, limbs tangled together in comfort and warmth as Dean drifted back to sleep.  

***

A soft sensation of stroking woke Dean. It felt like someone trailing a couple of fingers lazily across his cheek and up to his temple before getting lost in his hair. He opened his eyes to see wide pools of blue gazing down at him from mere inches away. Their legs were tangled, bringing their bodies close enough that Dean could feel his stomach and chest touching Castiel when he would breathe in.  

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean had heard that greeting a hundred times, but never from quite so close. Castiel’s fingertips continued their slow dance across Dean’s face, returning to his chin to begin again.

“Good morning, Cas,” Dean said, finding himself smiling. “What are you doing?”

Castiel froze as if he’d been almost unaware of his action until Dean pointed it out.  “Just…Looking.”

Dean spotted that flush again, creeping up the angel’s neck. It delighted him with an almost childish glee that he could make this creature, millennia old, do something so very human. He reached out, sliding his hand across the tan skin of Castiel’s neck, and touched the blush curiously with his fingertips. “Just looking… at me?”

Castiel nodded, looking down at Dean as he responded. “You know, before I came back as a human, I’d never put much thought into what you looked like. Angels, we see souls, layered on top of bodies, intrinsically linked with them. It’s like looking at one of those magic eye puzzles some people like,” he compared almost bashfully. “But once I lost my grace, all I saw was you. You were still the same, but so very different. Now I have my grace back again…” Castiel’s fingers slid up Dean’s cheek once more, like a habit the angel couldn’t quite break. “I guess I’m more aware of both things. Your human form is beautiful, Dean. But your soul is breathtaking.”

Dean felt a ferocious heat take over his face, starting behind his ears and racing over his cheeks. “I, uh, thought angels were all logic.” He said. He tried to throw out an easy grin, but the anxiety knotting his stomach made it come out all wonky.

Castiel’s smile was in turn as bolstered by Dean’s effort. “I told you that my Father made us to be able to appreciate beautiful things,” he responded shyly.  

Dean’s fingers at Castiel’s blushing neck slid around further, pulling the angels face right up to his. He knew Castiel wanted this; he could sense it in the angel just as he could in himself. He yearned to kiss him, but at the same time, he had never been more afraid to make a move.

“I’m scared, Cas,” Dean admitted, his breath against the angel’s lips.

“Me too,” Castiel confessed, bringing his hand from Dean’s cheek around to the back of his neck in a mirror of Dean’s own.  

Dean counted silently to three before softly pressing his lips against Castiel’s.  

He felt a tidal wave of relief when the angel seemed to melt into him and press back, reciprocating his kiss.

Dean had never kissed a man like that before, all fondness and stubble and dry, achingly soft lips. He’d kissed many women, but never allowed much thought of wanting to kiss a man. Or angel. Or whatever.  

It was tentative and uncertain, but Dean felt Castiel’s lips spark an ache in his chest that he wasn’t quite ready to think about. When they pulled back, their foreheads touching, Dean let out a breathy laugh. Castiel’s face crinkled with a wide smile, that same look of joy that Dean had first been reminded of back in the motel in Wyoming.  

“We should get up,” Castiel murmured, though he didn’t sound too keen. “While I watched you sleep I kept going over the information from Stanford in my head, and I think we need to start calling for some reinforcements.”

Dean nodded, pulling back somewhat reluctantly and kicking off the sheets.

***

“Bit busy down here, Dean-o…” the Demon’s voice came clearly through the speaker, with a faint echo of screams behind it. “But you know I always have time for my least-detested crime-fighting duo. Where’s Moose?”

“That’s kind of what I was calling about, Crowley.” Dean replied somewhat sourly.

“Trouble in paradise?”  

“He’s missing. Kidnapped, we think. Witch or demon or other, we’re not sure.”

There was a sharp scream, followed by some snapping and pitiful gurgling sounds before the King of Hell came back to the phone.

“And you’re calling to see if I did it?” Crowley asked, sounding almost proud.

Dean and Castiel gave each other a matching look in the front seats of the Impala.

“Did you?” Castiel growled.

“Oh sweet Cassie, such a flatterer. But, no," Crowley admitted. "I did not." The screaming started up again behind his voice, a higher pitched sound this time.

“Then your mother maybe, if you can stand her long enough to ask her about it. Unless you’ve got something bigger on your plate?” Dean asked, almost conversationally.

“Bigger than Moose? Be realistic, Dean.” A heavy metal thunk, like a door closing, and then silence. “Got a little….unrest in certain areas. Just exercising my right as King to find out what the whispers are about,” the demon explained, slightly grumpily it seemed.

“Right. I’m sure you’re hating every moment, Crowley.” Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel.

“What’s the point if you can’t enjoy what you do?” Crowley’s wolfish grin could be heard even through the phone, but after a minute he sighed. “Look. Text me all the info. I suppose I can keep an eye out, as I’m sniffing around the States anyway.”

“On it. I’m sure you’ll be in touch when the return favor is required.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to stop thinking about me and move on, now would I?”

Dean hung up, immediately swiping on through his phone to call the next person on his list, this one with a much more genuine smile on his features.

“Hey, sister from another mister.”

“Dean! Where the hell have you been? It better actually be hell, because you haven’t called me in like, three weeks.”  

“Sam’s missing.”

There was silence on Charlie’s end of the phone for a good minute before she responded. “I’ll be on my way to the bunker in an hour. I’m in northern Michigan, so it’ll take me a couple days to drive down there.”

“Us too, we’re down in Cali. If we leave this morning, we can probably make it home the day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” Charlie’s voice was quiet. “We’ll find him, Dean.”

She hung up, and Dean looked down at the blank phone screen as he exhaled slowly, rubbing at his face.

Castiel reached over to the driver’s seat, squeezing his shoulder in the only comfort he could offer. “Back to Lebanon, then?” he asked quietly, reaching for Dean’s phone. “I can call Garth while you drive, and Jody.”

Dean nodded, taking Baby out of park. “Yeah. Time to call in the cavalry I guess,” he decided.

Chapter Text

They headed straight out of California, turning the Impala back towards I-80 to begin to head back across the country. Dean ate up the miles stoically, back through the starkly beautiful Nevada scenery and on to Utah, trying to push out as many miles as they could before exhaustion set in. He stopped for lunch only at Castiel’s insistence, before jumping back in the car and letting the road lull them as far as Salt Lake City.

Dean eventually pulled off the interstate and onto a side road.

“I’m going to have to find a motel or something," he sighed, sounding angry with himself. “I don’t think I can go much further, I’m exhausted.”

Castiel nodded, his expression clearly indicating his concern as he said, “You’ve driven for almost eleven hours today, Dean. You need some rest.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed dully, leaning back on his headrest as Castiel pulled out his phone to search for somewhere to eat and stay.

Staring up at the beginnings of the evening stars, Dean sat quietly for a minute, peppering the dark with sighs of frustration.

“Tomorrow will be a week, Cas.”  

“I know.”

“A fucking week.”

Castiel didn’t answer, gesturing instead for Dean to take a right turn just ahead. “A couple of miles further up here there’s a motel. There’s a bar across the street and a couple of food places.”

Baby covered the ground quickly and within a few minutes Dean pulled up to the office of the motel. Castiel stayed in the car while Dean stepped inside. Taking out a credit card, he placed it on the counter, suddenly conflicted. Should I get a twin room? Is there any point? Sam’s not here for the other bed and Cas might—well, he’ll use a chair at best. But does a Double room look pushy? Presumptive?

Gulping past his nerves, Dean paid for a double room and went back to the car.  

“All paid up. Feel like having a few drinks before we head to the room?” Dean asked, gesturing to the brightly lit bar across the street. “I could use a little distraction, as well as a little cash.”

Castiel nodded. The routine of drinking and watching the room as Dean hustled pool tables was familiar to him. Dean parked the Impala outside the motel room, and as soon as they stopped Castiel ducked out of the passenger seat, turning to head toward the bar.

Dean called him back, saying, “Cas… lose the coat, man.”  

The angel raised an eyebrow but started shrugging the tan trench coat off, throwing it into the back of the car. “Why?” he asked.

“Its really hot and humid tonight, you stick out,” Dean offered helpfully, indicating his own outfit—just a loose black Kansas t-shirt over his well-worn jeans.  

“Oh,” Castiel looked down at his long-sleeved white shirt, complete with undershirt and tie. “This is better?” he asked, sounding uncertain.

“Wait a minute,” Dean indicated for Castiel to get into the back of the car. Rooting around in the trunk for his duffel bag, Dean pulled out a relatively clean gray t-shirt with a red AC/DC logo on the front and his spare jeans. He and Castiel weren’t the same size exactly, but it should be close enough. Throwing the clothes through the back window, he stepped away and began to walk to the bar.  

“Those should help you blend in better. I’ll go get us some drinks,” Dean called back over his shoulder as he crossed the street.

A familiar wave of slightly sour beer-smell washed over Dean as he stepped into the dive bar, taking a quick glance around to get his bearings before walking up to the long counter that ran along one side of the room.  

The young brunette bartender smiled at him as she moved towards him to take his order, tilting her head flirtatiously as she asked, “What’ll it be handsome?”

“Whiskey on the rocks twice, sweetheart.” Pulling up a second bar stool next to him for Cas when he arrived, Dean looked at the empty seat and reconsidered. “Actually, better leave the bottle. My friend’s a drinker.”

With a raised eyebrow and a grin, the barmaid brought the bottle over and poured his first drink for him, smiling at Dean as the glass filled up.  

Dean was about to ask for her name when the door jingled as another patron stepped into the bar. The young bartender looked up over Dean's shoulder, and he observed her eyes widen as they fell on the newcomer. Brazen, she whistled appreciatively and winked at Dean. “Must be some good stock where you guys come from.” Leaving the bottle, she went back up the bar to serve another drinker.

Turning to follow where the bartender's gaze had landed, Dean choked on his first sip of whiskey.  

Castiel strolled nonchalantly over towards the Dean, as if he had zero idea that the fit of Dean’s jeans and the slouch of the slightly-to-large t-shirt revealed a body that had far more muscles than Dean recalled ever seeing through that damn coat and shirt. Instead of being bulky the angel was tight and coiled, like a loaded spring; exactly how Dean’s stomach felt, in fact. Between those arms and his razor-sharp hip bones, the jeans slouching just a fraction below them as he hopped up onto the bar stool, the angel certainly had a great body. Topped off with ferocious blue eyes and that damned messy sex-hair he always had, Castiel was gorgeous.

“You’ve been holding out on me buddy.” The words tumbled squeakily out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop them, and he blushed instantly.

Castiel blinked at him, taking a long second to work out Dean’s meaning before he looked down at his clothes. “Oh, the clothes? That’s what makes the difference—you like the clothes?”

Dean coughed awkwardly, swallowing down another huge gulp of whiskey before he answered. “Yeah, sure. I like the clothes.” And what’s in them, he thought.

The angel seemed pleased, sloshing some whiskey into his glass with a smile. “Good. I don’t want to stand out.”  

No hope of that, Dean considered dryly.  

Women, and not a few men, floated around Castiel like flies for the rest of the evening. He was always polite and patient with them, but he never left Dean’s side. He sat with him at the bar to drink and always excused himself from his admirers whenever Dean went to the pool table; seemingly so that he could stand and watch admiringly, or provide helpful commentary to make the hustled locals increase their gambles.

It was strange being here without Sammy fussing at him about the time, about how much he drank, about anything at all. The whiskey wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but he felt powerless to do anything about it, waving at the bartender to crack open another bottle for them and refill his glass yet again. She did so with a slightly raised brow, but seemed to decide he wasn’t causing trouble enough to be worth cutting off.

“You wish Sam was here instead of me,” Castiel observed quietly, his tone slightly sad but without any particular hint of jealousy.

“Come on man, that’s not fair. Yes, I wish Sam was here, but it’s different.” Dean frowned, immensely bothered by the implication.

“It’s okay. I know I’m...” Castiel trailed off, shaking his head.  

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Cas.” Dean’s tone, bolstered by too much whiskey, had a low warning tone to it.

“I’m just filling in for Sam, until we find him. I get that, and it’s okay. I’ll be whatever you need, Dean.” Castiel smiled at him, and the part that really hurt Dean was that he could tell Castiel truly meant his words.

Dean slammed his glass down on the bar, angrily threw a bundle of notes next to it, and stormed out.

***

Dean had only been in the motel room for a couple of minutes, leaning against the sink the bathroom with the door closed, when he heard Castiel come in behind him. He turned, knowing that he had hurt the angel’s feelings by running out but still too wound up to back down. What he didn’t expect was six feet of compact, simmering rage to come striding straight into the bathroom, slamming the door open wide.

“What is wrong with you, Dean?! Where do you get off, just storming out and leaving me there?” Castiel hissed out. He was right up in Dean's face, his voice a growl.

Dean felt the air around him swirl and shift, and he knew that somewhere in their nearby unseen state, huge wings were towering angrily over him. Taken by surprise, Dean didn’t answer, giving the angel time to continue.

“I’m doing everything I can for you, Dean! Is this a game to you? Because it isn’t to me! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me? To try and work you out, to communicate with you? Do you even think of anyone except yourself and your brother?”

Dean was afraid. He knew that the angel could snap him like a twig if it came down to it. Even knowing that Cas was his best friend, that he wouldn’t, the creature was still intimidating. Cas had him pinned now, one arm across his neck as he held Dean to the wall, growling in his face. He’s right. Dean felt his own anger fading away. I get so mad at him for not knowing what he’s worth to us—to me—but when have I ever told him? Shown him? Even after waking up this morning and goddamn kissing him, I’m still too chickenshit to tell him how important he is.  

Castiel’s angry tirade seemed to run out of steam and the pair were left breathing angrily, eyes locked magnetically inches apart.  

Feeling sick to his stomach with anxiety, confusion, and whiskey, Dean did the only thing he could do in the moment; he pushed the angel back firmly against the sink and kissed him, hard.  

“No, Castiel.” Dean panted out breathlessly, his rare usage of the angel's full name underlining his determination as he pushed back against Castiel with everything he had. “This is not a game to me.”  

For a sickening moment, it felt like the angel wasn’t responding. Then his hands came to Deans sides, and he bodily lifted him from the floor. Their lips were still locked firmly together as Cas pushed back, lifting Dean clear of the bathroom and tumbling them to the bed.  

They kissed over and over, rolling around like teenagers making out on their parents' couch. Slowly, Dean felt the tension begin to seep out of the angel’s muscles and their lips quieted for them to catch a breath. Lay next to each other, Dean brought his hands up to Castiel’s face, shifting the kissing to something different, something tender.  

“Cas,” he breathed out, reaching to press his lips down to the angel’s throat, trailing a line of kisses back up to his jaw. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For ever making you think that you aren’t worth something to me.”  

Dean trailed his thumb along Castiel’s cheekbone, searching for his eyes before he continued.  

“You are important Cas. Even when we find Sam, that won’t change. Because we’ve changed, and…” Dean stumbled, caught up in the the low-level terror he could admit was wrapped around his words.

Castiel reached back, his hands in Dean’s hair as he brought kiss after kiss to his face, his forehead, his temple. Every showering kiss was the silent encouragement Dean needed.

"Things between us are changing, and it’s terrifying to me," Dean whispered, "but I don’t want it to stop,”

***

They slept easily, tangled on the double bed and lulled by whiskey and kisses.  Dean stretched, untwisting himself from Castiel’s sleepy octopus arms so that he could go and use the bathroom. Upon his return, he stood in the doorway, looking across at the angel just waking up on the bed with a small smile.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel yawned.  

“Morning, sunshine.” The little term of endearment rolled of Dean’s tongue easily, something he had said to Castiel many times. It meant more, now.  

“You got a double room,” Castiel commented, looking around as if for the first time. He grinned, that teasing grin that Dean still wasn’t used to. “You thought I was a sure thing, huh?”  

To the horror of Deans heartbeat, the angel winked.

Blushing slightly, Dean dipped his head to rub at the back of his neck as he said, “You’re kind of a dick, you know that?”

Castiel only grinned wider as he responded, “I had a good teacher.” He reached up, stretching widely, and Dean couldn’t help but picture those invisible wings doing the same thing.  

“Come on, asshole,” Dean chuckled, reaching out to grasp Castiel’s hand and drag him from the bed. “Get some shoes on. We never ate last night and we need to get back to the bunker by midday tomorrow or we’ll have a feisty redhead waiting on our doorstep. Pancakes and a lot of driving await us.”

Chapter Text

Much to Castiel’s annoyance, Dean ignored all his words of caution and drove until late in the night, almost thirteen hours straight. By the time they were in Kansas, Dean was struggling to keep his eyes on the road.  

Castiel’s relief was palpable within the Impala when the bunker came into view, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in miles.

Dean went straight to the kitchen with a sigh. “Good to be home,” he murmured, grabbing three beers from the fridge. He passed one to Castiel before he stopped, looking down at the third beer in his hand.  

“Dean…” Castiel ventured softly, moving to take it from him and replace it in the fridge.  

“Sorry.” Dean rubbed his face. “A little tired…. Wasn’t thinking.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Castiel noted. “Just a habit… and I’m sure we’ll have headway on finding Sam soon, Dean.” His voice was gentle, and he reached out to touch the hunter’s arm. “People will start arriving in the morning. We have help.”

The lone Winchester nodded, rubbing his hand across his face. Chugging down the first half of his beer, he walked down through the War Room and on down the corridor, wordlessly.  

Castiel followed Dean but found himself stood awkwardly in the hallway outside Dean’s bedroom.

Should I go in? He thought, fretting and reaching to run a hand through his hair. He had his own room at the bunker. The past few nights, sleeping entwined with Dean--it had been a very long time since he’d slept like that. Since he’d felt safe enough, wanted enough. He’d slept poorly as a human and it had been a rare occasion indeed as an angel. He didn’t need to sleep, but he wanted to. Stood motionlessly, he sighed. Out there on the road, Dean needed somebody, he thought to himself. But what if the rules are different here?  His hand hovered hesitantly on the doorknob.

“Cas?” He heard Dean's voice carry from inside. “Are you standing outside like a creeper?”

The door swung open.

“Jesus, you are. Get the hell in here.” Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled the angel through the doorway by his elbow, muttering quietly, “Idiot.”  

“Hey,” Castiel began defensively; but when he looked to Dean’s eyes, he saw only that quiet, teasing affection he’d seen that morning. “Yes. Sorry, Dean. I was having a minor existential crisis.” Castiel admitted, with a small grin.

“Oh?” Dean asked as he raised an eyebrow, backing up to the end of the bed and kicking off his boots.  

“I was trying to decide if I was supposed to go and spend the night in my own room, if the rules were different now we’re back here. Or if I should come in and, uh…” Castiel trailed off as he stopped near the bed.

Dean was surprised to sense nervousness Castiel's uneasy form. “Come in and what?” Dean encouraged him gently, reaching out a hand to lead Castiel to come and stand before him. Stepping up to Dean, the hunter squeezed his hand.

Their eyes met, blue to green, and for a moment neither of them spoke.  

Eventually, Dean exhaled heavily. “Fuck, Cas… What are we doing here?”  

Still holding on to the angel’s hand, he pulled him down to sit on the bed beside him.  

“You’re asking me?” Castiel questioned incredulously, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh.  

“Right.” Dean reached up, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, still clad in the same soft gray shirt Dean had given him to wear the night before. “Well, if we’re trying to be honest…” Dean could feel the embarrassment heating his face, but it was too late now. “I discovered a little something about you last night.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“You look really damn good in my clothes.”

Castiel smirked right at him. “Oh, I know," he answered nonchalantly. "Why do you think I kept them on?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to look incredulous, thumping the angel on the shoulder lightly. “You jerk! You played all innocent with me, too.” Dean shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“You can be transparent at times Dean. When I walked into that gross bar you completely forgot about that barmaid and choked on your whiskey.”

Dean hung his head, covering his face with his hands. “Oh God, I really did.”

Castiel’s hand came to the side of Dean’s head, tilting his face back up. His voice was low now, serious. “I’m sorry for teasing you Dean, though I admit I enjoy it. It’s new for me to be able to,” he let out a low chuckle. “I’ve been the butt of your jokes for so many years. But I don’t mean to be unfair," he clarified. 

Dean shook his head slightly, amused.

"I know you’re struggling with this,” Castiel continued after a pause. “Struggling with the fact my vessel is male. Just because sexual orientation is a construct that means nothing to me, I respect that it’s more difficult for you. My own struggles are a little...vaguer,” he smiled sadly. “I’m just unused to feeling. Attraction, comfort, any of it. I’m working on it though.”

Dean realized he was holding his breath, and let it out with a whoosh. “I don’t want you to think I’m some messed up homophobe Cas," he stated firmly. "It’s not like that. It’s just… when you’ve spent your whole life following one path, being one way, and then you meet someone that just… puts it into doubt. It’s had to change how you see yourself after a lifetime.  It took me a long time and I’m barely getting there.” His eyes dropped back to the red AC/DC logo across Castiel’s chest. “I’m trying.”

“That sounds very familiar to me actually, Dean.”

“Well, at least some awesome gay smooches aren’t going to get me kicked out of heaven forever. Your experience was a little more extreme,” Dean offered with a joking smile, his eyes twinkling affectionately at the angel.

Castiel looked back at him for a long moment before he leaned across, cautiously closing the space between them. “May I kiss you again, Dean?”

The question was so blunt it caught Dean unawares. “Uh, of course. I mean, technically I kissed you on the lips first. So I’m hardly averse to it.”  

“You’re right, you did,” Castiel murmured with a smile. “I like kissing you,” he breathed against Dean’s lips. “You’re beautiful… I’m very attracted to you, Dean. When you know what you want, I’ll be waiting.”

The angel’s words ignited the low-level fear that had been sat in Dean’s stomach for days and transformed into something else, something warm and fiery and ferocious.  

Slowly, Dean counted to three again.

“I know what I want, Cas,” Dean responded bravely. He lay back onto his wide, memory foam mattress and looked up at the angel’s cautious gaze. He trailed his hand down Cas’s arm to his hand, pulling him gently above him as an invitation. “I want you.”  

Castiel crawled up the bed slowly until he was poised above Dean, straddling him in a position that Dean found oddly familiar, though the fact that it was Castiel  was very new. Leaning down, the angel kissed him deeply, flicking his tongue into Dean’s mouth searchingly.  

“Chick flick moment over?” Dean asked with a grin, running his thumb over Castiel’s bottom lip, his breath hitching nervously.  

‘Chick flick moment over,” Castiel agreed, sucking the tip of Dean’s thumb into his hot mouth.  

When their lips met again there was that fire, that want that Dean had first crashed into during their fight in the motel bathroom. Castiel’s hands were in his hair, and their tongues were twined together smoothly. Purely on instinct, Dean reached up with his legs to pull the angel against him. Cas relaxed between the hunter’s thighs, pressed up against his chest.

A soft gasp escaped Castiel's lips and he shuddered as their bodies pressed together.

Kissing down Castiel’s neck, Dean slid his hands down his firm sides, reaching to pull his t-shirt up over the angel’s head. Castiel sat back on his heels, discarding the t-shirt down the side of the bed. He took the opportunity to slide his hands under Dean’s shirt in turn, dipping his head down to kiss his stomach and up onto his ribcage as the fabric rode up. Arching his back in pleasure, Dean needed no further encouragement to wiggle out of the shirt, throwing it to the floor in kind.  

Their hands were both free to explore then. Dean’s palms spread across taught abs and his fingers danced across ribs, Castiel’s thumbs almost shyly drew across Dean's erect nipples, eliciting a sweet groan from the man below him. A few more minutes of hot, filthy kisses later, and Dean’s hands dared stray down to Castiel’s belt buckle. His eyes stayed on the angel’s own, cautious, asking permission for them to cross yet another line. Cas’s hand came to cover his, and the angel wet his lips nervously.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Dean," Castiel confessed. The words fell from his lips with a tone Dean had rarely heard on the angel. It took a moment for him to place it as embarrassment or even shame. “I’ve never been with a man, Dean. I’ve only been with a woman once, and she took control of everything. I’ve never even…..” Cas broke his gaze, his cheeks red as he focused on Dean’s stomach. “I’ve never even explored by myself. It was just never… never important.”  

Dean was conscious of his mouth forming an ‘o’ of surprise. The sex part, that wasn’t surprising to him. But the rest? Cas hasn’t even … oh boy. Wow. Dean felt embarrassed for him. Reaching up, he placed his palms to Castiel’s hot cheeks, forcing him to look back to his eyes.

“It’s okay Cas. I mean, I already knew most of that. It’s not like I know what I’m doing with a guy either,” Dean smiled reassuringly.  “But if you don’t know what you like, well, maybe that’s where we should start.”

Dean patted the memory foam next to him, indicating for Castiel to lie by his side. The angel looked uncertain, not sure where Dean was going with it, but climbed over to lay on his back next to him. Dean began to kiss him again, slowly, until he began to relax once more. His hands and lips began at Castiel’s face, before traveling down across his smooth, unblemished body, eliciting soft moans as the angel lost himself in it.

“Dean…” Cas gasped slightly as Dean gently drew his teeth across the flesh where his shoulder met his neck, sucking into it wantonly, his body arching over the angel and marking him red.

Tilting his chin up, Dean whispered huskily into the angel’s ear, “Do you trust me, Cas?” The hand Dean wasn’t using to support himself drifting down Castiel's stomach with a definite destination in mind. 

Castiel’s eyes were hooded, but his voice was clear and firm. “With my life and my very self, over and over.”

Smirking at the drama of the proclamation, Dean trailed kisses down the angel’s collarbone as he flicked open his belt buckle. “Then just talk to me, angel. Don’t be shy about it. Let me know what feels good, what doesn’t…we’ll learn together.”

He came up to meet Castiel’s intense gaze as he pushed his jeans down his thighs, holding his eyes as the angel kicked them off, swiftly shedding his boxers too. Before he even looked down, Dean came back to Castiel’s lips for one more lingering, deep kiss.

Dean wasn’t exactly an expert of first time anything; his own had been quick and unsatisfying as with so many people, and he honestly hadn’t run into the issue much meandering through his life of bar hookups and poor decisions. Nonetheless… this was Cas. In a strange way, he really wanted to make whatever this was special for him. Breaking the lingering kiss, Dean reached for Castiel’s hand.

“First things first. Never jerk off completely dry, if you can help it.” Castiel nodded, watching as Dean reached out his tongue and licked long down Castiel’s palm and fingers. When Dean looked back to the angel, repeating the action with his own hand, his lips were slightly parted and his eyes seemed wider, darker.  

Dean looked down at Castiel’s cock, taking a second to calm his hammering heart before guiding their hands further down.

No going back now; that there is your best friend’s penis. Time to suck it up, Dean. Well … not literally. Well … maybe later.

Dean suddenly realized his lip had curled up in a smirk, amused at his own thoughts. He quickly wiped it from his face before Castiel could jump to the awful assumption that Dean was laughing at his dick. Keep it together, Dean.

Using his patented counting-to-three technique, Dean eased his hand around Castiel’s erect cock, feeling it quiver under his touch. The filthy moan of pleasure that came from Castiel’s mouth as he tightened his grip made him strain at his jeans, but for now, it wasn’t about him. Castiel felt strange in his hand; the shape of him so familiar and yet subtly different from his own. The angel was thick and throbbing, his cock slightly curved and clean cut like most American boys. Dean marveled at the reddening tip for a moment, running his thumb over it gently, spreading Castiel’s precum around like lube.  

“Dean!” Cas gasped loudly. “That--that feels very good,” he stammered, his face and chest flushing red with arousal.  

Guiding the angel's own hand to his cock now, Dean covered his fingers with his and began to show him a good rhythm, pumping steadily at his cock while he rose back up the bed to take Cas’s lips against his own.  

“That’s right, my angel… keep going, tell me what you want, tell me anything you need.” Dean held his face close, feeling Castiel’s gasps against his skin, trying to keep the experience intimate and enjoyable for them both. Sliding his hand back down the seraph’s side and across his firm thigh, Dean cupped his balls and gave them a gentle squeeze, pulling them carefully away from his body just a fraction as Castiel’s beating rhythm began to speed up.

“Dean, Oh...” Castiel’s eyes were frantic, locked onto the hunter, holding his shoulder tightly with his spare hand. “Oh, shit….” The angels’ chest heaved, and Dean sensed he was close.

Pressing in to kiss at his lips again, Dean reached down to slow his frantic pace just a little. “Hold it, Cas, just a little…slow down and keep it for a second…”

“I want to see you,” Castiel panted. “This is amazing, but I want you to enjoy it with me.”

All trace of embarrassment seemingly long gone, Dean stood and quickly dropped his own jeans and underwear, releasing his almost painfully throbbing cock so that it could bob proudly in the air in front of him. Stood beside the bed, Dean watched as Cas reached his spare hand out to trail a finger up the hunter’s length, from base to tip. His cock was a fraction longer perhaps, but not as thick as the angels; Dean could see Castiel’s eyes taking every detail in with amazement.  

Castiel’s body jerked, and Dean knew that with the angel’s experience level being what it was, he wouldn’t last much longer. Suddenly brave, he clambered back onto the bed, straddling Castiel’s thighs. A jolt of intense desire racked through him as their cocks touched for a moment, and Castiel let out an audible groan at the sensation.  

Using one hand to bring himself swiftly up to speed and the other back to aiding Castiel beneath him, they both jerked frantically among the memory foam, eyes locked.

Castiel broke first, biting down on his lip hard and grunting. “Fuck… Dean, Oh--Dean, Fuck…” They reached for each other, Castiel coming up off the bed to press his forehead to Dean’s as his thick, sticky fluid erupted ferociously over them both.  

Dean didn’t take much longer, Castiel’s hand over his, milking out the last few drops together as he all but howled into Castiel’s shoulder. “Shit…” Dean gasped. “Watching you was just…damn. Cas…” His chest heaving, he sought out the angel’s lips once more to kiss him through the sensitive aftershocks of his orgasm.  

They sat for a while, sticky and entwined, just breathing until Dean’s heart rate calmed. Kissing Castiel quickly once more, Dean climbed out of his lap and reached over to the nightstand, bringing over a box of kleenex. Swiping gently at them both, Dean felt reality setting back in, the enormity of what they had done and how it would inevitably change their friendship looming in his mind. Balling up the kleenex, he searched the angel’s face, hoping some clues as to the next move could be found there.

“How was that, Cas?”

Castiel lay back against the pillow, a small hum escaping his throat. Reaching for Dean’s hand, he pulled him down next to him on the bed, turning on his side to look at him fully. “That, Dean Winchester, was worth falling for,” he practically purred.

Dean grinned, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Alright then. Things to improve upon, could be better, I get it.” He teased sarcastically. He folded his fingers between Castiel’s, so they were holding hands with their digits entwined, pushing back and forth like magnets.  

“Needs practice, for sure,” Castiel grinned back. His thumb stroked against the back of Dean’s hand and they both fell quiet, just taking in the adjustment that they were going through.

Pulling the blanket out from under them so as to tuck them under it, Dean cleared his throat, wanting him to stay like this but not wanting the chick-flick discussion about it. 

“Goodnight Cas.”  

Sliding his naked body down into the bed beside Dean, Castiel kissed him goodnight.

Chapter Text

Down in Dean’s discarded jeans pocket, his cell phone vibrated loudly against the floor. Carefully easing his arms from around the sleeping man, Castiel scrambled to grab it before the noise woke him. Charlie’s face grinned up from the screen, so he answered it, slipping out into the hallway to speak quietly.

“Charlie. It’s me, Castiel. Dean’s asleep.”

“No problem—let me in. It’s raining.”

“Of course. Uh—be right there.” Castiel hung up quickly, looking down and realizing that his vessel was completely naked.  

Dashing quietly back into Dean’s room, he grabbed the AC/DC shirt from the floor and slipped into one of the pairs of jeans. He paused to look at Dean, snoring gently as he nuzzled into the pillow that had been Castiel's. He couldn't help but smile, suddenly overwhelmed at everything that had changed, before he padded barefoot back out into the living area.

At the top of the metal stairs, he swung open the heavy reinforced door and let the young redhead in from the drizzle. In typical Charlie fashion, she dove straight at him and squashed him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Castiel! Dude, it’s been a while.” She pulled back, looking him up and down with a grin. “What’s with the duds? Holy tax accountant finally retired?”

Castiel grinned, looking down at his crumpled ensemble. “Something like that," he admitted. "At least for this morning.”

Kicking the door so it swung back closed, Charlie hitched her heavy looking backpack up onto her shoulder as Castiel looked back up. “So. Sam, huh?”

When Castiel turned back to face her, her brow was creased with concern. He nodded solemnly.

“What’s the deal?” She questioned, trotting down the steps with familiarity and heading to the war room, casting off a damp jacket and kicking off the black converse she wore into the middle of the floor as if she owned the place.

Castiel couldn’t help but keep smiling. He liked Charlie; she wore her heart on her sleeve and seemed unfazed by his sometime oddness, which made her much easier for him to deal with than a lot of humans were.

“The three of us were in Wyoming tracking a pack of werewolves,” he began, lowering himself into a seat opposite Charlie as she pulled her heavy-looking backpack up onto the table, starting to empty it.

She nodded, so he continued with his tale.

“We separated; I was supposed to be meeting with Dean once I was done burying the victims in the next town over. I was on my way there, luckily, when I heard Dean praying to me—something went wrong. Dean lured the wolves to the barn that Sam was setting up as a trap, but it seems like Sam never actually made it there. It appears someone grabbed him at some point before that, then set up the barn to make it look like the werewolves took him while he was waiting for Dean.”

Charlie slipped her laptop out onto the table, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, okay. So, what leads to we have?” she asked.

Castiel opened his mouth to start explaining the gas can trail that had eventually led them to Stanford, when Charlie’s eyes widened and she lurched across the table towards him, roughly grabbing the shoulder of the loose t-shirt he wore and yanking it to the side. She tilted her head to get a better look at his neck.

“Dude! Is that a hickey?” She exclaimed loudly, her voice verging on disbelief.

The angel froze, quickly reaching to his neck and smoothing the mark out of existence with barely a thought. A very human flicker of panic swept past his eyes. He didn’t want to lie to his friend, but he had no idea what was okay to say. He had feeling that Dean was at nowhere near the point where he’d want to tell anyone about their recent developments. They weren’t even sure what their recent developments were, nevermind wanting to expose them to Charlie’s cross-examining.  

Mistaking his reluctance for shyness, Charlie barreled on with enthusiasm. “Castiel! Man, it’s good that you’re getting out there. You deserve it. Who is she?”

“I, uh, well. It’s not…” Castiel found himself blinking a little too fast.

Charlie tilted her head again, frowning as she examined him more closely, frowning. She’s too good at that, Castiel panicked internally.

“Oooh…” Charlie grinned softly. “It’s not a girl, is it?”

Castiel tapped his fingers uncomfortably on the table. “No, it’s not.”

“I knew it!” Charlie suddenly whooped. “Come on Cas, if you don’t want to tell me about your sex life we can switch back to talking about the kidnapping. We gotta find Sam—he owes me twenty bucks now.”

“You had a bet with Sam?” He muttered incredulously, shaking his head.

“Yup. We actually both were in agreement that you didn’t care where you slung your halo, but he didn’t think you’d ever loosen up enough to act on it.”

“M-My… My halo isn’t a physical-“ Castiel stammered, feeling suddenly like a bug under a microscope. If his wings had worked, he'd have flapped away in an instant.

Charlie’s hand reached across the table again, touching his arm. “Castiel. It’s okay. We’re all friends here.” She smiled reassuringly. “No judgement from me, I’m gayer than Sailor Moon. I’m happy for you, Cas.”

The reference flew above Castiel’s head, but he smiled a little none-the-less. “Sexual orientation becomes irrelevant when you technically don’t have a gender,” he clarified quietly. “But honestly, I don’t really know what’s happening with him yet, so I’d appreciate if you kept it to yourself until… well until I work it out.”

Charlie grinned widely, pantomiming zipping her lips. “Understood. Back in the closet you go, until you tell me otherwise. So. Leads?”

Raking her hair quickly off her face and tying it back with what Castiel thought might have been an ink-stained elastic band, Charlie sat poised over the laptop ready to type.

“Leads,” Castiel nodded, sitting up more comfortably and beginning to fill her in.

***

Dean woke up alone. Stretching an arm out across the bed, he found the sheets cold. Pushing himself up to look around, he noticed that Cas’s clothes were gone from the floor. Wow, he considered somewhat saltily. Didn’t picture Cas as a ditcher or early morning walk-of-shame type...maybe it’s that ‘angels don't feel things like we do’ thing. Stomach sinking, he realized that it bothered him immensely. I am in way over my head, he realized with resignation.

Grabbing his jeans from the floor, he habitually tucked his gun into his waistband and looked around for his phone. It wasn’t on the nightstand, or the floor, or tangled in the sheets. It definitely wasn’t in his jeans. Confused, he raked a hand through his mussed-up hair and stepped out into the hallway, foregoing shoes or a shirt for the time being. Thinking that he’d grab some coffee from the kitchen and then take a shower, he dawdled on down the tiled passage, musing back over the previous night.

Okay, he mused, so technically speaking it wasn’t the best sexual experience I’ve had. It had been somewhat awkward and at times embarrassing, the realization that he had jerked off in front of Castiel—that they had done it together, touching, exploring—was still a huge flashing light in the back of his mind. But at the same time… It was awesome, he thought. Being with Cas like that was amazing, and I want more of it. It felt right.

Feeling oddly relieved to at least know his own mind, Dean reached up to rub his eyes, yawning widely as he moved closer to the war room. He heard Castiel’s low grumble of a voice as he shuffled through the doorway.

“I’m waiting on Garth to get back to me with reports from other hunters in the area who’d caught wind of any werewolves—“ Cas cut off, spotting Dean and allowing a fond, if slightly nervous, smile to spread across his features. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Hey buddy.” Nodding to him, Dean stepped up to the table and gave him a brief slap of greeting on the shoulder, while grinning over at Charlie. “Charlie! You got here in good time. Sorry I was asleep. Cas let you in?”

“Yup,” She nodded, looking up and wrinkling her nose at Dean's half-dressed form. “Gross Dean, put on a shirt. I don’t need to see that,” she teased, reaching over to poke him in the stomach.

Laughing, he caught her hand and pulled her up into a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, kid. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course—anything for my brothers.” She smiled slightly sadly as she sat back down. “Cas has been filling me in and I’m building a profile on Faith Hawley, so I can try and track her down online.”

“Great. Lemme caffeinate and shower and I’m all hands on deck,” Dean agreed as he wandered towards the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, he turned back to Castiel. “Cas, do you have my phone? I swear it was in my pants pocket but I can’t find it.”

Castiel reached into the loose jeans he wore and fished the cell out of his pocket, throwing it to Dean before refocusing on the notes in front of him. “Yes, sorry, Dean. I answered it when Charlie called to be let in.”

Nodding, Dean disappeared off to the kitchen.

Charlie remained silent as she sat with her arms crossed in her chair, looking between Castiel’s bent head over the table and Dean’s retreating form with a calculating look.

***

It was late evening before Jody called. Putting her on speakerphone, Dean slid his cell into the middle of the table so they could all speak to her.

“Sheriff Mills,” Castiel greeted her respectfully. “It’s good to speak to you again. This is Charlie—"

“Hey!” Charlie called out, her eyes never leaving her laptop screen.

“She’s come down to help us with tracking the girl we think is connected to Sam’s disappearance," Castiel finished.

“Great. The more people looking the better,” Jody agreed.

“Do you have anything for us?” Dean questioned, leaning forward onto the table.

“Not directly, but I wanted to call and let you know that I sent out an APB on Sam. Every law enforcement officer in the country is looking for him.”

Dean looked surprised. “How’d you manage that? I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but according to public record Sam has been dead for several years. As have I.”

The bunker team could almost hear Jody’s smug smile through the phone.

“Well, Sam never actually died in that shootout, Dean. He was framed, forced to participate against his will, and was then put in witness protection by the FBI. As far as the APB is concerned, they are looking for an innocent man who was kidnapped out of protection right under their noses. That kind of stuff makes police officers mad, Dean. They’ll definitely be looking for him.”

Dean’s jaw dropped a little in surprise.

Charlie whistled slightly. “Damn lady, you are good.”

“Oh, I know. I might need a hand altering a few records, Charlie—I’ve heard you’re pretty good at that. Now, Dean.” Jody’s voice softened. “How are you holding up? This must be rough for you. The girls and I could pack up and swing by you know, if you need anything at all. Claire is already itching to take her teenage frustration out on someone or other, she could help you.”

Dean chuckled, mostly at the aghast frown that immediately crossed Castiel’s face.

“I’m pretty sure Cas would smite me out of existence if I recruited Claire to be in the field.” Dean answered. He looked over to the angel, smiling reassuringly. “Tell her to keep her teeny-bopping butt out of trouble. As for me, I’m, well I’m doing surprisingly okay honestly. Got my friends here to keep me on track,” he admitted quietly.

“Good. Don’t think I won’t haul ass up there if you start being stupid, Winchester.”

Ending the call with a round of goodbyes, Dean stretched back into his seat to regard his two friends. Charlie was hunched over her laptop as usual; she’d barely moved all day, accepting food and beer with a grunt each time Dean pressed it upon her. Castiel had magical lore books of the kind Sam usually loved spread all over the table, the contents of Grandma Hawley’s hex bag separated out into the spelled Men of Letters evidence bags that the bunker had a plentiful supply of. So far, it seemed to be an unconnected jumble of ingredients.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. His friends, his extended hunting family, had stepped up to the plate. Castiel and Charlie were hard at work; Garth was running back end, rounding up hunters to track and question werewolf packs across the country in case any of them knew anything about his brother. Jody was pulling in police resources. He had a sneaking suspicion Claire was not sitting on her butt being good, and even Crowley was keeping an eye out for Sam. He felt immensely grateful, but useless.

***

Dean was in the kitchen flipping burgers at around eight o’clock when the bunker’s alarm went off.

Only a split second later, there was a pounding on the huge reinforced blast door that lead to the outside world. Gun in hand instantly, Dean raced up the stairs. He felt Castiel ascending swiftly behind him without even turning.

“Hello, boys,” Crowley drawled smugly as they peered around the door. “Always so delighted that you take such…alarming precautions.” He smirked. “But my arrival can’t be quite that unexpected.”

Sighing, Dean and Castiel simultaneously rolled their eyes at each other before tucking their weapons back away and swinging the door open to admit the demon.

Charlie regarded him with narrow eyes as he descended the stairs, but said nothing, returning to her work.

“To what do we owe the displeasure, Crowley?” Dean was the first to speak, somewhat begrudgingly offering the King a chair. “Got some news on Sam?”

Although the uncomfortable truce he’d held with Crowley since his demon days seemed fairly set to hold, Dean still felt uneasy whenever he was forced to share space with him. He was, after all, still the King of Hell and they had tried to kill each other on numerous occasions.

“Of a kind,” Crowley began, kicking his feet up onto the table and lacing his fingers together across his black duster coat. He looked around with a raised eyebrow. “What does it take to get a drink around here? Don’t tell me Cassie has got you going dry, Squirrel.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. Castiel stood angrily, muttering audibly to himself, and went to fetch the good Scottish whiskey. Upon his return, Crowley took the glass and sniffed it suspiciously, giving the angel an eye before he took a sip.

“Rein in your pet, Dean. Terrible manners, he’s such a bore.”

“No, he’s not,” Dean returned calmly. “He just doesn’t like you.”

Castiel smiled so smugly at Crowley then, he might as well have just said, “I’m the favorite, bitch. Pipe down.”

Charlie smirked slightly behind her computer screen, but otherwise kept her head down.

Crowley sighed dramatically, draining the glass and pushing it across the table to Castiel for more, before he turned his attention back to Dean. “So. Faith Hawley, you say.” He drew her name out distastefully.

Dean sat up, nodding to Crowley to continue.

“I though the name Hawley rang a bell when you first text me all the info. I had to think back a few years before I got suspicious, but the picture sealed it. She looks just like her sweet mother.” As if from nowhere, a scroll appeared in Crowley’s hand and he unrolled it across the table.

“This is a list,” he pointed down at it. “Of all of Azazel’s Special Children.”

Chapter Text

Dean felt his blood run cold; he hadn’t heard that name in half a decade. One of the special children. Like Sam.

“I never met her, but I made a deal with her dear mother back thirty-something years ago, if I recall correctly.” Crowley continued. “Azazel’s minions found Faith when she was very young. She didn’t get as long as our precious Moose did to live in ignorance. Her whole family knew about it and discussed it openly her whole damn childhood, it seems.”

“So Mama Hawley burned on the ceiling, like my Mom and Jess?” Dean asked with a furrowed brow, trying to untangle it all.

“No, actually. She bargained with cross-roads deals; with moi. She didn’t die until 10 years later, when one of my boys went to collect. The kid would have been maybe twenty, by that time.  Azazel had tested her as a child and found her lacking, shall we say. Mama was pissed.”

“Wait—she wanted her daughter to be one of the special children?” Castiel sat up, speaking for the first time.

“Bingo, wingless-wonder.” Crowley said, pointing at the angel. “When Azazel said her kid didn’t have enough power to be one of Lucifer’s Generals on Earth, she made a bargain with me in exchange for more power for her daughter, you see.”

“Mother of the year,” Dean commented dryly. “But Azazel had already dismissed her, so what was the point of gaining more power?”

Crowley shrugged, “I’m not her bloody therapist, Dean. I just did the deal.”

“What was the deal, Crowley?” Castiel leaned onto the table, his eyebrows meeting with an almost angry curiosity. “What power did the child get?”

“Oh, that’s the fun part,” Crowley sat up almost gleefully. “She wanted to give her daughter another facet of power, make her some sort of supernatural cross-breed. She had the power of Lucifer as a potential general, if she developed it. So, she wanted sweet little Faith to also be given the power of Lilith. It was a very expensive deal for mummy dearest, took some horrifically dark magic.”

‘Lucifer and Lillith’s child…” Castiel straightened, his voice cold as Dean and Charlie merely watched. “She—She volunteered her for that? Wait, she wanted to—” he looked sickened as Crowley nodded, the two of them understanding something Dean seemed to be missing.

The angel turned to Dean, looking horrified. “That means Faith Hawley is a succubus, Dean. One with the potential power of a special child, which it sounds from the blood stored in her dorm room, she chose to dramatically develop.”

Castiel waited, Crowley waited. They were looking at Dean as if waiting for him to catch up.

“A bloody succubus, Dean,” Crowley reiterated in frustration.

Looking wide-eyed between the demon and the angel, the hunter couldn’t quite seem to make the leap of logic they had made.

“Dean,” Cas stated flatly. “Faith said she got what she came for. She left right after that picture was taken with your brother. She went to Stanford for Sam, Dean. That’s what they do, enchant men. The succubus went to Stanford to breed with another Special Child.”

***

Dean stared at the bottom of his whiskey glass desolately. Crowley was long gone, and Charlie was asleep in one of the guest rooms. Castiel had briefly gone out to repair the warding that the demon had damaged with his unscheduled arrival.

They had a lot more information than they previously did, but they still had no real leads in terms of the kidnapping, and things certainly weren’t looking that great for Sam. He felt like his blood was boiling. He’d drunk far too much, he knew, but he just felt lost. He missed Sammy and he felt like such a useless nobody against his rallied hunting family. It made him irrationally angry.

Castiel stepped back down the stairs, idly picking at a fleck of white paint on his palm. The sigils outside were refreshed, the wards put back in place and he felt fairly confident that Crowley wouldn’t sneak up on him again. His distaste for the demon ran high, but he knew that as King of Hell, he could be very helpful.

A little forewarning though, Castiel considered, would always be nice.

A loud splintering of glass brought Castiel’s attention snapping up as he stepped into the war room. Tiny slivers of Dean’s crystal whiskey glass splayed out across the table as Dean stood, leaning his palms down on its surface, a smear of blood emerging next to his spread fingers. He’d smashed the glass down onto the table, crushing it with his hand.

Before Cas even got to the bottom of the stairs, Dean launched the now empty whiskey bottle at the wall with a scream of frustration, showering larger shards of glass all over the floor. He froze still for a second, before silently turning and walking out of the room.

Castiel sighed. He’d been waiting for this.

Stepping up to Deans bedroom door, he paused as he heard the hunter crashing about inside. Should I leave him alone? He considered. No. He’ll tell me to, but that’s not really what he needs right now.

Steeling himself for the inevitable fight, Castiel pushed open the door and stepped smoothly inside. The room was trashed, books and clothes and furniture out of place. Dean stood with his fist against the wall, which it looked like he had been punching.

“Leave me alone, Cas," Dean growled, low.

Not exactly heartened that he was right about Dean wanting him to leave, Castiel stood quietly and surveyed the mess. “Did it make you feel better?” He asked, gesturing. “This?”

Dean stepped up to the angel, practically growling in his face. “Just go, Cas. I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t, Dean,” Castiel replied calmly. “You’re angry and you’re afraid for Sam, but you don’t want to be alone.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Dean spat, rounding on the angel again.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Castiel reached out to touch his shoulder, fearless in his superior strength. “You want to scream, scream. You want to hit something, hit me. But I’m not leaving, Dean. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Dean swung wildly at Castiel, and the angel recognized it for what it was; lashing out in pain, not directed at him at all. He took the hit to his jaw, turning out of the movement to spit some blood onto the floor. He could feel that his vessel's nose was broken, and a few teeth were loose. Even drunk, Dean knew how to land a punch.

He slowly turned back to Dean, reaching for his shoulder again. “Dean,” he growled quietly. “We will find Sam. We need you, to do that. We need you to lead us, to be a hunter, Dean. Not this.”

Wildly, drunkenly, Dean swung again, somewhat more feebly this time. Missing, he stumbled into Castiel's arms. “What good am I? Letting him get taken like that? I’m nothing,” he mumbled angrily into Castiel's shoulder.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, preventing Dean from pulling away despite his weak protest. “You aren’t nothing, Dean. You are useful and important,” Castiel stated firmly, knowing the root of Dean's anger was in feeling like he wasn’t helping.

He gave in then, slumping into the angel and wetting his shoulder with tears. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m really sorry… None of this is your fault.”

“It’s okay.” Castiel couldn’t help himself but kiss the top of Dean's head as he held him.

Dean reached up, looking regretful as he smeared away some of the blood dripping from Castiel’s nose with his thumb. “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out to the angel, sounding very small.

Castiel reached up and passed a hand over his face quickly. A tiny flash erupted under his palm, and when his hand fell back down his face was clean and smooth. “All gone,” he murmured. “Nothing to be upset about.”

Using his hands on Dean’s shoulders, Castiel directed him towards the bed.

“You’re drunk and you’re angry and emotional, Dean. Let's get you to bed and then in the morning, we’re going to track down that succubus and she is going to take us to your brother.”

Dean nodded through his drunken, sporadic tears and fell fully clothed onto the bed. “Right.”

Castiel sat down next to him on the mattress, patiently watching him fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The jackhammer pounding in Dean’s head drew his attention first, but then there were other sensations. He lay still, trying to name and place them. He felt an arm around his waist, and a chin over his shoulder, pulling him close. Dean was the little spoon and he recognized Castiel’s airy, almost spicy smell. There was another sensation too, if Dean concentrated hard enough. He lay quiet, trying to figure it out. He felt a tiny breeze almost, skimming across his cheek and arm. He’d have called it a breath, but he knew Castiel didn’t breathe often, not having any real need to.

Opening his eyes, nothing really looked out of place. He rolled over, finding a patient smile on Castiel’s face as he looked down at him.

“Good morning, Dean.” The angel intoned quietly, reaching up and touching two fingers to Dean’s forehead with a small smile. “Is that better?”

Dean felt a tiny rush of grace through his body. A familiar sensation, it was so much better than coffee. He felt awake, refreshed, his aching knuckles and cuts from the night before healed along with his hangover.

He leaned forward, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder with a tiny relieved groan. “Thank you. You shouldn’t be wasting your mojo on hangovers too often though,” he chided gently.

“It was nothing,” Castiel dismissed mildly.

Concentrating again on the strange yet pleasant feeling of breezy pressure in the air, Dean looked back up, so that he could watch the angel’s reaction. “Cas…do you have your wings wrapped around me?”

The angel blinked, and the feeling was gone.

“No, no, put them back,” Dean rushed. “I liked it.”

Castiel’s smile was quite shy, causing Dean’s stomach to flip-flop childishly.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Is that too intimate? I don’t really know where our boundaries are anymore. Your personal space rules seem to have altered, but I don’t want to piss you off,” Castiel admitted.

Dean laughed, nodding understandingly across at Castiel before he responded. “I guess we’re kind of in a weird limbo right now, huh?” He lay back, leaning into Castiel with the angel’s arm under him. After a moment he looked up, seeming too curious to let it go. “Is that intimate to you? Having your wings around someone like that?” he asked.

“It can be,” Castiel confessed, looking to Dean’s face as if trying to gauge his reaction. “Nudging someone with a wing or accidentally crashing against them is nothing, it happens all the time, but holding someone within them…”

Dean felt the breeze, the feather-light pressure, creeping around him again.

“In my true form, it would be an embrace only for my very closest kin. In a vessel, it’s something most angels would reserve for lovers or soulmates, I suppose.” Castiel finished somewhat awkwardly.

“Lovers, huh.” The word made Dean smirk like a ten-year-old. “Well, uh, I guess that’s true now, for us.”

At least he was here when I woke up this morning, Dean mused, remembering the pit in his stomach when he woke the day before. Maybe 'lovers' isn’t enough.

They snuggled for a moment like that, before Dean worked up his courage and looked up at Castiel from his shoulder, his turn to look a little awkward and shy. The bashful expression sat oddly on his face. “Cas, there's, uh—there was something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

Dean pushed himself up on an elbow, still laying on his side. “You know I’m not good at, y’know, talking. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d just listen, maybe?” He smiled hopefully.

The breezy wing feeling fell back as Castiel straightened himself, sitting up slightly and nodding seriously. “Of course, Dean,” he agreed.

“Yesterday, when I woke up, you weren’t here.” Dean began. Here goes, he thought, embarrassed to discover how scared he was.

For a moment it looked like Castiel would interrupt to explain, but instead, he pulled his lips back together and nodded a fraction, waiting quietly.

“It, uhm…” Dean exhaled a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It kinda sucked. It bothered me. It probably shouldn’t have; I tried not to be upset about it or anything because I knew there was either an explanation—which there was—or maybe you just didn’t know that, well, generally that’s not a nice thing to do. To wake up alone, after, well, after stuff like we did.” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, studdering his way awkwardly through his point.

Castiel still seemed to be making a valiant attempt not to interrupt, frowning and nodding again.

“Anyway. It got me thinking, and I realized that I don’t want it to be like that with you.”

Cas’s face visibly crumbled at Dean’s phrasing; Dean quickly reached out his hand to tilt the angels face back to his and locked on to him with his bright green eyes.

“I mean—” He powered on firmly. “I don’t want to wake up alone. The past week, with you…shit, Cas, I don’t know how this started, or what you want from it, or if it means anything to you. I don’t know that stuff. But I need…”

Dean exhaled firmly again, calming himself before working up to something.

“I need you to come out a bit, from behind that frosted glass you talked about in there Cas.” He reached gently to tap at the side of the angels head. “After you explaining to me how angels feel, I just need to know if this means anything to you. I’m not asking for anything, I’m not trying to take anything from you that you aren’t willing to give. But I need to know if it means something to you, because—”

Dean's voice cracked as his hand dropped back to the mattress. Just say it, Winchester. Jesus.

“Because it does mean something to me, Cas. And if it doesn’t mean the same to you, then…then I need us to stop whatever this is, Cas. Because I don’t think I can do just...just that. With you.” Dean’s eyes were fixed on the mattress as he bumbled and sped through his words.

Silence reigned for a few minutes.

“Dean…can I speak now?”

“Oh God, please do,” Dean chuckled humorlessly while shaking his head at the mattress.

Castiel shifted so he lay like a mirror of Dean, both of them stretched out down the bed facing each other, propped up on one elbow.  With his other hand, he reached out to seek Dean's, twining their fingers together.

“When I explained to you how different it is to feel things as a human Dean, I really didn’t mean for you to take from it that my emotions and responses here on Earth are somehow not genuine,” Cas began cautiously. “Or that I won’t feel the full extent of them. Although that’s true, remember I have a choice in that…when it boils down to it, that choice is what free will is all about.”

Dean tilted his head, showing he was listening, though his eyes focused on their hands, resting entwined on the crinkled blanket.

“I chose you, Dean. Haven’t I always? I’ve made some terrible mistakes, I’ve messed up over and over. Some of the things we’ve been through I never expect you to forgive. But we’re ultimately here now, because every time I tried to fix things, it came down to choosing you.”

“We’ve been best friends for several years, but I always wanted more from you, Dean,” the angel confessed quietly. “I hid it, or thought I did, because I never considered I’d be worthy of your reciprocation.”

Dean looked up then, a crease at his brow and a disagreement of that fact brewing on his lips, but Castiel continued.

“But now,” Castiel took a deep breath. “I know you ‘suck’, as you say, at stuff like this. But if you could be brave enough for a minute to answer one simple question, I’d appreciate it.”

Dean nodded.

“Do you want a relationship with me, Dean? Beyond being friends, beyond these moments we’ve had—are your feelings enough that you want to be with me? I’ve shown you I’m yours, you seemed to show me you were mine. But maybe we weren’t clear, those things just jumbled up with friendship and needing Sam," Castiel considered. "Maybe this happened since we lost Sam because without him here, I realized that I want it to be me that you need too, not only him. I don’t want to be friends, I don’t want to be occasional lovers. I want you, at my side.” Castiel smiled, his nerves showing in the twitch of his tongue against his lip. “My understanding of human relationships might not be the most well-rounded, but I want us to be together. Do you?”

“That was three.”

“What?” Castiel blinked.

“That was three questions,” Dean smirked slightly, quickly reaching for Castiel’s face before the angel could get mad at him. He caught Castiel under the jaw, stroking his thumb across his stubble as he looked deep into the uncertain blue lakes making up Castiel’s eyes. “Yes,” he finally answered simply.

“Yes….?” Castiel echoed cautiously.

Dean smiled ecstatically and leaned in to press his lips to the angel’s, speaking only a hair's breadth from them. “Yes, Cas. I want to be with you. I’ve never done this, I’ve never had a boyfriend… but you are worth changing all that.”

They lay kissing lazily, their bodies tangled. Hands held, just enjoying each other's taste and exchanging smiles. They were still busy reveling in the newness of it all when there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Dean! Cover your junk buddy, I’m coming in!” Charlie barked through the door with no ceremony at all, not even the required polite pause before she swung it open.

Her eyes seemed to barely register the human-angel tangle on the bed, instead drawn by the drunken destruction still scattered around the room. “Holy shit, rough night? Is that your blood Dean?” She pointed at a spray of red across the tile.

“Uh, no, that’s mine,” Castiel responded very quietly as the two men swiftly untangled themselves, looking unsurely at each other, then at Charlie.

“Oh. Well.” Charlie seemed to think about it for a second. “No harm done then.”

As she looked back up at them, Dean noticed the laptop she had under her arm. Following his eyes, she tapped it, tilting her head towards the door. “War room guys, zoom. We have a lead.”

With that, she spun on her heel and left, her The Last Jedi patterned bathrobe flapping dramatically.

Dean and Castiel looked at each other.

“Did she…did she not even notice?” Dean asked, his brow crinkled in amusement.

***

Dressed, Castiel back in his own ensemble and Dean in jeans and boots in case they decided to run out of the door, the cautious new couple stepped into the war room.

“I got up to put the coffee on and I saw that one of the dark web crawlers I had set up last night found a few things while I slept,” Charlie began with no preamble.

She looked up to Dean. “Coffee should be brewed and ready by now. Let’s grab it and see what we got.”

Nodding, Dean gestured for Castiel to sit down at the table and followed Charlie into the kitchen.

She moved swiftly; much faster than Dean’s usual plodding morning routine. Three mugs clanked their way out of the cupboard and on to the surface as she gestured to Dean to deal with the sugar. As he spooned it, she turned, resting her back and the heels of her hands against the edge of the counter. It seemed like she was waiting for Dean to speak.

Distracted by his phone, Dean ran through a few texts received during the night, including one from Jody updating him on Claire. He cleared his throat, realizing Charlie was staring. “Sleep well?”

“Not bad for an insomniac. You?” Her eyebrow was raised. Dean sensed the loaded question.

“Yeah, I uh, I slept really well actually. Castiel even zapped away my hangover when I woke up.”

Charlie made a small hum of acknowledgement, but didn’t stop looking straight at him, the unspoken comment that Castiel had been around when Dean woke up hanging between them.

“Charlie…” Dean dropped the spoon onto the counter, regarding her tiredly.

Please don’t be questioning me about this morning, Charlie…he thought desperately. Give me time.

“Fine,” Charlie responded to his unphrased request. Rolling her eyes and grabbing the coffee from the counter, she spun and huffed off back to the war room, Star Wars bath robe adding some extra drama to her flounce.

Quickly grabbing the other two mugs, Dean hurried after her.

Charlie rotated her laptop screen so that everyone could see, delving straight back into the lead and paying no heed Dean’s odd expression.

“Alright, boys!” She ignored Castiel’s raised eyebrow at being referred to as a boy , and started flicking furiously across her touchscreen, documents that looked a lot like store invoices flashing by.

“I tried running an old CIA program that would search for any illicit transactions on the deep web that referenced the name Hawley, the address Cas gave me for the grandmother’s house, Sigma Kappa or Sam Winchester. Now, we all know that Sam is smart enough to use an alias and a stolen credit card anytime he buys odd ingredients or relics online; but someone using his name and an address up in Goshen, Indiana ordered a bunch of very interesting magical supplies from the black market just two days ago.”

Dean sat up. “Sam ordered stuff? What are the chances there’s another Sam Winchester out there, ordering weird-ass magical supplies on the crazy part of the internet?”

“Slim, but I suppose it’s possible. With a lack of other leads, I’m running with it not being Sam,” Charlie admitted.

“What did they order?” Dean quizzed her.

“According to this, some super obscure items. They ordered some handcuffs to be engraved with an Enochian chant, herbs, a ton of holy oil, and a book on the Sumerian theory of angel summoning.”

Castiel frowned lightly. “Can you see what the chant was? If they ordered something to be engraved, I could translate it?” he offered.

“Give me a little time,” Charlie responded, spinning the laptop back around. “Let me pull this delivery address for you guys to get working on, then I’ll see if I can find the emails that accompany the handcuff invoice. I imagine our fake Sam would have had to write out what they wanted engraved.”

Dean was already pushing his chair back. “Alright then. Five minutes to pack, Cas. I’ll see you in the car. Charlie, can you text Cas the address—I need you to stay here. Someone is on the way to head up that werewolf hunting division Garth is working on, and they’ll need to get in.”

Charlie looked surprised. “Who?”

Dean cast a sidelong, slightly apologetic look at Castiel before he answered. “Her name is Claire Novak. She lives with Jody, kind of as an unofficial foster mom. Uh, she’s a hunter of a sort. And she's Cas’s vessel’s daughter.”

Cas sat up immediately. “ What? Dean!”

Dean threw his hands up. “Sorry buddy," he apologized with a grimace. "Nothing to do with me. Claire isn't very good at the word no.”

Chapter Text

It was still early and Dean felt particularly refreshed from his grace wake-up. He convinced Castiel, once he was done sulking about Claire, that they should hop straight into Baby and make the 11-hour drive to Indiana in one go. He figured they could sleep the night nearby, then head straight to the address that Charlie had dug up in the morning.

They drove mostly in comfortable silence for about three hours before Dean pulled into a gas station to fuel up and take a break. He counted through the cash he’d hustled at the bar a couple of nights earlier and decided to grab a few snacks for the road and put off eating until dinner.

Piling some candy bars and a bag of chips onto the counter, Dean looked around the gas station with a sudden pang of discomfort. Remembering the Gas’n’Sip in Idaho where Cas had worked as a human, he shook away the feeling. That was a long time ago now. Cas’s back, I’m not lying to him anymore, we’re good. We’ve really come a long way. On a whim, he grabbed a couple of warmed over burritos to add to his stash of snacks.

Paying the disinterested clerk, Dean took the snacks back to the Impala, where Castiel had just finished pumping the gas. He turned, the breeze ruffling his dark hair into even more of a messy frenzy. Sunlight hit him and his blue eyes seemed to almost glitter with golden flecks for a moment. Dean found himself standing on the opposite side of the car, just staring at the angel—very obviously so, he realized. Castiel turned to check there was no one else behind him before he looked back to Dean, laughing.

“Pick your jaw up Dean, we’ve got a lot more time to pass stuck in this car.”

Cheeks slightly flushed, Dean ducked into the driver’s seat. “I’ve been staring at you for years Cas, don’t start calling me out on it now.”

He handed one of the warm burritos over to Castiel, balancing his own on his knee as he pulled back out onto the road.

Cas looked at the burrito in surprise, but smiled warmly in thanks.

“I don’t know what those taste like to you now, but I remember you liked them when you were human,” Dean offered with a shrug. “I figured, why not try one, as they had the kind you used to prefer.”

The angel fixed Dean with a sidelong glance as slid the food out of the cardboard wrapper. “You know Dean,” he mentioned softly, “You’re actually a lot more observant than people give you credit for. I think under all the gunfire and classic rock, you might actually be kind of sweet.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned the music up, the sounds of Van Halen filling the car, but he didn’t pull back when Castiel gently reached for his hand. Their fingers lay tangled on the front seat between them for most of the remainder of the drive.

***

It was much later, almost ten o’clock at night, by the time they crawled over the Indiana border.

“Why don’t we stop here, Dean?” Castiel coaxed. “It won’t be a problem to cover the last hour or so to Goshen in the morning,” he insisted.

His eyes burning from the day’s driving with only brief breaks and a drive-thru dinner, Dean was forced to concede. “Right. Any motels nearby?” Dean peered forward out of Baby’s window, taking in copious rolling cornfields and not much else.

“A few towns over…” Cas murmured, his fingers flicking across his phone screen, searching.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean dismissed, pulling off the road onto a dirt track. “I’ll park up here and just sleep in the back, won’t be the first time.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Dean, that doesn’t sound the most comfortable.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dean climbed out and reached into the back seat, pulling out a thick blanket from the footwell and taking out the cooler Charlie had hastily packed for them at the bunker. “Come on, Sammy and I used to do this all the time. It can be kinda nice, you’ll see.”

Castiel’s gaze was disbelieving, but he followed Dean out of the car and watched as he flicked the blanket up over Baby’s hood.

“Come on.” Dean hopped up to sit back against the windshield, legs out in front of him, pulling the cooler up next to him. He patted the blanket beside him, waiting for Castiel. Catching on, the angel slid up and mimicked Dean’s positioning.

Pulling two beers and a bag of jerky from the cooler, Dean shrugged. “Guess this’ll do for tonight. At least the company is good,” he grinned, bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s.

The angel looked at the beer in his hand, before running his finger along the blanket and leaning back to take in the open sky of stars above. A sudden grin to his face, Castiel turned to look at the man beside him.

“Does this count as a date?” He questioned, his wolfish grin betraying that he knew the question would throw Dean a little.

“Uh…” Dean sputtered for a second, before recovering valiantly. “No, you ass, it doesn’t. When I take you on a date Cas, you’ll know about it. I’ll sweep you off your feet, angel.” Dean threatened with a grin, pointing his beer bottle at Castiel to punctuate his words.

“Sweep me off my feet?” Castiel echoed in confusion, blinking. “That sounds more like wrestling than dating, Dean. I also don’t think you could knock me over with that much ease, my vessel is quite sturdy.”

Dean’s burst of laughter seemed to confuse the angel further. He watched Dean giggle, looking helplessly him.

“It’s just a thing people say, Cas,” Dean explained, his green eyes lit up with amusement. “If they want to romance someone, take them by surprise a little. The good kind of surprise.”

“Oh,” Cas responded slowly. “I understand… I suppose.”

They sipped at their beer for a few minutes, looking idly up at the stars.

“I do want to do that, you know,” Dean confessed quietly into the moonlight after a minute, turning his head to look at Castiel as he reclined back on the hood. "I want to do this right, with you."

“Wrestle?” Castiel asked with a smirk, turning his face to the side to meet his gaze.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean chuckled, bumping into the angel’s side with his elbow. “How am I supposed to put the moves on you when you won’t ever take me seriously,” he grinned.

They both laughed, a comfortable sound that flowed at-ease between them these days. Reaching across to cup Castiel’s face, Dean pulled him close and twined their lips, his thumb dancing across the other man’s cheekbone as they kissed.

Castiel hummed contentedly against Dean’s lips, reaching down for his hip and pulling him over, lining up their bodies in an embrace.

“I can still barely believe that I get to kiss you whenever I want,” the angel breathily observed, before his hand slid around to Dean’s back as their lips each melted into the others again.

“Whenever you want,” Dean affirmed, a smiled pulling against his mouth. “That and more,” he added, punctuating his sentence with a firm roll of his hips against Castiel's, his arms sliding around his back to pull him closer.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel’s rumbling voice dropped another octave as he felt Dean’s firming length press up against his thigh through their pants. “Especially as I’ve been doing a little research.”

Dean pulled back from their embrace for a moment to eye him. “When?”

“Last night while you slept the whiskey off, I just grabbed your laptop off the desk,” Castiel admitted nonchalantly, grinning as he nipped softly at Dean’s neck.

“So what you’re really saying,” Dean returned with a laugh, his head resting forward onto Castiel’s shoulder, “Is that while I was passed out drunk you spent a solid eight hours watching porn.”

“Essentially,” Castiel agreed calmly. “It was very informative. Especially the folder of bookmarks called ‘Go Away Sammy’.”

“You bastard,” Dean howled with laughter.

Castiel slid off the hood of the Impala, his grin making him look quite pleased with himself. Using his strong arms he reached out and slid Dean over onto his back, pulling him down the Impala's hood towards him sharply. When he had Dean in position, he was stood between his legs. The motion was firm and confident, but slowed as he rested both hands on Dean’s belt buckle. He waited.

Dean watched him, a little surprised at the thrill he felt being manhandled by the handsome angel. Okay so that was pretty hot, he admitted to himself. I’m used to getting my own way, but damn, having a partner stronger than me is pretty damn sexy.

“Show me,” Dean answered the silent question with a heated smile, looking hungrily down at Castiel between his knees.

“Say please…” Castiel teased, moving his hands slowly away from Dean.

“Damnit Cas, please,  please show me the fruits of your creepy bedside-porn marathon,” Dean teased him back a little.

Castiel’s left hand slid up under Dean’s t-shirt, reaching up to tease a circle around one of his nipples as his right hand opened Dean’s belt.

“You really think that was creepy of me?” Castiel continued his attention to Dean’s chest as he lowered his zip, but there was a note of concern to his voice.

“Not really…” Dean’s voice wobbled a little as the angel’s thumb tweaked his nipple. “I was only kidding, Cas. Actually, it’s kinda nice that you did that. That you want to learn, want things to be good. For us.”

The angel pushed up Dean’s shirt, leaning over him to trace his tongue around the other nipple as his hand began to trace down Dean’s stomach, trailing lower and lower. “I imagine we’ll have some awkward moments, as we pursue new sexual horizons,” the angel growled roughly. “But I’m going to try to make sure that everything is as good as it can be.”

Dean suppressed a childish giggle at the term 'sexual horizons' being growled in Castiel’s low, sexy timbre.

Castiel’s hand slid into Dean's underwear, and all thoughts of childish humor fled his mind.

Dean had always been tactile with his lovers, the sensations of touching and tasting being high on his list of pleasures, but somehow the thought that it was Cas, his hands, his tongue… it excited him more than he’d allowed himself to really ever admit before, and he rose quickly to the angel’s touch.

With an appreciative hum, Dean bucked his hips up slowly into Castiel’s loose hand.

“Eager, Dean?” Castiel asked with a dark grin, his groin pushing up against Dean’s knee on the edge of the Impala’s hood. He leaned over to softly take Dean's now-sensitive nipple between his teeth.

Dean could feel Castiel, pressed up rock-hard against his thigh. “Yes, and so are you, unnnghhh...” his speech failed entirely as Castiel bit down onto his nipple.

Castiel looked up at him through his eyelashes, only a few inches from Dean’s face as his hand began a leisurely pump at Dean’s trembling cock. “You like that?” He questioned, his voice low.

Dean was breathless. “God, yes…Cas, fuck…do that again.”

So the angel did. Holding the erect nipple between his lips, he grazed it with his teeth, rolling it in time to the motion of his hand on Dean's cock. Dean thrust up to meet his strokes, moaning eagerly.

Releasing the nipple so he could slide up to kiss his boyfriend, Castiel’s eyes were blown with desire as they met his hazel-green gaze. “I could listen to you moan like that forever,” Castiel breathed hungrily against his lips, before trailing kisses down his neck and down onto his stomach.

As the angel’s kisses traveled lower, reaching the rough, trimmed hair at Dean's groin, Castiel ceased his steady pumping for a moment to push Dean’s jeans lower onto his thighs.

Dean looked down, taking the moment to catch his breath. The angel’s eyes came to meet his, and that old magnetic feeling hit where neither of them could quite look away. Their eyes were still locked as Castiel leaned down onto the hood of the car, one hand each side of Dean’s hips. Slowly, teasingly, he placed a hot, wet kiss to the tip of Dean’s throbbing cock.

Dean groaned instantly, unable to help himself. “Yes, Cas yes, yes yes…” he begged, his pupils dilating as his words crashed together.

Cas didn’t blink. Dean recognized a brief second of nerves, then the moment was gone. The angel leaned over, swallowing down Dean’s cock whole, his gaze held for every inch.  

Holy shit.

"Cas!" Dean howled Castiel’s name out into the moonlight, his body reacting like he’d been electrocuted, every nerve on fire.

Castiel’s head bobbed and his tongue swirled, and Dean knew without a doubt that he was going to lose his load sooner rather than later.

“Cas,” he panted, “I’m gonna come soon—you feel so good… Jesus Cas…Soon, fuck…” Dean's hips twitched up, rising from the hood of the car and he felt the head of his cock hit the back of the angel’s throat. Thank God he doesn’t need to breathe, Dean found himself considering in relief.

The angel encouraged him, using a hand under Dean's hip to lift him slightly and show him wordlessly that he could fuck up into his mouth all he liked.

So Dean did. Reaching down to wrap his fingers in Castiel’s fantastically messy, sexy hair, Dean used his grip as leverage to pound frantically up into the angels hot, wet mouth.

Six or seven hard thrusts in, the dam burst.

“Holy fuck !” Dean's wrecked voice echoed out into the dark as Castiel sucked every drop from him, caressing his hips with a gentle care. His tongue lapped the drops from the tip and held Dean warm in his mouth until the sensitive after waves passed. He had never looked away from Dean.

Dean slid his hands down from the ever more fucked-looking hair to cup the angel’s face, soppy and adoring in his afterglow.

Releasing Dean with a soft popping noise, Castiel reached up to Dean's waist and slid him bodily down the car and up, until he was perched on the edge of the hood, his feet on the floor, pressed flat to Castiel’s chest in an embrace.

Leaning in to a deep kiss, Dean tasted himself on the angel's tongue. He felt lost, so lost, in the very best way. He tilted his sweating forehead to touch Castiel’s. They just stood for a few minutes, holding each other while Dean’s heart rate lowered; the angel seemed curious about its rapid beat, spreading a hand over Dean’s ribcage to feel it.

“That was fantastic, baby…” Dean breathed against Castiel.

“Because of my research?” Castiel enquired proudly, pulling back just enough to grin.

“Because it was you,” Dean answered simply, his eyes resting on Castiel’s face unflinchingly.

Slowly, starting at Castiel’s neck and burning up onto his cheeks, a deep flush burned. “Oh,” he answered. The angel looked flustered but intensely happy, unable to control his smile as his face blushed.

Dean leaned in to kiss the heat at his neck. “I love it when you go red like that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It’s so very human, somehow.”

Sliding his hands down Castiel’s back he moved them over the angel’s ass, pulling him in flush to his body once more. “I hope you’re not too embarrassed to be able to let me return the favor,” he murmured.

Castiel tilted his head all the way to the side for a second, regarding Dean before he shook his head and smiled. “It wasn’t about me, Dean. Maybe tomorrow, though. It's late and, honestly, what I’d like to do more than anything, is just rest with you while you sleep.”

Dean frowned a little, about to fight the angel on it; at the angel's content smile, he let it pass. “Sure Cas, if you want to rest, we’ll rest. But…I’m willing, whenever you are,” he added carefully.

Castiel nodded, but his smile was genuine. “I’m very glad that was good for you Dean. I enjoyed it,” he confessed. “It was more intimate than I expected, honestly. The way humans do things is genuinely kind of odd from an outsider’s perspective. But I’m definitely beginning to learn why you do.”

Gathering up the blanket and cooler, Castiel replaced them in the car and slipped into the back seat. With a little arranging, Dean kicked his feet up onto the leather and stretched out, his head on Castiel’s lap as a pillow. He looked up at him, feeling dazed and somehow blessed as the angel gently doodled patterns and letters of languages he didn't know onto his skin with air-light fingers until he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Waking up to the feel of those soft, breezy feathers in their close other-realm dancing over his skin was something Dean thought he would never grow tired of feeling. Beginning to surface from sleep, he didn’t move; keeping his eyes closed and his body exactly where it was; his head in his angel’s lap with the feeling of wings draped over him like a blanket. He knew that Castiel must know he was awake, but neither of them moved for a long time, until a smile came over Dean’s face.

“What do they look like, Cas?” His voice was thick with sleep, lazy and content.

“My wings? Ugly. Ruined and torn,” the angel’s reply eventually came, the tone emotionless.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean mumbled, turning onto his side so his nose briefly buried in Castiel’s stomach. “Ruined and torn, I can understand. But something that feels so awesome couldn’t ever be ugly. Anyway, they’re a part of you, so they’re perfect.”

He was a  little more free with his words than he would have been had he been fully awake, but Dean was still surprised to hear Castiel laugh at him.

“Human’s can be so illogical sometimes….” he said, shaking his head. “It really is quite wonderful.”

Feeling the wings pull away, Dean struggled upwards and stretched.

“Alright Cas, let’s get rolling. I’ve got a good feeling about this. We’re gonna find Sammy soon, I know it!” Uncharacteristically cheerful, Dean hummed his way to the front seat, getting Baby warmed up, the sounds of Freddie Mercury crooning his way out of the speakers.

Waiting for Castiel to climb into the front seat and buckle his belt, Dean stretched out his neck and surmised his thoughts. “If we ride straight to Goshen, we’ll hopefully pass a gas station soonish where we can grab some coffee and breakfast, then head straight to the suspicious address. You wanna dial Charlie while I get us back on the road, see if Claire showed up yet?”

Dean guided the Impala through a three-point turn to get out of the abandoned dirt track in the cornfields and back onto the highway, while Castiel thumbed through his phone book and placed the call.

“Good morning, Charlie,” Castiel greeted the woman warmly. “Dean’s driving so he wanted me to call and see if Claire arrived yet.”

“She got here just after seven, actually. We’re just getting to know each other and gathering breakfast for the troops.”

“The troops?” Castiel frowned, watching Dean ease Baby over the bumps and through the mud out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, Garth is on his way with some hunter friends—quite a lot of them, actually. Seems like Sam has made a few friends over the years, and even people he hasn’t met are willing to go to ground for the infamous Winchesters. Everyone wants to help look. I’m going to stay here and run back-end, get them all spread over the country covering as much ground as we can.”

Castiel could see Dean blinking, and he reached across to place a hand on his thigh with a smile. “He won’t say as much, but Dean is touched by all their care, I assure you.”

“I know.”

Castiel could hear the grin in Charlie’s voice.

“How are you two doing, Cas?” She asked.

“We’re about an hour out from the address, we think. About to get some breakfast and then head right over there,” the angel updated.

Dean sped up, his attention drifting from the phone call as he went flying along the empty highway singing loudly to Queen.

“That’s great—but I meant the two of you ,” Charlie insinuated.

Cas blinked. “Charlie,” he scolded, his eyes flicking over to Dean in alarm, checking he was still wrapped up in Don’t Stop Me Now. “You are a horrible woman,” he muttered, trying to project his frown through the phone.

“Don’t worry Castiel, I haven’t said a thing to Dean. But come on dude, you were entwined like pythons.”

“Actually, pythons don’t—”

Dean grabbed the phone straight from Castiel’s hand as he reached a good stretch of clear road. “Charlie! What are you making the angel frown about?”

“Nothing, sweet brother. Either of you wanna speak to Claire before I go?”

Castiel took the phone back quickly, talking earnestly to his vessel’s wayward daughter as the Impala cruised on, closing the distance on their hope to find Sam.

***

The address Charlie had provided was a wooden, colonial style house at the end of a long, twisting road out of town that had definitely seen better days. It was dilapidated at best, abandoned at worst. A rusted chain tied to a large oak tree in the yard held a worn out tire for swinging, a tumbledown lean-to at the side housed a bicycle without any wheels, and an inordinate amount of trash seemed to be blowing around the yard in the morning’s stiff breeze. The shutters at the windows, once a soft yellow against the white painted home, appeared a dingy mustard color against the dirt of the now grayish walls. There were no cars to be seen and not a sound came from inside.

Nodding in unison, Dean kicked open the front door at the same time as Castiel smashed his way through a side window. They both swept their respective rooms with their weapons, finding them empty, and joined in the hallway. Silently, Castiel gestured ahead and fell in step behind Dean as they progressed through the remaining dusty rooms on the ground floor, Dean taking point and Castiel backing him up.

After sweeping the kitchen, Castiel reached to touch Dean's arm and indicated the floor of the hallway versus the floor of the kitchen. The kitchen floor was thick with dirt and dust; no one had walked here for a while. The hallway, however, showed evidence of plenty of traffic; including a few distinct footprints. One of them, Dean surmised, could easily belong to Sam; the foot was bigger than either his or Castiel’s. Another set seemed to belong to a teenager or very petite woman; there were another two sets at least, though not as clear.

Dean caught the angels eye after inspecting them, nodding as if to say, Good spot, buddy.

They followed the direction of the footsteps upstairs, the angel bumping ahead of Dean to act as a shield. The stairway opened out onto a fairly wide hallway, with three closed doors to choose from. Staying together, they opened the doors one by one, Dean with his gun ready and Castiel with his blade in hand. The first room appeared to be nothing but a filthy bathroom turned storage area, filled with broken furniture and molding linens. The second room looked to be mostly bare; just dust and a few more broken chairs and trunks. They moved on,  weapons raised ready for the third room.

Curled up next to a radiator, a bloodied woman waited. She looked young, perhaps mid-twenties, and her braided red hair and casual clothing reminded Dean vaguely of Charlie. A second glance revealed that the woman was chained to the heavy iron radiator by both wrists and both ankles. Her head stayed down, silent and focused on the floor as the men entered. Dean paused cautiously, looking to Castiel—there seemed to be a lot of blood for someone who wasn’t a corpse.

The angel sniffed the air as he approached the woman. “Vampire,” he rumbled.

As Dean approached, Castiel reached forward and tilted up the trussed vamp’s head by her hair so that they could see her face.

The sight, even to Dean’s well-trained stomach, was horrific. The lower half of her face was a bloodied mush, her lower jaw ripped clean out of one of its sockets and hanging by the flesh at an unnatural, frightful angle. Cut marks on her face seemed to indicate a blade had been taken to her cheeks, as if someone had been trying to saw away everything below her nose. Sickened, Dean averted his eyes.

“Cas?” He questioned, taking a deep breath before he turned back. “What’s happening here?”

Even the hardened angel sounded horrified. “Her teeth, Dean. Someone prevented her from healing and cut out her teeth.”

Dean very slowly approached the woman, eyes wide. “Is that right?” He questioned, unsure if she had enough mind to even be listening.

A slow, pained nod indicated he had underestimated her.

“Okay. Yes or no questions,” Dean crouched next to her, speaking gently. “Someone did this to you? A woman?”

Nod.

“Do you know why?”

Shake.

Dean and Castiel looked at each other, uncertain.

“What about this man,” Dean continued quietly, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a folded photograph of Sam he’d been carrying with him for just such purposes. “Have you ever seen this man?”

Nod.

“Was he here? With the woman who did this to you?”

The vampire nodded again, and awkwardly raised her elbow towards the second room they had been into.

“He was in there? Did they do this to him too? Do you know where—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted quietly. “One question at a time.”

“Right.” Dean rubbed his face in frustration. “Was the man from this photograph harmed?”

Shake.

Thank God, thought Dean. Indicating for Castiel to take over the questioning of the vampire, he straightened back up and hurried to return to the second room for another look.

Castiel turned back to the vampire as Dean stepped out.

“Do you have any information that can help us find the man in the photograph or the woman who did this to you?”

Nod. The vamp jingled one arm on its chain, looking beseechingly at the angel with pained gray eyes.

Confident that one torn up vampire couldn’t cause him many problems, Castiel unchained one of her wrists. She rotated her hand as if relieved, and indicated with a finger and thumb that she could write if Castiel found her something to use. Understanding, the angel dug into the interior pocket of his beige trench coat, finding a crayon that looked like it came from a restaurant and an old gas receipt.

Bull Hollow.

The two words were scratched awkwardly as Castiel held the paper.

“Bull Hollow…is that a place? Did they talk about going there?”

Nod. Reaching for the paper slowly once more, a droplet of blood rolled down the vampire's arm to stain the crayoned letters as she slowly added two more words.

Kill me.

Cas looked at the vampire somewhat sympathetically. He’d not felt pity for a creature such as this for several years, since Purgatory when Benny proved himself to be more than a beast, many times over. After whatever this woman had been through, it seemed to be the least he could do for her.

***

Moving through the already open door, Dean slowly perused the room, taking care to pay more attention this time. About to give up, he quickly pulled aside the dingy curtain to get a bit more light in the room for one last glance. It was then that he saw it, big blocky letters scrawled in the dust near the radiator, where Dean now assumed Sam must have been tied, much like the vampire girl. Hard to see before, the sunlight caught the dust and illuminated them much more clearly. The letters were crisp, no new dust having settled over them; they had been written very recently.

One word - POUGHKEEPSIE.

“ Cas!” Dean yelled out, hastily moving back towards the door. He met the angel halfway, as he was coming out of the room the vampire had occupied, his blooded angel blade in hand and a troubled expression on his face.

“She managed to at least give us a lead on where they may have gone, I think,” Castiel explained. “Then I put her out of her misery.”

“Not much else to be done for her, I guess.” As he spoke, he directed Castiel’s arm, turning him back towards the stairs. “We should get out of here Cas. I found a message from Sam.”

“A message?”

He pushed the angel ahead of him as their boots thumped swiftly down the stairway. “He left writing in the dust in the room he was held in. Poughkeepsie, Cas.” Dean sounded frustrated, hurrying them towards the door. He reached out to grab his boyfriend's hand, keeping him close as they slipped back outside to the depressing yard.

“Remind me what that means?” Castiel frowned, either not knowing or not remembering.

“It means drop everything and run.”

Chapter Text

Pulling the door of the ramshackle home closed behind him from pure habit, Dean was abruptly halted by Castiel’s arm darting out to the side, spreading his hand on his chest.

“Do you hear that?” The angel squinted, as he slanted his head to the side.

“What?” Dean tilted his head similarly, but shrugged, not quite having the kind of perfect hearing that his angelic partner did.

Suddenly, Cas sprinted towards the road. Dean struggled to keep up, his legs pumping through the long grass and yelling after him.

“Cas! What’s happening?”

Castiel turned left out of the yard and began hurtling full-pelt down the tarmac before Dean saw what he was chasing after—a dark speck in the distance. Slowing and turning back to look over his shoulder only confirmed Dean's fears. The embankment where they had parked the Impala was empty.

Baby was gone.

As Castiel gave up the chase a hundred yards or so down the road, throwing his arms up in frustration, Dean bent over forwards, both hands on the back of his head pulling at his hair for a moment.

“Oh come on!” His scream trailed down the road after his much-loved old car. “First my brother, now my car ?” Dean wailed furiously.

Dean turned, kicking angrily into the graveled embankment as Castiel slowly walked back towards him, his face grim.

“Son of a bitch!”

***

Dean and Castiel trudged resolutely on foot the few miles back to the main town of Goshen as Dean called around, seething and complaining at every chance.

“Bitch took my Baby!” He screeched down the phone desolately to Jody. “I don’t even have my wallet, there’s twenty bucks in my back pocket but that won’t get us very far.”

“Alright kid, take a breath. If you can get to town go grab some coffee or something. I can get the car tagged as stolen straight away if you let me know the plate. I have a friend over in Indiana so I can put it on their radar.”

“CNK 80Q3," Dean rattled off with a sigh. "Thanks, Jody."

“You’ve got credit cards back at the bunker, right? Call Charlie and have her book you a motel over the phone for tonight—I can bring you a vehicle, but I’m back in Sioux Falls right now. It’ll take me about 8 or 9 hours to drive it over,” Jody stopped briefly as if counting the hours in her head, “that’s tomorrow morning at the earliest for normal drivers, Dean.”

“You’re awesome, Sheriff. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Mills,” Castiel called towards the phone from his spot walking along next to Dean.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Keep Dean out of trouble.”

“My life’s mission,” Castiel confessed with a slight smirk.

Hanging up on Jody, Dean bumped Castiel’s arm with his shoulder as they climbed a slight hill heading up to the main street of the town.  “So I’m your ‘mission’ now, huh?” He raised a critical eyebrow, but mostly seemed amused.

“You always were, Dean,” Cas pointed out seriously, ignoring Dean’s slight bristling. “Protecting and helping you was my mission from Heaven. The desire for copulation came later.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head as he scrolled through his phone for Charlie’s number. The amusement on his face fell away quickly as he waited for her to answer.

“Can’t believe that vindictive bitch took both my brother and my car. It’s like she’s trying to make it even more personal.”

Cas smirked thoughtfully but didn’t respond. He began crossing over the street to head towards the sign for a national coffee chain, briefly touching the base of Dean’s back to guide him along with him, before his hand dropped back down. He wanted to reach for Dean’s hand, but he was still unsure if Dean would let him do so in a public place. Humans, he knew, had a lot of rules and expectations about such things.

“Charlie!” Dean greeted his friend warmly as she finally picked up the phone.

“Dean, what’s up? Putting you on speaker quickly.” The redhead said, sounding distracted.

“Faith Hawley stole my car," Dean informed her flatly.

There was silence for a long minute, and when a response came it was Claire Novak’s voice. “Is she dead, Hasselhoff?” she asked, her tone serious despite the nickname.

“Not yet kid, but she will be. I could use a little help though,” Dean replied, fully threatening rather than joking.

“Of course—what do you need, Dean?” Charlie piped back up, though Dean could hear fast typing and what sounded like other muffled voices in the background.

“A motel and enough money to keep us fed until Jody brings us a car tomorrow, at least.” He exchanged a look with Castiel as they walked into the coffee shop. “Is everything okay over there, you two?”

“Yes—" Claire’s answer was briefly cut off by some shuffling and what appeared to be a whispered conversation. They heard the phone being picked up and cut off speakerphone, leaving them with just Claire. “Everything is fine, old man. Charlie is in the middle of taking reports from the second round of hunter teams. Garth and his teams left about half an hour ago, heading north, but there are a few hunters already out in the Southern states who are sending in information about some unusual patterns of werewolf activity.”

“Oh?” Dean lowered himself into a quiet seat at the back of the café, handing Castiel the small amount of cash he had loitering in his back pocket.

“Charlie and I have been analyzing the reports. It seems like werewolf numbers have suddenly dropped—sightings have almost halved, and the ones that remain are laying low. They’re all scared of something, Dean,” Claire informed him, confident and matter of fact; Dean became aware that he was now speaking to ‘hunter Claire’ instead of ‘kid Claire’ and he felt oddly proud.

“Well, the one that Cas found was definitely scared of something. He snapped his own neck rather than talk.”

“Yeah. We’ll keep on it. There’s a Western Union station at the post office in Goshen,” Claire said. She sounded like she was moving, and Dean heard a car door slam.  “You should have cash within an hour, I’m heading out to town to send it now. Hopefully, there’s a place nearby where you can get whatever supplies you need. Charlie will book a motel with one of the credit cards here and text you the address.”

“You are efficient,” Dean said quite fondly. “Not bad for a Spice Girl.”

“Just watch out after Cas for me,” she responded quietly. “Just… you know. In case.”

“Right. Of course,” he responded. Dean’s green eyes sought out the angel at the cash register paying for coffee. He knew Cas had heard by the slightly sad smile ghosting across his features.

“Oh—Charlie says she should have an answer about the Enochian engravings on the handcuffs Faith Hawley ordered by tomorrow morning, so check in then, okay?

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry about Sam, and your car. We’ll get them both back," Claire promised.

With that, Claire hung up. Dean slid over to the side of the small booth he’d selected, hidden away but with a decent view of the door, creating room for Castiel as he arrived bearing coffee.

He placed a mug in front of each of them, dropping Dean’s change onto the table before smoothing his coat down the back of his legs as he sat.  

“You catch all that?” Dean questioned, pulling over a container of sugar and nudging it towards the angel’s cup.

“Yes, angel ears were on.” Castiel's rumbling response came tinged with regret. “She shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

“Cas…You, and Jody and Alex, you’re kind of all she has now, you know? Of course she’ll worry,” Dean replied softly, “That’s what friends and family do.”

Castiel focused on stirring sugar into his coffee for a moment before he spoke again. “So, we’re assuming that whatever the Succubus’ plans are, they involve Sam, werewolves, Enochian handcuffs, and some vampire teeth.”

He looked up to meet Dean’s gaze, his brow quirking in slight amusement.

Dean couldn’t help but smile a little. “Sounds like quite a party, doesn’t it? In the back of my car, for all we know.”

“Yes. But at least we know Sam is alive and has enough wits about him to be leaving us messages. We can research Bull Hollow in the motel tonight—we have leads, Dean. This morning wasn’t a total loss.”

“Just a loss of a car,” Dean muttered sulkily.

Castiel couldn’t resist laughing at him a little. “You’re almost as angry about the car as you are about Sam, aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Dean replied before he pouted like a child.

Quickly looking around, checking that the very few other patrons were all otherwise occupied, Castiel couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss Dean on his pouting lower lip. “We’ll find Baby too,” he comforted with a grin.

Caught by surprise, Dean blinked. He looked around just as Castiel had done, before coming back to meet the angel’s apologetic gaze.

“I’m sorry Dean, I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” Castiel confessed, looking down at the table.

Frowning slightly, Dean reached over to raise the angel’s chin. “Then why haven’t you? You think I don’t like it when you kiss me? Because oh boy have I got news for you,” he chuckled lightly.

“I know that there are societal constraints, Dean. When we’re in public, or around your friends. Just because I don’t really understand the reasoning of them,” Cas shook his head, looking almost disapproving, “doesn’t mean I’m fool enough to ignore that they exist. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or cause problems.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, but it can cause problems. I guess that’s just something new I have to deal with,” Dean clarified.

Castiel nodded thoughtfully, slurping at his hot coffee. He sat quite primly next to Dean, as if being careful not to touch him. He didn’t look upset, but Dean could tell the angel thought that it was unfair.

It is unfair, Dean considered dully.

***

Dean was startled when they got to the Western Union office and discovered that Charlie and Claire had sent them a couple of thousand dollars. How long do they think we’re going to be here? He mused, splitting the cash between his own pockets and Castiel’s.

As he and Castiel walked up the street a mile or so, following the clerk’s directions to the nearest Walmart, they discussed what they would need to buy and Dean soon realized that the money wouldn’t go all that far. Everything they had brought with them was in Baby; Dean’s laptop, clothes and phone charger, their guns, ammunition, knives, even Castiel’s phone was somewhere on the dashboard, they realized. Luckily, Walmart was a one-stop shop for pretty much all of that.

There wasn’t a gun store nearby and the Walmart gun counter options were limited, not selling handguns or anything remotely automatic. Dean eventually settled on a lever action rifle which weighed felt just in his hands, and at the last minute picked out a stocky field shotgun as a backup. They weren’t the Colt, but they’d do.

Picking out a cheap laptop and a phone for Castiel, they rolled quickly through the clothing section for Dean. Mentioning to Castiel that he forgot to pick up some emergency salt, Dean sent the angel outside to find them a cab while he grabbed the last few items. Once Castiel had gone, Dean went back over his mental shopping list, adding a couple of extras that he just didn't want to discuss with Castiel in the middle of the grocery store.

Dumping the assortment of necessities out onto the belt at the register to pay, Dean’s eye was caught by a display of flowers and plants cunningly settled next to the register. He stared at them for a minute, distracted by the thought that if Castiel was any of the girls he'd previously dated, he’d have tossed a bunch of flowers onto the pile and not deliberated over it much at all. Why not, though? Dean thought, frowning seriously. Why do I have all these ideas about what we are and aren’t allowed to do? Whose rules are they anyway?

Suddenly a little frustrated with himself, he remembered that he hadn’t really kissed the angel in return when they had been in the coffee shop. He felt his stomach lurch in a familiar way; the same feeling he’d sometimes got after silly fights or awkward moments with Lisa or Cassie. Just the feeling that right or wrong, he needed to fix it; because when it came down to the wire, Dean was a fixer at heart. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for other people’s possible opinions of their relationship, but he could take responsibility for making Castiel happy regardless. Christ, it’s not like he hasn’t spent the past couple of weeks going out of his way to make me feel better, Dean chided himself, as he selected a cheerful looking pot of blue African violets and hurried his way out of the store.

Dean spotted the angel leaning against the side of a taxi cab not far from the door of the store, keeping an eye out for Dean and waving him down. He popped the trunk as Dean approached, reaching into the shopping cart to begin helping load their haul.

Dean wanted to go to their motel and get the laptop functional so they could continue their hunt for Sam, but there was something else important to do first.

Before he could let himself think too hard about it, Dean took the sapphire-colored flowers in their painted clay pot from inside of the plastic Walmart bag where he'd hidden them. Smoothly, he stepped up behind Castiel, who was placing the laptop carefully on the bottom of the trunk. He slid one arm around to the front of his waist in a half-hug, pressing his lips to the back of the angel’s neck briefly.

“For you,” Dean mumbled somewhat shyly against his tanned skin, moving his other arm around in front of Castiel and presenting the plant.

Castiel’s reaction was not quite what Dean had expected, but it was wonderful nonetheless. Turning wide-eyed to look at him, he looked comical with his mouth hanging open. The pauses lasted for a second longer than Dean was comfortable. Rubbing the back of his neck, he hopefully filled the silence.

“They had pretty flowers and stuff, but somehow I thought you might prefer a living plant to something that had been cut and was dying,” Dean mumbled. “I mean, I don’t really know, I can always take it back.”

Castiel cradled the plant pot to his chest with one arm in a possessive gesture, the other hand reaching up to pull Dean’s face close. 

Dean expected a quick kiss, a smile—but the angel’s mouth came softly and lingered, greeting his lips with a touch that was more than he’d bargained for. Castiel's kiss wasn't quick but it was strong, and Dean's chest ached with the sudden emotion of it.

Somehow startled by a kiss he had expected, Dean relaxed for a moment into Castiel’s lips, which still felt new and yet somehow also felt like coming home. Pulling away gasping, he managed to grin.

“Maybe we should finish this conversation at the motel,” he smirked.

Chapter Text

The little plant stayed in Cas’s lap for the whole cab ride to the motel. He stroked the leaves, examining each one with a content intensity that delighted Dean. The hunter wondered if the angel just really, really liked plants, or if he was so enamored with this one because Dean had given it to him; either way it was possibly going to be the best cared for plant on the continent. Cas still sat carefully away from him on the back seat, but they each stole occasional glances at the other, smiling almost shyly.

Dean felt light, even optimistic. He was honestly surprised at himself. If Faith Hawley kept Sam alive this long, she needs him for something. We can find him. Me and Cas, he thought. He was never someone who was prone to excessive optimism, but these precious, quiet days with just him and his angel had given him some strange kind of faith that he’d been lacking. If we can do this, there’s nothing we can’t do.

And somehow, he was doing this – and he wasn’t even completely failing at it, as evidenced by the beaming Seraph and his little pot of African violets. Maybe , he thought, I can’t always save the world, or focus on every person. But maybe sometimes it’s enough to focus on one person.

Late afternoon sun fell on Castiel as he sat close to the window, holding the clay plant pot at an angle where the dark leaves could enjoy the rays. He fiddled with the blooms and ran his thumbs over the ridges on the pot, entranced by the small gift. The angel looked sideways at Dean before returning to his examination of the foliage, a tiny smile at the edge of his mouth as if he’d just worked out something clever.

Dean felt it then; the tiniest of breezes dancing across the back of his neck, like a breath was settling around his skin. A familiar feeling now, he noticed the soft pressure of Cas’s wing enveloping him, feathers trailing over his skin like a blanket. He felt warm and somehow shielded from the world. This is his way of being snuggly and affectionate with me, Dean realized. His way of showing me he wants to touch me even when he can’t. Dean wished he could see the fantastic appendage draped around him, one of the many things that made Cas who he was. Ruined or not, Dean couldn’t picture the angel’s wings as anything other than awe-inspiring. If he concentrated hard, he convinced himself he could feel individual feathers against his skin.

Realizing he’d been staring down at his forearm where the ghostly pressure could be felt most easily, Dean looked up to grin at the angel. I hope he knows how awesome this is…. How awesome he is, Dean corrected himself. He’d never been good at expressing to people what they meant to him, but he’d always held the angel in high esteem, even during his worst moments; it seemed that it was easy for that feeling to tumble down into loving adoration. Cas mirrored his grin, clearly pleased that Dean both noticed and seemed to appreciate his little gesture.

As the cab jerked to a halt in the motel parking lot, Dean dug a few notes out of his back pocket to pay the driver and went to check in at the office while Cas unloaded; Charlie had paid for the room over the phone from Kansas. Taking the room card from the clerk, Dean dug out his phone and quickly placed a call to the woman who was like a little sister.

“Hey Charlie. Got a second?” He could hear papers shuffling and he pictured the petite woman sprawled out in the war room surrounded by books.

“Sure, Dean. It’s just me here now. Claire went out. I’m sorry I was so busy before…”

“No worries kid,” Dean smiled to himself. “I’m really appreciative of the help. We just got to the motel… and I noticed that you booked us a double room.”

There was silence at the end of the phone for a moment, though Dean could almost hear her smirk before she eventually responded. “I wasn’t trying to be pushy, Dean. Really. I just wanted you to know that it was okay.”

“I know. I should have told you, I guess. It’s all just… new. I don’t even know how to broach that subject with people. How do you do it?” Dean began to stroll across the parking lot, heading to the room.

“You could try, ‘Hey! I sometimes like dicks!”, she suggested almost sarcastically.

“Charlie,” he groaned. “ Not helping.”

She laughed briefly, but when her voice came over the line again it was warm and supportive. “I guess it depends on what this is, Dean. I mean…. Do you just need somewhere to park, or are you planning on buying the lot? What kind of territory are we in? Because you don’t ever need to tell anyone that you aren’t comfortable with. But you need to realize that if you don’t, making Cas feel like a dirty little secret is going to be pretty damaging.”

“I don’t want him to ever feel like that,” Dean responded instantly. “And no, this isn’t about me just… wanting somewhere to park, as you put it,” he laughed, but it was a nervous sound. “Honestly, it’s not been long, but at the same time….” He trailed off, struggling.

“It feels like it’s been forever?” Charlie provided helpfully.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I saw Castiel, duh. The morning I came to the bunker. I’d never seen him that relaxed before, that happy. Given everything that has been happening, it was kind of a miracle. Oh, and he was wearing your pants. Not to mention the hickey and the sex hair.”

“He always has sex hair,” Dean grinned, his eyes alighting on Cas as he approached.

“True. Anyway. I gotta go, Dean. I’m monitoring traffic cams for Baby while trying to understand Cas’s research on that Hex bag from grandma Hawley, but his handwriting surprisingly sucks.”

“I’ll let him know,” Dean chuckled as he stepped up next to the angel, swiping the room card for Cas to step inside, laden down with their supplies. “Thanks Charlie. I’ll call in the morning about those handcuffs.”

“Sure thing Dean-o. Have a good night… and tell Cas if he hurts you I’ll hunt him to the ends of the Earth!”

From the angel’s surprisingly alarmed expression, he definitely heard.

******

Dean had the laptop unpacked and charging pretty quickly, letting it go through it’s first time setup while he grabbed a shower, desperately needing one after all the running and miles of walking he’d done that morning.

When he stepped back out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tight around his waist and his hair dripping, he saw that Cas had his little plant set up in the window and was carefully watering it from a rinsed-out paper coffee cup, talking quietly to the leaves under his breath as he tested the soil for a good level of dampness. Seeing him framed in the window by the early evening sun, Dean took a moment to lean against the bathroom door frame and admire his angel.

Looking up, Cas grinned as he caught Dean watching. “You told me it was creepy to watch over people, Dean. More than once, actually.”

“When people are sleeping…. And besides, you’re kinda special.”

Laughing, Cas shook his head as he approached Dean. “I assure you, I am not.”  Drawing his eyes slowly up and down Dean’s form, the angel grinned coyly. “You on the other hand… you’re definitely something.”

Chuckling at the angel’s boldness, Dean reached to pull him in for a kiss. “No matter what you think, I think you’re special…I can’t believe you’re mine.”  

Reacting his lips with no protest, Cas drew his hands up the back of the Dean's arms to his neck, his fingers resting against Dean’s pulse as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head into it and making a soft sound against their mouths.

“Thank you for the plant, Dean.” Cas’s voice was low, even for him, but achingly soft. “I’ve never really been given anything before… anything that I didn’t need. Something that was just because someone saw it and thought about me. ”

Dean trailed his hands up Cas’s chest to his shoulders, sliding the under the trench coat and pushing his fingers down the back of his neck, suggestively helping him shrug the tan fabric off. Kissing at the angel’s jaw, he murmured his confession into his stubble, breathing in his heady ozone-like scent. “I think about you a lot... I have for a long time. But now, so close… you’re intoxicating, Cas.”

Tilting his neck away from Dean to open up his jaw to the man’s lips, Cas closed his eyes for a second and practically purred, unbuttoning his shirt as the hunter’s lips trailed wet fire across his skin. The thin fabric falling from his arms to the floor, Dean’s hands came to his belt buckle with none of the early caution he had shown in the last weeks; the depth of want causing their clothing to fall away with no shame or hesitation. Stepping out of his crumpled dress pants, Cas reached for Dean’s hand and pulled him agonizingly slowly towards the bed, holding his gaze with a smile that was equal parts hungry and adoring.

Without any resistance Dean climbed down to the mattress beside him, his lips returning to their slow exploration of the seraph as soon as they were close enough.  Dean held his face like it was something precious, dancing his pretty mouth across the skin with a tender care that displayed much more of him than the fattening length against his thigh did.  

I’m done, Dean thought vaguely. I’m spoiled for anything else after the lips of an angel.

Cas moaned softly, an exhale of pure pleasure before his shoulder pushed over, rolling Dean slightly to his back as if to say, your turn now.

Nuzzling his face into Dean’s shoulder, Cas softly nipped at his clean skin and dragged his lips across his collarbone, drifting back up his neck as he slid on top of him. Supporting himself slightly with one arm, Cas kissed like Dean was oxygen and Dean felt himself gasping the angel’s name wantonly between presses. Their bodies held together shamelessly, Dean could feel every inch of the seraph separated from him by only his towel and Cas’s white boxers; neither seemed in a hurry to strip down, languorously making out like they had forever.

Cas’s muscled thighs straddled either side of Dean’s happily prone body and the angel rolled against him with a quiet moan, all the while tracing the fingers of his free hand down Dean’s chest and along his side, until they rested where his lightly tanned skin met the motel towel at his waist. Following his fingers with his lips, he rested his forehead on Dean’s stomach for a moment; breathing heavily as Dean's hands trailed across his shoulder blades and tangled softly in his hair.

“What do you want, Dean?” It was a simple, breathless question, murmured against the base of his stomach.

Dean pushed up on the mattress, sitting up slowly and lifting Cas along with his other arm until the seraph straddled his lap and they were face-to-face. Dean's strong fingers weaved patterns across the Castiel’s back as he kissed into his collarbone.  

Pulling back, Dean trailed his thumbs up the back of Cas’s neck and across onto his cheekbones, running back and forth across them as he held his face. Studying the angels eyes from so close, Dean found they held tiny flecks of nearly every blue he could name, and a million that he could not. He’s exquisite. Nothing is ever going to be the same. Fuck.

He slowly leaned in, pressing his lips up to Cas’s, tongue searching his mouth for a brief moment before he honestly answered.

“I want you to fuck me, Cas.”

He felt the angel’s breath hitch slightly against him as he pulled back. “You’re sure? I know you…. well that’s fairly, uh…” Cas chuckled breathlessly, only a handful of inches from Dean’s face.

“Gay?” Dean supplied the obvious,  flushing slightly. “I guess I better get used to that. You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” he laughed, teasing his way through the awkwardness.

Leaning to the nightstand, Dean reached into the Walmart bag he had thrown down before his shower. Pulling out a small purple container of lube, he handed it over to Cas, nerves clear in his face.

“I got this after I sent you to get the cab, earlier. Just in case. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I want this with you,” He confessed.

Cas nodded. “I want it too, Dean.” He reassured, reaching back to caress the hunters face again. “But if you aren’t ready for this, I’m not going to be upset.”

“I’m sure...as long as you are. You’re in charge, Cas.  Just…. go slow, okay? I have no idea how this is going to feel… but I need to know. I hope that makes sense.” Dean flushed at the way his voice shook, but his eyes rested trustingly on the angel.

I need to know I can take this all the way before I fall any further, Dean confessed silently to himself.

Castiel placed the lube on the bed beside them, and moved back to Dean.

Sliding down lay beside him once more, Cas pressed his lips back across the space between them and wrapped his muscled arms firmly around Dean's waist, pulling them in close together again.

“Dean,” he breathed between kisses as he moved down to nipping at his boyfriends' neck, “I have wanted you… desperately… for a long time. I am very sure. ”

Dean grinned into the angel’s thick hair, relaxing a little. Somehow Cas already had this way of making him feel wanted - needed -  just as he was, somehow already perfect. Dean knew it not to be true, but Cas’ total faith in him made him feel like it could be. He could do anything, with that much faith. “Then take what you want, Cas. Don’t hold back because of my dumb issues.”

Cas was slow, taking his time as they kissed and rolled before his hands even glided down as low as the tied towel at Dean’s waist. Watching the angel, Dean couldn’t help but grin at his excitement; the angel’s boxers were ferociously tented, the fabric looking about to burst and already damp with a spot of precome as he wiggled them down.

“It’s nice to feel wanted, I’ll admit.” Dean admitted with a chuckle as Cas rolled him onto his back.

Settling onto his knees between the hunter’s thighs and stroking lightly at himself as he looked Dean over, Cas laughed a little, flushing. “Am I going to put you off by being too eager, Dean?”  He bent forward, and Dean felt his hot lips touch at his skin as he kissed his way down his Winchester’s inner thigh.

“No….” Dean rumbled contentedly, reaching to take himself in hand as Cas trailed his burning tongue down the last few inches of his thigh to his groin. “Actually, it’s pretty sexy how eager you are about everything, how you just take what you want when we’re like this. I like it when you’re in charge.”

He saw the angel’s fantastically blue eyes looking up mischievously at him from below as he gently took Dean’s cock away from him, holding it warmly and rubbing his thumb lightly across the head as he responded. “That makes sense, to me. Out there, you are always hunting and leading and being in control… here with me you don’t have to.”

The mischievous grin was soon explained as he felt Cas’ silken tongue stroke across his perineum and firmly downwards. Holy shit, Dean balked slightly, catching a breath to calm himself as the invasive thought of "There’s a dude licking my asshole!" erupted into his mind.

He felt Cas’ massaging thumb softly take the place of his tongue as the angel’s completely fucked hair and comforting smile came back up to catch Dean’s gaze. “Doing okay?” He asked quietly, leaning forward to take the spongy head of Dean’s cock into his mouth, warming it with his heat and flicking teasingly at it with his tongue.

“Yeah… had a moment but damn… that feels good. Your mouth feels so fucking good, Cas…” Dean closed his eyes for a second, pressing back into the pillows and just enjoying the wet fire of the angel’s mouth as he swallowed him down.  

Dean couldn’t help but hold his breath as he heard the popping sound of the cap on the lube being flicked open. The sound was familiar, but the situation not at all. Of all Dean’s many adventures with women, he’d never let anyone near his ass.

“Breathe, Dean.” Cas instructed softly, taking his dick back into hand and pumping at him firmly for a moment, freeing his mouth back up for instructions. “You’re all tense, that won’t help.”

Dean concentrated on the handsome features before him and the feeling of Cas’s hand clasped around his shaft, keeping a pace that was beginning to spread a feeling of warmth in Dean’s groin already. The first finger Cas slipped into him didn’t give him much but an odd sense of fullness, not wholly unpleasant but just… off. Reaching to twine his fingers almost habitually now into the angel’s dark hair, his voice hitched slightly as his cock twitched from all the stimulation. “More, Cas… go ahead.”

Cas slid up beside him, guiding Dean to take his own cock back in hand so he could concentrate elsewhere. He kissed Dean deeply as he slipped the second finger in, his own hard cock rutting up against the hunter’s body in pleasure as he helped Dean through the initial burn. Cas seemed to turn his fingers then, bringing about a not-altogether pleased grunt from Dean’s lips.

“It’s okay Dean,” he murmured against his lips. “Just give it a minute…..” he grinned against Dean’s cheek, feeling his slight stubble from their days on the road. The angel went quiet in anticipation then, as he found the right spot. Crooking his fingers, he watched carefully for Dean’s reaction.

The hunter’s green eyes blinked furiously for a second, followed by a short “Oh…” of surprise escaping his lips. After a few seconds he gaze caught Cas’ and he nodded breathlessly. “More.”

Cas alterated between massaging Dean’s prostate and scissoring out his fingers, tempering the burn with waves of pleasure. Dean’s hand at his own cock stroked faster, his breath starting to come in glups as his other arm held Cas close.

“Are you ready, Dean?” Cas asked after a few minutes, looking down at his lover with blown pupils that betrayed the furious desire hidden behind his patient question.

“Now or never,” Dean panted, his nerves clear but his voice firm enough. “Go ahead, baby.”

Cas moved back to his spot between Dean’s thighs, using one hand on his hips to guide Dean’s ass onto his lap as the other lubed up his cock. Sliding his fingers out, to what could have almost been a sound of protest from the hunter, he slid the head firmly up and down Dean’s ass crack. The angel gasped, raising himself up slightly on his knees to get a better angle as his cock paused at Dean’s stretched entrance.

Pushing another pillow behind his head, Dean looked down to hold the Cas’ gaze as he slowly began to push in.

“ Dean…” Castiel's moan was low and primal, his fingers bruising into Dean’s hip as he held him.

Exhaling through the slight burn of the angel’s thick cock sliding into him, Dean couldn’t tear his eyes from Cas’s reaction.

“Fuck, Dean…” he growled. “So tight…” He gasped, his head bowing over a second as he adjusted to the sensation. Watching his intense pleasure, Dean found himself relaxing into the sensation, reaching forward to lift Cas’ gaze back to his, to let him know it was okay.

“Fuck me, Cas.” He whispered. “Do it. You know you want to.”

Pulling back out agonizingly slowly, the angel held his gaze as he thrust forward again; faster this time, bottoming out and leaning over to support himself with one arm on the bed.

The sound that came from the angel was little more than a growl as he picked up pace, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and fevered moaning from them both filling the room.

As Cas adjusted his positioning, the low-level pleasure that was building in Dean’s lower stomach leapt like a rocket. “ Holy fuck…" he gasped out, yelling without concern. “Right there, Jesus right there, fuck…"

Cas happily obliged, pounding hard against him and hitting Dean’s sweet spot over and over. His pace was frantic, but faltering, and Dean only had to look at the angel to tell how close he was to filling him. Pulling firmly at his own cock, increasing the pace and adding a little twist at the head, Dean couldn’t hold it. “Cas… Castiel, shit…” Coating them both, Dean could have sworn his vision failed entirely for a moment as he came, hard.

Watching Dean come calling his name seemed to throw the angel into overdrive, his hips beating into Dean at a frantic pace. Tumbling Enochian words seemed to mix with English and fall uncontrolled from his tongue as he gasped and thrusted, and Dean felt the slick, dirty glide of Cas filling his ass. “Fuck… Olani haoth ol ...Dean… Ol in … Olani amiran … shit, Dean.....”

Shuddering down onto Dean’s chest, the angel gasped and smiled almost in embarrassment as he rested his forehead on the hunters chest. Sliding carefully out of him, they lay like that for a moment, catching breath. Looking back up to Dean, Cas grinned awkwardly.

“Hi,” he flushed slightly as he twisted over to lay on his side next to Dean, untangling their sticky legs.

Dean laughed, reaching to push the angels wild hair back off his face. “Hey, Cas.” He leaned over and kissed him, unable to stop smiling. “Why the blush, huh? What were you saying?”

Waving a hand vaguely in Dean’s direction, the angel settled against his shoulder and closed his eyes, pulling himself close. “I can’t even remember. It was just good.”

“Seemed like it was,” Dean grinned, rubbing idly at Cas’ shoulder. “Your turn next time, I think,” he added with a wolfish grin. About to add something else, he stopped abruptly.

Cas opened his eyes to see a strange, almost horrified expression on Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” it was Dean’s turn to flush a little now. “Just, uh…” he rolled of the bed awkwardly, moving swiftly towards the bathroom. “It’s coming back out...and it doesn’t feel good.” Dean called awkwardly behind him.

Cas could only laugh somewhat hysterically into the pillows, watching his lover waddle awkwardly across the motel room.

Chapter Text

Dean woke suddenly; jerking up and immediately going for the nightstand where his gun rested as his body reacted to whatever sudden sound had ripped him from sleep. Looking around blearily, he took in the sight of Cas at the table nearby, squinting at the laptop screen. They had stayed up late researching trying to pin down either Sam or Baby with their meager clues; it seemed that the angel had continued on, even after the cheap whiskey Dean had bought dragged him to sleep.

The angel raised his head to point at Dean’s phone bouncing across the floor. The ringer must have been what woke him; on the screen, a picture of pale, red headed woman in Renaissance Faire garb and a paper birthday crown.

“Hey Charlie,” Dean responded huskily, his voice wrecked with sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” She sounded pleased with herself, if anything.

“Yeah.” The hunter rubbed at his face, beginning to wander idly toward the bathroom. He gave Cas’ shoulder a quick squeeze as he passed, shuffling barefoot onto the cold tile.

“Up late?”

“Yeah. The woman who cut off half of that vamp’s face, which we’re assuming is our lovely Faith, mentioned a ‘Bulls Hollow’, but it’s not proving very fruitful - there’s one in Oklahoma, but it’s just land, an unincorporated township with maybe 50 people. It doesn’t seem like that’s the place.” Dean’s slowly waking voice was laced with irritation.

“So needless to say you drank too much out of frustration and passed out, left Cas to do the rest of the research?” He could hear Charlie’s slightly amused eye roll.

“It’s like you know me.”

“Your lucky he puts up with you.. that any of us do.” Charlie chuckled and Dean heard a bunch of papers being shuffled in the background.

“Bitch, I’m a delight. So what’s up with things your end?” Squeezing toothpaste onto his brush with one hand, he began to work the foam into his teeth as she talked.

“Actually, we do have some news. First, Claire hooked us a live werewolf. She’s bringing her in - torture isn’t exactly my thing, but luckily….” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

Dean spat into the sink. “But luckily what?”

“We have some help in that department.”

“What aren’t you telling me, kid?” Dean straightened up, eyeing himself in the mirror with a frown.

“Look…” Charlie sighed, “I know it’s not the best idea, but I think she actually knows what she’s doing. They get on….surprisingly well.”

Dean was silent for a second, before he guessed. “Claire? Do you mean Claire is now both out in the field and torturing people, on my watch? Because if Cas thinks I had anything to do with it, I am going to-”

“No, no. Well, kind of. Claire is working with Crowley.”

Dean dropped his toothbrush. Holy fuck Cas is going to kill me, boyfriend or not, he panicked.

“Dean?” Charlie prompted him after a minute.

“That is such a bad idea I don’t even know where to begin.” Dean lowered himself down to perch on the edge of the tub, groaning.

“I think it’ll be okay Dean. Give her some credit...and Crowley too, actually. He’s going beyond the terms of his little deal with you to help her out. But Claire isn’t stupid, she has her eye on him.”

“Maybe just don’t mention it to Cas, if he asks...”

“In what world is he going to ask that, Dean?” There went the redhead’s signature eye roll again, Dean knew.

Cas’ relationship with Claire was an odd one, as the Seraph himself had no relation to her; but wearing the body of her dead father definitely seemed to make him feel like he was responsible for her. Dean didn’t blame him at all, but it was a subject that made the angel touchy and prone to rash decisions. More so than normal.

“Okay, you said firstly. So do you have other news? The handcuffs?” Dean rubbed at his face, exhaling slowly.

“Yeah, I got the inscription, but we’re really going to need Cas for this one. The resources for Enochian I can get online are woeful; I know Sam has plenty of books on it but we don’t have time to spend a week taking apart the Men of Letters library.”

Pushing open the bathroom door again, Dean stepped out into the bedroom of the motel, wiping his damp fingers on the edge of his boxers as he looked around for his clothing.

“Alright Charlie, I’m giving you to Cas.”

Catching the angels eye as he still sat in the same position, engrossed in the laptop, Dean handed the phone over.

Looking up at Dean as he crooked the phone into his ear, his eyes fondly scanned the hunters face. Reaching up almost without thinking it seemed, Cas passed his hand into Dean’s space and rubbed a tiny dab of toothpaste foam from the corner of his mouth.

Dean smiled thankfully at him, chuckling to himself. How did we get so damn domestic? He considered with amusement. It’s only been a few weeks.

Sitting on the end of the bed to pull on his jeans, he turned his attention back to the phone conversation.

“ Don or Gon Charlie, they’re totally different letters,” the Seraph was schooling his hacker friend on her poor Enochian pronunciation. “Yes it matters, ” he grumbled. “Can you just text me a picture of the letters, if you can’t say them right?”

I wonder if he misses speaking it, Dean thought suddenly. It rarely even crossed his mind that the languages of Earth were not the angel’s first language. Or misses hearing it, for that matter, since Angel Radio went down.

“ Okay. I’ll let you know as soon as I can read the whole thing and translate it to English for you. Hopefully it’ll give us some clue what Faith Hawley is up to.” Cas sounded concerned, turning in his seat to catch Dean’s attention.

“Yes, I’ll tell him. Bye Charlie.”

“Tell me what?” Dean pulled a clean t-shirt overhead, reaching to massage his temples from his growing hangover.

“She said she’s emailing you her work on the hex bag we found in the old woman’s mouth in Wyoming; she got a little further from where I left off, though apparently my handwriting is terrible.” Cas huffed slightly, as if somehow offended.

“Yeah, she mentioned that.” Dean responded with a slight smile. “The Enochian alphabet doesn’t even look like ours though, right? So I don’t think anyone is judging you for doctor-scrawl, Cas.” Standing to take his phone back from the angel, he winked at him.

“I’m an angel Dean, I know every language and alphabet there is.” He muttered defensively.

“And I know how to perform a field autopsy on a ghoul, doesn’t mean I look pretty doing it,” Dean pointed out with a shrug. “So what’s the deal with the handcuffs?”

“Charlie is going to text over an image of the engraving. From what she was saying though… they are definitely a trap for something, and we’re not talking a run of the mill vampire or rugaru. Something powerful, with the amount of warding on them. Hopefully the full engraving will say what it is that Faith is trying to catch.”

“Great.” The hunter leaned forward onto his knees, catching his forehead in his hands with a sigh. “Do you feel like we have a bunch of puzzle pieces but we’ve completely lost the box?” He growled frustratedly. “I don’t even know if we’re holding the bits the right way up, at this point.”

He felt the mattress next to him depress as the angel sat down close to him, a familiar arm pulling him close. “I know Dean. Everyone is doing their best...and Sam is alive. We need to take comfort in that.”

“You’re the only comfort I have right now,” Dean murmured flatly, leaning his head into the Seraph’s shoulder.

For that Cas had no answer, just a hug and a sad smile.

******

Cas dragged Dean out of the motel for some breakfast a short while later, the couple walking down the edge of the highway to a nearby chain diner.

“I miss my car,” Dean pouted as they stepped into the parking lot.

“I know, Dean.” Cas comforted tritely. “Jody will at least be here with some kind of vehicle for us soon - I gave her the diner address. Hopefully you’ll feel at least a little better when you can drive again.”

Sliding into a booth at the diner, Dean and Cas sat opposite each other so they could easily converse, their legs stretched and entwined secretly under the table. Occasionally one would bump the other with a knee and they would look up and share a smile.

They ordered pancakes and bacon for Dean, black coffee for them both; Cas even picked at a plate of eggs.

Dean’s mind drifted, coming up with endless scenarios that his little brother could currently be going through, but with a quiet word or question, the angel always brought him back.

Switching out his empty plate for Cas’ abandoned eggs, Dean nudged Cas’ boot with his own.

“Hey, Cas….. Thank you.”

Giving Dean his full blue attention, the angel’s head tilted. “For what, Dean?”

Almost shyly, Dean reached across the table and quietly entwined his fingers with Cas’. “I don’t know how I’d be getting through this, without you,” he confessed. “The times before when something happened to Sammy…. I fell apart Cas, every time. But you’re holding me together.”

“Dean.” The angel stated his name quietly, but fondly. “Even before all of this….” he squeezed the hunters fingers back gently, “You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t let you go through this alone...and Sam is my friend to. We’re going to find him, together.”

Grinning a little, Dean raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. “And how is ‘all of this’, as you put it, going for you? We’re a little more than best friends now. I’m sorry you haven’t exactly had me at my best so far.”

Pushing lightly against Dean’s hand, the angel’s grin was toothy and wide. “Dean, it’s been-”

“Hey boys!” Jody stepped up to their table; both so wrapped up in conversation they hadn’t noticed her enter the diner.

Dean jerked his hand back from Cas’ like it burned, hurriedly standing from his seat to give the Sheriff a quick, crushing hug. “Jody! You must have floored it this morning.”

Cas blinked in bewilderment, frowning slightly as he slowly withdrew his hand from the table and lowered it to his lap. “Sheriff Mills,” he offered in greeting, nodding his head.

“Castiel,” the slim, short-haired woman smiled. “You’ve been keeping him out of trouble, I hope.”

“I try,” Cas offered, shrugging helplessly. “You know how he is.”

“Oh boy, do I.” Jody noted wryly, turning her attention back to the hunter. “Sorry about your car, Dean.”

He pouted again. “Don’t remind me. If that bitch scratches her, I’ll use her body as a speed-bump.”

“Well, at least I have something for you to drive.” Jangling a set of keys at Dean, she indicated to Cas to follow them out to the parking lot, where a Sioux Falls Police Department tow truck was parked, with a car attached.

*****

As Cas made his way out to the parking lot after paying for their meal, he found himself carefully smoothing the expression of his vessel back to neutral as he approached. Now would not be the time to laugh at Dean, he decided.

The hunter stood next to Jody, who had a somewhat mischievous smirk plastered across her face.

“It’s not that bad Dean. It moves, which is currently more than your non-existent transportation does.”

“It’s a Prius, Jody! A baby blue fucking Prius!” Dean’s fingers were linked as his hands rested atop his head, face pulled into a pout. “I’m grateful and all, but seriously, they had nothing else?”

“We don’t get that many impounded cars in Sioux Falls, Dean. I had to pull some serious strings to get you one at all.” The Sheriff’s voice was equally as amused as it was impatient. “It’s only until you get Baby back, anyway. She’s distinctive, she’ll show up on a traffic camera soon enough.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed, deflated, but still glared at the well-cared for, pastel family car in front of him. “I didn’t know they even came in this color,” he grumbled.

Cas reached out to take the keys from Jody with a small smile. “How about I drive, huh?”

Dean nodded flatly. “Sure. I don’t even want to drive that thing.”

After exchanging hugs and begrudging thanks with Jody as she jumped back into the tow truck, claiming she had to get back to work by that evening, Dean slid into the passenger seat of the hideous, fuel-efficient car.

Adjusting his seat, Cas looked over to Dean. “So, back to the motel to grab our stuff - then where?”

“Good question.” Dean exhaled, rubbing his face. “It seems senseless to go back to the Bunker; I feel like Bulls Hollow has to be somewhere close, or why drag Sammy all the way to Indiana at all? It’s a pretty distance from Wyoming.”

Cas nodded, snapping shut his seat belt. “So we stay here. Head into town and grab some beer and snacks, extend the motel for tonight and dig back into research?”

“Yup, that sounds like our life,” Dean agreed with a sigh. “Research. Books. Yay.”

Cas smirked, starting the car. “Well, no books at least. We should pick up another laptop though, it’ll be faster if we both can work.”

“Thank Chuck for all those Men of Letters offshore accounts,” Dean commented dryly. “Cas, what are you doing? ” He looked horrified as Cas messed with the radio, finding an energetic hip-hop station and turning the volume up loud enough that the Prius’s dashboard seemed to vibrate.

Cas grinned cruelly. “Driver picks the music, Dean.”

“I hate you.” Dean grumbled, shuffling low in his seat.

“ Not the impression I got last night, Winchester,” the angel yelled back over the music.

Dean’s bitchface was almost Sam-level impressive, but Cas seemed nonplussed as he pulled out from the parking lot.

Deans demeanor quickly improved as the angel began rapping along to the next verse, with a seriousness that had the hunter throwing his head back in laughter. I guess I could get used to the music, he thought, wiping at his eyes hysterically at the langage coming out of the angel’s mouth. At least if he sings.

Chapter Text

“We should have an actual date tonight,” Dean stated suddenly, snapping shut the screen of his laptop with a thunk.

Cas looked up at the hunter from over the top of his own screen, a smile pulling at the edge of his features. “You want to wrestle?”

Remembering Cas’s previous confusion over the term sweep you off your feet, Dean grinned. “Yup. You won’t know what hit you, sunshine.”

With a wink, Dean stood and moved over to the motel’s mini-fridge to retrieve a beer. Opening his mouth to say something further, he paused as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“This must be for you, Cas.” He squinted briefly at the apparently gibberish image in front of him. “It’s from Charlie so I guess it’s the handcuff engraving. Either that or she’s having a stroke.”

Cas deftly caught the phone as Dean threw it over, using his thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the image.

“ Micma obza es ol oiad saga…Izizop gassagen micma aai…. Dean.”

The alarm in the Seraph’s voice stopped the hunter short in front of the fridge, pulling back to his side to squint at the phone immediately. “What? What does it say Cas?”

“These are handcuffs designed to hold an Archangel, Dean.” Cas’ eyes widened at the many things that implied.

“An…. archangel?” Dean moved over to sit on the end of the bed, putting him opposite Cas.

“Yes. I’m sure. There’s nothing else the phrasing could imply,” the angel responded somewhat dully.

Clearing his throat, Dean sensed the angel’s surprise and confusion, and found himself taking charge. “So… what does that mean, realistically? Raphael and Gabriel are dead, Michael and Lucifer are in the cage. I can’t see her getting her hands on any of them with ease, unless she’s a lot more powerful than even Crowley thought.”

Cas nodded slowly. “Might be worth getting Crowley to do a little security check on the cage, though,” he offered.

“Yeah, can’t hurt.” Dean agreed. “Maybe Faith is just out of the loop, doesn’t realize that Gabe and Raph didn’t make it… maybe she’s hoping to trap one of them, and her whole scheme is already broken?”

The angel raised an eyebrow at him. “When have we ever been that lucky, Dean?”

“Fair point.”

The discovery seemed to have put the Seraph into a melancholy mood; Dean wasn’t sure how to work through it, given the news. Eventually, he shuffled to one side of the bed, pulling up one knee to sit at an angle as he made space for the angel.

“Cas,” he patted the mattress next to him “Talk to me.”

Moving over to sit beside him, Castiel raised an eyebrow. “About what, Dean?”

“Well,” Dean sighed, giving him a lopsided smile. “I can tell that little discovery bothered you, kind of upset you. But I’m not sure exactly why, beyond the obvious. So… you know. Figured I’d try breaking the habits of a lifetime and just ask you.”

Cas nodded slowly, rocking into the motion and placing his hands flat in front of him, pressing down into his kneecaps. “I see.” He offered a little smile. “I appreciate the effort. Honestly...hearing about the archangels, thinking about any of them….” He trailed off, shrugs.

“What Cas? It makes you miss...home?” Dean guessed, pointing vaguely up as if to Heaven.

“No Dean, it makes me miss them .” Cas sounded exasperated, but he exhaled and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. You seem to forget though, Dean… to you, Raphael was a villain. Gabriel was an unpredictable ally, caught in the crossfire. Michael and Lucifer, almost as bad as each other. But they are my brothers , Dean. I mourn Gabriel to this day. Lucifer, Michael… they chose their own paths, as they were always supposed to, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me. And Raphael…. I killed him, Dean. I don’t regret it, I believe it was the only and right choice… but I killed a brother. Nothing changes that.”

The angel’s mournful expression was like a punch in the gut.

“Cas….I’m sorry. I’m selfish and thoughtless and… there must be so many things I don’t understand about you or your life.” Dean stared down at his lap. “Why didn’t you ever tell me what a self-centered idiot I could be, before now?”

Cas did at least manage a wan smile. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I have said that a few times, in a few ways.”

Dean nudged him with a shoulder, passing over a smile before he turned thoughtful.

“Cas.. do you regret it, sometimes? Falling? Do you wish you hadn’t?” He asked softly.

“No,” Came the Seraph’s firm answer. “There are things I miss. Heaven, the companionship of my own kind. My family. But I don’t regret it.”

Reaching to press his pillowy lips to Dean’s stubbled cheek, his smile came softly. “I could never truly regret anything that led me to you.”

Dean’s flush didn’t last long; it melted away into their shared kiss. When the hunter came up for air, he grinned.

“So how about we turn this disappointing day around a little? What do you say to that date?”

With a much happier smile, Cas’ response was immediate. “Sweep me off my feet, Dean.”

******

Cas stayed at the motel to continue researching while Dean went on a couple of little errands, which the angel suspected heavily was code for stopping by the liquor store, as once again Dean seemed to have reached the bottom of his whiskey bottle. Cas would have been more concerned about the drinking, if it wasn’t pretty much par for the course with Dean.

Having called to update Charlie with the correct translation of the handcuff inscription, he put his phone aside to concentrate on tracking down Bull Hollow once more.

If it’s not a town or city, what could it be? He was musing, when his phone started to ring once more.

The angel frowned at the screen; it was a brand new phone, his other gone the way of the Impala, and so far only Dean, Charlie and Jody had the number.

This didn’t appear to be any of them; the incoming call number of 666 was a telltale sign.

“Crowley,” Cas commented dryly as he answered.

“Castiel,” the demon purred.

“What do you want, Crowley?” Cas leaned back in his chair, eyeing the ceiling impatiently.

There was a low chuckle. “How do you know I want anything?”

“Because you called me Castiel. Not Cassie, or hot wings, or wingless, or any of the other ridiculous names you insist on using,” the angel cut back swiftly.

“Fair comment; wrong, however. I have information.”

Cas sat back up straight, frowning immediately. “Oh? And what do you want in exchange?”

“Nothing, sweet angel,” Crowley sounded exasperated. “Just remember who looked out for you on your little quest with your knight in shining plaid.”

“His name is Dean.” Cas already sounded fed up, and they’d spoken for less than twenty seconds.

“I’m aware. Now do you want my information, or not?”

Sighing, Cas swallowed his pride. “Yes, Crowley…. please.”

“Bull Hollow, kid - it’s not a town, it’s a geographical feature.” Crowley sounded pretty smug, to Cas’ ears.

“A geographical feature.” Cas echoed flatly.

“Quite. It’s a valley, in the Hoosier National Forest. Not the easiest access, but you can hike to it or navigate your way up a little waterway known as Oil Creek.” The demon spoke swiftly, but sounded perfectly sure of his words.

“No roads?” The Seraph questioned.

“Trails at best.”

Cas raised an eyebrow towards the ceiling again, skeptically. “How do you know this, Crowley? Taken up hiking?”

“You can’t begin to imagine what I do on the weekends, Cas.” The smirk that would be passing the King of Hell’s face came through the phone loud and clear.

“I wouldn’t even want to.” Cas sighed. “I’ll let Dean know and we can head straight there.”

“Don’t worry yourselves, Uncle Crowley has it in hand. I’ve been hearing reports see, unrest in the demon world. It seems our paths have crossed, because my intel has me headed there too. Luckily, at least one of us can still teleport.” The demon sounded far too pleased with himself.

Cas bristled. “So I’m supposed to trust you’re just going to go there and get the lay of the land?”

“I suspected you wouldn’t trust me on it, but don’t be concerned. Give me a couple of hours to tie up my business and I’ll teleport over there and sniff around; then I’ll stop by and see you and the boy in the morning. At a respectable hour, even.”

Cas couldn’t help but frown. “I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to, Cas. Just wait and see.” With that, the demon hung up.

Cas remained staring at his phone, equal parts puzzled and hopeful.

******

“I’m surprised he called you.” Dean sounded slightly offended. “I guess he dumped me. His loss.”

“Definitely not my gain. I don’t know how he even knew about Bull Hollow… I guess he must have been in contact with the Bunker. Poor Charlie.” Cas wryly responded.

Quickly catching the hunter up to speed over the phone as he paced back and forth in the motel room, Cas leaned over to the table to shut the laptop. He didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with the thin trails of clues they had. Much to his chagrin, banking on the demon king seemed to be their best bet.

“Will you be back soon? If you still want to go out somewhere, it seems like we now have time to kill until Crowley stops by in the morning, we’re at a bit of a dead end, research wise.”

“Very soon - open the door.” He could hear Dean’s grin.

Cas heard wheels crunch outside the motel. He opened the door to see Dean parking the baby blue Prius outside, the hunter kicking the vehicle’s door closed somewhat unkindly.

In one hand he grasped a few bags. One of which, Cas noted, was from the liquor store. Knew it. Reaching into the back of the car, Dean also pulled out a large bouquet of flowers.

Presenting them to Cas with a flourish, Dean grinned. “All good first dates,” he announced, “should start with flowers.”

“Dean!” Cas was immediately beaming, all Crowley-tension forgotten. “Thank you….this is why you took so long?”

The angel immediately started examining the blooms, inhaling their scent and touching the petals.

“Yeah, I took a while with the lady in the florist,” Dean admitted. “I had to pick out the right ones.”

“So what made you pick these ones?” Holding the door open so that Dean could take his bags into the motel, Cas placed the flowers on the bed so he could help. Reaching for them once the door was closed again, Dean began to point them out to the Seraph one by one.

“Well, obviously the red roses mean romance. The pink ones show appreciation, and the white ones are for new beginnings. This stuff….” Dean indicated some thick green fronds around the edges, “Is called arborvitae. It’s an evergreen so it means unchanging friendship.”

Cas’ mouth hung open.”And you… knew? All that?”

Dean grinned shyly. “Yeah. I’ve given plenty of flowers in my life, learned a little along the way. Don’t go telling people my secrets now, huh.”

The angel laughed, looking back to the petals. “Romance, appreciation, new beginnings and unchanging friendship...that’s kind of beautiful, you know. I love them, Dean.”

He reached across to pull his Winchester into a tight hug, smiling his way through a kiss before he happily dashed off to the bathroom to refresh their water and feed them. When he returned, Dean was quickly pulling on some clean clothes, buttoning up the wrists of a dark grey, silky shirt that Cas couldn’t recall seeing before.

“New clothes too? Someone is trying to make an impression,” Castiel noted, seeming quite amused. “I had no idea I was worth all this trouble,” he grinned.

“Of course you are… I picked up some clothes for you, too. Here, change.” Dean pulled a new pair of jeans out of one of the bags and threw them to Cas, quickly followed by a similar shirt in a navy blue.

The angel caught them deftly, looking flustered. “Dean, you really didn’t have to go to any trouble for me… I’m happy to just spend the evening with you like we have been recently.”

“So, beer and sex?” Dean’s grin was wolfish.

Cas laughed, pulling the tags off the clothes and shaking his head. “I guess that’s true. I just meant…. you don’t have to make a special effort for me.”

“Well, to be clear, I am definitely not ruling out either of those things for tonight,” Dean answered with a smirk. “But making a special effort for the person you’re with is at least fifty percent of what a relationship is about.”

He smiled fondly at the angel, giving his shirt one last smooth out. “All dressed?”

“Yes, Dean.” Stepping outside the door in his new clothes, Cas seemed somewhat excited. “Where are we going?”

“Wait and see, it’s a surprise.”

With a wide, gummy grin, Cas opened Dean’s car door for him. “Guess that means you’re driving this beautiful blue machine,” he offered innocently, sweeping his arm to wave the hunter into the car.

“Don’t push it or I’ll make us walk,” Dean grumbled, snapping his seatbelt as Cas slid in shotgun. “Ready, sunshine?”

“I am. It’s quite exciting - first actual date of my life. No pressure, Dean.” Cas winked.

Chapter Text

Dean rubbed a hand over the left side of his stomach, a wide-open grin still tugging at his mouth even as he spoke. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long, long time. I think I still have a stitch in my side. Your face, man!”

The sleeves of his dark blue shirt pushed up to the elbows, Cas rested his forearms on the table as he slid into the quiet restaurant booth next to Dean. “I’m the one with the photographic memory and I’m telling you that the first time I hit you, your jaw physically dropped. It was way funnier from my side,” he threw back, matching the hunters grin.

“You shrieked like a girl, though.” Dean winked, grabbing the menu of the diner they’d pulled into next to their main date location.

“I learned that from you. The worst part is we didn’t even win….”

“Well Cas, that’s because usually in laser tag you aren’t supposed to shoot your own teammates… that’s what the weird noise was about.” Dean chuckled loudly, reaching up to push a hand through his slightly sweaty hair.

“You started it!” Cas complained, punching the hunter lightly in the arm as they settled themselves ready to order.

Catching the angels teasing fist in his hand, Dean used it to pull Cas closer and wink at him. “Yup. I did.” His shit-eating grin made the angel laugh again, and without thinking, Dean pulled him the last few inches closer. Their lips met briefly; a happy, carefree kiss.

The sound of a throat being cleared to their right drew their attention up to a sour faced waitress. “What can I get you?” She intoned bluntly, glaring at Dean.

He was about to make a quip and suggest she wasn’t having a good day, when he noted her unpleasant stare at the proximity between him and Cas. Oh.

He felt almost irrationally angry. Thank goodness Cas had taken control of ordering beers and asking her to come back in a few minutes, because Dean’s world seemed to have lost focus, the angel’s voice droning softly in the background like a tuned out radio.

His shoulder was being shaken.

“Dean?”

He blinked.

“Dean? What’s wrong? You just zoned out completely.” Cas seemed genuinely concerned, his hand resting warmly on the hunters shirt sleeve as he closely examined his face.

“Fine.” He mumbled. “The waitress just… she was being rude.”

Cas looked after the waitress, tilting his head slightly as he thought the encounter through. “Oh, I see,” he replied quietly after a minute. Turning to look back at Dean, he smiled slightly sadly. “I can sit on the other side of the booth if it makes things easier for you, Dean. I know it bothers you when-”

“No Cas, that’s not fair. I have to get used to this.” Exhaling firmly, Dean reached to twine his fingers quietly with the angels, an almost shy smile twisting his features. “Strangers don’t have any say in what we do.”

Cas regarded the table quietly for a moment, his eyes caught on the diner’s formica. “Strangers don’t, but what about your friends? What about Sam, when we find him?”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s brow creased heavily.

The angel cleared his throat and eyed Dean sideways. “I just noticed that-” His voice cut off as the waitress reluctantly approached them, and they managed to get through ordering a cheeseburger for Dean without incident before he continued.

“I noticed that when we saw Jody this morning, you jumped back from me like….”

Dean started shaking his head immediately, but Cas continued.

“You did, Dean. You were holding my hand and we were chatting, everything between us seemed like it was actually going really well,” the Seraph confessed quietly. “But as soon as Jody stepped up to the table you jerked back and dropped my hand.”

“I did.” Dean responded quietly. “You’re right.”

Cas nodded, his azure gaze still studying the table edge. “So...you don’t want to tell your friends about us?”

“I was just taken by surprise, Cas. You know that’s not true - Charlie already knows.”  Dean tilted his head, studying the angel with a small frown. After four or five long seconds, he smiled slightly; an ‘aha’ moment happening behind his eyes. “Cas. When we find Sam - is that what you’re really worried about? You think I won’t tell him? That I won’t want you any more then?”

Cas pursed his lips slightly; they twitched back and forth in consideration as he pulled his beer closer to himself, running his fingers across the frosted surface of the glass and studying the droplets that dripped to the table.

His silence was all the information Dean needed.

“You really do think that.” It was a statement. “You still think that you’re plugging a gap until we find Sam, that I won’t have space in my life for you with him here. That I won’t need you.”

“You never did before,” Cas pointed out quietly. He tilted his head to the side, almost as if he was listening to something Dean couldn’t hear. He looked puzzled.

“Because I never knew you were interested. It was different. Now it’s different.” Dean exhaled loudly in frustration. “I don’t know how to make you believe me Cas. Is this some angel thing, not being able to pick up on my intentions? Or is this just you being unable to believe you’re more than useful to me these days? Because I don’t have any reservations about telling Sam. I know him; he isn’t going to care.”

Cas still made no response, though his lips parted slightly as if he was going to. Instead a deep frown crept across his features, and the puzzled head tilt remained - it was almost like he wasn’t listening to Dean at all.

“Cas? Are you listening?” Dean’s eyes fixed on the edge of his paper napkin, blown up suddenly by the tiniest of unexpected breezes. It was easier than looking at Cas, in the moment.  “I need to know what is going to convince you how important you are…. and how important this is becoming to me. It’s not just comfort Cas, or distraction, its…”

Looking up to reach for the angels face, to draw his eyes back to him before he finished speaking; Dean suddenly realized that the seat next to him was empty.

Craning his neck around in confusion, he searched for the handsome mess of dark hair amongst the other diners, near the bar, on the walkway to the bathroom. Nothing. The angel was gone.

******

“ ....noasmi niis Gassagen! ”

The tail-end of an Enochian incantation reached Cas’ ears even as he felt his vessel pull through space, squeezing through the gaps between atoms at a pace that didn’t register in time.

Next, he was aware of heat. Not the realization of it that his vessel usually supplied, a brief note in the back of his mind that allowed him to pinpoint temperature to the exact micro degree, uncaring. This was heat he felt . He jerked slightly, moving his left wing away from the leaping flames of holy fire.

Folding his wings up to his back protectively, he settled his eyes on the surface of Earth to let him take in the sights around him. He stood within a circular sigil, chalked onto brown carpet. With a confused jolt, he realized that he was back in the motel room he was sharing with Dean, just outside of downtown Goshen.

Around him, a circle of holy fire burned; dropped onto the carpet in the space between the end of the double bed and the door. The flames hissed and quivered; it wouldn’t be long at all, he realized, before the motel room ignited.

What caught his eyes then were the two figures stood by the door. One, a woman about 35, with curled blonde hair and a cruel smirk, seemed familiar. The photo of Sam, Cas thought. That’s Faith Hawley . The second figure was younger, a boy of indeterminable teenage years. He was tall, long haired and vicious looking, the end of the incantation that Castiel had caught seeming to come from his mouth.

“You summoned me,” Cas stated, his blue eyes flashing furiously as they rested first on the blonde woman, then on her younger companion.

“Yes,” the boy responded. “We came looking for the brother. He seems to be out, but… the tale this room told us had other, much more interesting secrets. Dean doesn’t matter with what you can give us, Castiel. ”

“Who are you?” Cas was moving his feet, stepping back slightly, but he could see no way out of the circle.

“You aren’t here for questions, Angel.” The woman barked, pushing the boy forward, up to the edge of the circle.

The teen nodded, and his eyes fixed on Castiel. It seemed for a moment as if he was just looking at him. Then Cas felt it; a tug, a twitch, an uncomfortable feeling of heaviness as his ruined wings were forcibly pulled from their hidden realm to Earth. They tumbled down to hang desolately at his sides.

“What are you doing?” Cas could feel his vessels voice raising; What magic is this? How is he controlling my true form? His thoughts were a swirl of panic.

The kid began to move his fingers then, a casual swipe here and there like a conductor in a orchestra. It seemed to Cas, over the growing crackle of flame as the holy fire ring began to spread beyond the oil and melt the carpet, that he was humming.

With an unchecked scream of agony, Cas fell to one knee; feeling grounding sigils erupt across his already ruined wings, pinning them to this plane with magic and fire. He felt his wing stumps quiver, blood gushing from his back down to the floor, soaking the new jeans Dean had pressed upon him just a handful of hours before.

“Hush, Angel,” the boy purred. “I only want those last couple of flight feathers you have left….”

Gasping, Cas tried desperately to tuck his wings in, pulling them away from the boy; but they were too heavy for this human vessel, too big to be so easily controlled when this magic was pulling them the other way. Whining noises keened out of his throat, screaming no longer possible, as he felt the boys hand reach over the circle of flame, ripping away his last hope of ever returning to flight.

“Oh - and one other thing.” The boy’s smile was wicked now. He reached forward, grasping at Castiel’s throat, dragging them both unnervingly close to the hot flames. In the back of his mind, Cas dumbly noted that the bed was engulfed in fire. He found himself wondering dully why the sprinklers weren’t going off. He felt a sharp cut at his throat; suddenly white-blue light tore out of his body like it was pulled by a magnet.

As if watching the room from far above, Cas found a bubble of calm. Shock, he recognized dully. That’s what they call it, isn’t it? His gaze drifted around the room, illuminated in equal parts by the expanding flames and the grace-light erupting from Cas himself and funneling into a spherical shape in front of the boy. On the window sill sat Cas’ little pot of african violets; his present from Dean only days before. No, no, no…. Cas thought dully. Please no…

His vision was entirely taken up by flames teasing at the pot, green leaves charing black as he heard voices floating around him.

“Come on, Cai...it’s getting a little hot in here. Give it ten minutes for his body to burn up past identification before the alarm goes off, yes?”

“Yes, mother.”

Cas had never felt so heavy in all his years, like his wrecked wings were covered in tar. He gasped, as if he needed to breathe like the humans did and yet nothing but smoke from the holy fire filled his lungs. Before the darkness took him, he reached to that place in his mind that prayer unlocked, desperately hoping for any sound, any voice…. but it was gone. He couldn’t find that place at all; his mind silent and alone as he slipped from consciousness.

Chapter Text

It took no more than a minute or two for Dean to scour the diner and parking lot; no sign of the angel anywhere. The hideous blue Prius was still in it’s spot and Dean knew that Cas hadn’t been able to fly or teleport for some time now. What the hell? His initial bewilderment and mild annoyance was giving way to a deeper, more fearful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Punching at the screen of his phone with a frown, he cursed loudly as the Seraph’s phone dialed out again.

“Where are you buddy?” Dean grumbled under his breath, flopping into the driver's seat of the Prius. Time to find out, he thought.

Maybe it would have made Cas mad if he knew, but Dean didn’t stop to care much about that. Something could have happened to him, after all. Scrolling through the apps on his phone, Dean accessed the tracker he’d installed on Cas’ cell. He’d done it the first evening they’d set it up, after grabbing a replacement from the nearby Walmart. Maybe he hadn’t actually told Cas about it, but it was just a safety precaution, after all… One that, it turns out, he thought almost smugly, comes in very handy.

Dean bit down on his lip, hoping that Cas hadn’t disabled the tracker or turned off his phone’s GPS or anything like that. It seemed like the app took a very long second to load, but it did - a quiet beep accompanying the appearance of the small location tag on the map. The motel, Dean thought. How the hell did he get back to the motel so fast? That’s not possible….

He can’t fly, he can’t teleport. There’s no way for him to move that fast. Unless… Dean was gripping the wheel, his foot on the accelerator even when the thought was only half-formed.

Unless someone summoned him.

*******

The Prius was no Baby, but she ate up the miles pretty well when Dean pushed her. He broke every speeding law on the way there, cutting every second he could from the journey. As soon as he pulled into the motel lot, he knew something was wrong.

He couldn’t hear any alarms or sirens, yet even as he leapt out of the car he could see flames licking at the edge of the blinds in their window.

He took the door at a sprint, slamming it open with his shoulder rather than even thinking about searching for the key.

“Cas!” The second the door was open he started yelling through the smoke. The whole room was ablaze now; carpet melting, bed roaring, the fake wooden panelling at the walls beginning to peel.

“Cas!”

He spotted the angel straight away, the room too small for there to be any mystery about it. He lay sprawled on his side on the floor, his body in the center of a circle which seemed to be the only part of the room not entirely aflame. Sprawled out around him were bloodied, mangled structures of bone and mush that Dean, sickened, realized had once been his wings. What was left of them was charred, flames now licking at the angel’s legs. The Seraph didn’t move or acknowledge Dean’s cries.

Jesus Christ, Fuck.. his wings. Holy shit, Dean panicked as he darted into the room. There was a heavy, choking smell of burnt feathers and flesh amongst the dark haze of the room.

Heedless of the heat, the hunter grabbed at Cas, pulling him up to his chest as he beat out the fire teasing at his clothing; with horror, Dean realized that the only reason the fabric hadn’t been engulfed was because much of it was was wet, soaked with blood.

Dean staggered under the angel’s weight. It must be the wings, he guessed; he knew Cas didn’t weigh this much; he had the Seraph on top of him enough times to know.

Straining, he settled for dragging Cas out of the room by his arms. “Cas!” He kept calling his name over and over, desperately hoping for any kind of response. Something akin to a gasp shuddered out of the angel’s mouth - for now it was enough to keep Dean going.

Suddenly, as he was pulling the destroyed angel out onto the sidewalk, a loud fire alarm started blaring and the sprinkler in the room started spraying, far too late.

Shit. Dean thought. If anyone was to look out of their window now, there was no way he could hide Cas’ wings.

Desperately he dragged and shoved the angel into the passenger seat of the Prius, fighting with what was left of his wings to cram them in beside him. Jumping in and screeching out of the parking lot, Dean was aware he was shaking. One hand on the wheel, the other cradling Cas’ head to his chest as he lolled against his side, Dean tried to think clearly.

Can’t take him to a hospital, not with his wings like that… a veterinarian. It’s super late, they’ll be closed… just gotta get there.

Voice activating his phone, he started yelling at it for directions to the nearest animal hospital. He stroked at Cas’ face as he drove with one hand, reaching over to kiss the top of his dark mess of hair over and over.

“Come on baby, wake up… Come on Cas, please.. I got you Cas, it’s going to be okay…” An endless tide of useless platitudes tumbled from Dean’s lips as he drove.

******

Dean wasn’t sure that Cas even realized he was there. He’d broken into Countryside Animal Hospital quickly, less concerned about being discovered than he was about wasting time. The drive had only been five minutes, but the angel hadn’t made another sound since he pulled him from the motel room.

Laying him down on a metal table, Dean had him propped on his side, murmuring soothingly as he gently lowered his head down. The desolate wings, if the bony stumps could still be called that, drooped down from the table to the floor.

It was clear that the Seraph’s wings hand once been unfathomably impressive; even with the flight feathers missing, they extended easily five or six feet out either side of Cas’ shoulders. The crisp, burned chunks along the edge must have once been the smaller, downy feathers that covered the top of his wing. The feathers that Dean knew to be called primaries and secondaries were gone entirely, but it was easy to get a sense that just one of those missing flight feathers would have dwarfed the vessel’s arm in size.

Rifling through the tools at hand, he grabbed the biggest scissors and began to cut away at the angels clothes, peeling the bloodied fabric from his blistered skin.

When he reached for the seraph’s left wing, to begin to soak the blood from it to see what he was working with, he felt the angel twitch. Thank Chuck.

“Cas?” He asked gently, moving around to cup the angel’s face with both hands. “Can you hear me? I’m right here, we’ll fix you, it’s okay…” he mumbled, tripping over his words.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as relieved as he did when Cas’ eyes fluttered open. “Dean.” His weak voice was thick with smoke and pain, more gravelly even than usual.

“Yes. It’s okay, don’t talk, just rest.” Leaning forward, Dean couldn’t help himself but press a kiss to the angel’s forehead. “I got you.”

Cas’ hand came up slowly to his face, catching Dean’s wrist. “Faith.” He croaked. “And her son.”

Dean nodded. “Let’s not worry about that now, okay? Let me find something to help with the pain…”

Sushing the angel when he tried to speak again, Dean rooted around in the cabinets and carts that sat around the walls of his makeshift angel operating theatre. Dean was no chemist, but he’d learned enough over the years to find the veterinarian's supply of isoflurane and a mask that looked like it was probably designed for a large dog.

“Cas?” Dean ventured softly.

The angel opened his eyes again, tears leaking out as he looked up at the hunter.

“I’m going to use this to try and knock you out, okay? I don’t know if it’ll work on an angel but it’s the best chance we’ve got,” Dean explained.

The angel nodded fractionally, almost seeming relieved.

Dean lost track of time as he desperately worked.

He blotted up the blood with endless wads of gauze, revealing blistered burns and what looked like deep rips in the angels skin all across his back and shoulders, as if his human form couldn’t hold the weight of the once majestic wings and tore under the pressure. Burned into the skin of his back and the exposed bones of his wings were sigils Dean couldn’t begin to understand, bleeding and hot to the touch. He sewed up what he could, splinting some of the shattered wing bones and wrapping burns where he was able. No matter what he tried, there always seemed to be more blood.

The sun began to shine through a window to his left, glinting off of the scalpel Dean held, trying to cut away some of the fabric from the angel’s burned legs. Fuck , Dean thought. I need to get him out of here within an hour or so, before anyone starts work. Looking down at the angel, he knew he had no safe way to move him.

He used his left hand to steady his right, which trembled noticeably as he returned to cutting.

If it hadn’t been a smell he was so attuned to noticing, Dean would probably have been far too focused on Cas to note the faint sulphur smell that accompanied Crowley’s arrival.

“Morning, Dean-o,” he greeted the hunter curiously. “Veterinarian's office? One of you hit a dog again?”

Dean lowered his scalpel shakily.

Stepping to the side to look around Dean to the table where Cas lay, the demon raised an eyebrow. “No… a different kind of pet, I see.”

“Crowley. What are you doing here?” Dean growled, reaching up to push a filthy hand through his hair before he resumed his fabric cutting. “Clearly a bad time.”

“Said I’d stop by in the morning, didn’t I?” The King of Hell responded. His eyes were fixed on the angel and he visibly grimaced. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“Some kind of torture, clearly,” Dean snapped. “Same woman that took Sam.”

“Dean.” Crowley stepped back around the table, placing a hand on the hunter's shoulder. “Stop.”

“No!” Dean shook his hand off, hating that he could feel his lip trembling as he reached to check that Cas’ mask was in place.

Crowley managed to pull off a genuinely sympathetic look. “I’m not sure stitches and gauze can fix this, squirrel.”

With a sudden crash, Dean punched down onto the metal table. “I have to try! He’s barely conscious, the bleeding won’t stop, I-I….” His breath came out in a helpless shudder. “What else can I do?” His shout trailed off hoarsely.

The demon regarded Dean for a long moment as he stood with his head drooped in near defeat, his arms braced on the table. Moving his gaze to the angel, Crowley stepped back up to him and pressed a palm to his forehead.

For a moment the demon’s face went lax, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Snapping back, he turned to Dean.

“He’s still in there,” Crowley confirmed quietly. “But I don’t know if you’re going to be able to fix this vessel. It was ruined by magic, I’m not certain it can heal.”

Dean noted dully that Crowley managed to sound genuinely mournful. Crowley, Dean thought.

The hunter’s head snapped up. “Crowley. You can fix him,” he stated, fixing the shorter man with a flat look.

The look that the demon gave him was somewhat unfathomable. “In theory,” Crowley confessed. “I can. But I’m no angel, Dean, I’m the King of bloody Hell… I’ve probably got more power than this poor specimen but I have to have a deal Dean, I can’t just pull something like that out of nowhere, not even for my bestie.” Crowley winked at Dean crudely, though the hunter was surprised again to find that Crowley didn’t sound like he was gloating - rather, apologizing.

“Then I’ll give you a deal,” Dean responded without hesitation. “Name your terms and fix Cas, you bastard.”

A smile tugged at Crowley’s mouth. “Now we’re talking.”

Chapter Text

“You’re giving me a good deal?” The end of Dean’s sentence raised slightly, making it a surprised sounding question.

“There has to be a deal involved for that kind of power from Hell, Dean – but what the deal involves is up to me.” Crowley narrowed his eyes at Dean, “Otherwise, don’t think I wouldn’t be saving sweet Cassie just out of the goodness of my beautiful heart.”

“Sure,” Dean snorted.

“I’m helping with Moose, aren’t I?” The demon’s black eyebrow raised smugly.

“Yeah. But you and Cas aren’t exactly bosom buddies. I’m not complaining, but you seem to have been…nice to him, recently. It worries me.” Dean confessed, eyeing Crowley narrowly as he moved to remove the mask from Castiel’s face.

“Goodness of my heart, I told you.” The demon rolled up his sleeves, moving to the end of the table close to the angel’s head. “I can fix the vessel, remove the sigils and put his wings back into their plane, healed as best I can. But I can’t fix his grace, understand?”

The hunter nodded.

“Ready?” The demon gave him one last chance to back out.

Dean wet his lips nervously. “Whatever it takes.”

With a flourish and a tiny puff of smoke, a long scroll appeared in the hand of the King of Hell. Dean looked to Cas quickly, taking in his closed eyes and pale face. Without having to consider any further he took a calming breath and reached for the extravagant quill pen that the demon offered him to sign.

Crowley smiled wickedly, winking. “Alright then, pretty boy – pucker up. Let’s seal the deal.”

******

Rolling his sleeves back down like a surgeon post-operation, Crowley seemed pleased. “Excellent work,” he complimented himself, somewhat ridiculously as all he’d done was snap his fingers. “He’ll sleep a while now I’m sure. Then your puppy will be back to trailing after you just like old times. Well, almost.”

Dean nodded, looking over Cas’ form on the metal table. He was clean and calm, his wounds gone along with his wings; put back, Dean assumed, it whatever pocket dimension it was where he kept them.

“Just be ready when it’s time for me to collect, Dean.” Crowley cautioned. “You know as well as I, double crossing hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Right. Thanks, Crowley.” Dean looked away from the demon as he spoke somewhat begrudgingly. “You didn’t have to do this, least of all on these terms. So, thanks.”

“So gracious. Now; Bull Hollow. You remember what I told you?”

Dean nodded, reaching to lift Cas’ sleeping form from the metal table. “Yeah. I’ll get Cas to a motel and wait for you to drop in again. I’ll explain everything to Cas when he wakes.”

“You’re still sure you want to stay with the angel instead of accompany me? If Sam is there….” Crowley raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

“Yes,” Dean snapped gruffly. “I’m sure. I made my choice. I’m staying with Cas until I know he’s okay.”

“Well, well. Wonders never cease. Just be ready.” With that, the demon was gone.

Hoisting Cas more firmly in his arms, Dean carried him out to the pastel Prius. He’d been in such a rush to get him inside, he’d left the door open. Seeing all the blood smeared around the front seat made Dean’s stomach lurch all over again. He lay the angel down on the back seat instead, taking a moment to lean exhaustedly over the steering wheel. “What a night,” he mumbled to himself.

Dean headed south out of town, knowing they’d have to drive that way to Bull Hollow later on. For now, he stopped at the first motel with vacancies, just wanting to tuck Cas into bed and get some sleep alongside him for a few hours.

He couldn’t help dwelling on the deal he’d made with Crowley as he tucked the thin blanket up around Cas; it felt too easy, as if there was something else at play that he wasn’t seeing. He hoped his angel could help him work it out when he awoke.

Stripping down to his boxers, Dean slipped into the bed beside him and simply held the Seraph, finally allowing an audible sigh of relief to slip from his lips.

Two hours later, Cas began to stir. At first, he merely curled into Dean’s shoulder with a sleepy smile, as if everything was normal. “Good morning, Dean.”

Pulling his arms tight around the angel, Dean couldn’t help but squeeze him hard. “God it’s good to hear you talking,” he admitted gruffly into Cas’s neck, not quite able to look up just yet. “I was… I really thought you were done for, for a while there.”

Blinking and frowning, as if beginning to recall what had happened, Cas pushed up off the bed. “Where are we? How am I… I’m fine. Why am I fine? My grace is… depleted? Or gone? But I’m healed, and my wings….” He sounded relieved, but suspicious as he looked down, studying his own chest and arms.

“When Faith summoned you from the restaurant, I tracked your cell phone and came to find you,” Dean began to explain slowly, sitting up beside him. The sheet slid down to gather around both of their waists and the hunter focused on the wrinkles in it firmly as he continued. “I found you, but not soon enough, really. Managed to get you to a veterinary hospital, sorted out your wounds and fixed up your wings.”

“You fixed what they did to my wings.” Cas blinked. “At a veterinary hospital.” His tone was disbelieving.

“I may have had some help.”

Even more suspicious now, Cas reached across to tilt Dean’s face up, frowning as he studied his expression. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Although his jaw was held still by Cas’ fingers, Dean’s eyes dropped. “Crowley turned up, to give us his report on Bull Hollow. Good thing, too. Your vessel was destroyed and your wings were stuck in this world, some kind of awful torture sigil-things burned into them, I couldn’t—”

“Crowley?” Cas interrupted quietly. “Crowley healed me?”

Dean nodded mutely.

“You made a deal with Crowley,” Cas guessed, his voice laced with shock and anger.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean turned his face out of Cas’ hands, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress with his feet on the floor. “I knew you’d be mad but I didn’t have a choice . He couldn’t put your grace back, I’m sorry about that, but he could make sure you lived.”

“There’s always a choice, Dean.” Cas retorted furiously. “You made the reckless and stupid one.”

“ No, Cas.” Dean yelled. “Losing you isn’t a choice for me. If I had to do it again, I wouldn’t change anything.” Turning sideways to look at the angel still wrapped in the bedsheets, his gaze was defiant.

They held their shared glare for a moment, but it was Cas that broke first. He looked down, his voice quiet.

“What did he get?” He asked softly. “What was the deal?”

“So, you remember when we called Crowley to help with finding Sam? He mentioned there was some unrest in Hell?” Dean sighed, deciding to start at the beginning.

Cas hummed in agreement. “Go on.” The angel still looked furious, but he seemed content to let Dean speak his piece.

“Turns out, it was more like a brewing mutiny. Demons have been fleeing the nest, so to speak, and allying themselves with another powerful force that’s been brewing quietly for a few years,” the hunter explained.

“Faith Hawley?” Cas guessed.

“And her son, Caius.” Dean affirmed, dropping his eyes to his hands again with an awkward laugh. “ Sam’s son, Caius. So, I guess I’m an Uncle,” he commented dryly.

“Congratulations,” Cas replied flatly, a slight grimace pulling at his mouth. “Seems like a great kid. But I don’t see what that has to do with your deal.”

“I’m getting there.” Dean sighed. “Crowley has put up with Sam existing for a long time because he knows he’d never say yes to Lucifer – but if he did, Sam would be Crowley’s greatest threat. He wouldn’t be King for long if Luci came back again.”

Cas nodded slowly, following along. “This child then, Caius, is a threat in the same way. He’s Sam’s direct descendent…. Not the true vessel, but close enough. Like Adam.”

“Exactly. Crowley thinks that Faith has some plan to bring Lucifer back to earth that involves Sam though; we aren’t clear on that part, but he’s obviously involved. Crowley has been working with the bunker to try and add up the clues, find out what ritual or spell it is she’s trying to complete. He went back there to find out how far they were with that, after healing you,” Dean explained. “When he went to check out the valley last night, he found a whole compound down there. Hidden from human eyes. Whatever she plans to do, it’s big and probably will be done soon.”

“The deal , Dean.” Cas wasn’t messing around, his arms folded across his chest as he brought Dean back on track.

The hunter sighed. “Crowley could have given a year and a hellhound, Cas. That’s what I was worth before. For whatever reason, he offered a lot better. He’s done with Lucifer and his vessels. When we find Faith and Caius, he’s taking the kid. He’s going to drop him in the cage with your brothers. When I die….” His eyes raised nervously to the angel’s, “Which he is being kind enough to let happen of its own accord…. I’ll owe him a hundred years.”

“ What ?” Cas’s response was shrouded in denial and dumb disbelief. “What does that mean? A hundred years of what?”

“It means, before I go to heaven, or wherever I end up, I spend a hundred years working for Crowley. Guarding the cage.”

Cas was silent, staring.

“It’s a good deal, Cas. I get to live my natural life, I keep my soul and I get to leave at the end. As demon deals go, that’s pretty sweet.” Dean sounded desperate, as if begging Cas to understand.

“After a hundred years in Hell ,” Cas bit back. He leant forward, his elbows on his knees as his head fell into his hands. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“It was worth it,” Dean said to his hands quietly as he pulled his feet back up onto the bed, sitting next to the angel. “Please don’t be angry with me, Cas… please. Your vessel was ruined and your grace was gone, you couldn’t heal…” he paused. “I could have lost you, Cas. Please understand.”

Whatever response Dean had been expecting, he didn’t expect Cas to slide his arms around him and pull him close. He didn’t expect for the angel to pull him down onto the bed and kiss him desperately, feeling wetness on the angel’s cheeks. He definitely didn’t expect the Seraph’s gentle tone.

“We’re going to fix this, Dean, we’re going to find a way out.” Cas murmured against his lips as they lay tangled in the sheet. “It can’t come to pass. You can’t go to hell…”

Cas pulled Dean’s face up to study it, his thumbs rubbing across the hunter’s cheeks, suddenly smiling.

“You can’t go to hell Dean, you’ll go to Heaven. We’ll be in heaven together… because I love you, and that’s just how that works.” He was matter of fact.

They kissed again for a moment before Dean pulled back with a grin. “Cas, did you just tell me you’re in love with me?”

Dean caught the flush building along Cas’ throat, despite the angel’s firm, grinning response. “Yes Dean, I did. Though I’ve told you once before… but you couldn’t understand me.”

“Well that’s just cheating, Cas. When?” Dean questioned. “Wait—” he suddenly thought, “You mean the other night? When we, uh….”

Cas bit back his grin, nodding through his flushed cheeks. “Yes. I didn’t mean to, really, it just kind of came out, then… but I know it’s true.”

Dean pressed his mouth back to the angel’s, beginning to trail his lips seductively down his neck, keeping his head bowed. “I’m not good at this stuff Cas,” he admitted shyly, avoiding the angel’s eyes. “But I hope you know…”

Cas shushed him. “You just promised a hundred years to hell for me, Dean. I know.”

******

They lay tangled together for a good while, just chatting and trading kisses, enjoying each other’s company before their hunt resumed.

“Can you feel it, Cas? That your grace is depleted, or stolen, or just… gone?” Dean asked curiously.

“Not really,” the angel confessed. “Something feels different, but I don’t overly notice until I try to use it. Then it’s just…nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean’s brow creased. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there faster. Do you think it’ll come back? Isn’t grace kind of like a tank that just fills up over time?”

Cas propped his head up on his hand for a moment, his elbow digging into their pillows. “Usually, yes. But this feels…. different. It feels like when I was human, except I still have my true form, some of my senses…” His eyes dropped briefly “Hopefully it’ll come back. Until then I’m no use… like a baby in a trench coat all over again.”

“Not true,” Dean replied softly, resting a hand on Cas’ arm. “I’m sorry I ever said that to you. Grace or not, you’re still an awesome hunter and great tactician. You’re still very strong, very wise and smarter than any of the rest of us. You’re the guy I want on my side in any fight - you’re a badass even without the grace, Cas.”

Dean could tell his words hit home, that had said the right thing, by the angel’s happy smile. Before Cas could respond they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’s probably Crowley,” Dean said as he rolled out of the bed, looking around quickly for his duffle to find some pants that he hadn’t been playing surgeon in. “After stopping by the bunker, the plan was that he would teleport over to Bull Hollow and see if he could locate Sam and give us a lay of the land. He’ll lead us there and be our backup while we get him out.”

Picking up his Walmart shotgun, Dean tested the weight of it in his hand grimly. “So, time to see how this thing fires.”

The knock came again. Cas, having already reached over and stolen Dean’s spare jeans and the grey AC/DC shirt he was becoming fond of, reached to open the door.

“Crowley, and…” he began, nodding his head before his eyes widened at the sight on the doorstep. “… Claire? ”

Oh shit, thought Dean. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.

Chapter Text

“Claire.” Cas repeated again, his face completely taken with confusion as the young, curly haired woman stepped over the threshold. Crowley entered right behind her, shutting the door and standing somewhat awkwardly just over the threshold, watching the angel and the blonde girl.

Claire stepped toward Cas, her smile somewhat hesitant. Nonetheless she raised her arms to him, offering a hug. “Castiel,” she greeted. “You didn’t think I’d come?”

Cas frowned slightly. “No, I didn’t expect to see you, I thought you were back at the bunker with Charlie.” His eyes flicked briefly over to the demon near the door. “Not with him.”

Claire shrugged, squeezing Cas into her offered hug despite his confusion. He reciprocated slowly as she answered him. “Charlie said she told Dean I was working with Crowley, I thought it’d be obvious I’d get him to bring me as soon as he told me what happened to you.”

She smiled awkwardly, almost shy, resting her head into the chest of the body that had once belonged to her father.

“Just because my Dad isn’t in there anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to you now, Cas,” she added somewhat needlessly.

Cas’ face was frozen, his eyebrows raised. “You’re working with Crowley?”

Claire frowned back at him. “Yes, Cas. Crowley and I have been helping each other out the last few days or so.”

“And you knew about this?” Cas turned, the hug with his not-daughter forgotten as he rounded on Dean. “You knew Claire was working with Crowley and you didn’t say anything to me?”

Dean held his hands up in defense, though his expression immediately showed he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “I knew you’d worry, and--”

“You decided to keep something like that from me? Lie to me?” Cas seethed.

Crowley and Claire both looked between the pair, before looking at each other uncomfortably.

“No, I didn’t lie,” Dean responded quietly. “I just didn’t tell you beca--”

“That’s the same thing, Dean,” Cas snapped. “I thought we were past doing things like this, now.”

“We are, Cas. I’m sorry, I--” Dean tried to apologise.

“Sorry.” Cas interrupted. “You’re saying that a lot today.”

The angel’s gaze met Dean’s almost defiantly as he continued.

“You aren’t the only one who gets to make decisions in this relationship, Dean. You don’t get to make every call and decide what is or isn’t best. I might not be human but I do know that is not how it’s supposed to work.”

Dean met the angel’s glare unflinchingly.  

“That's not fair - I am not going to apologize for making the deal again, Cas. I’d do it all over if I had to. I said I was sorry for not telling you about Claire. It was a mistake ,” Dean emphasized. “Something that had rather slipped my mind considering my brother is missing, my car was stolen, my  motel room burned down and my boyfriend was dying .”

Dean huffed somewhat angrily then.

“I’m sorry for not meeting your standards. Life is full of disappointments, Cas.”

Crowley cleared his throat loudly near the door, as it was starting to appear like Cas and Dean had almost forgotten he and Claire were there. “Boys,” be ventured. “Maybe this lovers tiff can happen later. Claire has news.”

Dean and Cas’ warring glare seemed to disengage at Crowley’s interruption. The angel turned almost sheepishly to Claire.

“Claire, I’m sorry you had to see that. I realize that my protectiveness of you is somewhat… unwanted, on occasion.”

She shook her head. “No, Cas. It’s okay.” Slowly, her eyes moved back and forth between Dean and Cas a couple of times. “But it sounds to me like Dean isn’t the only one who hasn’t volunteered important information.”

Cas’ brow recreased, not following. He waited quietly for her to continue, noting that Crowley was very intently looking at the ceiling.

“You’re treating my Dad’s body like some kind of japanese dating sim now? That’s what he died for, Castiel?” She pointed at Dean, her  tone not so much angry as disbelieving. “You’re calling Hasselhoff your boyfriend and you didn’t even think to, I dunno, drop a text to say that my super religious father is now going to be balls-deep in someone who I actually looked up to? Someone I trusted?”

Cas’ jaw flapped twice, fish-like, before he managed a response. “Claire, I…” his gaze dropped and the angels eyes filled with shame. “I am so sorry. It was disrespectful of me not to consider your feelings.”

Claire’s accusatory gaze turned on Dean. “You too, old man. You had to go and make things weird. I was starting to like you and now I'm picturing--”

“Woah okay…” Dean interrupted swiftly. “There doesn't need to be any picturing, kid.”

He frowned slightly, then forced a small smile as he came to Cas’ defense. “Cas' didn't mean anything by it, Claire. I know he looks like your Dad… but you gotta remember, he isn't. He's his own person with his own feelings.”

Claire nodded slowly, turning back to Castiel.

“And those feelings….include this guy?” She jerked a thumb roughly at Dean.

Raising his gaze back to her, Cas nodded. “Yes. Very much so.” He smiled cautiously at her, his arms coming to fold insecurely across his chest, feeling exposed. “I hope you can come to terms with that and it won’t be too strange for you.”

Claire looked back and forth between Cas and Dean again before she nodded. “You could do worse,” she admitted with a slight sigh.  “Though it’s still weird.”

Crowley stepped into the room then, up next to Claire. “Wonderful family moment. Now, back on track please? I’ve got hell to protect and you have a Moose to locate.”

Claire raised an eyebrow at the demon and he responded with an exaggerated eye roll in her direction.

“Fine. Moose locating first, then Hell, blah blah blah.” Crowley’s smile was exaggerated, his impatience clear.

Cas found that his anger over being in the dark about Claire’s demon team-up was certainly not fading as he watched her grin up at Crowley. Frowning, he stepped up to the demon, looking down into his face with a clearly threatening stare.

“One misstep, Crowley. Just one.” Cas was close enough that his breath was hitting the demon’s face, his lip curled up in a furious scowl.

“Loud and clear, Castiel,” Crowley responded.

Dean found himself surprised at the solemnity of Crowley’s tone, but he wasn’t about to call the demon out for actually seeming decent. Grabbing the duffle bag and gun he had dragged in from the car when he was tucking Cas into bed, he looked around the motel room quickly before nodding to the door. “Let’s get out of here. Car is parked right in front.”

As they all filed out onto the walkway outside the door, Dean heard the genuine surprise and open mirth in Crowley’s voice as he stepped up to the parking space where the pastel Prius sat.

“You’re driving this? I have to take a picture. ”

******

The odd group of travellers swung briefly through a local fast food joint to nourish the two humans before they headed onto the freeway. Through mouthfuls of her early lunch, Claire filled Dean and Cas in on what they had found.

“Missing werewolves were the piece of the puzzle that made it click,” she began, kicking her feet up onto the backseat of the Prius and settling in.

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow, turning in the driver's seat so he could look at Claire while they ate, quickly tearing through his burger in the parking lot.

“Charlie had been searching for spells using a lot of holy oil and that might require the teeth of a vampire but honestly, there were a lot. There are a bunch of other clues too - so what if it’s not even all one spell?”

Claire paused for a bite of her chicken sandwich before she continued.  

“We didn’t have much of anywhere to start. Then we remembered that Faith also bought that book on angel summoning and now we know they have,” she nodded to Cas, “the grace of an angel.”

Cas nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Where do the werewolves come in?”

“We had been assuming that the werewolves were some kind of army or just lackeys she had used to find Sam. But Crowley and I found one that….” her blue eyes, so like her fathers, flickered briefly to the demon in the seat next to her, “was more willing to talk than the others had been.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Turns out, they are being gathered for use in a spell too. There is a type of ancient magic that involves bathing in the blood of magical creatures to gain some semblance of their power….” Claire trailed off for a second, shuddering. “Gross.”

“Quite,” Crowley intoned quietly, picking up the story while Claire dug into her fries. “It seems that the Hawley woman is collecting powers for her son like someone would collect stamps. Rather more dangerous, but infinitely more rewarding.”

“So, she’s creating a supernatural supersoldier?” Dean ventured. “I mean, that’s a pain in the ass and all, but not that original.”

“The thing is Dean,” Claire butted back in. “We also have to assume Sam is part of the spell, that something in him is some ingredient they want. If Faith Hawley has an archangel - and we don’t believe she does, but those handcuffs definitely tell us she’s trying - then we have to consider there are things that only angels can do.”

Dean looked blank. He noticed Cas frown, but they all waited for Claire to continue.

“Like touch souls. Move them into new bodies.” Claire stated.

Cas made the leap first. “Put Sam’s soul… in Caius’ body.” He intoned very quietly.

“To create the perfect vessel,” Dean finished for him. “For Lucifer.”

******

They drove for 5 hours in flat, loaded silence.

Dean found himself not as panicked as he should have been, knowing what Faith Hawley was trying to do. They were on their way to rescue Sam, he hoped, no matter what it was she intended to use him for. This odd motley crew - the hunter and his graceless angel, the angry orphan and the King of Hell - would have to be enough. He focused on the road, occasionally flicking his eyes over to Cas, sat shotgun but ignoring him.

Cas was still mad, Dean knew. He should be, he thought to himself. That was a dick move, not telling him about Claire, even if I didn’t really mean it to happen. On top of being angry at Dean, Cas seemed deeply unnerved by Claire and Crowley’s presence - not that he was ever comfortable around the demon, but his association with his vessel’s daughter seemed to have him even higher strung than usual.

Not for the first time, Cas wished his wings worked. Years back, before his fall, he could have just flown Dean to Bull Hollow in the blink of an eye. He’d have done it without thought and just as quickly as Crowley teleported Claire, so as to avoid this uncomfortable car ride.

Cas had grown to enjoy driving over the years, sitting in the back of the Impala and listening to Sam and Dean bicker in the front, classic rock music lulling them through the miles. He’d enjoyed it even more recently with Dean, sitting next to him, their fingers entwined on the front seat. But not today. Cas knew he’d forgive Dean, he always had - as Dean would have said, it was kind of their thing. But the small betrayal, just a tiny lie or omission to Dean perhaps, cut Cas deep somewhere he didn’t quite understand.

Claire and Crowley sat in the back, just as silent as the Dean and Cas were in the front. Occasionally they would throw each other awkward glances, but otherwise, everyone sat and stared mutely out of their own window.

The terrain grew greener and greener the further south they headed, huge trees lining the side of the interstate road. I guess we’re getting close, Dean considered as he checked the GPS on his phone. This has to be the Hoosier National Forest.

Eventually, after what seemed like one of the longest journeys Dean had ever undertaken, Crowley leaned over from his seat in the back and silently pointed to a dip in the side of the road, where cars could pull over and park to get onto a hiking trail. Turning the Prius in where he indicated, Dean cut off the engine and they all clambered out of the car and stretched. Tired after driving five hours without a break, Dean leaned back against the hood of the car as they gathered.

“So we’re off-road now?” Dean asked Crowley tiredly.

“Afraid so. I’m not a fan of hiking myself, but I came prepared,” the demon smirked.

Cas looked at him with some confusion. “You did?”

Claire nudged Cas with her elbow, grinning. “Just wait ‘til you see this Cas, it’s cool.”

Cas waited, though his raised eyebrow indicated he was unlikely to share her opinion.

With an unnecessary flourish of his hand, Crowley held open one side of his long black coat, reaching to the inner pocket with a smirk. He pulled out a black silk handkerchief. Wiggling his eyebrows as if he was performing a magic trick, he flicked the square of fabric at Dean. With a thud, a large hiking backpack full to the brim, a pair of boots hooked to the side of it, fell from the cloth to the floor.

Despite himself, Dean gawped. His eyes flicked briefly over to Cas as Crowley pulled out another silk handkerchief, red this time, and flicked it towards the angel. Cas looked down disparagingly at the bag near his feet, reaching to hoist it to his shoulder in silence. Looking flatly at Crowley, his voice dripped with derision. “Parlor tricks, nothing more.”

“Parlor tricks that got you the equipment you needed,” Claire pointed out with an amused smirk. “Unless you wanted to hike in those old boots with nothing but an AC/DC shirt - so old, by the way - and jeans that barely fit. Your butt is smaller than Dean’s.”

Dean flushed as he realized that Claire had clocked onto Cas wearing his clothes, but he shrugged. “His clothes burned…” he started to explain, before giving up and shrugging. From her entertained expression, Claire didn’t seem to care. He knew Crowley definitely didn’t.

Toeing off his boots and throwing them into the car, Dean held the trunk open for Cas to do the same. Next shopping trip, boots. Dean thought with mild amusement, watching Cas’ burnt and sooty footwear settle next to his own in the back of the Prius. Grabbing the two guns he’d bought before closing the trunk, he tossed the shotgun across to Cas. He knew Cas had his angel blade stashed somewhere, Dean had never seen him without it.  Without his grace though, the more weapons Cas had the better Dean felt.

“Shall we get going?” Crowley suggested lightly, flicking another silken square towards Claire. To Dean’s immense surprise, Crowley picked up Claire’s bag for her, hoisting it onto his shoulder as he moved towards the beginning of the trail.

Don’t tell me Crowley is actually trying to turn over a new leaf, Dean thought with a strange flicker of irritation. The world is upside down enough already. He must have an ulterior motive for all this… but what does he want?

Dean noted Cas eyeing him strangely as he stood, deep in thought. Dean shook his head, indicating that he’d share his thoughts later. The grumpy angel nodded and stepped onto the trail behind him, bringing up the rear.

Crowley led the way into the towering forest.

Chapter Text

Dean had never really been a hiker. He’d do what it took to get from A to B and he was far from unfit, but the idea of walking out in nature for the pure sake of walking out in nature just never really occurred to him. Maybe if he had more time or a different life, but spending his days reclining in Baby was, for now, his preference. Even if he had been more of the nature-hike type – a little more like Sammy, perhaps – this particular hike would have been very far down his bucket list.

Crowley took the lead, initially heading up along a well-used trail that followed the path of a wide stream known as Oil Creek. Claire walked along behind him periodically waving her phone around to try and get some reception, to no avail. Then came Dean, sweating and muttering under his breath about the copious gnats along the trail. Finally, at the back, silent and looking not at all like himself in an AC/DC t-shirt and hiking boots, came Cas.

For the first two hours, Dean hoped that given some time to calm down, Cas might start talking and allow him to apologize. But the angel’s mood seemed to get worse, not better. Claire and Crowley lulled in and out of conversation, discussing points from their recent hunts and debating something about a TV show Dean had never seen. Their ease with each other was disconcerting and, Dean realized, was at least partly responsible for the angel’s declining demeanor.

Eventually Dean couldn’t stand it any more, pausing in his walking to wait for Cas to catch up the twenty feet or so he was petulantly dragging behind.

“Cas.” Dean offered quietly. He waited.

Cas’ shoulders were tense, but Dean noted him rolling them a little before he replied, in a fruitless attempt to relax. “Yes, Dean?”

“Claire isn’t a kid anymore, as much as she seems like it to you or even me. I don’t like her working with Crowley either, for what it’s worth. But she gets to make her own decisions.” Dean soothed quietly. “I really am sorry Cas. I didn’t know how to mention it at the time without making you angry and then… well, then I was enjoying our date and then worrying that you were going to die on me. I honestly forgot.”

Dean reached out, placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder for just a moment as he came up next to him. Slowly, they began to walk down the trail again after Crowley and Claire.

“I understand. I just don’t like feeling that you would hide things from me… particularly if it’s because you’re concerned about my reaction. I know I can be…” Cas trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

“Grumpy?” Dean suggested, a smirk tweaking at his lips as he batted away another swarm of gnats. “Short-tempered?”

Cas gave him an impressively bitchy side-eye. “Yes. Those.”

Dean laughed. “Well, so can I. That’s not a make-or-break thing, for me. Just don’t ignore me and shut me out when you get pissed. We can’t fix stuff that way.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, both of them with their gazes fixed on the backs of Claire and Crowley, who walked side-by-side as they did. Feeling a touch on his skin, looked down to see Cas reaching for his hand to twine their fingers together as they hiked, keeping a slow but steady pace.

“So, you forgive me now?” Dean smiled slightly, craning his neck slightly to keep the King of Hell in his eyesight at all times as he rounded a bend ahead.

Cas sighed, slightly exasperated, “of course I do, Dean.” After a pause, his voice was quieter, more uncertain. “If us fighting isn’t a make-or-break thing for you Dean, what is?”

He looked solemnly over at the hunter for a moment.

Dean frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“What if my grace doesn’t come back Dean?” Cas asked, reaching to rub his palm across his brow – which seemed to be sweating profusely, just like Dean’s. “I can’t feel anything Dean… I won’t be anywhere near as useful to you and Sam as I was. Last time I didn’t have my grace…”

“I sent you away.” Dean finished for him, sighing. “Shit Cas. That wasn’t about you, you know that.”

Stopping on the trail, Dean pulled at Cas’s hand to have him turn and look at him. “Whether you’re an angel or not makes no difference between you and me.”

Realizing that Dean and Cas had paused, Crowley and Claire came wandering back in their direction.

Noting their approach, Dean squeezed Cas’ hand. “Can we talk about this later?” He raised his eyes to the demon and Cas nodded his agreement, his gaze settling distastefully on Crowley along with Dean.

“Time to stop for a bit, boys?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at the out-of-breath Dean and clearly sweating Cas. “Guess we can’t all be good at everything.”

The demon himself still seemed pristine, not bothered by the humid warmth or the exertion.

“You good?” Claire’s words were as casual, but Dean heard the poorly-hidden note of concern in her tone as she turned to Cas.

“Of course,” Cas forced a smile and stood straighter, trying to look less tired, less worried… less human, Dean thought.

“If we rest a few minutes, we can hike on for a couple more hours before sunset.” Crowley mused, shielding his eyes as he looked on up the trail. “Then we’ll stop and you can camp for the night. I’ll come back and lead you the rest of the way in the morning, nice and refreshed, ready to grab you a Moose.”

“We can camp? Where are you going?” Cas asked at the exact same time as Dean butted in with, “Woah, woah… who said anything about camping?”

The demon looked between the two of them, rolling his eyes to the sky as if exasperated. He took a breath and calmly responded.

“Hell, dearies. I have a kingdom to run, if anybody cares. I have better things to do than wait around all night for you lot to have sweet dreams.”

Cas fixed him with a flat stare. “Nope… nobody cares.”

“Camping.” Dean repeated. “No brother, no car… camping. Are we sure I’m not in hell?”

Crowley flicked lazily at a determined gnat, looking after it with an irritated glare. “No, Dean. Even I’m not that cruel.”

******

“What’s really so bad about camping, Dean?” Cas enquired a couple of hours later, watching as Crowley repeated his handkerchief trick to produce everything from tents to a small stove.

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Uncomfortable beds, bad food, fresh air. What’s to like?”

Shaking his head in amusement, Cas was about to respond (something snarky, by the look in his eye), when Claire moved over to the pair.

“I’m sorry Crowley can’t carry everyone and just teleport us there,” she gave a tiny smile to Dean. “Or maybe I’m not. Thinking of you putting that tent up is hilarious.”

“Thinking? How about helping?” Dean glared quietly, reaching for one of the unfathomable piles of fabric and sticks that would, apparently, make something to sleep in.

“Ah, I, uh…” Claire looked hesitantly between Cas and Dean for a moment. “I’m probably going to head out with Crowley, come back in the morning. I’m kinda small, he can easily carry me when—”

“What?” Cas turned, not bothering to hide his displeasure. “Why?”

“He’s going to drop me off to see Jody and Alex.” She responded calmly. “They’d want me to check in if I could and there’s no cell reception out here.”

“And you trust that demon dick?” Dean couldn’t help but interrupt, conveniently forgetting for the moment the many, many times he had done the same.

Claire glared up at him, not bothering to keep the bitchiness out of her voice. “Maybe I only judge people on what I see, Dean. What you are isn’t who you are, not all of the time. Angels are dicks, but look at Cas.”

Both Cas and Dean managed to look slightly cowed at that.

“Crowley is helping you find Sam. He helped me with the werewolves, he gave Charlie info about the demons who went to work for Faith. He put Cas back together.” Claire’s eyes switched to look levelly at the angel. “Without demanding Deans soul or even his death, which is actually what his job is remember? Maybe he’s a demon but maybe he’s also my friend – and you need to be okay with that, because you really don’t get a say in it, either of you.”

Seeming to be satisfied with the pile of camping goodies he had deposited on the floor, Crowley strolled across the grass towards them, arriving as Claire finished her little speech.

“Alright boys, I’m ready to get out of here. Don’t cry after my departure, you’ll scare the animals.” With a smug wink, Crowley curled his fingers across Claire’s shoulder, gripping her lightly.

Before Cas or Dean could open their mouths, they were gone.

******

Dean and Cas eventually battled the tent into submission on a flat spot overlooking Oil creek. They relaxed then, digging into the cooler of beer and snacks that Crowley had left among the pile of camping gear.

“That didn’t take too long really, Dean.” Cas commented, eyeing the tent almost proudly. He fished around among the snacks in the cooler, wrinkling his nose at almost everything. “You’re good at that kind of stuff.’

Dean shrugged, looking out over the creek as the sun began to set. “I said I didn’t like it, not that I wasn’t good at it. I can assemble this crap just fine, I just don’t wanna sleep in it if I can help it.”

Cas’ lip curled at the corner in an approximation of a smile. Dean was relieved to note that he finally seemed to be calming down now that Crowley had departed, though he still seemed distracted.

Raising an arm in invitation, he gestured for the angel to come sit next to him leaning against a large, old pine tree. “C’mere Cas. These could be our last few hours of peace before we get into Faith’s compound tomorrow and who knows how that’s going to go. Everything sucks right now except us, so at least lets try relax and make the best of it, yeah?”

Cas nodded, moving over towards him from the cooler with a few granola bars and some beef jerky in hand. He lowered himself down to sit next to Dean on the ground, his back to the tree, and leaned into Dean’s side. Lowering his arm around Cas’ shoulders, they sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the water.

His eyes down on the ground, Cas spoke up softly after a period of silence.

“Dean… I’m hungry.”

Blinking in surprise, Dean turned his eyes away from the slowly bubbling creek to look across at Cas. “Hungry? Like… you need food?”

Cas frowned slightly. “That is what the word means, yes.”

Dean looked at him for a moment before questioning quietly, “that’s… not a good sign, is it?”

Picking somewhat reluctantly at a granola bar, Cas shook his head, his eyes still on the forest floor. “No, not generally.”

Not really knowing what to say to that, Dean just pulled him closer.

Cas tilted his chin up, regarding Dean with a fond sadness as he reached across to his face. Gently resting his fingers on Dean’s cheek, he ran his thumb slowly across his lower lip. “Without my grace, I barely see your soul at all. All of you is beautiful, Dean, but I’ll miss that if this is permanent.”

Feeling a familiar breezy pressure drift across his arm, Dean couldn’t help but smile. “I’m still yours Cas, grace or not… and at least you still have your wings. Say what you want of them being broken, I’ll never get bored of that feeling…”

Dean lifted his hand slightly, pushing gently back into where he knew the appendage draped.

“… I wish I could see them again, when they’re not covered in sigils that are making you bleed out.” Dean continued. “They still looked fantastic to me, even then. I mean... you’re a freakin’ angel Cas. With wings. Do you have any idea how cool that is to a human nobody like me?”

“It takes power for me to pull them into this world,” Cas responded with a half-smile. “But maybe one day.”

Shifting his weight to turn more fully to Dean, Cas ran his thumb once more along Dean’s bottom lip, pulling his face closer.

“And you are somebody to me, Dean,” he breathed.

Cas kissed with an intensity that Dean just couldn’t ever seem to get enough of. The contrast of his dry, soft lips against the very slight sandpaper-stubble of his cheeks and chin was just something else, sending waves of friction-induced pleasure down to Dean’s very core. His tongue teased at Dean’s bottom lip then, following the trail that his thumb had previously pioneered. Pushing into Dean’s mouth insistently, their two tongues tussled eagerly into each other’s space, a gentle war of back and forth that no one needed to win.

After taking a gasping breath of air that Dean felt against his own chest, Cas moved his lips against Dean’s neck. His tongue was a burning hot litany of lust against Dean’s skin and the hunter threw his head back, pressing into the bark of the tree, groaning and powerless against it.    

“Jesus, Cas…” Dean managed to gasp out, the thought unfinished.

There was no verbal response, just the turn and press of Cas’ body as his lips continued their sinful worship of Deans neck, sucking promises of more into his skin. One hand had risen to Dean’s hair now, pushing it around roughly as the other hand sought his thigh.

“Right here?” Dean questioned after another minute, unable to help grinning as he felt the angel’s hot breath stutter across his collarbone, his shirt collar being pulled forcefully aside. “On the pine needles?”

He felt Cas laugh against him and his chest lightened, knowing from that sound more than anything else that everything was alright between them again.

“Alright, you win,” Cas murmured, pulling back with obvious reluctance. “We won’t let the squirrels watch. Prude.”

His wolfish grin chased Dean all the way to the tent.

Chapter Text

Cas wasted no time. He hastily zipped the tent closed, already kicking off his boots and pulling his t-shirt over his head. In the back of his mind he knew that something was different, that without his grace to soothe his interactions here on Earth his moods had been stronger, more changeable, almost visceral and much more human.

If I chose to acknowledge the feeling, it’s like a hurricane. I believe angels feel more strongly than humans… He remembered saying those words to Dean, back in Nevada when they shared pizza before they first shared a bed. It felt like a lifetime ago, despite being so recent. Logically, he knew what was happening to him; without his wall of grace, everything he felt was overwhelming. He didn’t have the practice he needed to reliably calm himself and this feeling… oh the feeling of Dean was too much.

Practically diving onto the hunter, pushing him back onto the pile of sleeping bags and blankets they had only roughly thrown on the floor, Cas did his best to explain.

“Without my grace,” he felt Dean writhe under him as he panted out his words, wanting so desperately just to give up and kiss him instead. “Everything feels overwhelming, I just…”

Though Cas knew that Dean couldn’t really understand how he felt with the strength of an angel but with none of the calm, throbbing power he usually viewed the world from behind, Dean merely grinned up at him fearlessly from below and laughed softly.

“Take what you need, baby…” He reached up and crushed Cas’ wanting lips to his own before he spoke again. “I’m perfectly willing, it’s okay - there’s nothing wrong here.”

Cas’ relief was like a tidal wave as it pushed him on. “Thank you....” he growled, pushing Dean’s tshirt up so it bunched under his arms, just wanting to feel his skin against his own bare chest as he leaned across him. His lips found Dean’s jaw, kissing and nibbling at his skin and stubble. “I want you Dean, so fucking bad… I need you to take me Dean, hard, please…”

For some reason, Dean was laughing. “Christ Cas - you answer prayers with that mouth?”

Cas’ answer was a growl. “Now, Dean.”

He didn’t need telling twice.

Dean reached up to spread his fingers across Cas’ marble, chiseled chest and pushed up, moving him back just enough that he could discard his t-shirt before falling back onto their makeshift bed. They each attended to their own belt buckles, Cas pulling back just long enough to discard his pants and underwear as Dean began to push his down. Before he was even done, his jeans still around his knees, Cas was back on him.

Stradling Deans waist, Cas rolled his body with a hunger that lit a fire in Dean, no matter how amusing he was finding Cas’ desperate desire. He pushed his hips up, letting Cas feel his hard cock pressing into his skin, a rod of warmth that lay across Cas’ taint and filled the space between them as it thickened.

“Please, Dean… please...” Cas seemed to veer between dominant and needy, his emotions no less erratic than they had been all day.

Dean brought his hands up to his face, his fingers across Cas’ temples as he drew his gaze back up to his eyes.

“Okay, okay.” He soothed, pausing to ask a question that seemed important, no matter how far they already were. “Are you sure about this Cas? Just take a second, please - think… this is going to hurt, you don’t have your grace and--”

“Vaseline, first aid kit.” Cas interrupted, shushing Dean with a finger as he leaned over to the pile of bags and supplies scattered against the back wall of the tent.

Dean nodded. “Okay Cas. Just try and relax okay, try and slow down. I know it must feel like a lot….” He was still stroking at Cas’ face, trying to calm him even as the angel scooped out a generous amount of the makeshift lubricant from the first aid kit.

“It’s nothing I don’t always feel, Dean…” he tried desperately to explain again. “It’s just without my grace I can’t… I’m still an angel Dean, it’s like a hurricane in here…”

One hand reached up to his face, covering one of Dean’s hands for a moment as he indicated his temple, his fingers still greasy from the hastily applied vaseline.

Dean nodded once more. “Alright Cas, I get it. It’s okay. You know I want you, that I won’t stop you….just try and be slow. No grace, baby… you’ll feel it, now.”

“Good,” Cas almost hissed, pushing him back down. “I need to feel it.”

Reaching down to line Dean up, he couldn’t help the strangled yell that erupted from his chest as he pushed down onto the tip of Dean’s waiting cock. The severity of the burn as his under-prepared ass begrudgingly accepted it took his breath away.

For a second he didn’t move, gasping.

Then Cas sucked his breath in sharply, biting down on his lower lip until a speck of blood appeared under his teeth, lowering inch by inch.

Dean looked up at him, reaching up to brush the speck of blood with his thumb, his eyes wide. “Shit Cas…. damn that’s so tight…” Dean seemed to be struggling to lay back, his shoulders peeling up off the blankets almost involuntarily, curling towards Cas as he forced Dean inside him.

The angel didn’t stop, pressing down until the back of his legs met Dean’s body, his dick enveloped inside him. Unstretched and feeling a fiery burn, Cas couldn’t speak.

A wrecked groan ripped from Dean’s mouth. “Holy fuck….”  He reached for Cas’ hands and they both gripped his tight, fingers entwined as Cas leaned some of his weight down onto Dean's arms, taking gulps of breath as he sat still.

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean asked, remarkably soft given the riot of tight heat and pleasure he was grounded in. He squeezed his fingers sharply. “Cas?”

With a nod, Cas began to move, slowly at first. His eyes, blown wide with lust, gazed down at Dean unblinkingly.

Relieved by the nod, Dean let go of one of Cas’ hands and reached forward to curl his fingers around the angels raging erection. Rubbing his thumb across the sensitive skin just under the head, he heard him gasp again up above him.

“Dean…” he rumbled, his husky voice lower than usual, though he was back to begging once more. “I, I need… please….”

Cas closed his eyes for a moment, clearly struggling with the waves of emotion and desire that Dean could almost see below the surface.

“Alright baby, alright…” Taking his cue from what Cas seemed to need, Dean lead the angel’s hand to his own cock, giving him a second to get a good rhythm going before he gripped firmly at Cas’ hips. Using his own legs to push Cas’ out just a fraction, giving him room to move, Dean locked eyes with his angel as he lowered his hips into the blanket. Pulling out as far as he could manage with Cas crouched above him, Deans fingers crushed into his lovers pelvis as he brought his hips back up, slamming back into Cas with a grunt.

Cas cried out, an animalistic sound that was definitely not a word.

Dean repeated the motion, watching Cas’ body jolt as he pounded into him.

“Crvscanse ….”

Dean may not have understood the word, but the meaning was clear from Cas’ hooded, almost grateful eyes gazing hungrily down at him.

He picked up the pace, hammering Cas from below as best he could, trying to give him the most pleasurable angle he was able despite the angel’s somewhat unyielding stiffness on the bed.

It seemed he found the spot, Cas’s grunts coming faster and turning into what Dean was coming to think of as the angel’s orgasmic Enochian haze. He met Dean’s movements over and over, grunting and gasping between his words.

“Ipzi, vvrbs… plapli ollog ol hoath… Ipzi, Dean…” Cas gasped and stuttered, his body curling over forwards. “C Oiad! Ol monons… Olani oai loncho, niss ol… “

As Cas came hard across Dean’s stomach, he gasped out something that to Dean felt almost like a prayer.

“Bams ollog c Oiad! Olani oai loncho, lot mo’ah. ”

Tears sprang from the corners of Cas’ eyes but he didn’t stop meeting Dean’s movements.

Dean spilled dirty inside the angel as the words hit his ears, groaning and rocking his head back into the sleeping bags below them. He slowly tilted his hips back, sliding slickly out of Cas as he reached up to pull him down onto his chest, heedless of the mess between them.

He didn’t ask him if he was alright any more, just kissed at his temples and stroked at the back of his head, keeping him close.

After some moments their breaths slowed. Dean felt Cas’ arms curling up around him and they awkwardly shuffled to lay side to side, facing each other.

Bringing his lips up to Dean’s, Cas snuggled close against him. “Thank you, Dean… thank you.”

Cas nuzzled against Dean’s skin, all smiling and playful, causing Dean to chuckle. “Not so overwhelmed anymore?” He questioned.

“Still overwhelmed,” Cas corrected, his fingers stroking down the side of Dean’s face as he smiled across the mere inches between them. “Just with different feelings.”

Dean found himself flushing, their foreheads coming to touch as Cas’ fingers explored his cheekbones.

“I love you so much, Dean.” He whispered quietly. “I have for the longest time. I was such a fool not to tell you.”

Dean couldn’t help himself but grin, blush or not. “Is that what you were saying? Before? One day I’m going to start to learn what it is you babble about when you come, you know.”

Cas laughed, his smile pulling back to show his teeth as he relaxed next to Dean, one arm going up to stretch above his head, curled on the pillow. The other still curled against Dean’s face, fingers dancing lightly back and forth across his cheek as he looked at him.

“That’s an embarrassing habit,” Cas admitted, though he still grinned as he confessed, “I’d rather not tell you what I was saying, to be honest.”

“Nu-uh,” Dean shook his head, teasing, “no fair. If you don’t mean it, you shouldn’t be calling it out. You don’t get to hide it from me angel, just because I’m a poor, ignorant human.”

“Not at all….” Cas stretched back to hold his face again, blue eyes wide with wonder. “Humans underestimate everything about themselves. Particularly you. To be human... it’s a gift, Dean. You were my Father's greatest creations, after all. More so than angels, more so than heaven. You.”

Dropping his eyes almost shyly for a second, Cas turned his lips against Deans ear, even so his words were so quiet that Dean froze to hear them.

“I”ll tell you then, what I said, and it’s your own fault you heard it,” Cas teased. “I called you beautiful, I begged you to take me, I cried out to God, even… and then I said that you are my heart and I am fallen... for you, Dean.”

Cas paused just long enough to press his lips to the soft spot of skin in front of Dean’s ear.

“ Bams ollog Oiad, Olani oai loncho, lot mo’ah…. Forget me, O God, for I am fallen, without regret.”

Dean couldn’t think of a single word that could be an adequate expression of how that made him feel, so instead he pulled Cas close and kissed him until they both slept.

******

Dean wasn’t surprised when he woke the next morning to Cas sprawled half on top of him, snoring softly against his shoulder. He could feel the tangle of limbs and wings before he even opened his eyes, Cas’ familiar scent lulling him out of a dream where Sam drove baby around a strange town and Dean chased him endlessly on foot, begging him to come back.

Reaching down to kiss into the wild mass of dark hair that tickled at his skin, Dean snuggled against Cas rather than wake him. He was worried about him, about what exactly Crowley had done when he pulled him back together. He felt like the demon hadn’t deliberately double-crossed him; he’d somehow seemed genuinely concerned about Cas when he’d found them. But to reconstruct the wings and body of an angel, with no grace…. What did that make? An angel, a human? Something in between?

Leaning his cheek on Cas’ head as he stirred, stroking his hands along his back to soothe him back to sleep, Dean fretted about the day they had ahead. He felt like they were close, so close to getting his brother back. But he had no idea what they were walking into. He worried that with Cas graceless and weakened, they’d be heading blindly into something they couldn’t handle - Dean was suddenly grateful for Crowley and Claire, even if their presence and friendship drove Cas’ new, intense emotions absolutely crazy.

He loved Cas, he knew it and he hoped Cas knew it too. He wished he could express himself the way the angel did, make sure that Cas didn’t have room to doubt what would happen when they found Sam... but Dean wasn’t sure himself. He couldn’t think past that compound, with that woman and her vile son and - hopefully - his brother. Once Sam was home, was safe… then he could confront the fact that he was going to have to tell his brother he’d been sleeping with a male angel the whole time he was gone. He had a feeling he’d be hearing snarky remarks about it for a long time.

He squeezed his eyes back shut, hoping to just block everything else and enjoy the feel of Cas’ comforting, muscled form against his side while he could.

The angel woke fairly soon after, groaning against the muted sunlight that was beginning to filter through the fabric around them. It seemed that when Cas did sleep, he wasn’t much of a morning person.

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean mumbled into his hair, grinning and squeezing him tighter.

Cas opened one eye, but then turned his face back into Dean’s shoulder as if he could pretend to still be asleep.

“Time to get up, Cas.” Dean nudged down into him with his nose. “We can’t hide in this tent forever.”

An audible groan came from the angel as he reluctantly began to push up from the bedding. “Why not? It’s a nice tent. Crowley even left us snacks.”

To Dean’s absolute delight, the angel pouted.

Pulling his jeans on from the end of the bed, Dean looked around for his discarded t-shirt, finding Cas’ first and throwing it over to him.

“Come on buddy,” He grinned, slapping Cas’ bare shoulder lightly. “We need to get washed up and dressed before Crowley and Claire get here.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cas grumbled. He winced visibly as he sat up fully.

Immediately, Dean reached over to his shoulder. “Cas? Are you okay?”

Cas waved him away with a hand, awkwardly reaching for his discarded clothes. “I’m fine, Dean. Just, uh, a little sore.”

Dean blinked, realizing what Cas was referring too. Grinning into his hand, he couldn’t help but respond. “Well, that’s your own fault. I did warn you…”

Unable to contain it, Dean laughed as he opened up the tent, stepping outside. It was a funny juxtaposition to have Cas wincing at something so very human.

“Yes, yes, very funny.” Cas responded dryly as he ducked out behind Dean, stretching out his lithe, half-clothed body with his t-shirt in hand. “The Angel of the Lord has a sore butt, hilarious.”

“Well it is!” Dean protested. “You’re supposed to be all pure and angelic, not begging me to nail you harder in a flimsy tent and then walking like a cowboy the next morning.”

Cas snorted, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Shows how little you know.”

Before Cas could tug the shirt down over his arms, Dean snuck his arms around his waist from behind, pulling Cas against him so he could grin into his neck. “Don’t worry baby, I like cowboys.”

Cas didn’t respond, his attention caught instead by the water in the creek ahead of their tent. “Dean…” he asked, sounding puzzled. “Does that look different to you?”

His attention successfully diverted, Dean looked up at the swollen, lazy creek. “Yeah, actually it does.”

Stepping forward to get a better view through the trees, Dean and Cas looked up and down the waterway. It was grossly fuller than the night before; almost breaking over its banks. The water seemed sluggish and slow at the edges, but Dean suspected the middle ran much quicker than it appeared.

“It didn’t rain,” Dean ventured. “Where’d the extra water come from? It’s at least six feet higher. Could it be a tide thing? From the sea?”

“Dean,” Cas responded with a lazy eye roll. “We’re on the southern tip of Indiana. The coast is three hundred miles away, at best.”

“Well fine, Mister Mapquest. What’s your explanation?”

Cas frowned. “Its like it’s been dammed downriver, like the water doesn’t have an easy path to take anymore.”

“Downriver, so… the way we’re headed?” Dean asked somewhat needlessly.

“Yes.” Cas looked across to Dean as they stood for a moment longer, taking in the odd phenomena. “After the past few weeks, Dean… I’m hesitant to think that anything is unconnected, any more.”

Dean nodded, frowning solemnly. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

“You are really telling me,” Cas panted as he lowered himself down to sit on a large rock at the side of the trail through Bull Valley, “that people do this for fun?”

Cas’ brow dripped and Dean’s slightly too-long t-shirt was plastered to his back with sweat. He swatted frantically at the cloud of gnats that surrounded him.

Dean stepped up towards him, smiling understandingly. Unlike Cas, he was no stranger to the human struggles of exhaustion, heat and insects. Unscrewing the cap of the water bottle he’d pulled out of his backpack, he reached forward and poured it liberally over Cas’ head.

The angel groaned in delight as the cool water ran over his face, looking up at Dean with sudden adoration. “Do that again and I’ll do anything you want.”

Dean laughed, digging around for another bottle in the side pocket of his bag. He was grateful that they had plenty of water and snacks, replenished when Crowley and Claire had reappeared that morning.

It turned out that Faith Hawley’s compound was a fair distance from the highway. They’d hiked another four hours so far, with Dean wondering the whole way how the woman was getting in and out. Somehow Dean doubted Faith had come along this trail every time she’d taken a swift trip to steal something else that belonged to him - dragging Sam along the route would have been difficult and Baby would definitely not have made it. Technically, he supposed, she and the evil kid could have made the journey with Cas’ grace in their pockets, but it just seemed unlikely.

Crowley had reassured him several times that he was a hundred percent certain that they were on the right track - Dean was forced, begrudgingly, to place his trust in the demon. They really had nothing else to go on. If it turned out Crowley was wrong or was leading them into a trap, Dean fully intended to let Cas loose on him - the angel’s mood this morning had been distinctly foul, most of it directed at Crowley. Dean was sure Cas would jump at the opportunity to take him out.

Stowing his thoughts for the time being, Dean cracked the seal of the second plastic bottle he’d pulled from his bag and poured it across Cas’ forehead, slower this time. His other hand came up to hold Cas’ jaw, his thumb shifting lightly back and forth across his cheek as the water trickled over it.

“I’m worried about you,” Dean admitted quietly, not that anyone was around to hear them.

Dean was hot and sweaty, the warm humid day not pairing well with a hike along the most bug-infested and arduous trail he’d seen in a long time.  He was doing better than Cas though, who seemed weak and tired, his muscles trembling as Dean reached for his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Cas protested, swatting his hand away.

“Oh yes,” a voice came very suddenly from behind Dean’s left ear. “You are just fine and in no way a sweaty, trembling mess with worse mood swings than my mother.”

“Crowley, don’t do that,” Dean jumped, narrowing his eyes at the demon who’d teleported in so close to him.

Crowley merely wrinkled his nose at Cas. “You’re slowing us down and you smell. Is your heavenly juice all out of free refills?”

Staggering to his feet, Cas scowled down at Crowley with his teeth bared.

“Just one more quip and I will end you,” he growled. Dodging a large mosquito that dive-bombed his face, Cas reconsidered. “When we get off this hellish trail, I will end you.”

“This isn’t hellish,” Crowley scoffed, making sure to step back out of Cas’ reach. “Though I’ll admit, it’s giving me some ideas for new improvements.”

“Crowley. What’s the deal?” Dean interrupted, gesturing to the trail. “Are we clear up ahead or what?”

The demon nodded. “Yes. The trail is empty – the entrance to the compound is just up here. But first, Claire spotted something through the trees that we thought you might want to see.”

Before he turned to lead them further up the trail, Crowley turned to Cas, eyeing him appraisingly.

“What do you think are the chances that your grace is in-tact inside that place?” Jerking a thumb up the trail the way they were headed, Crowley looked thoughtful. “You aren’t much use to us right now, honestly mate—”

Cas opened his mouth in a snarl again, about to snap at Crowley once more.

Dean caught his arm, cautioning him very softly. “Cas, come on now. You’re better than this. Calm down. Anyway, he’s right - you’re not doing so hot without your grace. If it hasn’t been destroyed in some way, we need to find it.”

Cas took a breath, struggling to relax against Dean’s restraining hand. “If we get near my grace, I should feel it.”

Dean nodded. “Once we get in there, see if you can get any kind of read on it. It’d definitely be useful to have.”

“Let’s go,” Crowley grumbled, rolling his eyes as he indicated for Cas and Dean to follow him.

*****

Claire was waiting for the three of them at the bottom of a large tree with branches that overhung the water.

“Look,” the petite woman gestured towards the burst creek they had been following as they hiked.

“Huh,” Dean blinked.

In front of him, the creek seemed to veer immediately to the right at an unnaturally sharp angle, as if it was hitting a giant obstacle that they couldn’t see. It looked like a huge, invisible dam had been placed across its path, cutting it off and forcing the water into another direction. It was an odd sight, though there was nothing in view to explain it - the point where the water seemed to suddenly stop turned into trees and scrubby brushes, nothing out of the ordinary.

“It’s a magical dam of some kind,” Cas ventured, reaching to push his damp hair back from his face as he squinted towards the odd behavior of the water.

“Climb the tree,” Claire said smugly.

Dean and Cas looked at her blankly.

“What?” Dean ventured, his brow creased in confusion, though he took a step towards the lowest hanging branch of the tree she stood under.

Claire grinned. “Climb up and over the water. The barrier doesn’t go up high enough… you can see over the top of it. The canopy of the forest would stop anyone from seeing much if they flew over, but if you crawl out along that branch…”

She trailed off, indicating the path that Dean should take.

Shrugging, Dean reached up and jumped, gripping the first strong branch with both hands. He swayed back and forth a couple of times to gain momentum, then swung one foot over to pull himself up.

Shimmying out along the branch as Claire had indicated he should, he edged out over the water where the magical barrier began.

He felt an odd pulling sensation as he reached it. Then suddenly, it was as if the world snapped back into focus. A few inches back, his eyes had told him that beyond the barrier the forest continued, trees and bushes and not much else. Now, over top of it, he could see a series of large, sprawling buildings. They had definitely been designed more for function than form, made of unfinished concrete and metal grounding rods. No one seemed to be around, this end of the compound quiet.

Between the buildings and the barrier, Dean looked across what must have once been a large pond or small lake that came off the side of Oil Creek.

Well, Dean regarded the thick, too-dark- to-be-water liquid that filled it. That explains why she dammed the creek.

“Guys….” Dean called down behind him. “You know there’s literally a lake of blood behind this barrier, right?”

Cas blinked, but Crowley and Claire just nodded.

“The good news,” Dean said as he shuffled back down the branch towards them, “is that this could be a pretty much un-watched way in.”

He looked between them all, offering an uncomfortable little smile before he continued.

“Guess it depends how happy we are swimming in Faith’s big ol’ blood puddle.”

*****

“This is crazy and gross,” Claire grumbled. She balanced at the edge of the tree branch overhanging the barrier. It barely swayed under her weight.

Dean and Cas had already taken their swim through the blood pond. They were now ducked down behind a bush, twenty or so feet back from the shore, incase anyone should come looking at the far corner of the compound. Their clothes and hair ran with a disconcertingly red substance that Cas, with a disgusted sniff, had declared to be werewolf blood.

“Claire, hurry up,” Dean urged. “Let’s not push our luck here, kid.”

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley appeared next to Dean with their bags, already in a crouch. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he immediately snapped his fingers again. Both Dean and Cas were dry in an instant.

“Vile,” Crowley grumbled. “I thought it was just that werewolves didn’t wash well. Turns out even their blood stinks.”

“Thanks,” Dean murmured. Why wasn’t Claire jumping?

The lake was too wide to jump straight over to the shore from the tree, but it took only a few swift strokes for a good swimmer to reach the edge. It was surprisingly deep, which worked well to cushion their jump but probably didn’t bode well for the North American werewolf population.

Dean stuck his head out around the bush again. “Claire—”

He froze.

Claire was slowly slithering back along the branch, bright blue Novak eyes fixed on something in the distance. Too late, Dean’s eyes followed along her line of sight.

A tall red headed man, dressed in khakis and a dark shirt that must have passed for a guard uniform, had a rifle trained on Claire.

“Claire! ”  

Dean ran frantically towards the guard while he was distracted. As he sprinted he heard three shots, the third one chased by a scream.

He didn’t have time to look.

Dean tackled the guard, who was at least three inches taller than him but thankfully weighed less. Dean connected his fist with the side of the man’s face twice before grabbing at his gun, grappling with him, trying to wrestle it out of his hands. The guy was strong, but Dean was stronger - not to mention angrier. Within seconds he had the guard on his back, his own gun locked against his throat. With a swift punch to the temple, the guard’s body went limp.

Behind Dean, Cas lurched out of the bushes as the gun shots fired.

He saw the daughter of his vessel tumbling through the air, an inelegant splash swallowing her as she disappeared beneath the surface of the blood pond.

“ Claire!” His shout echoed Deans as he stumbled back towards the edge of the lake, sweating but his exhaustion disappearing under his panic. Forcing his legs to do as he wanted, he made to leap in after her.

“Claire!” Another voice echoed Cas’.

Within a couple of strides, Crowley had overtaken the weakened angel, his eyes fixed on the spot where Claire had gone under.

With a splash, the King of Hell dived after her.

Chapter Text

Crowley dragged Claire to the shore of what had once been a peaceful lake, the blood that had replaced the water seeping from them both onto the grassy shore.

Claire spluttered, kneeling as she coughed up red into the dirt and grass, like something from a low-budget horror movie.

Stepping straight past Crowley to immediately crowd to Claire’s side, Cas was frantic.

“Can you breathe? Were you hit? There were three shots--”

“One,” Claire gasped, flipping over onto her back once the werewolf blood she’d breathed in stopped pumping out of her lungs and stomach. Her spine coiled, bringing her shoulders up off the grass as her hands went to her left thigh. “Only one hit.”

Cas saw her tears amongst the blood from the lake then, cutting tracks down her cheeks. Her chest heaved as she reached across to Cas, wrapping her hand firmly around his forearm.

“Please, Castiel….” She begged quietly, though she trailed off, not knowing what she was asking for as his grace was gone, his usually healing hands just like any other humans’.

Without his grace, Cas could do little more than hastily apply pressure to the wound, calling out to Dean. He knew the hunter was much more experienced with the normal methods for dealing with these kinds of wounds than he was.

Dean jogged over quickly, holding the rifle that had belonged to the guard he’d knocked out, leaving his completely prone body in the dirt for now. His eyes flicked to Crowley, soaked and spitting blood as he sat with his forearms on his knees next to Claire. Dean slapped him roughly on the shoulder as he moved past him.

“Good job, Crowley.” Dean commented honestly, raising his eyebrows slightly but letting the demon have praise where it was due. “That was some quick diving.”

Dean was whipping off his leather belt and then his overshirt as he spoke, twisting the fabric of the shirt into a hard ball and pressing it between Claire’s teeth for her to bite down on.

Taking over from Cas and putting pressure on the gunshot wound at Claire's thigh, Dean busied himself examining the damage.

Cas stepped over towards Crowley, silently offering him a hand up off the floor.

Taking it, Crowley stood, shaking himself off before once again snapping his fingers to perform his ‘quick-dry’ trick.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked quietly, looking him up and down.

“Fine,” Crowley snapped, “and you’re welcome. All of you, for bloody everything.”

Smoothing down the front of his black coat with obvious irritation, Crowley was about to turn back to Claire when Cas’ hand to his shoulder stopped him.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.”

The demon blinked, one hand cupping his ear in a mocking action. “I’m sorry Cassie, what was that? Didn’t quite hear you...”

“I’m sorry,” Cas repeated, rolling his eyes skyward. “I have been unfair to you. Thank you for going after Claire.”

Crowley looked across at him, his face impassive as he waited.

“And for saving me, too. Not to mention all the help with Sam and the Hawley case. You’ve been… very generous with your time.” Cas added with a sigh. He rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck.

Crowley’s smile was simpering. “If you think I did any of it for you , you’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. But it’s done now, so I suppose we can start weaving our friendship bracelets.”

With a wink, Crowley turned back to Claire, checking on Dean’s progress.

Dean had far more experience with gunshot wounds than most people needed. He knelt calmly beside Claire, her hiking shorts pushed up past the wound, applying a makeshift tourniquet up above it with his belt.

“If you’re done with the Care Bear crap guys, gimme a sharp blade and get the first aid kid out of the bags,” Dean barked up at Crowley and Cas.

Crowley stood watch while Cas retrieved the first aid kit and a short, sharp blade from one of Crowley’s bags. The demon stood still, mostly taking in the compound and keeping his eye out for movement, though his gaze periodically flicked down to his companions as they worked.

Dean took the blade and began to carefully dig the bullet out. Cas helpfully swatted away the clouds of flies that filled the air - probably drawn, they now realized, by the large pool of monster blood they still crouched on the shore of.

Claire bit down on Dean’s balled up shirt, groaning into it as she held tight to Cas’ other hand.

After another minute or so there was a soft thump as the spent bullet landed on the grass next to Claire’s leg.

“Shallow at least,” Dean murmured as he dug through the first aid kit, “I’m sure it hurts like a bitch but it could have been a lot worse.”

Carefully clearing around the wound with alcohol, Dean returned to the first aid kit for some gauze as Claire replied, reaching to pull the fabric gag from her mouth for a second now the digging was done.

“Not the first time I’ve been shot, probably won’t be the last,” she mused, her voice forced to calm although her sweating brow and tight grip on Cas told a different tale.

“What?” Cas blinked, “You’ve been shot before? Why didn’t you tell me? When did y--”

“Really Cas? Right now?” Dean interrupted the angel quickly, seeing the furrowed brow and tension returning to him as he questioned his not-daughter. “Maybe a conversation for a beer when this is done, yeah?”

As Dean tightened the dressing around Claire’s wound, Crowley stepped back over to them. “Plan, fellas? That guard will wake up soon enough, unless you’re going to kill him.”

Dean shook his head. “Not me. He’s all yours, Crowley. Make him talk.”

The demon raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, moving back over to the unconscious man with a slight smile while Cas and Dean lifted Claire from the shore, helping her test her leg.

*****

In their semi-secluded spot behind the waist-high bushes near the shoreline, Dean and Cas hashed out their quick plan.

“Don’t suppose you can conveniently sense your grace from here?” Dean asked hopefully as he handed a water bottle to Claire.

She sat awkwardly on the grass next to them, her leg spread out flat to alleviate the pressure on her wound, mostly just letting them talk as she breathed through the pain.

“No,” Cas murmured regretfully as he took an experimental peek over the top of the bushes. “Nothing yet. If Faith and Caius haven’t used my grace for something yet - and that’s a big if - I’m hoping I’ll get a sense of it as we get closer to the buildings.”

“So maybe a quick circle of the compound first,” Dean suggested, zipping their first aid items back into his backpack.

“You should focus on getting to Sam,” Cas reached to squeeze at Dean’s shoulder almost regretfully, “that’s why we’re here, Dean.”

“I know that,” Dean snapped at him, shrugging Cas’ hand off his shoulder, “but making sure you’re okay is just as important, Cas. Stop it.”

The two frowned at each other for a moment, until Claire interrupted them with an exasperated sigh.

“Just kiss already, Jesus.”

Despite himself Dean laughed, grinning across at the petite woman. “Sorry, Claire. Still weird, huh?”

“It’ll always be weird,” she grumbled, “but its fine, old man. Let’s just say your communication needs work and Cas needs to actually let himself believe you care about him. It’s painful to watch, so kindly just get over it and spare me the front row seat, I’m still bleeding for Christ sakes.”

“Shut up Claire,” Dean muttered, smiling though somewhat embarrassed, before he turned his attention back to Cas. “Circle the buildings first. See if you can sense anything, but keep hidden otherwise. Take Claire with you - she might need help to walk and if you find your grace, you can fix her up.”

Cas made eye contact briefly with Claire, seeking her agreement before he nodded. “You’re taking Crowley then?”

“Yeah. We’ll take a building at a time, clear it out, move on.”

Checking the barrel of his cheap Wal-mart shotgun, Dean seemed satisfied. He passed the guard’s rifle over to Cas as he continued.

“Give your gun to Claire. Keep her safe, don’t die, and come find me when you know for sure if your  grace is in there,” he jerked his head towards the buildings in the distance. “Just follow the noise.”

Cas reached forward, pulling at the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt. In a crouch behind the bush still, Dean’s weight was easily tilted forward into Cas’ space. “Don’t die. Good advice. Remember it.”

As the two quickly kissed, Claire’s eyes rolled skywards. “Great day. Just great. Getting shot, swimming in blood, watching old people make out.”

Cas grinned against Dean’s lips before they parted. “Shut up, Claire.”

Shaking his head in slight amusement, Dean rose from their shelter and headed over to pick up the King of Hell and be on their way.

Crowley was kicking the body of the guard into the blood-lake as Dean approached. There was barely a splash as he slithered off the shore and disappeared beneath it’s eerie red surface.

“All done?” Dean asked, indicating the spot where the corpse had swiftly sunk.

“He wasn’t that helpful, little more than a foot soldier. Although-” Crowley paused, wiping a short steel blade clean on the sleeve of his coat, “-it was quite obvious that he was here because he wanted to be. He wasn’t a paid guard or anything - all of the people here have been enchanted by the succubus. They’ll die for her.”

“Great,” Dean responded sarcastically. “I was hoping not to slaughter everybody.”

Crowley smirked. “But you knew you’d probably have to. That’s why you’re teaming up with me instead of not-so-hot wings, right? Wouldn’t want poor, almost-human Cassie dealing with the guilt of all those bodies.”

“Enough, Crowley.” Dean left their bags in a pile on the shore, taking just his shotgun and blades as he began to walk towards the first building. “Between you and Claire, this is like some nightmare couples-therapy reality show. Get out of my head, and lets clear our way to Faith.”

“Certainly,” Crowley grinned in delight, falling into step beside him. “You, me, death. Let’s relieve our glory days, Dean-o. If we protect my throne and find your brother, we can even have a drink after.”

Dean rolled his eyes, squaring himself up with his back flat against the wall of the first concrete building, next to the door.

Crowley positioned himself in front of the door, a good few feet back. Falling back into what had once been a strangely familiar routine for the two of them, he flicked his fingers at the door, swinging it wide open with a crash.

The first man that ran out took the butt of Dean’s shotgun to his temple. The woman almost tripped over her comrade a second later and found her neck swiftly snapped under Crowley’s hand.

Dean and Crowley smiled a little despite themselves, and pressed on into the building.

*****

Walking was slow, Claire treading carefully so as not to jostle her recently-shot leg. Her face was pale and she sweated, matching her face even more closely to her father’s as Cas wiped his hot brow on the back of his forearm.

He kept his rifle in hand at all times, determined that from this point on, they would be the ones doing the shooting.

“Is there a lot of pain?” He asked Claire quietly as they picked their way around the perimeter fence.

“I got shot.” She responded flatly. “Have you ever been shot as a human, Cas?”

“Uh… no, actually. I mean, I was stabbed and---”

“Then shut up.” Claire cut him off. “It’s not like you can relate.”

Pausing behind a small shed that might have housed a water pump from the noise, Cas tilted his head at Claire and frowned. He regarded her for a minute, their almost twin blue eyes meeting, before he sighed.

“Are you actually mad at me still, Claire? I find it very hard to tell.”

“No, Cas. I’m not mad at you.I’m just an angry, kinda messed-up person who survives on sarcasm and pushing people away.” Claire eyed Cas with a slight smile before adding, “Like Dean.”

Having stilled for a moment and caught no movement, the two crept onwards around the perimeter.

“And you aren’t mad at him either?” Cas asked for clarification.

Claire let another slight eyeroll escape at that, though her voice softened a little as she responded, hobbling along behind Cas. “No, Cas. I’m actually quite fond of both of you. It’d be easier to like you if you weren’t using my Dad’s face, but I do anyway.”

They froze for a moment, hearing a noise in the distance; when no one appeared after a couple of minutes, they pressed on.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe that people like you, Cas?” Claire suddenly asked when they walked behind the shelter of several large dumpsters, catching their breath for a moment. “I’m not sure you even really believe that Dean loves you. What’s up with that?”

Cas blinked. “Because I don’t deserve it,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shyer, he quietly added, “and Dean… well, he’s never actually said that he does love me. He’s indicated it, he’s tried to show me. But I worry that eventually he’ll…”

Cas trailed off, suddenly aware that not only was he discussing his love life in the middle of a hunt, but he was doing it with Claire.

When Claire’s response came after a moment, it was surprisingly gentle. “Don’t you think it’s up to other people to decide if you deserve it, not you? I don’t think it’s important whether or not Dean  says he loves you, Cas.”

Claire limped her way along carefully next to the angel. Cas didn’t respond at all, his head tilted as if he was listening to something else. Continuing regardless, Claire considered her next words carefully before she spoke.

“Crowley told me what Dean did for you, the deal he made, you know. He’d rather go back to Hell than lose you. That’s some romantic crap, Cas. But if you need to hear it, just tell him that. Why make it so complicated?”

Cas stopped short, causing Claire to wobble and wince sharply as her leg jolted. She couldn’t see anyone. The angel mostly seemed to be frowning into mid-air, as if he’d tuned her out completely.

“Cas? Are you even listening?” Claire raised a hand to his arm. “What is it?”

“I can sense grace,” he responded, his voice full of confusion and not a little frustration. “I wish I could feel it better, but without my powers it's harder to pick up on things. There’s definitely grace in this building. But… it’s not mine.”

“Huh?” Claire raised an eyebrow.

“There’s another angel here,” Cas finally stated with conviction.

Chapter Text

Dean and Crowley cleared several basic storerooms and outhouses together without coming across anything particularly interesting, dealing with the enchanted humans and creatures of various kinds as they came across them. Mostly Dean tried to subdue them, knock them out and tie them up with zip-ties that Crowley seemed to be able to just magically produce from nothing. The ones that fought too hard for that to be an option, he tried not to count. Over the years, Dean had definitely learned that it was better not to count.

Crowley nodded over towards a much larger building that they were now approaching, Dean returning his motion in agreement. It was almost strange how easy it was for the two of them to fall back in sync; it had been quite some time since Dean’s demon days, his summer of love with the King of Hell. They side-stepped into a gap between the smaller building they had just vacated and the larger one they’d agreed on being their next stop. Leaning back against the wall for a moment to catch breath and rest, Dean looked over at Crowley.

“So you and Claire, bestest pals huh?” Dean’s words were softly spoken, but seemed to carry a low-level, gentle threat.

“What’s the matter Squirrel, jealous?” Crowley raised a teasing eyebrow, smirking his way through Dean’s protectiveness.

“She’s just a kid, Crowley,” Dean retorted, checking the barrel of his shotgun. He’d hadn’t fired it, trying to keep the noise down at least until it became inevitable, but checking his weapon was a reflex as much as breathing.

“She’s twenty one years old. Maybe we get along because I don’t treat her like a toddler.” Crowley’s chest puffed up somewhat defensively for a moment, until a light shrug moved under his  heavy coat. His eyes held on Dean with a teasing touch of confrontation. “Why do you care, anyway Dean? Planning on adopting daddy Cas’ stray kid already are we?”

“Fuck you,” Dean spat quickly, snapping the barrel of the shotgun into place. Pulling away from the wall swiftly, he looked back over his shoulder at Crowley to mutter, “just move along, asshole.”

Biting back at Crowley’s teasing about Cas, Dean didn’t look as closely at his surroundings as he should have.

Gunfire rang out and Dean launched himself immediately down to the floor, hands over his head. Shit.

******

Claire and Cas moved silently over to the closest building, just a few yards from where Cas had begun sensing grace. Claire limped but seemed to pick up on the angels sudden urgency, moving her stiff leg as fast as she was able, breath huffing out between her teeth in little puffs.

Seeing no guards at the door, the two exchanged a wary look. Gripping his rifle more firmly, Cas pushed the outer door, waiting a moment after it swung to ensure no one would come running out of the particularly abandoned-looking concrete hut.

Finding the single-room hut thankfully guard-less within, Cas gawped for a moment as his wide blue eyes took in a familiar form.

“ Gabriel ?” Cas exclaimed, his tone incredulous.

The inside of the building was was barely habitable - half the room was abandoned and dusty, the other half taken up by a jail that was little more than a cage. There were two steel saucers in one corner, degrading dog-bowls for the occupants of the prison. A bucket graciously sat a ways away from them. A couple of ratty blankets were in a pile in the corner, representing a makeshift bed big enough for two people, though it currently held only one. Curled up on top of the filthy rags lay a blonde haired man, muscled but not too tall. At the sound of Castiel’s voice, his head jerked up off the pillow.

Cas stepped forward cautiously. He couldn’t see any warding in the room; but if Gabriel was held here, there must be something. Claire followed, quiet and somewhat puzzled-looking.

“Castiel?’ Gabriel’s voice was a confused croak. He sounded parched and tired, but immediately pulled up to kneel as Cas and Claire entered the room.

“I thought you were dead--” Cas’ sentence shut off suddenly and he sounded rather dazed, but he forced himself to focus on more important matters. “Are you okay? Have you seen where they keep the keys?”

Cas indicated towards the heavily locked cage door. As Gabriel slowly stood and shuffled in his direction, Cas noted a hefty chain around his ankle, preventing him from reaching the door.

“Can’t you just blast it open?” Gabriel's voice was thick, as if he was speaking around a swollen tongue, but then his head tilted, regarding Cas in surprise. “No, no grace… where’s your grace? What happ--oh! Your grace, that makes sense, yours…”

Cas blinked, trying to keep up with the conversation Gabriel seemed to be having entirely by himself. “You’re making less sense than usual, Gabriel.”

“The grace, the grace!” Gabriels hand slapped up against his forehead. “I should have recognized it.”

Cas looked across to Claire, seeing her regarding Gabriel with slight alarm.

“Is he crazy?” she half-whispered across to him.

Cas couldn’t help a low chuckle. “Actually, he talks this fast a lot. This is the Archangel Gabriel, Claire.”

Claire blinked but didn’t offer a verbal response, instead shifting to move her weight against one of the walls, relieving her leg for a moment and staying back.

Moving up to reach through the thick iron bars of the cage, Cas extended his arm as far through as he could. Gabriel stretched forward to do the same, having to raise both arms as his wrists were chained with a pair of handcuffs - ones Cas suspected would have a very familiar inscription on them. At least that answered his questioning thoughts about warding the room. The two angels grasped at each other's forearms and took a second to smile.

“It’s good to see you brother,” Gabriel breathed in relief, his eyes showing more than anything else how glad he was. “Now, go get your grace so you can blast me out of here.”

“Where?”

“There’s a building to the left of this one. Two guards usually. It’s where they take me when they…” Gabriel swallowed thickly, his eyes flickering away for a moment. “Where they take me to bleed my grace each morning.”

Castiel’s smile stiffened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“They put mine in these little vials, but a few days ago I noticed a new addition to the collection in there… a larger orb of grace that wasn’t my own,” Gabriel finished

Claire nudged her arm against Cas, grinning. “Jackpot, Cas. Let’s go bust out your angel viagra. Dean might still love you limp but I’m sure he’d prefer some holy power.”

“Claire,” Cas blinked, a slight flush at his cheeks. “I understood that reference. I wish I hadn’t.”

Turning to tell Gabriel they’d be back soon to free him, Cas noted the archangel grinning.

“I like your friend, Cassie. I like her a lot.” Even tired and weakened, Gabriel managed to wink.

“Figures,” Cas muttered under his breath, stepping back towards the door and raising his rifle. “Hold tight just a little longer Gabe. We’ll be back.”

******

While Dean wasn’t pleased to have Crowley laying bodily on top of him, he had to gratefully admit that the demon was a lot more bullet-proof than he was.

“Bloody hell, Dean,” Crowley grumbled, reaching down to pull the flattened hunter to his feet. “You’re ruining my best coat.”

Stooped over so that he could be shielded by the shorter man’s body, Dean hurried to duck back behind the wall as bullets pinged around them from several directions.

“How many?” Dean exhaled with relief as he gained some small shelter from the concrete.

“Too many,” was Crowley’s grim response. “For you.”

“Oh, so you’re going to take them all?” Dean snorted, though there wasn’t much conviction to his tone, his eyes flicking almost hopefully to the demon.

A small smile fluttered across Crowley’s lips. He straightened up, smoothing his coat. When he turned back to Dean, his eyes were red and he grinned wide enough that his incisors showed, only adding to the eerie sight. “I thought we’d stopped underestimating each other, Dean.”

Without any further fanfare, Crowley stepped out from between the two compound buildings. His eyes gazed almost lazily at the four guards that were now progressing down towards them, two from each end. He looked from one to the other, his jaw held tight as the first couple of bullets found purchase in his side and chest. Gritting his teeth almost angrily through it, the demons red eyes moved on from guard to guard, as if memorizing or marking them in some way.

When they were close enough, Crowley’s hand came up from his side, palm forward. Calmly, he flexed his fingers, a pulsing motion as if he was pushing against air.

A tiny tremor rumbled through the ground from Crowley’s feet. Tumbling back, all four guards dropped to the ground, knocked unconscious in perfect unison.

Crowley’s little smile was perfectly smug as the redness in his eyes seemed to smoke away, back to his usual white orbs with dark brown pupils.

Dean watched from the sheltered passageway next to the large building, impressed even if he wouldn’t say it.

It would have all been smooth and successful if the barrel of a gun hadn’t suddenly smacked Dean hard in the back of the head. His green eyes rolled back and away from consciousness with barely a grunt.

By the time Crowley stepped back to the alley, Dean was gone.

Chapter Text

Even almost-human, sweating, shaking and tired, Cas was strong. Stronger than any mortal man of his size could be. The guards of the building that Gabriel had indicated held his grace were complacent - a man and a woman more interested in when their next break would be than protecting the precious resources they were supposed to be guarding. It was almost too easy for Cas to step quietly up behind them, lifting them clear of the floor in a smooth motion. One in each hand, he cracked their skulls together sharply before they had time to cry out.

Claire stepped up beside him, looking down at the immobile pair - a male vampire and a female human, as far as they could make out. Glancing briefly at Cas, Claire poked them with the end of the rifle Cas had given her when they left the blood-lake.

“They could wake up,” she pointed out quietly, her insinuation clear but unspoken.

“I’d rather not kill anyone we don’t have to,” Cas explained quietly, waving at Claire to stay in place and mind her wounded leg as he moved the guards. He dragged them out of the way down the side of the building, returning within seconds. “These people are here because they can’t withstand the call of the succubus; it’s not free will, Claire. They aren’t choosing to do this.”

Claire nodded slowly, but she seemed slightly unhappy. “I don’t like to leave questions behind me, is all.”

For a moment Cas was reminded that this wasn’t the little girl his vessel had once known. All of her trials, so many of them Cas’ own fault, had turned her into a remarkably efficient hunter. Though he would have chosen any other path for her if he could have, he couldn’t help but be a little proud.

“That’s a good thing to remember on any hunt, for sure. But the Winchester’s have taught me that killing doesn’t always have to be the only way,” Cas offered softly, testing the door of the building and finding it locked.

He and Claire stepped back around to the guards, checking their pockets and belts for any sign of a key. After a moment, Claire shook her head and moved back towards the door.

“We don’t have time to waste finding the key. Watch my back a minute.” Claire crouched in front of the door, slipping a couple of bobby-pins out of her wild blond curls, which were caught back in a rough ponytail.

Surprised, but content to let Claire work, Cas did what he was told.

It took a few minutes of careful wiggling and clicking, but Claire seemed so pleased when the tumblers dropped into place and the door clicked open, Cas didn’t have the heart to complain about the hold up.

Slipping inside the room, they both halted abruptly.

All around the exterior of the room were shelves, lined with tiny glass bottles and pots and boxes, chunks of stone and teeth and hair. It was like a cave of magical treasures. The thing in the middle of the room drew focus from it’s quaint, witchy-charm however; a metal hanging cage. Shaped like a man and suspended several feet above the floor, there was a chain attached to lower it up and down. The metal bars of the cage were caked with blood so thick it had blackened as it dried in the stale air.

Claire’s mouth hung open as her eyes trailed down from the swinging torture cage to the concrete floor below, where channels had been dug to funnel whatever dripped into a small well in the center of the floor.

“That's-” Claire stopped for a second, moistening her lips before she tried again. “That’s what they did to the archangel, isn’t it. To Gabriel. Maybe even to Sam, too.”

“Torture. Collecting vials of blood some days, vials of grace on others, I would imagine.” Cas’ response was flat and angry, his fists clenching at his sides.

Claire’s hand came up to the angel’s trembling shoulder. “Cas,” she whispered softly, “come on. We have to find your grace and get out of here.”

That seemed to snap Cas back into action, his eyes already scanning the shelves as he growled his response. “Yes. Let’s find my grace, some of Gabriel’s too, so we can let him out and find Sam. Then I can smite every last person who laid a finger on either of them.”

*****

Crowley walked soundlessly down a bare corridor in what seemed to be the largest of the buildings in the compound. His initial mission of quietly infiltrating the camp and finding Sam and the Hawleys had slipped to the back of his mind now, replaced by the more urgent mission of locating Dean.

Dean was more than capable of protecting himself, it hadn’t been Crowley’s job to hold his hand and look after him - but Crowley knew that Castiel in particular wouldn’t see it that way, and that was one tantrum he just didn’t want to deal with.

Stepping quietly along the empty corridor, nothing more than grey brick walls and bare poured concrete floor, Crowley kept an ear out for any sound at all. It was like whoever had jumped Dean had just disappeared. If he had to return to the angel without Dean, he at least wanted to be able to take back some kind of information or lead - but at present, he had nothing.

Ahead of him, he heard footsteps; at least three people. Quickly ducking around a corner in the hallway, Crowley pressed himself into the wall and closed his eyes for a second, willing himself unseen.

Two guards, in the same khakis and shirts that they all seemed to be wearing, walked escorting a prisoner. In one hand they each had a short handgun, held to the prisoners head. Their other hands guided the heavy iron chains that the prisoner was bound with, pulling him along.

“See how much easier it is, when you just comply?” One of the guards said almost conversationally. “A quick dose of demon blood, a quick dose of grace, let Caius test you and then back to your cell to see your little buddy. It’s not so bad, huh?”

Unable to move his arms, the prisoner made the only protest it looked like he’d be able to make. Raising his head, he rolled his neck back just a fraction before snapping forward, spitting firmly into the speaking man’s face.

“Bite me, dickbag.”

A defiant grin passed over the prisoners lips.

From his spot invisible around the corner, Crowley’s eyes widened in triumph. He knew that voice.

Stepping out but keeping himself unseen, Crowley followed Sam Winchester and his captors back down the corridor.

******

Dean breathed quietly against the fabric bag that covered his face, trying not to let his captors know he was awake until he had more information. His head throbbed, the soreness of the lump his head was developing clouding his thoughts. He could sense at least three people moving around him. Cautiously Dean tested his hands behind his back, feeling metal handcuffs cut into his wrists.

Getting out of the cuffs would be a challenge. Dean didn’t want to give away that he was conscious until the last possible second, but the only way out of these cuffs would probably involve breaking his hand, and that would hurt like a bitch no matter how he did it. The problem was timing it - smashing the bones as he needed would cause his hand to start swelling almost instantly. He had to do it right before he could slip out off the cuffs, to make sure he wasn’t too swollen for them to fit over his hand.

He was sprawled on his side, in a room that seemed brightly lit. Beyond that, he had no idea what had happened, how he’d got here, or who the moving people were. The light ebbed and flowed, as if someone was walking in front of a window.

Dean strained to try and pick up the low voices through the bag over his head, resisting the urge to twist his neck against the slightly uncomfortable ties that were holding the bag in place.

“Really no need for him at all,” a female voice murmured, low and careless. “But as he just wondered in here, it’d be a waste not to take advantage.”

They’re talking about me, Dean registered.

“Might as well just kill him now, we’re so near to--” A younger, male voice began.

“You’ve no imagination,” the first voice interrupted sharply.

“I just don’t want anything to mess up when we’re so close,” the young man explained, sounding almost exasperated. Dean could easily picture an eyeroll.

There was a sigh, from the woman perhaps or someone else in her direction.

“Fine then,” the female voice relented, “be like that. Send him down to be harvested. He’s still a vessel in his own right, he might have some use.”

Harvested? Dean panicked. That doesn’t sound fun.

Some shuffling could be heard, a chair scraped and then footsteps.

“You - bring him with us,” the young man gave a short order before Dean felt his body being lifted into the air.

Swung over someone’s shoulder, Dean tried to let his body relax and flop as if he was still unconscious. Even though he knew that without his grace Cas wouldn’t hear him, Dean couldn’t help but seek out that quiet place in his mind where he could pray.

Hey Cas… Castiel. Things didn’t quite go to plan, buddy. Got jumped and overpowered… things aren’t sounding great for me right now. Could use a hand, if you can hear me.

They seemed to walk for some way, the shoulder Dean was slung over digging into his stomach and making it hard to draw a full breath. A couple of other pairs of feet seemed to be following along, but there wasn’t any further talking.

A door swung open and Dean guessed that he was outside; the space beyond the bag on his head seemed lighter and airyer. They walked on, his captors, and he let his cuffed hands fall awkwardly, despite the ache it caused in his biceps. The longer they believed he was asleep, the longer he had to come up with a plan.

Cas… I guess you didn’t find your grace. I wish you could hear me. I don’t know where they’re taking me, or where Crowley is. I’m outnumbered and… scared, I guess. I hope you’re doing okay.

There was a crash, like a door being kicked open. Dean's carrier seemed to be climbing down some steps, judging from the jolting of their footfalls.  

A basement? Dean considered, finding it harder and harder to swallow down his panic. Wouldn't that flood, this close to Oil Creek?

His suspicions were confirmed as he heard splashing while his captor walked. Finally, the person carrying him spoke.

“How are we doing this, Caius?”

Dean knew his time was running out. Before the other man could respond, he threw his elbow out sideways, swiftly jamming it into his carriers spine at the back of his neck.

With a strangled yell the injured man immediately dropped him. Dean's hands, still cuffed, scrambled instantly for the bag over his head. With no time to loosen the ties that held it to his neck at that moment, Dean ripped at the fabric from the top so he could at least see.

The room was very dim, definitely underground as he had expected. It looked like some kind of cellar, with uneven brick walls and shelving here and there. The only other features were a large sink, some piles of buckets and a grate in the center of the floor, probably covering a drain of some kind. The guy who had been carrying Dean, a tall dark-haired man with wide shoulders, was bent over in pain next to him. He held the back of his neck with his eyes bulging.

Another person of similar build stood only a few feet away. HIs eyes were black.

Finally, leading the group as they were walking, was a younger man. He was tall, but his more delicate features still gave him away as a teenager. Long haired and brown eyed, Dean didn’t really have time to register how much he looked like Sam had at that age.

The black-eyed demon flew at him, a vicious growl flying from his lips as he slammed Dean back against the wall. The bricks were damp, moisture running down them in drips that Dean’s cheek disrupted. The demon breathed into his face, his breath foul.

“Trying to fight, just like your brother.”

Taking the opportunity of a brief second of distraction as the demon spoke, Dean lined up his right thumb along the matching metacarpal of his other hand. He let out a low, strangled yell despite himself as the bone crunched beneath his own pressure. Moving straight through the pain, he slipped his crushed hand out from the handcuff and smacked his forehead down, breaking the demons nose.

As the demon backed off for a second, the man Dean had initially injured was recovering. Coming at Dean with a series of sharp jabs, a passionate fury shone brightly in his eyes; a fervor that few except the possessed or enchanted would ever show. Dean dodged expertly, backing up slowly as the demon stepped back in to join the human. His attention occupied with them both, Dean neglected his biggest threat for just a moment.

The teenage boy, Caius, Dean had by now worked out, stepped angrily towards the group.

“Enough! We don’t have time for this!” When the kid raised his voice it was whiney and petulant, sounding like nothing more than a spoiled boy, but both of Dean’s attackers froze immediately.

With a flick of Caius’ hand, Dean was pinned back against the wall. Unable to move his arms or legs, Dean panicked.

Cas, please… I wish you had your grace so bad right now… I need you, Cas. This is bad. I need you.

“Move the grate,” the kid instructed, his eyes never leaving Dean.

Dean tried to twist out of his magical grasp, but as soon as he raised his shoulders an inch they were slammed back against the damp brick wall.

The guard and the demon, his eyes looking blue now that he was done engaging Dean, stepped up to the grate in the middle of the floor and heaved it slowly aside. Dean had erroneously assumed it would lead to a sewer, but as the cover moved under their straining guidance, he saw that it widened out.

It’s a room , he realized as he flew through the air and into the hole. A room with no escape.

Crying out as he hit the floor, around eight feet below the grate, Dean hugged his swollen, shattered hand to his chest as he stumbled sorely to his feet. The tiny room was perfectly square and windowless, tiled all around.

Deans sinking stomach met his rising panic as the men shoved the solid metal grate back into place. He heard Caius’ calm order echo around above him.

“Flood it.”

He heard footsteps go to the sink, a squeaking sound, running water.

A breathy chuckle came from just above the grate, the boy’s brown eyes barely visible in the dim light, but trained firmly on Dean below.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Dean.”

Chapter Text

Crowley walked casually along behind Sam, out of sight and beyond the senses of his guards. The demon took a good look at him as they made their way through the concrete corridors in an odd procession. Sam’s hair was wild, roughed up and knotted around his ears, matted with what smelled to Crowley like specks of blood. Leaning in to take a deeper sniff, Crowley noted that it didn’t seem like all the blood belonged to Sam, either. Though the injuries on his body would indicate that much of it was his; Crowley could see irritated patches under the rubbing chains, bruises, cuts and burn marks. Sam looked a little pale but not especially neglected – just tortured.

As the two uniformed guards moved Sam on around a quiet corner, Crowley took his moment. The demon’s eyes flared red for just a moment as he snapped his fingers twice.

The two guards barely made a sound as they crumpled to the floor, necks snapped.

Sam stumbled suddenly forward, his eyes wide with surprise. Unable to balance himself with his arms chained across his stomach, he teetered forward until Crowley’s hand came out to catch him, palm on Sam’s shoulder as he dropped his invisibility.

“Hello, Moose,” Crowley smirked, but it was a welcoming expression.

“Crowley! You—” Same stopped, looking down at the two dead guards, one on each side of him. “That was you?! Why are you here?”

“I’m here,” Crowley sounded bored as he responded, his hands searching along Sam’s chains for whatever lock held them. “because your brother has just about everyone in the land keeping an eye out for you.”

“You came to rescue me,” Sam stated, sounding slightly disbelieving as Crowley snapped his fingers to pop the padlock at Sam’s back, beginning to pull at the chains.

“Are you expecting a prize for that deduction? Come on Samantha, help me get these chains off,” the demon snapped, “before more guards come along.”

Sam was already wiggling his arms, fighting his way out of the chains. As they fell, Crowley could see the tattered state of Sam’s once neat plaid shirt and worn jeans; the items pulled and ripped at, covered in blood splatters and more concerning sections that looked like deep, blood-sodden wounds.

Eyeing him appraisingly, Crowley began to lead back the way he came, hoping to get Sam out of the building quickly.

“You’re hurt,” the King of Hell commented, “let’s get you out of this compound and deal with that first.”

“First?” Sam questioned, moving swiftly down the corridor next to Crowley now, despite his movements appearing jerky and stiff.

Crowley nodded, coming up to the door by which he had entered the building, “your brother went and got himself caught, too. Apparently, I now have to do all the work around here.”

Crowley’s careless voice didn’t entirely mask his concern, and Sam smiled to himself in slight amusement when he realized that the demon actually cared.

“Well, can’t have Dean coming out with all your secrets under torture, huh?” He offered quietly as a way out, though he couldn’t hide his shit-eating grin.

Crowley eyed Sam from the side but didn’t say anything further. His attention was on the door now, listening carefully as he edged it open.

Having established that there were no guards immediately beyond the door, Sam and Crowley darted outside into the bright afternoon air. They hurried towards the large fence that created the first perimeter, the shimmering bubble of disguise that hid the compound from prying eyes a few feet beyond it. Crowley and Sam wasted no time in finding an outbuilding to hide behind quickly.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Sam offered after a moment leaning forward with his hands on his knees and breathing deep, “it feels good to be completely unchained.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” Crowley offered, reaching towards Sam’s shoulder to teleport him away, “and I’ll return to look for Dean and meet back up with the others. You’re in no shape to fight.”

Sam knocked his hand away.

“No,” he shook his head swiftly. “I’m fine. I’m not leaving without Dean or Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, his head already slowly shaking, “Wings and grace Gabriel? The bloody archangel Gabriel? What the hell is he doing here?”

“They’ve been draining his grace. They found one of his true vessel’s descendants and used it to summon him, sometime before they brought me here. Cas did the same for Raphael, once. I thought he was dead, but they knew better – I’m not leaving him for dead a second time, no chance.”

Crowley eyed Sam levelly, then looked around for company once more before he sighed his response.

“Fine. The more the bloody merrier, I suppose.”

“Who are the others?” Sam questioned, straightening up. “You mentioned others.”

“Your brother’s pet angel of course, and Claire.”

“Claire? Cas and Claire?” Sam looked baffled but shook his head. “You know what, we can talk about this later. Let’s go find them.”

Nodding his silent agreement, Crowley started moving around the perimeter. Stiffly, Sam followed.

*****

Claire stood watch at the door while Cas tried to relax inside the storage room, quieting his mind and trying to hone in on the gentle tug of his grace. Gabriel had seemed confident there was another angel’s essence here, though the pulse of all of the bottles of Gabriel’s own grace was quite distracting.

How long has Gabriel been here? Cas pondered despite himself, taking in all the tiny vials of shimmering light that had been torturously bled out of the archangel. Longer than Sam, for sure.

The archangel had looked weak and unkempt, not at all like the Gabriel that Cas had once known. But then, that Gabriel hadn’t been tortured, probably daily, and had his very essence dripped from him in a hanging torture cage.

Trying to shake the disturbing, angering thoughts out of his head, Cas concentrated.

He felt pulled towards the left-hand shelves next to the door; his own essence was so familiar it may as well have called his name. He was about to move towards the shelves and begin searching when Claire crashed back into the nasty little room, slamming the door.

“Company!”

Cas immediately darted in front of her; his instinct was to immediately protect the young woman, especially wounded as she was. Claire frowned but didn’t overtly object, taking the time shielded by Cas to update him, shouldering her rifle.

“How much ammo do you have, Cas? There’s at least eight of them, maybe more, and they’re going to stumble on top of their unconscious friends around the corner any second.”

Hastily checking the magazine of his own rifle, Cas frowned. “Seven. The guard at the blood lake used three on you.”

“Better not miss then,” Claire responded grimly.

They both stepped up to the door, listening intently. It seemed like a very long time passed; there was scrambling and thumping, and then…silence.

Cas and Claire looked at each other warily.

“Stay here,” Cas whispered harshly, pointing firmly at the floor.

He reached up, easing open the door a crack and pressing his eye to the gap. After a second, he laughed and swung the door wide, gesturing to Claire.

“Come on,” Cas encouraged her as he stepped outside.

The guards were sleeping, piled all around in a variety of positions near the door. Tiny snores came from a skinny man to the left of the doorway, slumped against the wall. Much louder rumbles erupted periodically from a tall woman directly in the middle of the path to the door, who Cas was stepping over with a grin.

At the end of the alleyway, looking smug, stood Crowley. Leaning on him slightly, wearing an entertained grin, was Sam.

“Sam!” Cas ran forward eagerly, and the two shared a brief, tight hug.

Pulling away, Cas looked ready to barrage Sam with questions when Claire barreled past him, as fast as her limp would carry her, to crash a similar hug into Crowley. The demon king stumbled into the side of the building, caught unawares, but started laughing. It was a genuine, surprisingly throaty sound, that continued as the two untangled themselves.

“Having to save your skin twice in one day? You’re losing your edge, Firecracker,” Crowley grinned.

Looking at the two of them, Sam’s mouth hung open in total bafflement. He turned to Cas, wanting to ask when the two had even met, but immediately thought better of it. Cas was looking around angrily as if he desperately wanted something to hit.

Claire punched Crowley lightly in the shoulder. “You want me to put holy water in your whiskey? Because that’s how you get holy water in your whiskey, Crowley.”

Very pointedly ignoring the banter between the two, Cas took a breath and turned to Sam.

“Sam, are you well? Did they hurt –” Cas broke off mid-sentence, looking around uneasily. “Wait… Crowley, where is Dean?”

The jovial reuniting with Claire immediately ceased.

“Now Cas, remember that I just saved you from all those guards,” Crowley began, holding up his hands defensively.

“Crowley,” Cas’ voice was a low warning.

“I lost him.”

******

It hadn’t taken long for the fast-flowing water to make it over the sink in the basement above and across the floor, gushing down through the deliberately placed grate in the floor to Deans tiny, tiled prison. It was icy as it pooled around his boots, the first sharp shock of the flow seeping in through his boot-tops as it rose causing Dean to shiver.

Cas, there’s no way out. The water is cold and fast… I guess, given how long it’s taken to get this high, I probably have about thirty minutes left before it’s above my head. You can’t hear me, can you?

There was nothing around for Dean to climb up on, no handholds or breaks in the walls of the tiny five-foot room. Beginning to shiver as the water crept up his legs, pouring down from the grate above his head, Dean leaned back against the wall.

I’m going to keep praying Cas, until I can’t think any more… until it’s too cold, or I can’t breathe. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and that demon will come back and put a bullet in my skull. I feel so helpless like this, Cas. I hate it.

Deans thick jeans clung horribly to his legs in the water, making him feel heavy. Looking up at the spaces between the iron of the grid that covered the hole, Dean figured that once the water got high enough for him to float up the last couple of feet, he’d be able to reach up and grab it. He probably couldn’t move it alone, it had taken several of the guards to drag it, but those precious gaps could give him a last few minutes of air before the water met the floor of the room above.

I wasted so much time. I don’t usually get to think about my death before it happens. A hellhound or a bullet or blade… they’re pretty quick. But this? This sucks.

As the water pulled at his waist, Dean hugged his arms close to his chest, trying to keep what little warmth he had left. The air smelled damp. Any sounds in the room up above were lost to the noise of the rushing water cascading down from the grate; Dean wasn’t sure if the guards had gone, or if they were waiting around for him to drown.

“Hey! Hey, can anyone hear me?” Dean tried, fruitlessly. His voice echoed around the tiled chamber before it disappeared into the water. Feeling the icy pull soak his shirt to his ribs, Dean’s fear curled tighter in his stomach.

I don’t think I’m getting out of here, Cas. No one knows where I am – I don’t even know where I am. I don’t wanna die, Cas. I don’t wanna go to hell. Please help me… if you can hear this at all, please save me.

The water steadily climbed higher, up onto his chest.

Cas. Please, come on, find your grace… save Sammy, and me too if you can. You can do this, buddy.

Standing on his toes, Dean tried to keep his face out of the water as long as he could.

I’m so sorry, Cas. I wasted so much time with you. I never even told you how much you meant to me. Couldn’t ever find the words, could I? Now I’m going to die alone. Serves me right.

Dean took a deep breath, but he knew it wouldn’t last long.

Chapter Text

Castiel darted back through the door of the creepy, torture-slash-storage room as fast as his trembling, grace-less legs had been able to carry him; the only moments wasted after hearing the news that Dean was missing were the two seconds it took for him to punch Crowley in the face. He heard Sam’s confusion and Claire’s irritation behind him as he ripped the shelves apart, single-minded on finding his grace. They moved to the doorway, watching him, but not daring interrupt.

Focusing on the gentle pull of his essence, it didn’t take more than a few minutes to locate. A glass orb, about the size of an apple, sat on one of the higher up shelves. Claiming it in his fist with triumph, Cas immediately threw it down, smashing the glass on the floor.

The room illuminated as the white-blue grace flowed up from the smashed glass, homing in naturally on its proper place as Cas inhaled it into his vessel. His eyes lit bright white and his body trembled, the shadows of truly massive wings erupting onto the walls around him as Sam and Claire shielded their eyes from the light.

Cas panted heavily, on all fours, his head down.

“All fired up, Superman?” Claire asked quietly, stepping forward.

Cas nodded, allowing Claire to assist him back to his feet with a hand, though it seemed her assistance was no longer required. The sweating and trembling that had plagued Cas for the past couple of days was gone. He looked much more like the calm and collected angel he usually was, other than his clothing. Somehow, even in Dean’s old jeans and a loose gray t-shirt, he still looked intimidatingly angelic.

Releasing Claire’s hand once he was standing, Cas reached across to her forehead with two fingers. Claire didn’t flinch back from the familiar gesture, exhaling gently as the angel’s grace throbbed gently through her bones. The gunshot wound at her leg pulled together and healed without a trace, the relief on her face obvious as she reached down to release the bloody bandage, dropping it to the floor.

“You too, Sam,” Cas indicated for him to step forward

.

“I’m fine, I don’t want to tire you out when you just—” Sam protested.

“Sam,” Cas stated with a frown, “Dean will be displeased with me if I don’t insist that you’re healed.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Sam chuckled lightly, feeling the tingle of grace floating across his skin as his wounds and sores soothed.

Sam held up his hands, turning them in front of his face, his relief to see them clean and unblemished quite clear. Cas was already shouldering his way out of the door as Sam thanked him.

“Thank you, Cas. There’s actually someone else being held—”

“I know,” Cas growled, his arm raising to show that he held several vials of Gabriel’s grace from the storage room. “Let’s go get him so he can help us find your brother.”

Moving out into the passageway between the small room with the torture cage and a larger building to their left, Cas ignored the unconscious bodies that were scattered around them. His blue eyes, looking even brighter now with the power of his fresh grace behind them, flicked up and down the space between the buildings. His sigh was resigned, his lip curled with disgust.

“Should have known that Crowley would disappear as soon as things got tough,” he muttered.

Sam met Cas’ gaze with an answering eye-roll of agreement. He quickly stripped a gun and some extra ammo off the guards still sleeping on the floor, and hurried behind Cas on towards the jail.

Claire trailed behind, frowning slightly but keeping quiet.

*****

Crowley wasn’t one to overly ruminate on mistakes from the past, but in the moment where Cas punched him in the face, he did stop to ponder exactly how he got so tangled up with the Winchesters in the first place. The punch, coming from an almost-human fist fueled only by pure rage, didn’t do much more than cause Crowley to curse loudly. He healed quickly, feeling his own anger rise in retaliation. Luckily, the angel immediately disappeared off to get his grace. Crowley thought it best to disappear also before Cas came back powered up, and decided to do a lot more than punch him in the face.

Not that Crowley was abandoning them; though he knew they’d assume so. Hell, even he thought abandoning them would be a smart idea. But, despite it all, he knew already he wouldn’t.

Claire liked Dean, despite all her snark. Whether he’d admit it or not, Crowley did too. All jokes aside about his summer of love with demon Dean, the King of Hell still admired the hunter and even would go so far as to say he enjoyed his company. No matter what Cas thought, Crowley wasn’t about to abandon Dean on a mission they’d undertaken together. At least, not today.

He understood Castiel’s reluctance to accept him; he was the King of Hell, Cas was an angel, any truce between them was really straining the status quo to begin with. But he’d definitely made things worse, befriending the vessels’ daughter. Unfortunately, Crowley had never really been one to do as he was told, so his friendship with Claire would remain, and he would dangle it viciously in front of the angel whenever he had a chance. 

Concealing his presence easily from the guards around him, Crowley moved swiftly from building to building, listening to every conversation and checking every closet and cell.

I’m going to find Dean, Crowley ranted angrily to himself, and I’ll be buggered if I’m not going to do it before that bloody angel does.

*****

The solid lock on Gabriel’s cage door exploded into pieces as Castiel entered the room.

Gabriel’s head snapped up at the sound and he raised an eyebrow, but was immediately distracted by the vials in Cas’ hand.

“My grace,” he breathed with a smile, “I’ll admit, a little top-up would be nice.”

Cas nodded, pulling the chunks of metal that made up the wrecked spot where the lock had been so that the door swung open.

“I figured as much, as drained as you—”

He was interrupted by Sam elbowing quickly past him in the cage doorway, immediately dropping to his knees next to the battered archangel and drawing him into a tight hug.

Cas blinked, standing wordlessly as Gabriel winked at him over Sam’s shoulder. He embraced Sam back, grinning.

“I was going to come get you Sam, as soon as Cassie here busted me out of these,” Gabriel's voice was low as he raised his wrists slightly, indicating the archangel-suppressing handcuffs that had led Dean and Cas all the way to Indiana in the first place, “but you beat me to it.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to leave without you, Gabe,” Sam grinned back. Slapping Gabriel lightly on the shoulder, he stepped back and turned his head toward Cas.

Taking his cue from Sam, Cas stepped forward again, indicating the handcuffs. “May I?”

“Not a moment too soon, I assure you,” Gabriel commented dryly, holding out his wrists.

It took a minute, Castiel’s grace pumping into the cuffs and causing them to glow white enough that Sam had to shield his face. Claire squinted into the light from the doorway, still silent as she kept watch, rifle raised.

With a metallic clang, the handcuffs hit the floor.

Gabriel flexed his wrists gratefully. “Thanks, little bro,” he reached to pull Cas into a hug, brief but strong.

Taking the vials that Cas had in his hand, he swiftly popped the corks out of the top of each glass tube and downed them like shots, earning him a slightly amused looks from both Sam and Claire.

“Feeling better?” Sam questioned, averting his eyes as the archangel briefly glowed bright, his wings illuminated against the wall in bright white and rainbow hues, like light hitting the edge of a bubble.

“You betcha, Samshine,” Gabriel winked at him quickly, before turning his attention to the chain at his ankle, “Let me just pop this sucker off and we’ll head straight on out of here. I’ve got the urge for a weekend in Vegas, myself.”

“My brother is here somewhere, he—” wherever Sam had been going with his explanation of Dean’s disappearance, he was cut off by an audible gasp from Cas.

“Cas?” Sam stepped cautiously toward him. He was wide-eyed, fearful looking, “What’s wrong?”

“Dean’s praying,” Cas stuttered out quickly, squeezing his eyes together and screwing them up. He tried to concentrate harder on Dean’s prayers, hyper-focused as he tried to eek out every last bit of information.

Cas…

Castiel would know that voice anywhere. His connection with Dean even before they’d begun their cautious relationship had been profound, at times overwhelming, and Dean's prayers always came through clearest. This prayer was filled with such emotion, such fear and despair, that it drove Cas sharply to his knees, filling his chest with a burning, painful feeling.

He was vaguely aware of Sam’s hand gripping his shoulder, and another hand - Gabriel's - coming to touch at his temple, his angelic arrogance giving him no qualms about spying on Cas’ thoughts.

The water is at the top now, Cas. I’m not cold anymore…the water is freezing, but I’m warm now. Isn’t that funny? I wish you were here. Not just so you could save me, but so I wouldn’t be alone. You’ve been everything to me for so much longer than I realized. You’re the love of my life, Cas. I don’t wanna go back to Hell. I’m afraid... I don’t wanna die alone.

Cas heard Gabriel’s voice, rallying Sam, yelling at Claire, dragging Cas along with them like a rag-doll. Cas felt like he was barely there; his chest tight, his mind under a room of crushing water, drowning with Dean.

Chapter Text

Even with his grace restored, Cas had no sense of where Dean was. It caused a deep panic to settle into his stomach, a very human kind of terror that he’d never had to feel in quite that way before. He suddenly comprehended how Dean had felt just those few days before, when he had made his deal with Crowley to ensure that he, Castiel, would be okay. In an instant, he understood and would have done exactly the same thing, if he had the chance.

Cas shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the conversation happening around him. They were moving, efficiently searching buildings, tearing through the outer storage rooms and moving on methodically through the camp. It was taking time, though they all worked together; Gabriel seemed to automatically help, Cas noted curiously. It didn’t seem to be for his slightly selfish, flighty older-brother’s own gain, however. As far as Cas could make out, Gabriel had little close connection to Dean beyond killing him just over a hundred times. But he seemed to have an ease now with Sam that compelled him to assist them. How long have they been here, together? Cas wondered sadly, thinking back to the torture room with a frown.

Moving on through the compound, Cas registered a modest incline in the ground on which they walked, indicating them heading slightly uphill to the back of the compound, away from the blood-lake where they had first entered. He stayed silent, trying to be alert to any tiny bit of Dean that he might come across; the sound of his voice, his scent, the very signature of his soul that Cas knew so well. He desperately hoped that Dean would pray again, and found himself irrationally angry that angels couldn’t answer prayers at a distance, the same way they received them.

Claire jerked her rifle towards the building they approached, silently pointing all of their attention towards the ajar door.

Gabriel nodded, indicating silently to Cas and Claire that they should go ahead to the next building while he and Sam took this one. As Cas moved on past with the young blond woman, he felt the throb of the archangel’s power and the windows of the building flashed white, the beginning of a few screams cut off suddenly in the air. Whatever they had done to Gabriel here, he was in no mood to pull his punches, it seemed.

Kicking swiftly into the next building without any fanfare, Cas tore through the two guards stationed at the door like wet paper. His noble thoughts of sparing the Hawley’s henchmen seemed to have temporarily fled his mind, his newly-returned grace ripping through the skulls of the two vampire guards before he registered much more than their uniform and their lack of Dean.

Claire followed up swiftly behind him, her rifle notching the kneecap of another man stood near the back of the room, her aim solid and unerring in a way that probably would have bothered Cas on another day, in another mood.

Maybe a hundred years won’t feel that long anyway, Cas. I mean I did forty before, right….before you found me. What a waste, huh. Some Righteous Man I turned out to be… I’m sorry Cas, I really am… Not for loving you though, just for letting you down…

Dean’s prayers were infrequent and increasingly rambling and erratic. Despite his chest’s swell at hearing Dean’s claim that he loved him, Cas was more concerned at what his increasingly weak and vague prayers could indicate about his condition.

Their three opponents on the floor, two with their eyes smoking and the third whimpering in fear, Cas spent mere seconds jerking open the doors to the adjoining empty rooms. By the time he was done, Claire was kneeling next to the guard she had shot the leg out from, her gaze calm.

“Your people took a new prisoner today. Any news on that?” The knife that Crowley had provided, the very one that Dean had dug the bullet from Claire’s leg with, linked the girl and the guard. The handle sat firmly in Claire's hand, the tip resting sharply at the other man’s throat. He appeared human, but held that enchanted fervor that everyone in the camp seemed to have, staring Claire down rather than respond.

Cas’ growl was exasperated. “None of these brainwashed minions are going to talk.”

He made a motion as if to roll up his sleeves, almost as if he forgot for a moment that he wasn’t wearing his vessel’s normal clothing, and stepped towards the guard, his intense gaze latched onto him.

“I can drag it out of your mind, if you won’t tell me. I don’t want to, but I will, “ Cas threatened.

“Castiel,” Gabriel’s voice came firmly from behind him, entering the door with Sam, “No.”

Cas’ head whipped around, ready to snap back at his brother; but when his voice came, it wobbled.

“Gabriel, you don’t understand, I have to—”

For once, Gabriel's smile was patient, rather than mocking, as his hand came to rest at Cas’ shoulder.

“I think I do understand, brother,” he gave the shoulder a squeeze, “I’m not blind. But these people are innocents, under the spell. You know that.”

As if anticipating some kind of important conversation or showdown between them, Claire moved quietly past the two angels to Sam, roughly grabbing his sleeve and pulling him out of the room. She began to whisper something to him as they moved out of the building.

Barely aware of their departure, Cas frowned back at Gabriel, “and Dean isn’t? He deserves this?”

Gabriel’s chuckle returned quickly, “Dean Winchester? Innocent? I think he’d be horrified to hear you say such a thing. No, Castiel, I’m not saying he deserves it. But leaving a trail of humans behind you reduced to nothing but vegetables, if they’re alive at all, isn’t what he would want you to do, is it?”

Cas’ blood boiled beneath his surface but he couldn’t argue the fact, settling instead on dropping his ethereal blue eyes down from his brother to look at the floor.

“Did you bond with him? Castiel?” Gabriel’s voice was low, curious, but also eager, his hand coming to grip firmly at Cas’ taller shoulder.

“You really think this is a good time to discuss that, Gabriel?” Cas frowned, shaking his head. “He could be—”

“Oh shut up Cas,” Gabriel groaned with exasperation. “Hurry-hurry, holy fire, wrath, I know. I’m trying to help you, brother. You and Dean - what kind of connection do you have with him?”

“I, We—”

Gabriel held a hand up swiftly, “I don’t want to know a single thing about your vessel’s genitals and whatever they’ve been up to with Dean, Castiel. That’s not the kind of bonding information I’m looking for. Though, once we’re all done, let's have a few drinks and unpack that hilarious baggage….”

Gabriel gave a little snort of amusement, and Cas remembered how lucky he was that none of his brothers had been around much recently, meaning they had missed his and Dean’s long drawn out dance of attraction over the past decade. Assbutts, all of them.

“What I mean, Cas,” Gabriel squeezed at his shoulder again, “is the kind of bond we can actually use. You rebuilt him, you marked him. We all heard - even me, and I was having a lot of fun in Asia that summer.”

“You’re right, I did,” Cas’ eyes widened, “Dean and I have always had that bond…”

“Because you rebuilt him with your grace,” Gabriel snapped impatiently.

“My grace, I—” Cas’ hand came up to his messy hair, running his fingers through it in frustration, “I don’t know how to—”

Gabriel gave him a brief, almost apologetic smile before he raised his other hand up to Cas’ forehead.

“We don’t have time for you to learn, Cas. Sammy’s worried. I can help you along a bit, if—”

“Do it.” Cas instantly responded.

With a cry, he felt Gabriel burst into his mind, rooting around through his thoughts and into the dark corners like someone frantically pillaging through the trunk of a car. He shoved aside memories, feelings that should be private, flickers of emotion that just weren’t what he needed, looking for a thread; an anchor of grace that connected somewhere else.

“Cas, seriously,” Gabriel’s eyes rolled around, his brow creased heavily, “there’s a lot of crap in here. Get yourself a therapist or something when we’re done, shit.”

Despite himself, through the uncomfortable sensation, Cas laughed.

****

Crowley didn’t run fast enough to check every building on this compound for Dean, but he knew someone that could.

He’d been around a few buildings himself before he realized that he may not be quick enough. Who knew what that crazy Hawley woman was doing with Dean? It wasn’t like he was an important puzzle piece to her, like Sam was. Crowley had no reason to believe she and her son would keep him around long, as much as that sucked for Dean.

Crowley was quick witted and quite intelligent, much more so than anyone had really given him credit for, particularly before his demonic transformation. It only took him a moment to switch his thoughts to come up with a new course of action, scrapping plenty of other ideas before he latched on to the simplest route.

Even in his own mind, he was almost proud of his little plan. Sadly, he had no one to gloat to at that moment. Returning to the area of bushes next to the blood-lake where he and the others had arrived earlier in the day, he ducked down and dragged one of their hidden hiking bags out from under the foliage. Tearing it open, he smiled slightly to himself, rooting around through the contents until he found something promising.

Bringing his thumb and forefinger to his lips, Crowley let out a sharp whistle. The blast reverberated around the compound for a little way, but that was hardly his concern at present.

He waited only a moment before he felt, more than heard, a squelching sound behind him. Turning, he noted the huge paw prints that were approaching in the mud along the shore of the blood-lake.

“Juliet, my sweet,” Crowley purred almost fondly, reaching to pet the Hellhound between the ears.

He turned, dropping a crumpled black Kansas shirt, his prize from Deans backpack, onto the ground before her inquisitive muzzle. The five-foot-tall hound reached down, taking a deep sniff, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Crowley crooned, “Find him for Daddy.”

***

The thread between him and Dean was like a tiny tear in his subconscious, Cas realized. Like a minute snag that his mind (and often his eyes, he now knew) somehow caught on between him and the man he had rebuilt from scratch. Although Cas had never intended to bond Dean to him in any significant way, it was easy to see now how it had happened, with his fingerprint on every atom of Deans body and soul.

Gabriel was remarkably respectful, given that he’d just been rattling around elbow deep in Cas’ brain. He had sifted through the extremities of his feelings and memories of Dean to find the old, long-ago spot where the connection had been made. Gabriel controlled himself well; skipping all the jokes he wanted to make, the nudge-nudge and little winks kept under wraps. Cas was grateful - it must have been glaringly apparent to Gabriel how he felt about Dean, how his love had grown over the years into this overwhelming thing that meant more to him than falling, than heaven, than home. Dean was home, and now Gabriel knew.

His eyes stayed on Castiel’s for a moment after he led him to the thread, understanding passing between them, but he didn’t say anything. Cas smiled thankfully, turning to the door, edging past the two grace-blasted bodies that slumped near the entrance.

“Let’s go,” Cas called to Sam and Claire as they waited a few feet from the door, watchful gazes trained in all directions for more guards.

“You’ve found him?” Sam asked, falling into step behind Cas familiarly, trusting.

“Found a way to him, at least,” Cas corrected, tapping the side of his head. He focused on the thread then, letting it lead him through the spaces between buildings, poking at it gently to see where it pulled. It was weak, fluttering, but still there - Cas piled all his hope on that.

Behind him, Gabriel explained to Sam and Claire.

“When Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell, he couldn’t just drag a physical body to a whole other plane,” he began, “it doesn’t work like that. He had to rebuild him, fix everything that Hell had broken.”

Sam nodded, “Right. I mean, Cas mentioned that before, in vague terms.”

“Well,” Gabriel continued as they walked, “think of it in very literal terms. Castiel’s signature, as it were, is on every molecule that makes up Dean. There’s a connection between them now, like a….”

Gabriel scrunched up his nose, thinking of a term that would apply, as they hustled along behind Cas. They headed parallel to the largest structure, out to where some utility buildings, generators and wells seemed to be housed.

“Like a tiny thread, leashing them together. If you don’t pull it, you won’t even notice it’s there. But if you yank on the leash…”

“You can tell where the dog is?” Claire interrupted, an amused light in her eyes, “So who’s the dog and who’s holding the leash in this scenario, Cas or Dean? Who owns who?”

Gabriel grinned almost viciously, “Oh, I think we know,” he winked over at Claire.

Sam looked between them both quickly as they walked, eyebrow raised in slight confusion. “Do I wanna know?”

Gabriel’s slap at his shoulder was pitying, “Probably not, Samsquatch. Probably not.”

They followed Cas closely as he began to walk towards a low outbuilding. Rounding the corner, distracted by the thread of Dean that he could feel, Cas nearly walked into the three men that were stood on the damp, muddy floor outside.

A tall, dark-haired man stood talking quietly to a young, long-haired teen with a strong jaw and hazel eyes. Another man, demon, Cas registered, stood watching them.

With a cruel, lip-curling grin, the young one fixed his gaze straight onto Cas.

“Castiel,” Caius spread his arms in a mockery of welcome, “you lived! I was pretty sure I’d finished you off back in that motel. Guess I need to try again, huh?”

Before Cas could even register who it was, Gabriel came running up behind him and barreled past, eye’s blazing white.

Without even looking at Gabriel, Caius reached out forwards. His hand came up, and he directed it towards Sam. With a strangled yell of protest, the huge man was dragged through the air. After the split second of motion, Caius’ hand sat firmly around Sam’s throat, muffled, angry noises filling the air as he choked him.

Everyone paused as Caius’ eyes turned to Gabriel. The Archangel was perfectly still, his eyes fixed wide on Sam as he struggled.

“Don’t think I won’t, Angel. I’ll snap his neck and force you to watch him die. You know what happens if I kill him now… don’t you, Gabriel?”

Cas and Claire exchanged nervous looks. They had no idea what was going on, but Cas knew Gabriel well enough to be able to tell when he was scared.

Chapter Text

Tension filled the narrow alleyway between the two outbuildings, the muscles of every man, angel, and demon present twitching to predict the next move. The only noise was Sam, gasping and fighting valiantly against the magic choking him into Caius Hawley’s raised hand.

Cas cursed under his breath, as angry at the distraction from his attempted rescue of Dean as at Caius’ presence.

The whole group was frozen; Cas, Gabriel and Claire facing down Caius as he held Sam, his two accomplices hovering awkwardly at the back, looking as afraid of Caius as they did of anyone else.

Gabriel’s eyes stayed fixed on Sam, but he backed up just a fraction. His brief glance over to Castiel confirmed what Caius had just indicated to them; Gabriel knew what was going to happen if Sam died, and whatever that was, it wasn’t good.

If Sam dies, Lucifer rises, came Gabriel’s voice in Castiel’s mind. The kid fed Sam with enough grace and demon blood that his humanity is hanging on by a thread and his soul is pulling away from his body. If he dies, Caius will just reach out and grab his soul...and it’d take him all of three seconds to say yes to Luci, after that.

Blinking, Castiel swallowed firmly. He wanted so badly to leave them all and go to Dean, but he knew how important this was.

Looking back across at Sam, being held around the neck so that his feet dragged unceremoniously on the floor, Castiel saw that the Caius’ magic potential was their biggest problem. He thrummed with it, offending the angel’s senses as he tried to place what this boy now was. He smelled demonic influences and tasted in the air that his blood ran with substances that no human should be able to imbibe.

The only thing more frightening than the dark stain where Caius’ soul should be, was how much he looked like Sam. They had twin hazel eyes, their hair both brown and getting long, curling slightly around the ears. Caius was already incredibly tall, only a couple of inches shorter than the bewildered, choking father he currently dangled.

Castiel’s fists balled, his anger building at every extra second that was put between him and finding Dean. He hadn’t heard any prayers for a while, and he felt increasingly panicked the longer they were held up, knowing Dean was in danger.

“Caius,” Gabriel’s voice cut the silence softly, “You don’t have to do this. Sam is your family—”

“He’s a failure at the only thing he was ever called to do, and you’ve no room to talk about family, Gabriel. How many people came looking for you?”

Gabriel parted his lips to deliver a snarky retort, but it died in his mouth as his eyes widened.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Claire stood to the side of Castiel, one of the guard rifles they had gathered in her hands. She raised it, about ready to blast Caius between the eyes when she saw Gabriel and Castiel both react to something she couldn’t see.

Something just behind their opponent took both Castiel and Gabriel completely by surprise, and they went wide-eyed, jaws dropping. Before they could make any move, the invisible something-or-other that they both had their eyes trained on seemed to move suddenly - Caius was knocked forward fast, like something had leaped bodily at him.

He screamed in surprise and fear, landing flat on his front in the mud, causing him to drop Sam.

Caius’ companions, the other human male and the demon that had been chatting with the Caius, both turned and fled. They didn’t even stop to scream as a huge, hulking something pushed past them.

Immediately, Gabriel darted forward. Crouched, he grabbed Sam and pulled him across the floor, close to his chest. With a crack and fizz of power that could be felt rather than heard, the shadows of giant wings burst out around them, cocooning around Sam in an effective shield. Gabriel snarled, his lip pulled back angrily.

“Castiel!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Cas raise his gun, but he didn’t shoot yet – his eyes were still trained on something just above Caius, round with surprise. Ripping, snarling sounds filled the air, almost as loud as the frantic yells coming from Caius as his eyes whipped around, trying unsuccessfully to see his attacker.

“Crowley!” Castiel shouted hopefully, the barrel of his gun never leaving the boy on the floor. Caius’ eyes were wide with terror, and he’d rolled onto his back, shuffling across the dirt floor between the two buildings towards Castiel, looking around wildly.

“Right here, Feathers,” Crowley’s voice came from next to Claire, causing her to jump and momentarily fumble her rifle.

“Tell me that’s yours,” Castiel called over the increasing growling.

Caius gave a small but terrified yell as he felt something like a foot, or paw, press down on his chest.

“Sure is,” Crowley purred smugly, “Juliet is my favorite.”

As if on cue, Caius let out a scream as his hair blasted back like it was caught in a heavy breeze – or a heavy breath, from right in front of his face.

Claire recovered, refocusing her gun firmly on Caius. “Crowley?” She questioned quietly, her eyes briefly flicking to the demon.

“Hello, firecracker. I brought my puppy along,” Crowley casually gestured to where Caius was pinned the floor, very obviously being breathed upon by something massive, “to help me find Dean. Hellhounds are the best trackers, you see.”

A slightly relieved smile pulled up one corner of Claire’s mouth as she dug an elbow into Crowley’s side. “Don’t run off again.”

“He punched me in the face!”

“You deserved it,” she fired back quickly. Smiling hopefully, she added, “did you find Dean?”

Crowley looked distinctly uncomfortable. In the background, Caius whimpered feebly under Juliet’s hot breath.

Before Crowley could answer Claire, Gabriel interrupted them from where he was crouched over Sam, his wings still shielding him like a cloak, shadowy and hard to focus on.

“It takes a lot of effort to hold my wings like this, you know – hurry the hell up and get rid of that evil brat, will you?”

Sam was crouched awkwardly on the floor, his face completely amazed as he took in the wings around him. Giving a quick glance up at Gabriel from the corner of his eye, Sam reached out to jab a finger at the wings, poking at one of the feathers in fascination.

“Sam, would you stop that?” Gabriel rolled his eyes, though his head had turned back to Caius, not wanting him out of sight.

Increasingly impatient, Castiel jerked his gun towards the hellhound and her captive, indicating that Crowley do something.

On the floor, Caius had given up screaming, now pale and silent as he was pinned to the ground. He seemed sweaty, furious and entirely unable to move.

“Hope there won't be any hard feelings if I borrow your baby boy, Sam,” Crowley commented conversationally, “Dean and I, we had this little deal, you see.”

Gabriel gave a slightly vicious smile at Crowley’s intimation. He and Sam exchanged another significant look before Sam responded.

“Go ahead, Crowley,” Sam’s voice was flat and dispassionate, “he is nothing to do with me. The things he did to Gabriel and me, he should feel right at home in Hell.”

Caius looked up from his pinned, prone spot on the floor, rage and hate warring in his eyes, “You’ll never take me alive.”

“Oh,” Gabriel responded almost merrily, “no worries there, baby Moose. You don’t have to be alive, where you’re going.”

He reached up, his fingers about to snap the boy out of existence like a balloon full of chunky soup, but he was stopped by Castiel’s hand at his wrist.

“Gabriel,” he cautioned softly, “Not to spoil your fun, but he belongs to Crowley. That was the deal.”

The Archangel looked sour and displeased, but before he could retort, Crowley stepped forward. Smoothing out his jacket dramatically, he gave a smart little snap of his fingers. He, and Caius Hawley, disappeared.

Slowly, the group relaxed. Gabriel’s wings vanished without fanfare, one moment visible and the next just gone. Sam blinked and began to stand, helped up by the smaller man.

Castiel looked uneasy, his eyes flicking back and forth to check that everyone was okay. Once satisfied they were all in one piece, he closed his eyes, seeking out the little thread of Dean that had lead him this far.

“We’ve got to find—”

“Dean, yes Cassie, we know.” Crowley suddenly interrupted Cas, reappearing beside the angel startlingly fast, no sign of Caius at all.

This time, Claire punched him in the arm. “Stop doing that!”

Crowley gave a little grin, “Oh, but it’s so much fun…”

“Dean,” Sam reiterated firmly. “Find my brother first. Chat later.”

Crowley gave a little sigh, reaching out to pat a section of eerily solid air near his shoulder. “Juliet has it covered, boys. Move aside for my pretty girl, now.”

Castiel stepped aside with a grumpy frown, watching the huge hellhound as she sniffed at the air. Padding only a few steps down the passageway they had encountered Caius in, she stopped outside the door of the building Castiel’s thread of grace had been leading him to, letting out a deep bark.

Crowley followed immediately beside her, wrenching open the door to the tiny building. It was little more than a cover for a set of stairs, leading down to a damp basement. Somewhere below, Crowley’s demon ears picked up the sound of rushing water. A sense of foreboding tickling at his mind, the King of Hell turned to call to Cas and Sam – but both were already pushing past him, running down into the basement.

Neither the angels nor the humans noticed the hidden presence of someone else descending the basement stairs with them.

***

By the time they reached the small basement itself, they were ankle deep in water.

“Dean!” Sam called out frantically, wading across the flooded floor to where an old sink was running full blast. Twisting the tap off, he tried again. “Dean!”

“I can’t feel him,” Castiel’s voice was little more than a whisper. He turned to Crowley, instantly angry. “you said he’d be here but I can’t feel him!”

For once, Crowley had no snarky retort.

“Guys!” Claire dashed forward, kneeling down into the water in the center of the room. Her fingers traced a shape, barely visible beneath the flood in the dim light, “There’s a grate! Help me!”

Sam was closest, plunging into the water, pulling firmly at the metal with a loud grunt. “Cas! Gabe! It’s really heavy!”

Both angels darted forward immediately to help, dropping to their knees beside Sam and Claire in the water. The grate flew up like a cork out of a bottle with their extra strength; Gabriel easily pulled the iron cover up over his head and tossed it aside.

Crowley watched them silently from the corner of the room, expressionless.

“I see him!” Sam’s strangled yell reverberated around the basement as he finally spotted Dean in the dark; suspended in the water, drifting just below the ceiling of the flooded room below.

With an inelegant splash, Castiel dove straight through the hole in the floor. In seconds he reappeared, his dark hair plastered to his head and his soaked t-shirt stretched around every muscle as he hauled Dean up into the room.

Castiel’s breath was coming in odd spurts; he technically didn’t need to breathe, but felt like he was hyperventilating. Although he had been barely aware of the thread linking him to Dean through his grace, the sudden, gaping absence of it felt like a wound.

Gabriel’s strong grip had Dean up onto the floor with only one hand, a feat that would have been impressive in a less pressing situation. Dean slumped bonelessly against the floor, not a sound or movement to be seen. Quickly, Claire pulled his face up above the water, resting his head in Sam’s lap as he sat back on his heels.

Sam grabbed at Dean, his eyes wide and frantic as he called his name repeatedly.

Cas knelt in the water, his arms limp by his sides, staring down at Dean. He didn’t call out as Sam did, being able to feel that Dean’s life force was ebbing. He just stared, his eyes red, resisting the urge to start tearing everything in the room apart.

Claire and Gabriel slowly drew back, moving to stand next to Crowley, joining him in the somber weight of what he’d already known for a while; Dean was gone and had been for some time.

“Hello, again,” a soft voice came from the corner, where it’s bearer had been hidden, watching.

Sam dragged his gaze reluctantly from Dean’s unresponsive body, his expression morphing from dreadful to horrified.

“Billie?”

Chapter Text

“Billie,” Sam repeated, more of a statement this time than a question. His hand gripped firmly at his dead brother’s shoulder as if he thought she was going to leap forward and drag his body out of his hands at any moment.

“Sam,” the tall, somber reaper nodded to him in response, “I’d say it was nice to see you, but no one ever seems that thrilled to see me lately.”

Billie fit well into the dim dampness of the brick basement, her dark clothing melting into the shadows as she stood in the corner. She took a moment to lean the huge scythe that she carried against the drippy wall before folding her arms.

“You can’t take him,” Sam burst out hurriedly, seeming panicked as his fingers dug tighter into Dean, “Cas? She can’t—”

Sam turned to look at the shell-shocked angel at his side, kneeling in the ankle-deep water, but Billie interrupted before Castiel could get his numb lips to respond.

“We’ve been through this. When you to die, you’re going to the Empty. I can’t take your jack-in-the-box act anymore – what’s dead should stay dead, and Dean? He’s very dead.”

Billie’s voice managed not to be cruel, just low and firm. She still formed the words gently, looking somewhat sadly at Sam as she took a step towards him.

Crowley cleared his throat, a delighted little smirk tilting up his lips.

For a moment, Sam had almost forgotten Crowley, Claire, and Gabriel, stood quietly in respect along the opposite wall.

The King of Hell raised one pale finger in a gesture of caution, before lifting his other hand and firmly clicking his fingers. A scroll appeared instantly under his arm. It was quite thick and long, covered in tiny, inky-black text.

With a flourish, Crowley presented the scroll to Billie.

“Billie. Death, my dear. Dean and I had a little chat, a few days back. His angel, over there,” he paused to jab a finger in Castiel’s direction, “was in a bit of a pickle, you see, and it turns out that Dean…”

Crowley’s voice trailed for just a moment as his eyes rested on Castiel.

“…well Dean, he would do almost anything for Castiel.”

Sam’s brow creased, looking back and forth between Crowley, Dean, and Cas, all of this news to him.

Billie’s expression wasn’t far off Sam’s, but hers had a definite hint of anger as she flicked the scroll open. It unrolled dramatically, splashing as it hit the water at her feet, though none of the magical ink seemed to smudge or care about the dampness.

“I assure you, you’ll find it all in order,” Crowley smiled smugly as she studied the contract, “Dean and I had a good long chat about it. You’ll see there are some adjustments to be made to Dean’s situation.”

Billie seemed to be ignoring them all, her eyes skimming down the parchment furiously.

“Dean made a deal with Crowley,” Sam stated redundantly, blinking as he looked over to Cas, “for you?”

Castiel looked uncomfortable, slowly raising his darkened blue gaze from Dean up to Sam’s face.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have let him, but of course, he didn’t exactly consult me on it,” Cas smiled weakly, fondly.

“Fine.” Billie snapped, suddenly thrusting the scroll back towards Crowley, not bothering to roll it up and just dumping him with an armload of curled parchment loops, “but once the hundred years is up, nothing changes.”

Crowley nodded, fumbling with his escaping contract as it curled down his arms.

With that, Billie took a moment to glare at them all in turn, before snapping her fingers and vanishing, scythe and all.

There was silence, for a moment. Absently, as if working on autopilot, Claire stepped up to Crowley and began to help him roll the scroll back up, spinning the core slowly while he worked the long loops of parchment back onto it.

With a lot of splashing as his heavy, soaked jeans cascaded water, Castiel stood. His eyes fixed on Crowley, wordlessly, he stepped in his direction.

Crowley hastily held up a finger, “before you punch me in the face again!” he burst out, cringing back from Cas, “perhaps you should speak to Dean?”

That stopped Cas. Sam’s head jerked up too.

“But not for long,” Crowley casually continued, fluttering his fingers as if shooing Cas toward Dean, “you know as well as I do, his soul isn’t really meant to just drift around like that.”

“Like what?” Sam seemed confused, looking down at Dean; still very much dead, quiet and in one piece, his head in Sam’s lap as he knelt in the water.

“Like that,” Gabriel came over to Sam’s side, his voice strangely soft as he put his hand to Sam’s shoulder. Instantly, with Gabriel’s help, Sam was able to see the glowing, golden light that hovered and drifted just above Dean, shimmering gently in the semi-darkness as if it was unsure where to go.

“Woah. You can see that all the time?” Sam looked up at Gabriel, curiously.

“Of course. I’m an archangel, dumbass,” Gabriel replied flippantly.

Looking over at Sam and Gabriel with slight amusement casting over his features, Crowley cleared his throat. “Ready? Five minutes. Let him explain, and then I have to take him.”

Crowley reached up and clicked his forefinger and thumb again, the loud snap echoing around the basement and reverberating oddly off the water.

Sam was looking down at Dean again as he lay on the floor, blank green eyes staring up at him. Sam’s brow creased cautiously as if he half-expected the body to sit up jerkily in the water, like a soggy zombie.

It took Gabriel’s finger under his chin to guide his eyes back up to the slightly hazy form of Dean that now stood, rather oddly, near his own feet in the water.

Dean was looking down at himself, his eyes wide. “Woah,” he muttered, “that’s a bit of a mindfuck.”

Crowley chuckled, but it was humorless. “Dean,” he quickly stepped in front of the ghost, “it’s time to head on out, but I thought it was better if you explained the full scope of our little deal to Moose and Giraffe,” he nodded back towards Sam and Cas, “as it seems like you might have left out the minor details.”

As Crowley stepped back towards Claire, he rolled his eyes slightly, muttering to her, “because it’s not like they’d ever believe me, now is it.”

Claire gave Crowley a slightly sympathetic pat on the shoulder, but her gaze was distracted by the Dean-ghost as he began to talk.

“Sammy… I’m glad they found you,” he began awkwardly.

“Actually, uh, Crowley did,” Sam clarified, his eyes fixed on Dean’s slightly translucent body. “How… how does it feel?”

“This?” Dean gestured downwards at his ghost form and shrugged. “Nothing. It feels like nothing. A little cold, maybe.”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Dean blustered on, lowering his eyes from Sam as if concerned his little brother was going to do something embarrassing, like cry.

“When Cas killed Billie – reaper Billie – she was pretty pissed about it,” Dean began, his ghostly eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and Cas, “she told Sam and I that when we died next, that was it. We were headed to the Empty. Apparently, our luck ran out,” he chuckled tiredly.

Castiel frowned firmly, “we know that part.”

“When I made the deal with Crowley, it overrode what Billie had decreed, at least temporarily.”

Dean was looking at Cas firmly, as if desperately trying to will him to understand something he wasn’t saying.

Crowley seemed to run out of patience, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, you Winchester’s can’t communicate, and it seems like you’ve passed that onto your boyfriend too, Dean.”

Rolling his eyes, he stepped back between them all, addressing Cas. “I did you a favor, morons. Billie can’t take Dean right now because he is contracted to me , to guard the cage. Once his time is up, she can come to get him. But that means you have a hundred years – Hell years, that is – to fix it.”

Cas blinked, Sam frowned.

“Fix it?” Sam asked quickly, “How?”

“One hundred years,” Cas echoed quietly, catching on suddenly, “that’s ten months. Ten months for us to work out how to get Dean out of hell without Crowley’s help, so that the contract isn’t voided. Then he’ll never complete his hundred years, and never have to go to the Empty. They – Dean and Crowley – they found a loophole.”

Sam gawped, his jaw dropping comically.

Dean’s ghost nodded, taking a moment to look around at them all before he spoke. “I, uh, I’m sorry I died, I guess. I know it’s a pretty slim chance you can do anything about it, and that’s okay. At least I got to say –”

“No,” Sam interrupted angrily, “you don’t get to say that, Dean. We’ll find a way.”

Suddenly, Cas’ silence broke and he stepped towards Dean’s translucent body,  babbling much more quickly than he usually spoke. “We shouldn’t have separated, I could have waited to get my grace, this is—”

“I swear to Chuck Cas, if you try and say this is your fault, I will haunt your ass,” Dean threatened, interrupting him. “You gotta hold it together, Cas. Look after Sam. Make sure both of the Hawley’s are good and dead. There are more important things right now.”

Biting back whatever he wanted to say, Castiel’s eyes fell to the ground.

Dean turned to Sam, gesturing down at his own body. “You should probably get that thing up those narrow stairs and home. Remember I want the full works for a funeral, live band, stunning eulogy.”

“Right, Dean,” Sam managed a weak chuckle, “of course.”

They both just looked at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them, and they nodded.

“See ya, Dean.”

“Bye, Sam. Now, get out of here, all of you. I want a minute with Cas before Crowley pulls a Raimi and drags me to Hell,” Dean shrugged out the poor movie reference and plastered a slightly sad grin on his face, looking to Crowley as if for permission.

The demon nodded, gesturing Claire and Gabriel up the stairs before him. Sam raised an eyebrow, looking at Dean oddly, but complied. He moved to follow the others up the stairs, gulping hard, before he looked back to Cas.

“Cas, I guess we’ll go and find Faith Hawley now. Can you bring…” Sam gestured to the body, sorrow suddenly exploding over his face, “…you know, Dean, when you’re done? We can’t leave him here, he doesn’t deserve...”

Sam couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but Cas nodded, understanding. “Of course, Sam.”

With one more heavy exhale, Sam finally turned and headed out.

Sam’s heavy, reluctant footsteps faded up the stairs, and finally the room stilled. Dean and Cas were left alone, staring at each other over the top of Dean’s lifeless body.

Chapter Text

Sam made it most of the way out of the damp, musty-smelling basement where his brother’s body lay without really thinking. He knew they had things to do. Priorities. He should start researching immediately how he could get a soul out of hell and release Dean from his contract. He knew that. But right then, all he could think, was that this was his fault.

If he hadn’t encouraged Dean that they should split up to track the werewolves quicker, way back in Wyoming when all this began, Faith wouldn’t have made her move. Maybe if he hadn’t--

“Sammy,” Gabriel’s hand came quickly to Sam’s shoulder as he made it out into the evening light, “I am usually a very good celestial being, and try not to listen to people's thoughts. Well, okay,” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows comically, “that’s a lie. Sometimes it’s terrifically fun. But, this time, in my defense - you were thinking very loud bullshit.”

Sam huffed slightly, glaring at Gabriel out of the side of his eye.

“Well that’s not fair, I can’t ever hear what you’re thinking,” he pointed out.

“True, but I have a big mouth, so I’ll probably tell you,” Gabriel winked before his face turned more serious. “Honestly though Samshine, you shouldn’t think like that. This wasn’t your fault.”

Sam crumpled slightly. Bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose, he dug his fingers into his tear ducts almost angrily.

“Hey,” Gabriel’s hand remained  at his shoulder, softer than he’d usually give the loud, rambunctious angel credit for, “don’t think for a minute that my little bro isn’t going to do everything in his power to get Dean back for you.”

Sam nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as they paused outside the door, “right, I know. I do. It’s not the first time I’ve had to look at my brother’s corpse, but--”

Sam took a moment to search for the right words, dropping his hand as he looked down at Gabriel. He moved a couple of steps away to pick through the assortment of dropped guns on the floor. They had hastily left everything in the alleyway outside while capturing Caius and attempting to rescue Dean.

“Even if,” Sam began again, “there’s always a tiny chance in our lives that death might not be the end, it doesn’t stop feeling like it. The older we get, the more it feels like it. I don’t know what I’ll do if I never see my brother again, Gabe.”

Sam bit at his lip, looking away from Gabriel. He slid the carrying strap of one of the guard rifles over his shoulder, soberly shaking his head.

“I get it, Sam,” Gabriel replied quietly, moving away from the door where he’d been waiting for Sam. He gestured up the alleyway a little way, where Claire and Crowley stood waiting, keeping a watchful eye out.

He and Sam began to walk towards them, a few silent steps passing before Gabriel finished what he’d started saying. “I get it, it’s not like angels can’t die. Castiel will do everything he can, and I’ll help. It’s not as simple as snapping my fingers, not with Billie involved, but--” Gabriel looked over to Sam, catching his eyes as he finished, “I hope you know I would do that if I could.”

“I...appreciate that, I guess. Thank you, Gabriel.” Sam regarded the archangel curiously but kept moving.

When they reached Claire and Crowley, they all took a moment to regard one another before Claire spoke up.

“So are we gonna gank this bitch? For Dean?”

Sam smiled a little, despite himself. “For Dean.”

They all nodded, even Crowley murmuring in agreement. “For Dean.”

“Alright, I’ll go fetch the angel, darling,” Crowley paused to wink at Claire, “let me know what the plan is on my return.”

Crowley clicked his fingers, disappearing off to retrieve Cas, while Gabriel, Sam, and Claire worked out their plan.

***

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean’s ghost faded just a little then came back into view, somehow an almost guilty gesture. He raised one hand, but simply balled it into a fist, holding it in front of him.

“Don’t be sorry, Dean,” Cas responded softly. He struggled to find a place to look, as neither resting his eyes on Dean’s dead body or looking his ghost in the eye seemed quite right. He cleared his throat, studying the surface of the shallow water at his feet. “What happened?”

“The Hawley kid, he snuck up behind me while Crowley was dealing with a bunch of guards. It wasn’t his fault, for a change.”

Cas nodded, worrying his teeth at his lower lip, a strange little laugh coming out of him. “I suspected it wasn’t his fault. It would just… it’d almost be easier if it was.”

“Look at me Cas, please,” Dean pleaded quietly, “this is all the time we have.”

Cas dragged his eyes from the water he’d been studying, looking up at the translucent, ghostly form of Dean. His lids looked heavy, his eyes rimmed with red. As he looked at Dean, his lower lip gave a perilous tremble.

“Oh Cas, I’m so sorry…” Dean looked distraught. “Please don’t cry,” he begged, his hypocrisy evident as his ghost form shuddered slightly, his eyes glittering and wide.

Cas brought up his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pinched firmly. The strange little laugh came from the back of his throat again and when he spoke it was raw, verging on hysterical, “I just lost the only person I’ve ever loved, don’t you dare tell me not to cry, you ass.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped in defeat, what passed for his form stepping toward Cas, straight through the body at his feet without a thought.

“I just meant…” Dean trailed off, running a hand through his ghostly hair in frustration. “Shit, Cas… what do you want me to say? I’m dead , Cas, I’m going to Hell. This isn’t like last time, your wings don’t work, it’s not like you can just fly down there and get me--”

“You think that’s going to stop me?” Cas bit viciously, glaring at Dean as his lip curled back.

Dean sighed, taking pause for a moment, allowing his hands to come to his face as he shook it slowly.

“I’m sorry. Please let’s not do this. This is all the time we have, Cas. We wasted enough already. I can’t do this again.”

“Then stop pushing me away every time you verge on an emotion, Dean,” Cas responded softly, sorrow filling his voice where the anger had been rising. “I heard your prayers, you know, some of them at least. It’s okay. I’m not going to react negatively to being loved by you, Dean. It was the greatest honor of my life.”

Dean finally crumbled, his hands coming to his face as a terrible, ghostly wail keened out of him. “Trust me to fuck this up by dying,” he gasped after a moment, the translucent cheeks of his weak form glittering with tears, “finally getting to be with you, and then getting dunked by Sam’s hellspawn before I can tell you what you mean to me.”

“Then tell me, Dean.” Cas was looking straight at him then, his eyes shining at damp as he tried to look at Dean rather than through him. “At least let me have that, just once, before you have to go.”

Dean composed himself a moment, realizing he owed Cas that at the very least, if not much more. He raised a ghostly hand, bringing it up to his angel’s face and giving a bitter smile when his fingers could feel nothing, sinking through Cas’ skin like it wasn’t even there.

“Castiel,” Dean’s voice came softly but confidently as he sought out Cas’ eyes, “Cas, I have loved you for so long that I didn’t know what the feeling was. It was just the way I felt about you . It was just us,” Dean shrugged, almost like an apology for being so blind for so long.

He stood close, searching the hues of blue in Cas’ eyes for one that would give him the strength to carry on, and it was there - a bright, delighted blue, sparkling wetly and telling him Cas understood everything he was saying.

“I can’t believe I can say this, but kidnapping and all that aside, these last few weeks with you? I haven’t ever been that happy in my life, Cas. You get me, and somehow I get you, and we just accept each other how we are. I was…”

Dean trailed off for a second as if he was unsure, but one more look at the expression building in Cas’ eyes spurred him on.

“...I was hoping that when this was over, we could have had a life together, you and me. Hunting, sure, but...other things, too. Things I’ve never been able to want before because I didn’t have the right person. You’re…”

If a ghost could have blushed, Cas was reasonably certain Dean would have been flushed head to toe by now.

“...you’re kind of it for me, Cas. You’re the love of my life.”

Cas couldn’t work out what was happening to him, the soaring of his heart at Dean’s words smashing heavily into the bitter pit of his stomach, the part of him that could still sense the body at his feet.

“I’m going to fix this, Dean,” Cas choked out, the trembling of his lip shaking the words around and giving them even more meaning,  “Somehow. If I can get you back, I’ll give everything I have to do it. If I can’t, then I’ll give everything for that, too. I’m not letting Billie take you - heaven or earth, I’ll find you again somehow.”

Deans ghostly shape began to stutter and fade. Cas knew it was dangerous to keep Dean in that form for long, as he could become attached to this place, so he didn’t say anything to pull him back. Unlike Dean, he wasn’t shy of the handful of tears that brimmed over as he watched him go.

Bending down to the body, Cas delicately reached to close Dean’s eyelids down over his glassy gaze. Now it looked more like Dean was peacefully sleeping. Cas slipped his bare, wet arms under his knees and back, lifting him easily to his chest so he could cradle him close on the way out.

“You were the only reason I was ever here, Dean. Earth might as well be empty without you,” Cas whispered brokenly.

Dean weighed nothing in his arms, but Cas felt too heavy to move. He stood for a minute, looking down, lost, before he realized that Crowley was next to him. The demon reached out and touched the glowing golden haze of Dean’s soul, and it vanished.

Crowley quietly guided Cas up the stairs, without even attempting to take the body from his arms.

Chapter Text

The squat concrete buildings in the Hawley’s forest base didn’t offer much in terms of cover, but Claire, Sam, and Gabriel made do as best they could. They squatted down against one of the nearby building walls, finding a spot at the back close to where Crowley had last seen them.

“We need some kind of plan,” Gabriel suggested quietly, “Castiel is a far better strategist than I am, but I don’t think his head is really in the game right now.”

Claire hummed thoughtfully, “True. But I also think he’s our best weapon against this crazy bitch. Throw him at her right now, he’s gonna rip her face off.”

Sam managed a weak smile, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I’ve seen Cas pissed off plenty of times. He’s kind of a badass. Though I’d guess Gabe is, too, when provoked.”

Gabriel leaned back into the wall for a moment, thoughtful, his gaze darting around periodically to check for company - the trail they’d been leaving through the compound was hardly subtle, and he knew it was only a matter of time before trouble found them.

“Well, I’m provoked. Castiel will have to get in line,” Gabriel offered his thoughts to Sam. “I think you and I should go up against Faith then, with Castiel. Perhaps if we persuade your demon friend, he’ll do a little relay back and forth and get Claire out of here, and take your brother’s remains somewhere safe.”

Sam fought down a gasp at hearing Dean referred to as ‘remains.’

“Y-yeah,” he managed, “we need to get Dean out of here, and we’re not taking Claire up against Faith.”

“Hey--” Claire began, but Sam immediately interrupted.

“Claire, I’m sorry, but Cas would be pretty pissed if I let you come with us,” Sam pointed out.

Claire frowned, but Gabriel spoke up before she could give words to her sulking expression.

“Claire, I saw inside Castiel’s memories. He is very protective of you, like a daughter. He already lost Dean today. Don’t put yourself in the firing line too,” he pointed out quietly.

Claire opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, her scowl slowly fading. She nodded, reaching up to tuck some of her blond curls back behind her ear. The fidgeting made her look uncertain, sad, and somehow younger. “Right,” she murmured. “Fine. I’ll work with Crowley, and we’ll find some way to get Dean back to the road. Without hiking for a day.”

Sam and Gabriel nodded at each other.

“Ready for a little revenge?” Sam questioned Gabriel, reaching for the shorter man’s shoulder.

“Justice,” Gabriel responded grimly. “I might not have a flaming sword, by boy am I gonna deliver it.”

Sam’s smile was faint, but he patted the archangel fondly on the shoulder, “I’ll be right behind you. Not that you need a human like me, but I’d love the chance to punch that succubus in the face.”

Gabriel grinned back, about to respond, when he looked over Sam’s shoulder.

The small group stood and turned, wordlessly watching Castiel carry Dean’s body out of the basement and up the alleyway towards them, Crowley at his side.

Out in the light of the evening, away from the dark basement, the stillness of Dean in Cas’s arms seemed very final. Claire’s hand went to her mouth slowly. Sam tugged at his hair, his face paling. Gabriel just looked angry.

“Plan?” Crowley asked quietly.

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes trained firmly on the ground. “Can you get Claire and Dean out of here? Gabriel and I are going after Faith. Cas--”

Sam looked up, his eyes skipping up quickly to the angel’s face as if trying to avoid seeing the body he carried.

“--as much as I’m sure Gabriel could handle this, I know you’re going to want to come.”

Stoic, Castiel nodded, “Yes. I’d very much like to deliver a little payback to Faith Hawley.”

Crowley stepped around in front of Castiel, holding his arms out somewhat cautiously. He nodded down to Dean, looking firmly at Castiel with a question in his dark eyes.

“May I?”

Crowley and Castiel looked at each other for a moment, as if a whole conversation was occurring that no one else was entirely privy to. Initially, Castiel’s fingers tightened on Dean’s sides reluctantly, but after an extended moment, he slowly loosened his grip. He lowed Dean down into Crowley’s outstretched arms reverentially, careful not to jostle him, though the care seemed almost pointless.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he murmured quietly, and they exchanged a silent nod. It wasn’t much, but it spoke of a lot, between the angel and the demon.

Wide-eyed, her gaze flicking between the two, Claire hefted her rifle back to her shoulder. She didn’t want to disturb this new, fragile peace, so she remained carefully silent, stepping up next to Crowley.

Clearing his throat, Castiel seemed to slip into Commander mode, giving Sam distant memories of when they first met.

“Gabriel. Sam. You are the most aware of the layout of this place. You lead.”

***

With Sam and Gabriel’s knowledge of the layout of the compound, it didn’t take long for the three to make their way directly to the central building, where they asserted Faith spent most of her time.

“She’s not much for going out and about with the common folk,” Sam said disdainfully. “When she’s not busy draining grace out of angels or trying to prep me for a soul lobotomy, she tends to stay in the main hall and yell orders at people.”

They approached the main building and ducked down to the side, Castiel automatically taking point before they progressed, like a seasoned warrior.

“Gabriel, will you quickly fly over the building and check around, give us an idea of guard numbers?”

Gabriel simply nodded and was gone.

“His wings work?” Sam asked curiously, turning to Castiel.

“Of course. You saw them earlier, fighting Caius. Or shadows of them, at least.” Castiel seemed slightly confused.

“But yours…” Sam trailed off, gesturing to Castiel as they waited for Gabriel to return, standing alert at the corner of the building.

“Oh,” there was a tinge of sadness perhaps, but Castiel shrugged it off, “Yes, mine are broken. But Gabriel wasn’t in Heaven when Metatron cast us all out,” he pointed out, “so his wings never burned on the descent as he wasn’t affected by the spell.”

“Right,” Sam nodded, seeming to follow, “I guess I never thought about it before because we all assumed he was dead, back then.”

Castiel nodded in agreement. “Yes. I intend to ask him about that as soon as we get a safe moment.”

“So get this, it was an illusion,” Sam supplied, sounding a little impressed, “One of Gabriel’s tricks. That’s who Lucifer killed. That was one of the first things I asked him - we shared a jail cell, we had plenty of time to chat and bond,” he added with a half-hearted smile.

Castiel raised an eyebrow slightly, but whatever he’d been thinking of saying was interrupted by Gabriel’s return.

“There were six guards on the perimeter. I dealt with them. There’s probably a handful of demons and humans inside. The succubus is the biggest problem, of course.”

Gabriel shrugged, rocking back on his heels casually as he added, “but we can smite her like any other Hell-bitch. So no problem.”

Sam let out a slight chuckle, though there was a frustration to it as they began to approach the main entrance, a steel double-door that was now eerily flanked by two corpses with their eyes burnt out.

“Seems like you guys don’t need me at all,” Sam commented, looking down at the mutilated faces. “What's a human going to be able to do, in line with a Seraph and an Archangel?”

Cas looked at him sideways. He took a deep sniff, shameless, and wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t take this the wrong way Sam,” he offered gently, “but right now you’ve got so much demon blood in you, you could probably take her down by yourself.”

“Oh, great,” Sam muttered to himself, standing to the side so Castiel could blast open the steel door, “Sam’s an abomination again.”

Gabriel gave a wide grin, reaching over to pull Sam’s head into an awkward, crushing side-hug and ruffle his hair. “Yeah, but you’re our abomination.”

The double-door swing open with a metallic clang, and Castiel stalked ahead without waiting on them.

Releasing Sam swiftly, Gabriel wrinkled his nose in turn, “Cassie's right though. You do kind of stink.”

They moved past the guard bodies and on into the building to catch up with Castiel, not particularly trying to disguise their approach. Most likely the whole camp was on alert by now, so there seemed to be no point.

“So, succubus,” Sam questioned, shouldering his rifle out of habit as they turned a corner, “just a demon who likes to sleep around, right?”

“Pretty much, Lilith’s children are the whores of Hell,” Gabriel filled Sam in as they walked along behind Castiel. They didn’t have to do much, just keeping an eye on the back of the gray t-shirt Castiel was wearing, maintaining line of sight as he tore his way through the building.

“But the powerful ones, like Faith,” Gabriel continued, “they have distinct powers your basic demon doesn’t have. If their earth form isn’t correct to enchant someone, they can shape-shift, and they have fairly strong telepathic powers. She’s one of Azael’s children at her core, remember. She has a lot of magical abilities we probably don’t know about.”

Sam looked like he was going to ask more questions, but a strangled yell from Castiel ahead had them both sprinting up the corridor.

A group of four guards had come at Castiel from the side and thrown some kind of net over him; it shimmered slightly blue, with heavy metal weights at the corners that were covered in some type of warding or spell.

Slightly impressed despite himself, Sam realized that it was an angel-trap in net form.

Castiel growled and writhed angrily as if the ropes were causing him pain. He was pinned helplessly to the floor, for now, but Sam wouldn’t have placed any bets on the net holding him for too long.

Sam was a good shot, perhaps (if he’d been forced to admit it) not quite as good as Dean, but practiced enough to miss only very rarely. Shooting while running though, was a lot harder. He didn’t want to hit Castiel if he could help it.

Instead, Sam waited until he was only ten feet or so away, and dropped to one knee. Taken by surprise at his action, the guards took just a split second too long to turn their weapons on him. Exhaling in calm concentration, Sam re-shouldered his gun and took out three guards in quick succession, one bullet apiece.

As if anticipating his move, Gabriel appeared to almost materialize spontaneously in front of Sam, though Sam knew he’d been running behind him a moment ago.

The fourth guard got his gun up in time, firing off a suspiciously shiny, silver round.

He heard Castiel yell out a warning, but Sam was too late to do anything but duck as Gabriel took the hit.

A roar of pain erupted from Gabriel, and the room flashed with white light as his eyes angrily flared with grace. By the time Sam looked up, the guard was a smoking corpse, and Castiel was shaking his way out of the net.

Gabriel huffed air out from between his teeth, looking down in angry fascination at his limp, bloodied right arm. The shot had gone deep, burrowed down into his bicep. “Angel blade bullets?” he hissed in slight surprise.

Castiel nodded, straightening up and stepping over to them, “unfortunately yes. Crowley created them a few years back, it seems like he’s not the only one to have them.”

Sam came to Gabriel’s side, frowning slightly, “why did you do that? You didn’t have to jump in front of me.”

As he spoke, Sam braced Gabriel against the wall. Without a blade to hand, Sam scrunched his nose up in displeasure and began to dig around for the bullet with his bare fingers.

Gabriel snarled in displeasure at the sensation and jerked his arm, but let Sam continue.

“We didn’t both survive our imprisonment and torture so I could let you get shot, Sam,” Gabriel pointed out slightly testily.

“Oh, and you getting shot is okay?” Sam snapped back, desperately trying to ease his fingers around the smooth, silver angel-killing bullet.

“I’m an angel,” Gabriel grumbled.

“And this is an angel-killing bullet,” Sam’s exasperated response was punctuated by Gabriel’s yell as Sam managed to clamp his fingers tight enough around the melted-down piece of angel-blade to begin wiggling it.

Castiel was watching them with a curious frown, but seemed to choose that moment to interrupt deliberately, before a genuine argument started. “Even once you get that bullet out, it’s going to take a while to heal. Wounds from angel-blades aren’t like regular injuries for angels. Perhaps you two should stay here--”

“No,” Sam interrupted firmly, “I know you’re pissed at Faith, Cas, but we all deserve a hand in killing that bitch. Especially me.”

Gabriel shuddered and groaned low in his throat as the bullet emerged, wiggled out into Sam’s palm.

Sam could only assume that low strings of cuss words were coming from Gabriel’s mouth, but whatever it was, it wasn’t English. Castiel looked somewhat scandalized, however.

Pulling in some deep breaths, Gabriel hauled himself up from where Sam had him braced against the wall. “Let's get this done. We’re almost there. I can smite with one hand, and there’s no way either of you are stopping me.”

All three of them exchanged looks of varying levels of annoyance before moving wordlessly on through the corridors.

The main building was a lot emptier than Castiel expected; there had been gunshots and yelling, but yet their route to what Sam referred to as the main hall was clear and silent.

Gabriel’s arm dripped a trail of red on the floor behind them, like grotesque bread crumbs in a nursery rhyme, but there was nothing to be done about it. They didn’t have anything to bandage it with; Castiel’s large hiking bag, along with Dean’s, was back near the blood-lake. Occasionally Gabriel grimaced, the wound clearly bothering him, but he remained silent as they approached.

They stood outside a wooden double door. It didn’t fit correctly, as nothing did in the shoddy, bare construction of these buildings, and light escaped under the bottom of it. Castiel gestured towards it silently, and Sam and Gabriel nodded. They both understood that if the room was lit, it was likely occupied.

Castiel stretched his arms out to the side, and Sam could have sworn that he felt a slight buzz go through his body as an angry burst of grace lit Castiel’s eyes for a second. The seraph was quiet, almost murderously so, Sam thought.

Coordinating with a series of glances and nods, Gabriel went in first. He was familiar to everyone within, and looked injured; they might underestimate him if they didn’t know his drained grace had been returned.

Hearing a loud burst of confusion and anger from several people, Sam and Castiel took their chance to dash in.

The room was chaos. Gabriel was angry, that much was certain; trapped and tortured by these people, he didn’t seem overly inclined towards mercy.

Sam held back, briefly watching with fascination - for most of the time Sam had known of Gabriel, he had seemed trickster-like and not very angelic at all. He’d been easy to underestimate, Sam supposed, but even those tricks - and the number of times Gabriel had everyone convinced he was dead - showed how highly intelligent and powerful Gabriel actually was. By comparison, this vengeance-fueled Gabriel was terrifying.

The room had plenty of furniture - chairs and tables and long benches where people sat and plans were made. Gabriel swept it all to the side, crashing against the walls of the room like he was parting the Red Sea. He stalked up through the middle of the newly-cleared floor to stand in the center of the room.

Being down one hand didn’t seem to be hindering him much. Three demon-guards - some of Crowley’s defectors, Sam guessed - clustered around a low chair at one end of the room. Faith Hawley sat watching Gabriel with a cold, careless smile.  She was a petite woman, easily shielded by the burly demons, and she seemed unfazed as she watched them sacrifice themselves. The demons flew one-by-one into Gabriel’s outstretched hand, black smoke pouring out of them with agonized, furious yells. The remaining bodies were tossed aside, ignored.

Castiel, Sam noted, was heading straight past Gabriel towards Faith. Her eyes stayed on Gabriel, but with a flick of her wrist, Castiel was pulled into her orbit. He landed on his knees in front of her, his lip curled into a snarl. He fought back instantly, staggering against her magic with a strength that was surprising in human form.

“Why aren’t you dead yet, Castiel?” she chirped cheerfully, her voice oddly sweet, “you have this habit of coming back again, don’t you?”

All eyes on the angels, Sam took his chance with his gun. Taking aim at Faith, he let loose a couple of shots. Her eyes turned at the last moment to take him in, drawn by the movement of the gun barrel as he raised it. Her finger movements were subtle, the casual disregard of an extremely proficient magic user.

The bullets seemed to spin in midair without losing momentum, turning back towards Sam--

Wait. Sam slowly registered. How were the bullets going slow enough that he could see them turn?

The air around him was thick and syrupy, and it took a moment for Sam to realize that it was Gabriel’s doing.

Logically, Sam had known that Gabriel was an archangel, and one remarkably adept at warping reality and bending time to his will. But seeing it in action was something else.

Bored of the game, it seemed, Gabriel walked away from the three exorcised demons and up towards the chair where Faith Hawley sat. Everything seemed frozen as time slowed and moved around him. Castiel was on his knees to Gabriel’s right, in front of Faith, and it seemed to be all he could do to turn his head slightly up to observe his brothers approach.

Gabriel glowed with grace, white-hot around his edges like a beacon, and he turned his head to look at Sam with a wink. He seemed to have pulled what looked like a cheap, plastic kazoo out of nowhere, to Sam’s confusion.

“Close your eyes, Sammy-boy,” he almost purred, “and plug your ears.”

Sam watched Gabriel take in  a deep breath. He quickly obeyed, doubling over, slamming his hands over his ears and closing his eyes.

Chapter Text

Sam’s jaw buzzed and his ears rang like someone had fired a starting gun next to his eardrum. He blinked uneasily as he slowly raised his head, his vision swimming. Vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder, he followed up the arm to grip the shoulder of its owner, feeling a little unsteady.

Gabriel was crouched down on the floor level with him, his lips moving, though Sam had to focus hard past the throbbing, ringing sound to begin to understand what he was saying.

“…shit. I’m sorry, Sam. Are you okay?”

Gabriel looked very tired, Sam registered, and was wobbling in his crouch.

“Me?” Sam asked with a slight smile, reaching to grip Gabriel’s other shoulder, steadying them both. “Are you okay?”

Gabriel chuckled, showing his teeth in a somewhat relieved grin, “We’re a pair, right now. I may have overextended a little, given how depleted my grace was.”

“So now you’re beat,” Sam nodded. “Cas has done that before, I get it.”

Carefully raising himself up to stand, Sam stooped and eased one arm around the shorter man’s ribs, hauling him up alongside him. They leaned on each other, both seeming to find the situation mildly amusing.

“You realize we look drunk,” Sam pointed out, smoothing the front of what was left of Gabriel’s tatty prisoner scrubs, covered in rips and assorted blood.

“Well, I want a drink for real when we get out of here,” Gabriel commented firmly, turning to look at Sam. “How’s your head? I’m sorry, really. My horn is a kinda loud, I thought just covering your ears would be enough.”

Sam shook his head from side to side, wincing at the constant, wave-like sound in his ears. “I’ll live, I think. I feel like I’ve been at the world’s loudest rock concert.”

“Silly, squishy human,” Gabriel nudged at Sam’s shoulder with his own.

“Dumb, overconfident angel,” Sam fired, nudging him back.

Still steadied by Gabriel and supporting him back in turn, Sam moved his head to release his stiff neck. He looked around, taking in the previously full room. His eyes widened slowly.

“Gabriel, what did you do? Where’s Cas?” he blinked, looking around at the completely empty room. Every single person, every single body, even the furniture was just…gone.

Gabriel shrugged nonchalantly, taking a few tentative steps towards the door, pulling Sam along with him. “I sent them all somewhere that we’ll never hear from them again. Castiel is tearing apart the rest of the building for stress relief.”

Sam looked at him flatly, “The whole room? You sent…” his voice trailed off slightly for a second before he offered Gabriel a slightly nervous chuckle. “I’m glad we're friends now. You can be a little scary, you know.”

Gabriel snorted, winking at Sam. “Me? I’m a puppy. You should spend some time with Michael.”

“I’ll pass. We should find Cas, though. He has a habit of getting himself in trouble, and Dean would never forgive me if--” Sam’s voice cut off suddenly, catching himself.

Giving Sam’s shoulder a firm squeeze, Gabriel nodded to the door. “C’mon, Samster. Let’s get out of here and see if my baby bro is willing to give you a little juice-up, make your ears stop ringing.”

Letting go of each other, they began to move slowly but steadily towards the double doors they had originally entered through. After they had walked only a few steps, Gabriel raised his uninjured arm in front of Sam. He spread his hand out on Sam’s chest to stop him moving forward.

“Hear that Sammy?” Gabriel had his head cocked.

Sam fixed Gabriel with a sour look. “Really?”

“Hey,” Gabriel began defensively, “I actually wasn’t—”

He was cut off by the double doors being kicked wide open, a spray of bullets raining through the space between them like silver hail. Sam didn’t have time to count the men, only register their shiny black eyes as he dove to the floor.

Gabriel’s wings flew about them both like a shield, but the archangel panted and gave a pained grunt at the effort. “Knew this place was too empty. Sam, I’m really—I can’t—”

The transparent wings shuddered as if the exhausted angel was struggling to keep them in their shadow-like form. The demons had time and opportunity to aim better now, and Gabriel roared as the next cascade of bullets tore at his long, incorporeal feathers.

Gritting his teeth, Sam turned his body towards the demons within Gabriel’s wing-hold, taking a deep breath as he raised his hand. He’d wanted to avoid using the magic the demon-blood would give him access to, but it wasn’t a principle he was prepared for them to die over.

“I’ve got this one, Gabe.”

***

Castiel moved along the outside of the building, his ears poised for any noise. Gabriel had a rather vengeful sense of justice, on occasion. He couldn’t begrudge his brother the payback, given what he had been through, but it left Castiel with an unresolved urge to punch something in the face. It was childish, it was almost human, but he was certain it’d help him feel better.

He knew Dean would have understood. He had some of the same warrior's instinct that Castiel did; to protect, to fight, to avenge. He’d understand that sometimes Castiel didn’t want to rationalize, despite his celestial nature; sometimes he wanted to ease his frustration with his fists or his blade.

But Dean was gone, and Castiel had no one else he cared to justify himself to, in the moment. Sam would probably try to talk about it, and Castiel wasn’t ready to talk about Dean to Sam. There was a whole ocean of things that he felt he couldn’t address. Sam hadn’t known how he felt about Dean, certainly didn’t realize that they’d made such a shift in their relationship since he was taken. Castiel didn’t feel that it was his place to tell him, either. That should have been up to Dean.

He’d cleared out the few other guards – two vampires and a ghoul – that he’d sensed in the building, before heading outside. He knew, with certainty, that there were more demons here. He could smell their stench in the breeze, and an operation the size that the Hawley’s had built for their plans needed more than the handful of guards they’d already cleared. She would have wanted to give Lucifer an army, Castiel knew without a doubt. So, where were they?

Not for the first time (on just this day, never mind the rest of the time), Castiel was frustrated that his wings were broken. A few years back, he could have covered this whole compound at a truly startling speed. Now he was forced to trudge through the mud like a human, and didn’t make his mood any better.

Looping around the building, something began to pull at the edge of Castiel’s consciousness. As an angel, he could sense and smell demonic influences and dark magic long before they were in his line of sight, and something was tugging at him now; a sense of wrongness building up towards the front of the building.

Castiel turned on his heel and began to run back towards the front door of the main building – more guards must have finally been alerted, he guessed, and they were now swarming to Faith’s usual location to protect her from the intruders, unaware that Gabriel had moved her out of this timeline entirely.

Oddly, he missed the flap of his trench coat around him as he ran. It would have been strangely comforting now, as would his angel blade. Not that he needed it, but he preferred it to a rifle any day.

The closer he ran to the building entrance, the stronger the sense of vile wrongness grew. He could feel magic prickling unpleasantly at his skin, and as he grew closer, he heard screaming.

***

Sam stood with a hand outstretched. His fingers splayed wide, the tendons in the side of his neck popped with effort and sweat dripped down his forehead. There were too many demons; he’d never gone up against this many before, not like this.

Black smoke swirled amongst the screams he drew from their vessels, using the powers that imbibing demon blood gave him to send them en-masse back to Hell.

His eyes blacked out, Sam looked one step away from a demon himself.

Gabriel no longer shielded them; none of the demons had the presence of mind to be firing at them anymore. Instead, he was slumped back on the floor, collapsed back on the elbow of his good arm and looking up at Sam with a mixture of surprise and awe. His wings were tucked back to invisibility, no energy left to manifest them.

His voice rough and weak where his magic was not, Sam began chanting as the writhing mess of black smoke circled overhead.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanic potestas…”

Sam staggered. The crowd of demons was an obscene number. He felt a hand at the base of his back; Gabriel was on his knees, holding Sam up as best he could from his position. His voice joined Sam’s, higher in pitch but stronger, weaving a rhythmic melody to the exorcism that might have been pretty without the backing track of agonized screaming.

“Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

Sam grunted - a low struggle in the back of his throat - but as Gabriel crawled up to his feet beside him, he managed to continue. Blood began to leak from Sam’s nose, but Gabriel grabbed at his hand as they chanted, swaying, and Sam ignored trickle.

“Ergo, omis legio diabolica, adiuarmuus te… cess decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae perditionis venenum propinare…”

They stood together, unsteady but determined. Hand in hand, they recited the exorcism and held each other up against the worst of the howling wind that was buffeting them, the demonic smoke circling to make a veritable tornado in front of them.

“Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis… Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine…”

Feeling weaker as the magic surged, unfamiliar with controlling it after so many years, Sam stumbled into Gabriel.

He became aware of flashes of light on the other side of the crowd of demons, the sound of gunfire, angry yelling.  He heard his name, though he couldn’t be sure who called it.

Another voice, deep and gravelly, picked up the exorcism he had begun. Sam felt lightheaded, blood from his sockets darkening his vision. Drips of fluid from his ears and nose flowed steadily, streaking his face red.

“Quem inferi tremunt… Ab insidiis diabolica, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, adui nos.”

The screaming came to a crescendo as the last words were spoken.

Sam found himself thinking about Dean as everything went to peaceful black.

***

It took the combined efforts of Castiel, Gabriel and Crowley to get their whole motley crew back to the road. Sam was out cold at first, overexerted from the demon-blood magic that had most likely saved their lives. Gabriel was drained, not helped by the gunshots to his wings and his wounded arm from the angel-killing bullet. Castiel came out unscathed - at least physically.

Crowley could only teleport them one at a time, and even he seemed a little stretched from doing so much. When he arrived with Castiel, he deposited him next to Claire, who was sat by the side of the road minding the Prius. On the bench next to her, as respectfully as he had been able to at the time, Crowley had lain out Dean’s body.

Wordlessly, Castiel moved to slip his arms under Dean’s knees and ribs, curling him up to his chest. He moved towards the car, and something in him finally broke at the sight of it.

Dean should be going home in Baby.

Not this pastel-blue monstrosity he hated so much. Jody had done them a great favor to find them a vehicle at such short notice when they were stranded, and Castiel was grateful. But when Faith Hawley had stolen Baby, it was like she’d stolen Dean’s dignity.

And now Castiel had to take him home one last time, in this.

I didn’t protect him, and I can’t even give him what he deserves when he’s dead.

Castiel shifted Dean's weight to one side, freeing up a hand as he neared the car. Castiel’s arms trembled, though Dean weighed nothing to him, as he wrenched open the door of the back seat. He didn’t lay Dean down, instead sliding into the car himself and keeping Dean cradled to him, his hands fisted in Dean’s shirt.

That was where he was, still, when Crowley arrived with Sam. It had taken him a while to wake Sam (if his woozy, uncoordinated state could be considered awake), and Castiel hadn’t moved an inch.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly and he lurched unevenly forward to go to Castiel, but Claire caught his arm and pulled him back.

Castiel’s sobs shook his body, the raw sound of him filling the car and spilling beyond its confines into the night air. He rocked back and forth, clutching at Dean with a desperation that seemed unholy. Streams of words came from his mouth, a language unknown to most but causing Gabriel to turn his back to the car, as if they physically hurt him to hear.

Sam, Gabriel, and Crowley made quiet plans, they called Charlie at the bunker, they gave him all the time they could.

All the while, Castiel wept like he was broken.

Eventually, Claire slipped into the back seat next to him, awkwardly shifting Dean’s legs. She reached for Castiel’s hand. He let her hold it, and they drove.

Chapter Text

The journey back to the bunker was rough for Gabriel.

Crowley had poofed, headed back home to deal out his punishment to all the rogue demons that Sam, Gabriel, and Castiel had returned to Hell.

That left Castiel and Claire in the back seat with Dean, and Sam sleeping in the front. Gabriel had to drive, which wasn’t his favorite human activity in the first place, even less so when he felt so drained.

His wings twitched and ached, slowly recovering from being shot-up by the barrage of bullets from the demons. His injured arm, while getting stronger, still hurt like a bitch. He drove listlessly with one hand on the wheel, trying to fight through the exhaustion tearing at him. It would take days for his grace to come back completely, he could tell.

Castiel didn’t say a word as they headed out of Indiana. He barely looked away from Dean, completely closed in on himself even when his tears had dried. Eventually, he seemed to lull into something like sleep, though occasionally he’d twitch awake and resume his watch over Dean.

Sam’s emotions were completely overtaken by demon blood, but Castiel’s were erupting from him so vividly that Gabriel could feel them.

Castiel’s grief sat in the car with them like a sixth person, taking up too much space and making it hard for them to breathe. Gabriel felt the sorrow radiating from Castiel without even looking. When he sought out his brother in the rearview mirror, it was spelled out physically too. Castiel slumped, his vessel looking older than it had that morning. His wings, already ruined, drooped sadly. The remaining feathers were flat and dull, totally immobile. Castiel’s grace was dim, the power it held seeming to lose some of its usually bright sparkle.

This is why so many of us don’t feel, little brother. I’m so sorry. And Gabriel found that he really was sorry. Because as much as he would have warned him against it if he’d had the chance, Gabriel understood Castiel’s choice to be here with the Winchesters. He related to Castiel’s love of humans, his want to experience things as they did, to love and to lose.

Claire kept hold of Castiel’s hand for hours, until she too finally fell asleep. Between being shot and then healed, and then taking the camp and dealing with Dean’s body, it had been a long day.

Gabriel would have stopped at the first motel he came across, but in between his fitful spells of sleep, Sam begged him quietly to just take them ‘home’.

He wondered at the word, home. Heaven had been Gabriel’s home once, but not for hundreds of years. He had nowhere to go, himself. Sure, he could head to Vegas or Reno, take a trip to Paris or Rome. But instead, he decided to accompany Sam to the bunker. For now.

Managing to get directions out of Sam in his lucid moments, Gabriel drove through the night and most of the morning. It was around 11 am when Sam started shaking. He began to pull over, concerned, but Sam urged him on.

“Gotta get home. It’s gonna get worse.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows met in the middle, a silent question.

“The demon blood. The withdrawals are--they’re bad.”

In his half-sleep, Sam thrashed and mumbled. Gabriel paid no heed to speed limits, cutting hours off their journey in his desperation to get out of the car. It was filled with misery, the air thick with tension and now Sam’s low groaning. Gabriel’s grace was slowly beginning to recharge, he could feel it growing softly inside him, but it wasn’t enough to heal their wounds.

“Gabe.”

He looked over at Sam again. The much taller man was sweating profusely, his usually jaw length hair hanging longer and plastered to him wetly. He was pale, with dark rings already beginning under his eyes. The dried blood that covered his face lay untouched, Sam having neither the energy or the care to wipe at it.

Gabriel reached across, grabbing at Sam’s knee. “What? What do you need?”

“Knock me out. Please.”

Gabriel frowned, opening his mouth to ask a question, but Sam didn’t let him get it out.

“I can hear...its not real. Dean is talking to me, Gabe. Please knock me out.”

Realizing then that Sam had begun to hallucinate, Gabriel reached over into the passenger seat and touched two fingers to Sam’s head. He put him straight to sleep, using the little grace he had regained to spare Sam any further pain.

Sam slumped against the seat, silent, and Gabriel plowed through the last couple of hours to the bunker.

***

Even though it had been a couple of weeks, Gabriel still didn’t trust the coffee maker. When the others used it, it produced delicious substances that he was quite fond of. But it was like the beast in the bunker only responded to those it knew. Nonetheless, he made his best attempt, knowing Sam would appreciate the effort as well as the caffeine.

They’d had a tough time since they got back. Gabriel had been unprepared for the severity of Sam’s detox from the demon blood. Castiel seemed familiar with it, and gave assistance, but other than helping Sam he was nowhere to be found.

When Sam’s hallucinations and magical seizures began in earnest, Gabriel had been forced to strap him to a bed in the bunker’s dungeon. The fits made Sam fly up against the walls, screaming and choking on his own tongue. It was awful to watch, yet Gabriel had stayed. He watched over Sam and tried to soothe him, humming soft tunes he’d once heard as the stars were born. He didn’t know what else to do.

Finally, towards the end of the second week, the withdrawal symptoms began to subside. Then, the grief showed.

Sam hadn’t been able to process losing his brother, still buzzed on blood. Gabriel didn’t think about this much until he heard noises in the bunker gym at three am one morning. Seeing Sam working out, punching the bag over and over, he chose to view it as a sign of recovery.

It happened three nights in a row, until on the fourth night, Gabriel went by to see Sam on his knees on the floor. He was being held by the sassy redhead Gabriel had come to like, Charlie, who had announced she was staying until “ this mess” was sorted. Both she and Sam held each other, sobbing.

Gabriel had slipped away in silence, still not knowing what to do.

“Hello,” Castiel offered very quietly, snapping Gabriel out of his reverie at the coffee machine.

Turning to face him, Gabriel folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side. “Good morning, old bean. Where have you been holed up?”

“I, uh,” Castiel cleared his throat, but then shrugged. “I stayed in Dean’s room. For a while.”

He didn’t mention that he hadn’t washed the sheets, because they still smelled as they had the last night they’d spent there together. He didn’t say that the sweatpants he wore were Dean’s, or that he felt like he’d lost all purpose.

Instead,  Castiel just elbowed Gabriel aside and said, “you make terrible coffee. Charlie and Sam hate it, but they’re too polite to say so.”

“Oh. I suspected as much.”

A few minutes passed in semi-comfortable silence, listening to the hiss and drip of the coffee maker. When it was done, the dark liquid pooling in the jug, Castiel began to pour into the waiting cups.

“I’ve tried to think of every way into Hell that doesn’t involve flying or contacting Crowley,” Castiel murmured, his gaze fixed firmly on the countertop. He studied the damp little rings left from the coffee mugs.

Gabriel was silent, holding the drinks. He studied the back of Castiel’s head, waiting.

“There’s only one way I can think of to get down there,” Castiel eventually finished, turning to look at Gabriel somewhat apprehensively.

Gabriel met his blue eyes unflinchingly. “You know that there’s a very high risk that—”

“I know,” Castiel interrupted, low.

“You’re sure you want to do that?” Gabriel pressed, “I’ll do it. But only if it’s really what you want.”

Castiel stared back at Gabriel in silence. A minute passed before Gabriel sighed.

“Okay. I saw your memories. I know there’s no fighting you on this, you’re so gone for that human it's vaguely nauseating.  But—” Gabriel held up a finger. “—you’re telling Sam the truth. Explain the risk to him, or I won’t send you.”

“It’s my choice to—” Castiel began, but Gabriel wouldn’t let him finish.

“And it’s Sam that’ll be left here if you don’t make it back. I like Sam, Castiel. I’m not going to let you make that choice without telling him the truth.”

Castiel exhaled slowly, his tired eyes dropping down to the two mugs Gabriel held. “How is he?”

“Still rough,” Gabriel admitted, “Charlie had to get me to strap him back to the table again. It’ll be a few more days, at least.”

***

Sam was pale, his skin sallow but no longer sweaty, and his eyes could focus. He shuffled into the war room slowly. Charlie was alone, sat at the table. She had her ankles crossed up on western Canada, her laptop balanced on her thighs as she squinted ferociously at it.

She looked up as Sam quietly entered.

“Research?” He asked softly.

“Of course,” Charlie pulled out a seat next to her, nodding to Sam. “How’re you feeling, Linda Blair?”

“I did not look like the Exorcist kid,” Sam protested weakly, knowing full well that he had, “but I’m…good, I think. I feel like shit still, but the hallucinations are gone, and the cravings have subsided.”

Charlie smiled at him warmly. “It’s good to see you up and about. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed as he lowered himself jerkily into a seat. “Thanks for staying kid. Without you and the angels, I don’t know if I’d have made it through that.”

“I’m just glad you’re back,” Charlie responded warmly, carefully tip-toeing around what it had cost them, “and you got yourself a guardian angel while you were away.”

Charlie grinned slightly at Sam over the top of her laptop, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“I feel like Gabriel would object to that label,” Sam began to laugh, but the sound quickly caught in his throat and turned into a hacking cough. He grimaced, exhaling carefully.

Nudging a water bottle across the table towards Sam with a frown of concern, Charlie’s response was quiet and measured. “I’m not sure that he would, actually, Sam.”

They exchanged a look for a moment, but Sam quickly dropped his gaze and focused on sipping at the water.

Keys began tapping softly as Charlie sensed the roadblock in the conversation. She returned to her research for a second, entering something into Google.

“How’s Cas?” Sam ventured. He’d barely seen the angel since they’d left Indiana.

“He’s doing a little better, I think,” Charlie offered cautiously. “I think—” She paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully, “—I think he and Gabriel have some kind of plan to get Dean back. But it has to be a bad one, or they would have told us.”

Sam frowned. “Sounds like Cas,” he commented after a moment, unable to help a smile.

“What sounds like me?” Castiel moved into the war room through the doorway that led out into the library.

It was strange to Sam, seeing him walk around the bunker in comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants. When Sam had started coming around more clearly in the dungeon, Castiel had explained everything that had gone down while he was imprisoned. He told him how they’d tracked the Hawleys, how Baby had been stolen, how his grace had been drained. So Sam knew that Castiel’s trench coat had gone up in flames while he and Dean were hunting for him in Indiana, but it was strange to see even so.

“Uh—” Sam cleared his throat, bringing his attention up to Castiel’s eyes as he moved towards them. “Sounds like you have a plan, is what we were saying. But a bad one, as you’ve been reluctant to tell anyone.”

Castiel eyed them all flatly. Sighing, he lowered himself into the seat next to Sam. He raised his eyes slightly heavenward and called, “Gabriel.”

With an almost imperceptible fluttering sound, Gabriel appeared behind his chair. He was eating a sandwich, a good chunk of it pouched up in his cheek like a chipmunk. “You called?” he said around the food, giving an exaggerated bow.

Castiel wrinkled his nose up at him. “How can you eat those?”

Gabriel shrugged, dropping into the seat at the head of the table. “You get used to it. Give it a few more hundred years Cassie, you’ll be craving bologna. I assume you didn’t call me to criticize my snack choices?”

“You and Castiel have some kind of plan to retrieve Dean from Hell,” Charlie spoke up, snapping her laptop shut. She folded her arms across her chest, fixing them both in turn with a power stare, “and you’re going to tell us what it is, now.”

“Cas?”

Sam’s voice was cautious, rather than hopeful. If anyone knew something about the true costs of coming back from Hell, it was Sam.

Gabriel and Castiel exchanged a look. Gabriel lowered himself into the chair next to Sam, still chewing. He waited, looking at Castiel.

“I think I may have a way to get Dean out,” Castiel said, speaking to his hands on the table, “but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Sam tilted his head, silent.

“I can’t fly,” Castiel held up a hand, ticking off his fingers as if he had a list, “we can’t get Crowley to help without breaking the contract, Billie won’t help, and the warehouse entrance up north is long sealed.”

Castiel looked up and pointed to Gabriel.

“But we have an archangel. One who is quite skilled at bending reality to his will,” Castiel began again. “The Cage is in the outer ring of Hell. It’s on the very edge of Crowley’s control. If Gabriel were to fly me to the planes beyond, I could probably travel to the cage.”

Sam sat up, nodding slowly, “Okay… so what am I missing here? That sounds very simple.”

“Go on, Cassie,” Gabriel threatened, low. “Tell him how our vessels can’t set foot in the outer ring of Hell.”

Castiel flicked his eyes at Gabriel with some annoyance, before looking back to Sam. “My vessel is corporeal. Solid, human. It can’t go to Hell. I could walk in Crowley’s realm, in the spaces he controls. But out in the far reaches of Hell, true Hell, where the demons without vessels and other beasts reside – physical beings can’t go there.”

“Okay,” Sam stated again, waiting.

“I plan to leave my vessel and travel with Gabriel in my true form,” Castiel explained.

Sam blinked. “Oh. Well, that sounds…” seeing Gabriel’s expression, Sam stopped.

“Castiel’s vessel is dead,” Gabriel supplied for him. “He can carry Dean’s soul wrapped in his true form just like he did once before. But once he gets back to Earth, his vessel no longer has the ability to consent.”

Everyone was staring at Castiel now, but Gabriel kept talking.

“Oh, and what about the part where the bloodline of Ishmael, now the Novak family, ends with Claire.  She’s the only one left. There’s no one left for Castiel after Jimmy, as he refuses to even consider entering Claire.”

There was silence around the table for a minute, before Charlie softly broke it.

“So what does that mean, Castiel?”

“It means that once I bring Dean back, we don’t know if I’ll be able to repossess Jimmy, and if I can’t, then I have nowhere else to go. I could try to go back to Heaven, if they’d let me in. Otherwise, I’d be adrift.”

“Adrift?” Sam echoed quietly.

“No body, no home,” Gabriel filled in. “He’d roam Earth in his true form, unseen and alone. Usually, it’s a punishment. Castiel would be choosing it.”

There was a moment of tense silence before Sam spoke up.

“Cas, you know I want Dean back more than anything, but…” he shook his head, “I can’t let you do that, buddy. Dean wouldn’t want you to risk it either.”

Castiel’s chair scraped sharply as he stood up, his words biting.

“I am not asking your permission, Sam. I’m not going to do it behind your back, but this is my choice. I’d prefer to do it with you - if not, I’ll do it alone.”

Sam, Gabriel, and Charlie were left around the table in stunned silence.

Chapter Text

Charlie hefted open the iron door that served as the main entrance to the bunker. She immediately offered up her arms, taking some of the bags and boxes that Claire and Jody were laden down with.

“Claire, Jody – you got here fast!”

Jody smiled around the edge of the unlabeled box she held out toward Charlie. “I’m supposed to be an officer of the law, you know. Didn’t want to wait around and get caught with all this junk.”

“Right,” Charlie agreed with a grimace. “Sorry about that. Thanks for helping though.”

Charlie stepped aside to admit the two women into the cool bunker. She placed the bags she’d taken from them on the floor for a moment, to ensure the heavy door locked behind them.

Claire progressed down the steps into the bunker without direction. She was as at home here now as either of the other women seemed to be.

“So, Red,” Claire called back over her shoulder as the small group navigated toward the war room, “are you going to tell me why you’ve got me breaking into abandoned hospitals now?”

“With a shopping list, at that,” Jody glared somewhat at Claire, but she seemed resigned.

“Yeah, uh…sorry again, Jody.” Charlie made the effort to sound a lot sorrier than she looked, placing the baggage on the map table so that she could share a hug of greeting with Claire.

Charlie was a hugger, as Jody soon discovered, and there was no escaping it.

Looking through the items Jody and Claire had brought, Charlie explained, “Castiel is going to try and get Dean out of hell.”

Neither Jody nor Claire showed the slightest surprise. With a smirk, Charlie continued, “Totally unexpected, I know. But the thing is, he has to leave Jimmy to do it.”

Claire blinked down at the boxes, understanding. “So this… all this is to keep my dad’s body alive until he…gets back?”

Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, kind of. Is that weird?”

Claire was solemn but shook her head. “Less weird than it used to be. You said kind of?”

Before Charlie could reply, Gabriel strolled into the war room from the direction of the library. He had a lollipop stick poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Ooh, Crowley’s only friend returns!” he declared dramatically, walking over and slapping Claire on the back, before offering a hand to Jody. “Who’s this fine lady?”

“Jody Mills,” she offered, shaking his hand with a pleasant smile. “And you are?”

“The Archangel Gabriel, Trickster, messenger of God, blower of horns, wielder of swords, yadda yadda,” he grinned around the lollipop.

Jody’s jaw dropped a fraction. “Right. Well, uh, nice to meet you, Gabriel.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Gabriel preened, winking across at Charlie, “I’m a delight.”

“He’s an ass, is what he is,” came Sam’s voice from the doorway. “But we kinda like him anyway.”

After exchanging hugs with Jody, Sam led them all down to the infirmary. They spread the boxes and bags out between them, and he began to explain on the way.

“So get this, Castiel can basically flap his wings and pop out of Jimmy like a demon jumping bodies. But while he’s out, we need to make sure the body stays—” Sam cast an apologetic, nervous-looking side glance at Claire, “—uh, fresh, I guess.”

They moved towards the infirmary door, which was propped open and revealed Castiel inside. He was dressed in simple navy sweatpants and a white t-shirt and sat waiting on the edge of one of the beds.

“Great,” was Claire’s stony reply, nodding for him to continue.

“As Jimmy isn’t at home anymore,” Sam continued more carefully, “there’s technically nothing happening in Cas’ body. It’s just a shell. Now, Gabriel here--”

“That’s me!” the archangel piped up unnecessarily as they all filed into the infirmary.

“Gabriel,” Sam reiterated, rolling his eyes almost fondly, “can click his fingers and get the body working again. But without a soul in there, it’s still going to die. So…’

Sam came to a halt next to the hospital-style bed where Castiel sat.

“…we have to keep Jimmy in a coma until Cas returns.”

The look Sam gave to Castiel at the end of his speech was almost threatening, but Castiel said nothing to him. Instead, his gaze dropped back to where it had been sitting before, on the occupied bed to the other side of his.

Already in the infirmary, respectfully covered with a sheet, was Dean. Gabriel had taken charge when they got back to the bunker; none of them had inquired exactly what he had done to keep Dean so perfectly preserved. In their grief and exhaustion, it was enough to just be grateful. Castiel at least was pretty determined that Dean would need that body, soon enough.

The new arrivals looked uncomfortably at the Dean-shaped sheet. Silent, they edged around the other side of the bed to greet Castiel with tight hugs.

Once he had welcomed the girls, Castiel sat back down on the edge of his bed and held up his arms with an odd half-smile. “So – are we getting started?”

There were a series of unreadable exchanged looks all around the room, but no one voiced any actual objection.

“I suppose so,” Sam sighed, moving across to pull a monitor towards the bed from the edge of the room. It sat on top of a wheeled gurney and seemed antiquated but – as evidenced by the beep as Sam pressed a button on the side – functional.

“Do you know what you’re doing with that thing, Sam?” Jody enquired as she emptied out the various bags of tubes, drugs, and needles onto the bed next to Castiel.

“Well, I’ve researched it,” he confirmed half-heartedly, beginning to attach some of the new tubes.

“Comforting,” Castiel commented dryly, sitting back against the pillows.

“Gimme a break, I was pre-law, not pre-med,” Sam grumbled, “and that was over a decade ago.”

Picking up an IV bag, Claire moved helpfully around to the other side of the bed, reaching up to attach it to a wheeled hook that raised up above Castiel’s head. “We should call Alex,” she mused.

Jody snapped her fingers. “Of course! It’d only take her a couple hours at most to get here.”

“Alex?” Castiel enquired with a raised brow, holding out his arm as Sam swabbed it down with alcohol.

“She’s another one of Jody’s stray kids,” Claire explained with a grin toward the sheriff, “like me. She’s studying to be a nurse.”

“And unlike Claire, she actually studies,” Jody commented flatly.

Pulling an unamused face, Claire dug in her pocket for her phone. “You lot get all the stuff unpacked, I’ll call her. I bet she’ll practically run down here to insert the IVs and stuff, goody-two-shoes that she is.”

“Claire,” Jody chastised with a frown, which only earned her a poked-out tongue as Claire stepped out into the corridor.

“You’ve really got your hands full with that one, Jody,” Gabriel noted from his spot at the edge of the room, observing.

“Oh boy do I,” Jody agreed, with a slightly helpless smile. “Claire’s been through a lot. She’s a good kid, believe it or not. Just…”

“Difficult?” Castiel suggested with a slight smile.

“A bitch, on occasion,” Jody replied with a shrug. She folded her arms across her chest as she observed Sam’s efforts to clean both Castiel and the room surrounding him.

“I can still hear you,” Claire yelled from the hallway.

***

The rest of the team had taken a break from the infirmary, waiting for Alex to arrive, leaving Castiel and Sam alone.

Sam had his nose buried in an instruction manual for an old ventilation machine. He’d found one in a cabinet in the medical wing of the bunker. Which was lucky, as buying or stealing one of those would have been a lot more difficult than a handful of tubes and drugs. Castiel sat on the bed, his arms hugging his knees as he looked over at the bed where Dean rested.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had been between them, one that Sam hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

Frowning, he closed the instruction manual. Standing from his seat near the wall, he took the couple of steps that allowed him to lower to the bed next to Castiel’s feet.

“Cas, you don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not angry.”

“If I’d stayed with Dean when we came to retrieve you, none of this would have happened. We shouldn’t have split up.” Castiel’s voice was low, and he didn’t move his gaze.

“Well if I hadn’t gotten myself kidnapped it wouldn’t have happened either, Cas,” Sam shook his head, “Come on, buddy. We’ve both been down these roads before. We can’t play this game. You aren’t to blame and there’s nothing to apologize for.”

There was no agreement in Castiel’s eyes, but he at least turned to look at Sam, resting his chin on his forearms. “I’m going to bring him back. That’s what matters.”

“Of course,” Sam nodded, carefully not mentioning what it could cost. They had argued about that enough already.

Sam regarded Castiel with a sad smile. He shifted and lifted one of his knees up onto the bed so he could better face him.

“You’ve really taken this hard, Cas. I know Dean was your friend but…” Sam exhaled, tucking his hair back behind his ear, “I’ve never seen you like this before. I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”

“You shouldn’t be the one comforting me, Sam,” Castiel frowned. “You lost your brother.”

“Yeah, I did,” Sam agreed, reaching across to place a hand on Castiel’s crossed forearms, “and you know what, I’ve cried and struggled, and I still do daily. But I’ve had people help me. Charlie says you won’t talk to her about it, and Gabriel just changes the subject when I bring you up. So, I just wanted you to know,” Sam shrugged awkwardly, “that you can talk to me about it if you need to.”

Castiel parted his lips, but no sound came out. He sighed a few times, before just shaking his head.

“You just—” Castiel’s voice cracked. “You don’t know, Sam. You don’t understand what I lost.”

Sam looked hopelessly confused, reaching further across to squeeze at Castiel’s hunched shoulder in desperate comfort. “I can’t if you don’t tell me, Cas. Look, I lost my brother. Dean is the only person I’ve ever really had and there is no one on this earth I love as much as him. How can you think I don't understand?”

“Exactly, Sam,” Castiel lowered his head down to his forearms, curling inward in frustration. “Dean is your brother, and he should be the one to tell you. But now he can’t and I’m just--”

Castiel cut off, his hands making tight fists near his elbows.

“Dean’s my brother, but you’re my friend,” Sam responded calmly, keeping his hand resting on Castiel’s shoulder. “If you think I don't want to do whatever it takes to help you through your grief and anger in turn, then you don’t think much of me.”

“No, Sam, that’s not—” Castiel lifted his head, giving Sam a small smile. “Your support and friendship was never a question to me. Dean and I, just…” he sighed, “things were different. That’s all.”

“Different how?” Sam doggedly responded, “Dean isn’t going to tell me, Cas. Because Dean is dead. I may or may not get him back, and I might lose you too, over this crazy rescue attempt. So for god’s sake, one of you better tell me something.”

“I’m going to bring him back, Sam. You’ll have your brother back. I can’t leave him in Hell, Sam, I can’t. He means too much to me.”

“I know, Cas,” Sam roughly pulled the angel into an awkward hug, “You and Dean have always had that profound bond thing going on—”

“It’s more than that… I - I love him, Sam,” Cas interrupted against Sam’s shoulder, fearfully. “Gabriel knew. That’s why he – he didn’t want to tell you that, I guess. He didn’t want to tell you I was in love with your dead brother.”

Sam froze for a moment, just an instant, and Castiel wished he could see his face. Castiel tried to sit back up, pulling out of his grasp, but Sam wasn’t having any of it.

“And Dean?” Sam asked after a moment, into Castiel’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Castiel choked out quietly, not really feeling very certain of what Sam’s reaction actually was.

“So… were you….” Sam finally released Castiel, slowly sitting back to look at him. His words were very tentative. He sounded incredibly uncertain, worried he might have been misinterpreting something.

“Together, yes. We finally worked it out while you were being held, but…” Castiel’s smile at Sam was uncertain, “I think I’ve been in love with Dean since the first time I pulled him out of Hell. I just didn’t always know what it was.”

Sam looked a bit dazed.

“Boyfriends,” Sam stated after a little pause. “Right?”

Castiel was looking increasingly uncomfortable, and a small frown was beginning to pucker at his brow. “Yes, Sam... this seems repetitive. Am I to take you are not pleased?”

“Jesus, no,” Sam stammered quickly, looking concerned. “Don’t think that. You two being together - if that’s what makes you both happy, that’s great,” he reinforced, “I’m more than happy about that. Just a little bit surprised, honestly,” he admitted, “I guess my gaydar was off, huh.”

Castiel blinked, either not quite understanding or not knowing what to say.

“You said Gabriel knows?” Sam questioned, looking up so he faced Castiel straight on.

“Yes. Charlie, also.”

“So Gabriel and Charlie knew before I did?” Sam looked affronted.

“Claire too. But Charlie and Claire saw us when we were looking for you, and Gabriel looked inside my head, so—”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “You wait until you get Dean back, I’m gonna kick his ass. So not cool, being the last one to know that your own brother and best friend are hooking up. So not cool.”

“It should have been Dean’s place to tell you, Sam – it wasn’t that I didn’t want you to know,” Castiel looked stricken, “you don’t need another reason to be mad at me. I’m sorry, Sam. It wasn’t intended negatively.”

Sam reached over again, pulling Castiel back into another tight hug, this one actually accompanied with a smile. “Cas, it’s fine, I get it. If you were both happy, then that’s awesome – that’s the only thing that matters to me.  I'm really sorry that you lost the person you love, Cas. I didn’t know. But I do now, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Well,” Castiel responded weakly, “I’m going to get him back. So everything will be okay.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them sounded convinced, but in the peace, they let it go.

***

Everyone in the bunker gathered around Castiel’s infirmary bed. Charlie, Jody, and Claire lined up near Castiel’s feet, Sam and Gabriel by his side. Alex had him hooked up to various monitors, tubes snaking all around Castiel as he lay shirtless on the pillows. He watched her with a blank expression as she used some medical tape to secure an IV tube neatly up against his arm.

“So that’s everything?” Charlie questioned Alex, her nerves showing in the slight squeak of her voice.

Alex nodded. “As soon as you give me the go ahead,” she gestured to a thicker, flexible tube that was currently resting on Castiel’s chest, waiting, “I’ll get him connected to the ventilator and start the drugs. He’ll fall asleep very quickly. Then Gabriel and Castiel can do their thing, and we’ll be left here with Jimmy. Or—” Alex eyed Claire with a wince, “—what was Jimmy. Sorry.”

Claire frowned, “Can you all just stop doing that, please? I get it. That’s my dad’s body. But it’s Castiel now, and I care about him too, okay?”

The declaration drew an unexpected and slightly awkward smile from Castiel, though he didn’t mention it, keeping to the matter at hand. “I’m ready, then.”

Gabriel stepped up to the side of the bed, about to reach out towards Castiel, but Sam bumped him aside and got in the way. Reaching down over the bed, he enveloped Castiel in a tight hug that the angel wasn’t in a position to fight against.

The hug went on longer than anyone else expected, and there were a few slightly sad exchanged looks.

His face hidden between Castiel’s hair and his pillow, Sam whispered, “Don’t make me lose both of you, okay? Go get your boyfriend, Cas. Bring him back so I can tell him he’s hitting way out of his league.”

Castiel laughed quietly, his face looking relieved and more relaxed than he had for days. Bringing up a hand to Sam’s back, he squeezed tightly in return.

“Okay, Sam. You can let me go now.”

Sam grinned awkwardly, pulling back to step next to Gabriel.

“See ya, Castiel,” Charlie grinned, echoed quickly by Claire and Jody before all of them turned their attention to Gabriel.

“Alright, humans,” Gabriel grinned around. “This might get a little bright. I don’t know how much you’re going to see, actually,” he shrugged, “it depends on how perceptive you are, and how well you know the energy signature of what you’re seeing. So, who knows. But, if it gets a bit glowy, don’t fry your eyes out. Cassie would be all sad and we’ve already had enough of his grumpy wounded-puppy act for this year,” he glared down at Castiel.

Castiel threw Gabriel one last irritated look before nodding to Alex. She picked up something that looked like a long, slightly flat tube, almost like one might find on a small vacuum cleaner. “I’m going to intubate you for the ventilator now Castiel. It won’t be very comfortable, but it’s what is going to force air into Jimmy’s lungs while you’re out.”

Castiel nodded.

“Alright, baby bro,” Gabriel said more quietly, as Alex tilted Castiel’s neck a certain way and pushed the tube down his throat, earning cringes from almost everyone in the room, “we need to do this in exactly the right order. You hop out, Alex will start the ventilator and IVs, I’ll zap Jimmy’s heart to start, then I’ll grab you.”

There was an awkward nod from Castiel.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long minute, there was another nod from Alex. “Ready.”

Gabriel reached across to hold Castiel’s shoulder and smiled down at him, “Let’s go show Dean that pretty face,” he winked crudely, “not to mention the rest.”

There was a noise that might have been a chuckle from around the breathing tube before Jimmy’s body suddenly went lax.

The room brightened very suddenly. It wasn’t a blinding flash of grace like a smiting would produce – more like a sudden, dazzling sunrise. A strange sound, like high-pitched white noise, filled the room. Sam and the girls ducked instinctively as glass objects around the room suddenly smashed, shards flying through the air. Alex immediately ducked towards the machinery she was fiddling with; luckily, that stuff was made shatterproof for a reason.

For a split second, Sam could have sworn he saw the outline of bony, expanding wings on the wall beside the hospital bed. They grew bigger and bigger until he couldn’t perceive them. After, all he was left with was the unnerving sense that there was something else nearby; something otherworldly, something terrifying, and more than anything, something massive.

The room returned to normal, other than the odd feeling of presence, and Alex immediately began twisting dials and pressing buttons. They all watched Jimmy. Within a moment, a soft hissing and beeping began, and his chest rose. Alex looked relieved. The heart monitor to her left began to screech in warning – until Gabriel reached over, spreading a hand across Jimmy’s ribcage. Almost instantly, a heartbeat rolled across the black screen. The machines settled into a rhythmic beeping and hissing, and everyone around the room let out a relieved sigh.

Claire’s eyes were fixed oddly on the little green line that showed Jimmy Novak’s strong heartbeat. No one said anything when she excused herself from the room after a moment.

Gabriel turned his eyes upward as if he was looking at something that stretched far beyond the ceiling. “Come on Cas, scale down a bit bro. This isn’t a pissing contest, and even if it was, we all know I’m bigger than you,” he winked.

“Ahh—” Gabriel suddenly spoke again, “no cussing me out. You keep your mouth shut ‘til we’re out of here, you already shattered enough shit just letting Jimmy go.”

Sam and Charlie exchange an amused look and a small shrug.

“Uh, I guess this is where I say good luck, Cas,” Sam ventured, looking around helplessly, “Can’t see a thing but…”

Sam took a moment to look around the room, his brow creased with curiosity. Everything was the same as it had been minutes before, but the room felt full – too full.

“…I can kind of… feel you? I guess? Just hurry, okay? And come back.”

Everyone grinned as Sam’s hair suddenly flattened out and moved, ruffled around by an unseen force. He blinked, stifling a laugh. It felt like he’d been pat on the head by the end of a single, giant finger.

Gabriel smirked around at them, before reaching out as if grasping for something. With a flutter, he was gone. The room felt empty again.

Chapter Text

Gabriel’s wings were a dusky, glowing gold that only showed up in the most spectacular of sunsets. Castiel watched them with more than a little jealousy as Gabriel flew them both out of the bunker, climbing higher and higher into the sky.

The ‘zapping’ of an angel from one place to another seemed like teleportation to humans, Castiel knew. But his more advanced perception saw the instances between seconds where Gabriel's wings beat, and he could perceive their journey  as Gabriel could.

Hell was not a place, per se, it was a plane of existence. There were places in the world where the entrance was thin, and it could be accessed. Crowley's warehouse and Stull Cemetery were two that Castiel knew of. But in the years since the apocalypse, Crowley had been much more concerned with controlling what came in and out of Hell. Nothing should be leaving or entering without his say so. To that end, entrances had been carefully sealed and guarded.

Sam had asked Castiel once how an angel could fly into another plane of existence, or through things that he perceived to be solid.

Castiel had looked at him for a long time, trying to distill it down to its simplest essence.

The closest he got, though still not quite correct, was to tell him, “the atoms of angels act more like waves than those of humans. We aren’t solid in the same way that you are, particularly not at high speed. If an angel flies fast enough at something, we simply pass through it.”

Sam had creased his brow and never asked again.

But, that was exactly what was about to happen. Gabriel hauled Castiel by his arm, lifting them higher and higher above the bunker until it was merely a speck below them.

“Ready to go, little bud?” Gabriel grinned at Castiel, dangling below him, his own ripped and bony wings tucked against his body as Gabriel soared.

“Must you call me by such ridiculous names?” Castiel rolled his eyes. He felt Gabriel reaffirm his grip, beginning a series of powerful wing beats, building momentum.

“Yes, sweet baby bro, I must,” Gabriel replied matter-of-factly as he plummeted downwards, his wings sleekly tucked in, shining like a golden fighter-jet against the sky.

The journey only took seconds. Right when it looked as if they would hit the ground, their forms tore through the edge of a whole other plane, a fold in the world that a human wouldn't have been able to even perceive.

It was dark. Completely dark. If angels didn’t have an innate sense of their place in the world at any given moment, they would have been instantly lost.

Gabriel spread his wings wide, drawing them to a halt.

“Where are we?” Castiel didn’t recognize the feel of this place, its energy was almost absent, and it threw him.

“Oblivion,” Gabriel replied, oddly somber. “Between planes, I suppose you’d call it. This is what the universe was before it existed.”

Castiel blinked his huge, constellation-filled eyes in surprise.

Still gripping his brother tight, Gabriel closed his eyes. He turned his head this way and that, if trying to sense the direction they needed to go in to reach the very edge of Hell.

Castiel could feel his nerves building. He should have been nervous about entering hell without Crowley’s protection, and the danger of bringing Dean’s soul back on the return journey. Instead, to his own shame, he was most nervous of what Dean would think when he saw him.

***

Time passes very differently in Hell. Dean knew that, he remembered it. It even felt different in hell - the very air was thick and sluggish, time itself stuck to the skin making the heavy air feek almost humid. He hated it.

Because of the warping of time, Dean had reasoned when he first arrived that even if Sam and Castiel worked out how to save him, he had a long wait ahead. Everything was so slow here. One month on earth registered ten years in Hell, but the inhabitants felt every second.

Maybe it would take them weeks to come up with a solution at the bunker, or maybe months. Or maybe not at all, Dean resigned himself. He didn’t dare hope. Sam had lived, Castiel had lived. He was satisfied with that outcome, even if everything ended here.

At least there was no torture, this time. Crowley had done him a solid, on that front. He wasn’t here to become a demon. He simply watched and guarded.

The cage itself sat on a cliff in a rocky, distant part of hell. Everything was slightly red, everything was slightly cold. There was no fire and brimstone here; that was for the more active parts of hell. No one came here except the occasional black, wraith-like ghost of a demon without a body. They merely circled Dean, sensed that he could not be possessed, and left.

He stood well back from the cage - far enough that he didn’t hear the insane chatter that one of its inhabitants was prone to; Michael, he supposed. Lucifer had kicked up a huge fuss when Dean had arrived, overexcited to see someone he thought he could use. But Dean was useless to him without a body, and by the fifth year, he was silent.

Dean watched, never tiring, never moving. His only company was a shifting, magical sigil on the floor that he was to strike if ever there was a change in the cage. Even a suspicion of something the tiniest bit odd, Crowley had instructed, he was to strike the sigil. The waiting, immobile and alone, would have driven most people insane - Dean knew that eventually, the same would be said for him.

He’d lost track of time, but he thought it was some time in his eighth year when he sensed, more than saw, a spot on the horizon. Periodically his eyes would flicker into the blackness that existed where the rocks ended, waiting.

Long before he could see anything, he knew something was coming. For the first time in over half a decade, Dean smiled.

***

“Ready for this, Cassie?” Gabriel looked down to where Castiel dangled.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Why so nervous, kid?” Gabriel raised a brow, using his considerable strength to lift Castiel up in the thick air, so they could converse eye-to-eye.

Castiel didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes flicked to a shimmering wall before them, like a haze of heat coming off of hot tarmac. Beyond it, a red and rocky desert - in the distance, a metal shape that Castiel knew to be the cage.

“Nervous?” Gabriel ventured, not unkindly, for a change.

Bringing his eyes back to his brother’s human vessel, Castiel nodded. “Dean… he’s never seen an angel before. Of course. Not really, anyway. He doesn’t remember the lift from Hell last time, only the torture that proceeded it.”

“Ahh,” Gabriel nodded. “Well, I suppose telling him that you’re handsome by our standards isn’t going to help much, in the scheme of things.” Gabriel chuckled, poking out a finger to jab at one of Castiel’s shoulders.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of a jerk, Gabriel?” Castiel was suddenly glad he had three pairs of eyes to roll.

“Not often enough!” Gabriel trilled, stretching his arm out to lower Castiel down once more. “I think the cliche thing to tell you is that if Dean loves you, he won’t care. Especially as the other option is that he screams and runs.”

“See. A jerk.”

“It’ll be fine, Castiel. Conceal yourself, if you can manage it. Ease him into it. Or, here’s an idea,” Gabriel sounded almost sincere, “show him that you’re awesome. It’s not your fault humans are so three-dimensional.”

Swinging his arm back to build a  little momentum, Gabriel used all his power to throw Castiel’s true form at the barrier.

The red rocks zoomed in on Castiel as he tucked and rolled. He concentrated on keeping his form small, trying to lessen the impact - and hopefully make his arrival less noticeable. Who knew what - or who - could be waiting on the other side.

He heard Gabriel shouting behind him, “Good luck, Castiel! I’ll be waiting!”

Beating his wings dramatically, Gabriel shot back up and out of Oblivion as Castiel landed, rolling in the red dust just once before he found his feet.

Balling his fists as he reorganized his grace, Castiel shoved and visualized himself down to a familiar shape. It would take a little too much energy to hide his wings too, he decided, but he could cover the worst of them with memory.

Excitement and fear churned in Castiel’s stomach, but more than anything, he felt relief - because as soon as his feet had hit the floor, he had felt that tiny pull in the back of his mind. Dean was close.

***

Dean saw a flash from the corner of his eye, in the middle of the curtain of blackness that hung in the air. For the first time in years, he dared to fully turn his attention from the cage.

He stayed watching for days, waiting. At the end of a carefully counted week, a speck appeared. He couldn’t keep his eyes from it as it grew closer and developed a shape, a color. The cage and its vile inhabitants were forgotten.

Dean desperately wanted to abandon his post, to run out towards the dot in this distance. The dot that was now outlined as a familiar tan trench-coat against the black horizon. But he couldn’t - not until he was sure.

Leaving his post would alert the other guards of Hell that something was wrong, near the cage. He’d have to run, the second he dared leave.

Finally, after eleven days, he could clearly make out Castiel running towards him. Wings. I can see his wings...How long has he been running? Dean mused. He eyed the distance between them. I could cut it in half if I ran, too…

Dean didn’t have to worry about the lung capacity of a human body - he didn’t have one, here. Just a memory of himself that his soul shaped into. So he ran.

After a few minutes of running, he stifled a laugh.

Cas, he found the space in his mind where he could pray. I don’t know if you can hear me, but we look like one of those dumb movies where the kid and his dog bound toward each other across the hills.

Dean seemed to be ridiculous with relief. Understandable, after eight and a half years with only Michael’s occasional drivel for company.

Finally close, Dean and Castiel slowed their running. They walked towards each other with matching smiles.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen that movie, Dean.” Castiel greeted him very seriously.

Dean would have bit back with something witty, but it turned out that up close, he was stunned to silence by the wings. There were still a few steps left between them, but Dean came to a halt, overwhelmed.

Two giant, fully-feathered wings came from Castiel’s back. In the thick, heavy air of Hell, they looked like miracles. For a moment, something stirred in Dean - like a distant memory that he tried hard to catch. But whatever it was, it was long gone.

The feathers were huge, Dean realized. Even a single flight feather was the size of Dean’s leg. The more he looked at them, the more fantastical they became. At first glance, they appeared to be a very dark, smokey gray. As Dean moved closer he realized there was a shimmer to them, almost like flecks of light and white and color - no. As he stepped up before Castiel, he realized that every single feather looked like a constellation. They were like a living record of stars that moved around if you tried to look at them. Almost black, soft-looking and perfect.

Except...they aren’t supposed to be perfect, are they? Dean thought to himself, his eyes following up long the arches as they folded back behind Castiel. He can’t fly … they were damaged .

Something about this wasn’t right.

“Cas, I thought your wings were...broken,” Dean said carefully, “they don’t look it. They look breathtaking, actually.”

Momentarily, the feathers seemed to puff with pride, but it was short-lived. “This is how I remember them,” Castiel explained quietly.

Dean squinted, trying to focus on them - on all of Castiel.

The more Dean looked at Castiel, the more it seemed like he wasn’t quite there at the edges. His trench coat seemed to fade out before it should, the tips of his hair melted away into the thick air around him, and his boots didn’t quite seem to touch the floor.

“What’s wrong, Cas? Why do you look so strange?” Dean's voice held nothing but concern. He immediately stepped across the rocky floor and up into Castiel’s space, his hands searching for his face.

“I'm fine,” Castiel tried to dismiss his concern. It seemed to take him a fair bit of effort to get the words out, and the unsteady shape of them falling from his lips did nothing to reassure Dean.

“Bullshit.”

Castiel’s smile seemed to come in spite of himself, but still, it did. It became a resigned smirk as he tilted his face into Dean's hand. He didn’t feel quite right either, Dean’s fingers registering something thin and almost misty, rather than Castiel’s solid but soft skin.

“You know me too well, I suppose. It’s taking a lot of energy to try and hold myself like this, here,” Castiel admitted with a sigh.

Dean frowned. “Like this?”

Castiel looked down, widening his arms out to indicate his suit and coat. “In the form that you recognize. This isn’t my vessel, it's a memory of it, something to make this easier for you. I don’t mind at all,” he hurriedly added, “but it’s exhausting. I’m fading a little.”

Understanding finally dawned over Dean’s face. “You aren’t in a vessel here,” he stated, gesturing around the barren, rocky desert that made up the outer ring of Hell. Shaking his head as if in frustration he continued, “sorry Cas, I’m being stupid. Of course you aren’t. So why try to look like Jimmy?”

“I, uh,” Castiel’s tongue darted out quickly to moisten his lips, “wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me. I, uh, didn’t want to slow us down, and I didn’t know what state you’d be in here, after—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted firmly, his face falling as he saw straight through Castiel’s words to the core of nervous anxiety that was stood in front of him. “You’re using so much energy, wearing yourself out, to look like your vessel... because you’re worried about what I’ll think of what you truly look like?”

Even without words, the drop of Castiel’s vivid blue eyes was a full sentence.

“Oh, Cas …” Dean trailed off, sighing in something that might have been frustration, before he drew both hands back to the angel’s strangely ghost-like cheeks. “In case you missed the exposition, I’m in love with you.”

There was a softness to Castiel’s eyes as he came back up to meet Dean’s determined face. “You did say so, yes,” he recalled, a shyness to his smile that caused Dean’s heart to smack sharply against his ribcage.

“Then I hope I don’t need to explain that my loving you has nothing to do with what you look like,” Dean chastised gently. “Don’t get me wrong, I'm a big fan of your vessel. It’s sexy as all hell – when you’re in it. Jimmy though? He doesn’t really do it for me. It’s you, Cas.”

Their foreheads tilted together for a moment as Castiel huffed out a nervous breath, nodding against Dean’s face before he pulled back.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he shuddered through the words, “if we need to, I can always come back to this, but not having to focus on forming this shape would make our journey a lot easier. I can scale down in size without much trouble, but making these clothes and this face takes more focus than I thought.”

Dean smiled encouragingly, nodding as he stepped back, “I’ve always known you were an angel, Cas. It’s not like you tricked me,” he grinned, but his expression faltered. “You, uh, aren’t going to burn my eyes out though, right?”

Castiel seemed to be fading even as he chuckled, white smoke coiling around the edges of his body. “No, Dean. Your soul can see me… it’s only your physical eyes on earth that would struggle to perceive me. Not here, now.”

Dean parted his lips to say something else, but the thought fled as Castiel seemed to dissolve before his eyes. What remained, was pretty far from what he expected.

The smoke that had seemed to release while Castiel was letting go of his forced form twirled up and stretched out. It created a shape in front of Dean that was nothing like the cherubic, white-gowned dicks he'd seen in paintings and carvings all his life.

Towering over Dean even in his scaled-down, smallest capacity, Castiel had to be at least ten feet tall. His body was mostly humanoid, though he had a disproportionate look, his arms and legs a little longer than a human's would have been. The bony appendages led to slender hands and feet that, Dean noted with surprise, were actually hooves.

The biggest surprise was that Castiel seemed to be made of the oddest state of matter Dean could conceive of. He seemed real enough, a pebble at his foot crunching as he shifted his weight nervously to the side. But, in the same moment, Dean could almost see through him. He didn't seem to be quite solid.

Right, a celestial wavelength of intent, Dean recalled. His memory provided him very vaguely with a tenth-grade science class. Matter can behave like particles, but also like a wave.

The oddest thing to take in was the glow - Castiel’s whole form seemed alight, flickering like a flame, though Dean felt no heat. Burning Ones, Dean remembered in awe. That’s what Seraphim means.

Castiel's wings flared out around them. Dean could stare forever at those alone. There were six of them, it slowly dawned on him - six. He’d heard that though, somewhere, right? That seraph’s had six wings? It sounded like something Sam would have droned in his direction late one night.

The two lower, smaller pairs of wings were folded in front of him. The lowest pair obscured most of his body, the middle pair fluttering almost shyly in front of his face.

The final pair took Dean’s breath away. By his estimate, they had to be at least thirty feet across. Dean felt like he was stood below the jets of an airplane as they swooped above him, moving to settle, folded, at Castiel’s back.

The remaining feathers were dark, almost black but not quite. Shimmering threads of iridescence edged them. Even held still, folded back, the wings spoke of motion - bringing to mind light reflecting off moving, dark oil. The same shimmering constellation-like pattern moved across the surface of the wings as in Castiel’s memory - though now, most of the feathers were missing. The bones were exposed and most of the long flight feathers were absent. None the less, they were utterly breathtaking.

As the largest wings at his back folded, Castiel cautiously lowered the middle pair of wings that obscured his face. Or faces, as it turned out.

The face to the left seemed almost feline, with twisting ears and slanting eyes amid a soft-looking face. The face to the right seemed to be more like a monkey or great ape, its ears to the side and its eyes more round. The middle face that looked at him was white and smooth, like a porcelain mask, though it made him think more of the regalness of a marble statue. It was almost hawk-like in shape, with a sharp beak. The dark feathers of his wings seemed to begin on this center face, tailing down the back of his neck to the wing-joints.

Huge eyes, almost frighteningly blue, stared across at Dean. They shimmered with an almost star-like pattern, like his wings, but the color… he’d know those eyes in any form.

Castiel stared back at him with an almost human look of fear and uncertainty.

Realizing he’d been awed to silence, Dean parted his lips to try and communicate every fantastic, reverent word of wonder that was running through his mind. Before he could begin, Castiel swiftly began to smoke and shimmer back to Jimmy’s form.

No, Castiel thought, panicking.

The look of uncertainty in Castiel's eyes shifted immediately to something like shame, before it was gone, drowned in brimming tears. Castiel's chest hurt, a pressure building there as he saw Dean gawp up at him wordlessly.

He’s shocked. Afraid. He doesn’t like me, Castiel thought, and it showed in his eyes.

Looking like Jimmy again, if somewhat hazy at the edges, Castiel’s head dropped. He took a deep breath, attempting to push down the knot of emotion that was tying itself in his chest. He felt somehow rejected, full of sorrow and empty of acceptance all at the same time.

The pressure in Cas’ sternum threatened to solidify and rip out of his body, before clawing its way harshly up his throat like indigestion. It erupted from his mouth in a hiccuping sob; followed by another, then another.

Unchecked, tears streamed down his face, snot pooling at his upper lip as he attempted to choke out an apology. The sound that ripped out of Castiel wailed heartbrokenly between the two of them.

“D-Dean, I’m so, I’m so s-sorry, I--” His shoulders shook as his red-rimmed eyes stared across at Dean, his face puffy and sticky with snotty tears.

“Woah, what the-- Cas!” Dean looked paralyzed and frozen for a second, bewildered by the crying. Until, after a beat, his brain kicked into gear. He squeezed his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Hey, it’s okay - Cas, what’s wrong?”

Castiel didn’t respond, his smeared face buried momentarily in Dean’s shoulder.

“What’s with all the noise?” Dean pressed with an awkward grin, “I didn’t even know you were capable of making that noise. In fact, I haven’t heard this kind of crying since Sam was five,” he teased.

Dean felt Castiel shake slightly with laughter between his sobs, rubbing harshly at his cheeks as Dean held him.

“I really am s-sorry,” he snuffled quietly. “I know you’re uncomfortable w-with--”

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted gently, “I was teasing you, trying to make you smile. It’s okay, love. I was just taken by surprise. Tell me what’s wrong?”

The little term of endearment trickled off Dean’s tongue unchecked, and Castiel released another heaving sob at the sound of it.

“I just--” Castiel paused to sniff heavily before forging onward, his face still buried in Dean’s neck, “I spent the whole journey here worrying that you’d be repulsed by my true form, or worse, that you’d be scared of me.”

“No, Cas,” Dean softly cut him off again. “Just no. You’re beautiful, to me. All of you.”

Moving his hands to his shoulder to encourage Castiel to lift his head once more, Dean smiled encouragingly, taking a little step back from him.

“Come on,” he ventured gently. “No more of this awkward crying stuff, huh? Relax. Let me see who you are. I love you,” he reminded him with a tiny grin.

Castiel never thought he’d heard Dean Winchester, of all people, say something like that with such ease. He couldn’t help but smile back at him, nodding nervously as the smokey white light began to erase the memory of his vessel’s form. He shimmered back to the three-headed, six-winged magnificence he’d been a few minutes before.

Dean exhaled, his eyes wide with wonder as he took him in, studying every inch without any hint of subtlety.

“Dude,” he breathed. “You are awesome.”

The porcelain-like center face wasn’t the most expressive. Angel’s weren’t built for emotion, that much was clear. But luckily Castiel’s huge blue eyes still showed Dean his relief. “Thank you, Dean. I know this must be strange, for you…”

“Yeah, Dude.” Dean grinned, “you have a beak. Oh - and three heads.”

Castiel nodded all three of them in turn. “Yes, I do.”

“Cool.” Dean deftly understated. His eyes didn’t seem to want to leave Castiel, but he dragged them away for a moment to look back toward the cage.

Castiel interpreted his look in an instant. “You’re right. We need to get out of here. You left your post.”

Dean nodded. “We’ll have company soon. We should hide until the other guards find I’m gone. When they go back to tell their higher-ups, we can escape.”

“Come on.” Cautiously, Castiel offered out a hand to Dean.

Almost excitedly, Dean took it. Castiel’s fingers felt much bonier than he was used to, and oddly firm for something that almost disappeared if you looked too hard.

“Further back this way,” Castiel explained, “in one of the cliff faces, there are some cracks and caves. We can hide there for a few hours.”

Tugging Dean alongside him, Castiel began to run again.

Chapter Text

Sam sat between the two beds in the bunker’s small infirmary. To his right lay Dean, covered in a clean white sheet. On his right lay Jimmy Novak, comatose and awaiting Castiel’s return. Hopefully.

Running his hands through his hair, Sam let out a weary sigh. Gabriel and Castiel had been gone an hour or so, and he was very conscious of the fact that time ran differently in hell. Dean had probably already spent years on the other plane, in the couple of weeks since they’d left Indiana. He was so busy worrying about how long Dean had already been there and how long Castiel would take to get him out, that he missed Gabriel's arrival.

With a soft swoosh of wings, Gabriel re-appeared calmly in front of Sam. When Sam didn’t immediately register his landing, he reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

With a jolt, Sam snapped his head up. “Gabriel! You’re back!”

The archangel grinned, pulling up a chair and squeezing in next to Sam. “Yup, dropped the baby bro off to find Dean-o, so just gotta wait for one of them to yell for a lift,” he confirmed, tapping on the side of his head in indication.

Sam nodded, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “Gabriel, thank you. I know this is dangerous and crazy, and probably not the best idea. But you didn’t have to help. You didn’t have to stay. So thank you.”

Gabriel winked, nudging his shoulder against Sam. “Don’t tell Cas, but I definitely did it for you—not him.”

Silently, Sam smiled down at his knees, unsure how to respond.

After a calm minute of quiet, he looked up and turned his inquiring hazel gaze on Gabriel. “Cas told me before he left, about him and Dean. He said you knew.”

Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “Thanks, Cassie. That kinda makes me sound like a jerk for not telling you.” He smiled crookedly over at Sam. “And for once, I actually wasn’t trying to be a jerk. It just wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“No.” Sam smiled reassuringly.“I get it. It’s okay.”

“So you’re okay with it?” Gabriel leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles as he looked sideways at Sam.

“With Dean and Cas? Of course. It makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it. Cas was… kind of unexpected. He never seemed very, uh, interested. In anything.”

Gabriel snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “Castiel is a weird dude. I like him, don’t get me wrong, but let me assure you it is perfectly normal for angels to be ‘interested,’ as you say, when they have vessels.”

“Right,” Sam nodded, thoughtful. “Like, you had Kali...”

Gabriel’s frowned deeply for a moment, and Sam grimaced,  apologizing hurriedly.

“...who is dead because of Dean and me. Ouch. Sorry.”

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth quirked once more. “You know what… I did kill your brother over a hundred times, remember? And it doesn’t seem like you hate me. Or you’re hiding it pretty well.”

Sam blinked. The Mystery Spot down in Florida seemed like a lifetime ago. “You did. But you were actually trying to teach me a lesson. One it seems I still haven’t learned.” Sam paused to grin. “And I don’t hate you. I like you.”

Gabriel’s lips twisted, as if uncertain how to take Sam’s response. After a moment he just nodded and gave Sam a simple smile. “I like you too, Sam.”

Sam knocked back against Gabriel’s shoulder, just as the archangel had done to him a few minutes before. “You better. I saved our asses back in Indiana.”

Gabriel laughed. “Not many people get to have an archangel in their debt, you know. Should I be expecting you to call me on it when you need a favor?”

Sam looked at Gabriel from the corner of his eye. “I’m not someone who keeps score. But if you want to show your gratitude, maybe… well, just keep in touch. Stay for a while. I’m sure you have big angelic plans or whatever, but—” Sam shrugged, “—stay. When you can.”

Gabriel’s head turned, looking fully at Sam’s profile as they sat listening to the hiss and beep of the life-giving machinery in the infirmary. He smiled slightly as his gaze rested on Sam unflinchingly. “It’s a deal, Samshine.”

***

Dean and Castiel’s hiding place wasn’t so much a cave as it was a crack, just a parting in the side of a tall cliff face of red stone. It was wide enough for them to enter, but twisted and turned away from the eternal twilight outside just enough to disguise them. Also important: it was tall enough to admit Castiel’s ten-foot form without him phasing through the walls, and the floor was relatively sandy and comfortable.

Exhaling with relief, Dean dropped down to the floor, sitting with his back to the natural wall. He looked up at Castiel as he stood, still awkward, a few feet away.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean patted the sandy floor next to him. “C’mere.”

Castiel folded his elongated limbs down to the ground, his starry blue eyes from all of his faces resting on Dean.

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “How do angels know which face to look at?”

Castiel’s middle face, white and bird-like, tilted slightly to regard Dean. “This one, usually. But any is fine.”

Watching Castiel’s face closely now as he spoke, Dean realized that when he was hearing words from the angel, they weren’t coming from his mouth. “Are you speaking to me, like… telepathically, or something? Because I hear you. But none of your mouth options are moving.”

The beak opened slightly and a deep, odd laugh came from it. “Yes. The words you hear, I’m putting straight into your mind. I can’t actually speak your language, in this form. No lips, you see.” Castiel turned his face slightly back and forth, as if reminding him. “That’s probably why Enochian sounds so strange to you. Whole different structure.”

Dean looked regretful. “I wish I knew how to speak it. But I’m not smart like that; that’s Sammy stuff, really.”

“Not true,” Castiel countered immediately. “You just don’t try. Here… Olani oai chcmh. You say it.”

After a couple of coaxing tries, Castiel managed to get Dean to repeat the words.

“See,” Castiel’s voice was smug, even telepathically. “You just said you were wise.”

Laughing, Dean reached out towards one of Castiel’s bony hands, cautiously entwining their fingers. Castiel watched him, the large eyes of his most feline face trained firmly on their hands, while the other two pairs found Dean’s face.

“See,” Dean said softly. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The porcelain face couldn’t smile, but Castiel’s huge eyes closed for just a moment as he tilted his forehead, leaning towards Dean in appreciation and relief. Dean arched forward, sneaking the chance to press his lips to Castiel’s downturned face, above his eyes. If a marble bird had a forehead, then that was what Dean kissed.

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. “Oh.” His voice contained the smile that his face didn’t show. “That was nice. I didn’t think you’d want to touch me, in this form.”

Turning so that he could keep an eye on the cave while still being close to Castiel, Dean snorted inelegantly. “You think too much of me. You haven’t seen some of the barflies I’d go for after too many beers, when I was younger. You’re different to what I’m used to, sure, but I have no objections to touching you.”

An odd chirp, possibly a laugh, came from the beaked face. After a beat, Castiel nudged against Dean’s shoulder and shyly admitted, “I’ve never been kissed in this form before.”

Dean took a moment to inspect the cave entrance and listen intently for any movement outside. There was nothing.

When he looked back to Castiel, his eyebrow was raised. “What, no angel boyfriends, Cas?”

“No.” Castiel’s slender shoulders shrugged, an oddly human-looking gesture. “Even if I had, angels don’t do that.”

Deans face became curious, then slightly coy. “Oh really? So what do angels do?”

Castiel eyed him in amusement, multiple times over. He looked as if he was about to respond when noises drifted into their hideaway.

Both Dean and Castiel flattened themselves against the wall, silent and in sync.

Outside, there were footsteps, multiple pairs. They moved quickly, a deep voice grumbling to another that they couldn’t see anything through the dusty, desert haze.

It was definitely a search party. Dean bit down on his lip. Castiel’s cat-ears rotated fully towards the gap that led outside.

The footsteps came closer. “Check that cave,” a female voice barked.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a fearful look.

As footsteps began to echo around their hiding place, a familiar voice boomed out from behind the approaching demon.

“Stop wasting my time, you bloody idiots. He’s clearly not here. Get back to the cage for now. The watchers at the entrances will tell me if he leaves that way.”

“Crowley,” Dean mouthed silently to Castiel, as if there was any way the angel wouldn’t have recognized the voice.

Dean was rewarded with several eye rolls for stating the obvious.

“Yes sir,” multiple fearful voices murmured, and the footsteps thundered away.

For several moments there was silence, then Crowley’s voice came again.

“Stay here. I’ll change the guard shifts in four hours. Then go.”

***

The bunker was pretty cold at night, and it seemed even more so to Sam as he bid goodnight to the various guests, ending up alone in the kitchen. He grabbed a beer and decided that he’d head off to his room and watch some Netflix.

He’d spent the evening at Dean and Castiel’s bedsides, before allowing Gabriel to convince him that it was pointless to wait in the infirmary. Gabriel would know as soon as he was needed, and until that happened, there was nothing they could do.

But Sam was oddly lonely in the bunker without Dean and Castiel around. He was usually perfectly content with some peace and solitude, but knowing that they were both in Hell made it very different.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Gabriel quipped lightly from beside him, making him jump.

Sam turned, to see the archangel grinning at him, some kind of red licorice hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Are you ever not eating?” Sam asked with amusement, deflecting away from his melancholy thoughts. He began moving towards his bedroom, stopping by the war room table to pick up his laptop.

“I like sweet things,” Gabriel shrugged, before throwing Sam a crude wink, “and I have a bit of an oral fixation.”

“Good thing you like candy then,” Sam replied flippantly, “or that oral fixation would be very unfulfilled.”

Gabriel blinked, left by the war room table for a moment in stunned, but amused, silence. Chuckling, he scurried after Sam.

“You give as good as you get, huh, Samsquatch. I like it. But the fact remains, I could get whatever I wanted in my mouth.” He smirked. “So you’re wrong.”

Reaching his bedroom door, Sam turned to look over his shoulder, looking Gabriel up and down as he stepped into the room. “Sure, pint-size. Whatever you say.”

Sam could hear Gabriel’s laughter out in the hall, even after he closed the door in his face.

He set up the laptop and searched through his dresser for his favorite pajama pants before settling down onto the bed. Scrolling through the newest shows, he tried not to think about Castiel and whether he would succeed.

One episode of Blue Planet later, Sam reached the bottom of his beer.

Smiling slightly to himself, Sam tried something he’d never dared before.

Hey Gabriel, he relaxed his mind to pray the words out into the universe. I’m sure you’re busy performing miracles and being angelic, and not just raiding our candy stores and pestering people. But, as it happens, I’m out of beer.

Smirking to himself, he waited.

Only a couple of minutes passed before his door swung open, no knock at all. Gabriel looked equal parts irritated and delighted.

“You have spent way too much time around Castiel,” he grumbled. “Prayer isn’t meant for frivolous communication—”

“But you did bring me a beer,” Sam pointed out, gesturing to the two bottles clutched in Gabriel's right hand.

The archangel sighed. “Yes, yes I did.”

Without invitation, Gabriel flopped down on the bed next to Sam and shoved one of the beers at him.

“Thanks.” Sam grinned, watching with a self-satisfied smirk as Gabriel pulled the laptop over to his legs, flicking through the menu with practiced ease.

“No way I’m watching nature documentaries, though,” he grumbled, before setting the laptop back down at the end of the bed.

Sam glossed over the fact he hadn’t actually asked Gabriel to watch anything, and smiled. “What are we watching, then?”

“Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Sammy. Watch and learn. I hope you have tissues.”

***

Dean and Castiel stayed perfectly still for a long time after Crowley’s footsteps faded. Dean relaxed first, slowly pulling his shoulders forward from the wall to slump down comfortably once more.

“It seems I misjudged Crowley,” Castiel admitted after another moment, stretching his long legs back out onto the sand beneath them as he relaxed back next to Dean.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head reassuringly. “You didn’t, not really. I just think that he’s changed, is all.”

Castiel nodded, the forehead of his monkey-face crinkled almost thoughtfully as it stared off into midair. “I suppose everyone is allowed to do that.”

Dean hummed briefly in agreement as he stretched out, turning onto his side with his hip in the sand so he could look at Castiel. “So where were we, before that interruption?” Dean grinned teasingly. “You were going to tell me about what you do with angel partners, I think.”

Castiel’s feline face turned to look at Dean, fixing him with a slant-eyed stare. “No, I wasn’t.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “So, you expect me to believe that angels never experience any closeness to each other at all. You’re built for love, you told me that yourself. Surely it doesn’t only apply to God?”

“It doesn’t,” Castiel confessed. He slid down to his side, his stretched-out limbs incredibly graceful as he lowered his body, mimicking Dean’s position laying in the sand. The monkey face, such as it was, turned back towards the cave entrance. Castiel used that face to keep watch, while the one that Dean had come to think of as the ‘porcelain bird’ concerned itself with their conversation. “I’ve never really had the time or opportunity myself,” he continued, “but as you once termed it, angels are ‘junkless.’ We come together in other ways.”

It was odd to watch Castiel’s long, bony fingers make very human little air-quotes, before gesturing down to his smooth body.

Dean nodded, genuinely intrigued. “Other ways? How does that even…” Dean chuckled a little, indicating the angel in turn. “Clearly there are no puzzle pieces there.”

‘No,” Castiel agreed, deadpan. “None. The only way for angels to share themselves with another is more… spiritual, I suppose.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Spiritual? What, you pray together?” He blinked. “Because I hate to break it to ya, Cas, but the only person I pray to is you.”

“Dean,” Castiel chastised gently. “No, nothing like that. We share grace.”

“Oh,” Dean nodded, before his eyes dropped down to the sand, self-consciously. “Right. That should have been obvious, I guess,” he said. Reaching out, he stirred the sand with a finger, concentrating on the patterns for a moment rather than whatever was on his mind. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” The porcelain face held no emotion, but Castiel’s skinny hand came out to still Dean’s swirling fingers in the sand. His fingers were long enough that they encased Dean’s hand in his fist with some to spare. “Dean, what are you sorry for?”

“Just for being human, I guess.” Dean shrugged. “I can’t ever—you know. Give you that kind of thing.”

“Don’t apologize for being what you are. Humans are God’s greatest creation, and I happen to love you best of all of them,” Castiel reminded gently. Reclined on one elbow in the sand, mirroring Dean, Castiel released Dean’s hand and brought his arm back to his own side. “You have a soul… I imagine that would be the same. I don’t know, but… probably.”

Carefully, Dean’s hand rose towards Castiel’s feline-face, hovering an inch or two away, silently asking permission. Castiel bowed into it, nuzzling the soft fur that covered it into Dean’s hand. A purr came from the face, much to Dean’s surprise. He grinned, delighted, and began to pet Castiel familiarly around the ears.

Dean studied the cat-like features, amused that something which still looked so see-through could feel so soft and solid. He had grown used to the flickering light that Castiel seemed constructed of, but touching it and feeling something firm was still a little odd, and he chuckled to himself.

“What’s funny?” Castiel asked uncertainly.

“Nothing really.” Dean shrugged his free shoulder, the other bracing his weight on his side as they faced each other. “You’re just so far beyond my comprehension. But still you.” For a moment they just studied each other, Dean’s fingers still stroking through the cat-fur. Then Dean eased forward, pressing his lips softly between the eyes of the central, porcelain face. “I missed you. Eight and a half years, that I could count. It was pretty lonely. I missed you a lot, Cas.”

Castiel’s free arm, a little too long and bony to ever be mistaken for human, reached across to Dean’s waist. Wrapping Dean in towards his chest, Castiel pulled him close to his cool, shimmering body. He tucked him up against the two folded pairs of wings that curled over from his back. While Castiel’s cat-face nuzzled into the top of Dean’s sandy hair, Dean’s fingers stretched out eagerly to explore the feathers.

They twined together, snuggled up comfortably on the sand, just taking the time to reacquaint themselves with each other. Dean’s fascinated exploration of Castiel’s feathers eventually reached the giant, folded pair at his back. A small shudder passed through Castiel as Dean touched them, and he immediately pulled his hand back.

“Do they hurt?” Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

“No.” Castiel shook his heads. “It feels nice. I’m a little embarrassed by them, in the state they are now, but it feels good to have someone touch them.”

“Dude,” Dean scoffed at him, but it was gentle. “They are awesome. I know they’re ruined and all, I can see that, but man… wings .” He laughed. “What’s cooler than that?”

Shyly, the wing on Castiel’s topmost side slowly unfolded, expanding over them so Dean could appreciate its size and the feathers that remained. Reassured that his touch was a good thing, Dean reached up to nudge the arch down towards him, so the remaining feathers of the wing pooled over them like a blanket.

He petted almost rhythmically at the feathers, stroking his way around them and studying the different sizes and types, learning their pattern and how they’d each react to his hands. Dean wasn’t paying much attention to Castiel’s face, his gaze rapt on the wing, until he heard the strange purr-like sound from Castiel again.

Dean looked up, finding Castiel’s central porcelain face only inches away. His huge, constellation-filled eyes were fixed unflinchingly on Dean, and they seemed even wider than before.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, nodding down to his still idly stroking hands.

“Y-yes, it’s fine,” Castiel responded carefully. “I like it.”

Dean grinned coyly across at him. He didn’t need any facial expressions to recognize the slight hitch to Castiel’s voice. “Oh, I see… you do like it, don’t you?” he insinuated clearly, his own voice dropping slightly.

Dean had to imagine the flush that he’d usually see heating the neck of Castiel’s vessel, but the shy drop of the angel’s eyes confirmed to him that he was right.

“It feels very pleasant,” Castiel admitted almost sulkily, “and I did miss you, too, of course. In many ways.” He moved his wing down slightly, beginning to draw it out of Dean’s reach. When he spoke again, it was apologetic and as matter-of-fact as always. “I apologize. I realize that this form is unlikely to be particularly arousing for you.”

“Well, no,” Dean admitted, reaching down to catch the wing on its retreat, “not as a thing by itself, at least. But you’re still you. And the feathers are growing on me for sure,” he admitted with a cheeky grin.

Sliding his fingers between the feathers to stroke them with intent, more firmly than he had before, Dean nuzzled up against Castiel’s emotionless white face—which felt more like human skin than he expected—and smiled. “It’s okay, baby. If it feels good, enjoy it. I’ve got you. We’ve got a few hours to kill before we can leave, after all.”

The flickering of Castiel’s light seemed to grow more erratic as Dean continued, the occasional purr or chirp letting Dean know when he was on the right track with his ministrations. After a few more minutes, Dean felt a strange, warm sensation rising in his chest. It was like warm water, trickling down inside of him. It was odd but intensely pleasant, and he had to concentrate to stutter out his question.

“Cas? I-is that you? What are you doing?”

Instantly, the sensation drew back.

“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel huffed unevenly. “I’m sorry. I lost control for a moment, I hadn’t realized.”

“Realized what?” Dean’s hands continued scratching gently at Castiel’s wing, his fingers digging between the remaining feathers near the bone at the top.

“My grace. It’s reaching for you,” Castiel admitted.

“Then let it,” Dean responded immediately.“It felt awesome.”

Castiel shook his pale, hawk-like head. “I shouldn’t.”

“Hey.” Dean turned his neck, pulling his head back a second to look more fully at Castiel. “What’s all this hesitation about? It’s not like we haven’t been plenty close back on earth. Plenty of times, too.” Grasping at straws, Dean grinned. “Is this some shy, angel-virginity thing? Because that’s adorable, if so.”

Castiel blinked. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. “I’ve certainly never done it before. But it’s also very different from when we’re close on earth, Dean. If I touch your soul, I’ll mark it forever.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and one of Castiel’s slender hands slid up to Dean’s shoulder. He curled his fingers over it, reminding Dean of the handprint-scar that had lingered there for years.

“I already let my grace touch you, once,” Castiel continued, “completely by accident. That was different, it was just me grabbing you, without you giving permission. This would be different, and permanent.”

“Would it hurt, like that did?” Dean asked curiously, his slowed fingers on Castiel’s wing stopping entirely.

“No. You said it felt good, before.” Castiel said. “There wouldn’t be a mark on your body, not like this. But there would be one on your soul, forever. That’s why I shouldn’t.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered pointedly, his figures tangling firmly back into the feathers, “I’ve known you almost a decade. I’m not going anywhere, you know. If anyone should have a mark on my soul, it’s you.”

When Castiel’s head dropped back down to the top of Dean’s again, the deep, purring sound was more pronounced. Dean massaged along the top of the wing that blanketed them both, petting into the feathers and letting his eyes drift closed against Castiel’s glowing chest.

This time, when the warm feeling drifted into his body from Castiel, it was much stronger and more intentional.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, his eyes reopening for just a second before fluttering back closed.

The feeling was unlike anything Dean had ever experienced. There was a sensation of heat and intense emotion that throbbed out from his chest down to his abdomen. It was powerful and incredibly pleasurable—and best of all, the very essence of it felt like Castiel, like everything that Dean knew about him distilled down to a hot, tingling concentrate. It felt like Castiel himself was crawling up inside Dean, and it made his heart race rapidly.

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice reverberated inside Dean’s mind, sounding awed.

Dean pushed back against the grace enveloping his soul, returning the touch as much as possible. He mingled himself with it even though he had no idea how he was doing it, or where the instinct to do so had come from.

“ Dean, ” Castiel groaned deeply in response to his efforts. “I can feel you—all of you. Your soul,” he gasped. “It’s amazing.”

“I know,” Dean struggled for words as Castiel pushed back again, the sensation overwhelming and sending burning heat to his abdomen.

Castiel had been right, the grace sharing didn’t feel sexual so much as it felt spiritual; like they were revering each other’s very essence, completely separate from whatever form they held.

None the less, the effects of it were similar, as Dean suddenly realized when his very erect cock rubbed up against Castiel’s stomach. Not sure if his reaction was appropriate, Dean canted his hips away from Castiel, only to be pulled firmly back against him.

Dean’s forehead came down to rest helplessly against Castiel’s chest, delightfully devastated by the feeling of grace tingling in and around him. He’d never felt this connected to something, so hungry for more.

Gripping each other tight throughout, the sensation rose to a crescendo and caused them both to cry out. As Castiel’s grace throbbed and slowly untangled itself from Dean’s soul, drawing back, they both sighed contentedly into each other.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean mumbled into his chest, “that was better than anything on earth. Angels are awesome.”

Castiel hummed, his beak nuzzling against Dean’s cheek. “I love you so much, Dean. That was wonderful.”

Dean grinned into the angel’s flickering, glowing chest. “Me too, Cas. Me too.”

The hours until the guards changed passed quickly in each other's arms, quietly talking. Castiel told Dean about what had happened in Indiana, how they’d found Gabriel, how they’d managed to get Dean’s body home and he now lay in the bunker, waiting.

“I also told Sam, about our relationship,” Castiel brought up cautiously. “I hope that doesn’t make you angry at me. It should have been yours to tell.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean smiled. “I mean, I wish I could have told him myself. But it was never meant to be a secret. I’m not hiding you,” Dean reminded him, slowly sitting up.

Castiel tilted his heads, watching Dean rise, before he did the same.

He stood and stretched, listening carefully. “I think I hear movement out there,” Dean indicated the desert wasteland beyond the cave entrance. “We should prepare to run. How long will it take us to get to the edge of Hell?”

“A few days,” Castiel admitted regretfully. “Though at least we don’t need to stop for breaks, here. We can just run.”

Dean nodded, stretching out. “Alright then—let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

Running through Hell was hard work. Even though Dean didn’t experience exertion in the same way he would in a human body, the strangely humid weight of the air around him seemed to slow his every movement.

Castiel ran alongside him, leading the way by a step or two, his pace a lot slower-looking than Dean’s—his legs were longer, after all. He focused intently on a point in the distance, only occasionally looking around to check that the air was clear and that they weren’t being followed.

They didn’t need to stop and rest. In Hell, hunger and weariness seemed permanent, yet no amount of resting would cure them. Dean had stopped noticing either after the first year or two. Castiel, he assumed, was pretty much immune to both things. So they ran on, focused on escape.

No sunlight breached Hell. A strange, murky twilight was constant, adding even further to the odd sluggishness of time as it meandered past. Dean didn’t understand why it could feel like time passed so slowly here, and yet by Earth measures, it passed so much faster.

Dean and Castiel didn’t have a rising-setting sun cycle to go by, but Castiel’s internal clock was perfect. So he knew they’d been headed toward the very edge of Hell for twenty-eight hours when he heard a strangled shout behind him. Castiel turned in time to see Dean knocked to his back on the floor, an elongated cloud of black smoke crashing angrily against his chest.

A glance to the side confirmed to Castiel that the demon—formless without a vessel—had come from a rocky ridge at the top of a shallow ravine in which they were running. Against the reddish rock, Castiel could make out a crowd of others, speeding in their direction.

Dean rolled, escaping out from under the demon as it came at him again. He let out a string of curses, his eyes darting around to seek out Castiel. His old habit of checking up on others rather than saving himself cost him another tumble to the ground, as a second demon took advantage of his brief distraction. It crashed into his side, sending him flying back onto the rocks.

Castiel was already running—away from Dean.

It took Dean a moment to work out what Castiel was doing, and what exactly he was seeing. Not just trying to lure the demon’s away, Castiel gave them something to focus on. The angel seemed to grow with every step that he took.

Attempting to dodge the demons that blasted themselves into the sandy ground around him like landing missiles, Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Castiel between his rolls. He’d been vaguely aware from Castiel’s comments that he was, as he’d put it, scaled down. That he’d been keeping himself as close to Dean’s size as possible, to ease their communication and assist Dean’s comfort with his true form. But knowing that and seeing it were two different things.

Castiel shifted smoothly from being a couple of feet taller than Dean himself, up to the size of a house. And he wasn’t stopping.

Glowing and flickering like a towering flame, Castiel became colossal. Dean couldn’t really see his face anymore; it was higher than a city apartment block. He remembered Castiel saying once, long ago, that he was the size of the Chrysler building. Dean couldn’t conjure up an image of the building in that moment, but he’d wager Castiel had been understating it, if anything. He felt an odd thump of fear and panic in his ribcage. As he looked up at Castiel, his stomach did a little flip of vertigo.

Stop it, Dean told himself firmly. It’s just Cas. You aren’t scared of Cas.

But the demons sure were. Emitting screeching roars from their smoky forms, they abandoned Dean, zooming off into the air in their efforts to get as far away from Castiel as possible. With fingers that were easily bigger than Dean, Castiel reached out and picked the demons from the sky between his bony thumb and forefinger, burning and snuffing them out of existence.       

Quivering despite himself, Dean covered his ears and cowered into the cliff face as Castiel destroyed them all.

***

Morning found Sam waking with a crick in his neck and several empty beer bottles on his nightstand. He was alone, but someone had tidied the laptop away and pulled the blanket up over him at some point during the night.

Usually, he would have rolled out of bed and straight into his running shoes, and pounded out a few miles before anyone else at the bunker even woke. But Sam didn’t want to leave the bunker until Dean and Castiel returned, in case the prayer they were desperately waiting for came while he was out.

Instead, he shuffled from his room through the tiled corridors to the bunker kitchen. The smell of coffee drifted out towards him as he padded barefoot through the doorway.

Gabriel stood glaring at the coffee maker as if it had personally offended him. Sam’s favorite coffee mug was nearby, with a spoon resting in it. Taking the glass pot of coffee off the warming plate, Gabriel sniffed at it suspiciously.

“You were making coffee?” Sam asked dumbly, watching Gabriel fill the waiting mug.

“Nothing gets past you does it, Sammich.” Gabriel offered the cup across to Sam after giving it a quick stir, his grimace somewhat apologetic. “Sorry if it’s awful. Castiel said you hated my coffee, but—” he shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got much else to offer.”

Leaning back against the counter and wrapping both hands around the mug, Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re an archangel, Gabriel. I’m pretty sure you have a lot more to offer than coffee.”

Gabriel shrugged, turning to rest the small of his back against the counter next to Sam. “I suppose. But it doesn’t seem like any of that stuff matters, to you. Humans are pretty easy to impress as a whole, but you and your brother have seen a lot.”

Sam smirked but said nothing as he cautiously raised the cup to his lips.

Gabriel folded his arms. “What?” he said, cocking his head sideways.

Sam sipped smugly at the coffee again before answering. “I just didn’t realize you were trying to impress anyone.”

Cheeks heating a fraction, Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed. “I suppose I walked into that,” he admitted. After a beat, he cast a glance sideways at Sam. “I didn’t realize I was trying to impress anyone either, until recently. I’ve never really had to try. It’s...odd.”

Sam’s eyes remained on his coffee mug. Once the silence had stretched long enough, he tipped back the mug and swallowed the liquid in a couple of gulps, grimacing against the heat. Gabriel watched him, looking almost hopeful.

“Castiel was right,” Sam paused to shudder and grin. “Your coffee is terrible.”

The smile on Sam’s face declared that he was mostly joking, but Gabriel’s shoulders fell slightly nonetheless. He nodded, stepping away from the counter and beginning to move wordlessly out of the kitchen.

Straightening himself up, Sam called him back down the corridor. “Gabe! Wait.”

Gabriel turned, angling his head a fraction to look up at Sam as he approached.

“I’m going to check on Castiel,” Sam began,  “but then I figured I’ll spend the rest of the morning in my room hiding from all the fussing women that seem to have moved in,” he grinned. “I was thinking of going through all of our angel lore, see if there’s anything about dead vessels.”

“And you...want my help?” Gabriel questioned carefully.

“No,” Sam nudged him with a shoulder, moving on past him. “I want your company, Gabriel. Help is optional.”

Gabriel’s cautious expression morphed into a grin, a cocky twinkle lighting his pale brown eyes. “My company, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”

Sam snorted lightly from on down the corridor as he continued walking. “You’re a little gross, Gabriel. Also persistent.”

Catching up to Sam’s side as they reached the bedroom door, Gabriel winked. “You like it.”

Sam smiled. “No—I like you.”

Gabriel blinked, and Sam grinned happily to himself. He found he was thoroughly enjoying any moment where he could throw the archangel off his cocky stride. Chuckling, he opened the door and waved Gabriel inside.

‘C’mon, Gabe. You can help me research and fetch me new books from the library when I run out. That’ll impress me far more than whatever the hell you did with the coffee machine.”

Grinning like he’d been issued a challenge, Gabriel stepped into the bedroom and headed to the book pile on the dresser.

***

Castiel’s long fingers touched Dean’s shoulder. “Dean?”

“Hey,” Dean looked up, his hands dropping from his ears. His back was against the rocky wall of the ravine they had been running down, sheltered against it. “You got them all?”

“Yes,” Castiel solemnly nodded all of his heads. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, pulling away from the wall. “Only the first one managed to hit me. It’d take a lot more than one hit to the chest to damage this baby,” Dean thumped a fist onto his chest, indicating the spot where his anti-possession tattoo sat.

“That’s not really what I meant, though I am glad that the demons didn’t hurt you,” Castiel said as he stepped back, giving Dean room to move away from the rocks.

Dean was quiet for a moment, beginning to walk again. He continued in the direction they had been heading before the demons arrived. When Castiel fell into step beside him, he looked up and regarded his faces in turn before he responded.  

“It scared me a little, at first,” he admitted, “when you fully transformed.”

Seeing the way Castiel’s feathers drooped a fraction, Dean immediately reached out for Castiel’s hand as they walked on, gripping the flame-like, glowing fingers between his own as he hurriedly continued.

“But I know I don’t need to be scared of you, Cas. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Castiel nodded, mute.

“I think a certain amount reaction is just instinctual,” Dean explained carefully. “But I know better than that. I’m fine, and I’m sorry if—” he paused, thinking what best to say. “—Well, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I’m not scared of you, not really.”

“It’s okay.” Castiel’s voice in Dean’s mind was soft. “I’m glad you’re at least accepting of me, like this. But there’s a part of me that prefers to be in my vesselled form, when I’m with you. It feels easier.”

Not knowing what to say, Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand tight before he dropped it. After another moment they both began to run once more, focusing on getting out of Hell.

They ran for another three days, Castiel’s internal clock told him. They were quiet mostly, keeping on the move and constantly scanning the skies for more demons. No more came. Without a human body to exhaust, merely a memory of his form that clung to his soul, Dean didn’t tire. So they kept going, until Dean became aware of a blank wall of nothingness ahead.

“That it, Cas?”

Castiel nodded. “Oblivion,” he intoned solemnly. “Now all we have to hope is that I can carry your soul and build up enough speed to get through with my wings as they are, and then that Gabriel can catch us when we break the barrier.”

“Catch us?” Dean raised a concerned eyebrow.

“I can’t fly,” Castiel pointed out, a little exasperated.

“I know that, Cas,” Dean rolled his eyes. “I just meant what happens if Gabriel doesn’t grab us. How far are we falling?”

Castiel shrugged a wing. “Forever.”

“Forever is a measurement of time, not distance,” Dean responded slightly primly, trying to avoid thinking about the reality of that.

Castiel smirked, “And you think you’re not smart.”

Nudging his shoulder into Castiel’s wing, Dean smiled. “So what do we do? Pray? You yell at Gabe and wait for him to turn up?”

Castiel nodded. “I’ve alerted him that we’re ready. It’ll take him only minutes to arrive, though it may be longer for us, of course.”

“Fuckin’ hell-time,” Dean grumbled. He gestured over to a sandy patch of ground that was relatively flat, with a   rock they could lean against. “Might as well sit down then, I guess.”

Dean lowered himself into the sand and Castiel followed, curling a wing around them both and using it to pull Dean close. The simple action seemed very natural to him, as if he hadn’t even thought about it. So Dean smiled, enjoyed the sensation and choose not to mention it.

Castiel seemed edgy, more than usual, but Dean presumed he was anxious about their journey through Oblivion and didn’t mention it. They chatted idly instead about the assortment of people waiting at the bunker.

Castiel told Dean about Claire’s help with his journey, explaining softly how proud he was of her after all she’d been through, and Dean smiled into the crook of his neck. He told Dean that he suspected that Gabriel was harboring a bit of a crush on Sam, and Dean laughed so hard it shook Castiel’s feathers.

“What’s so funny?” Castiel squinted. “Surely it’s not that unbelievable to you,” he pointed out, indicating between them.

“Not at all,”’ Dean snorted. “If Sammy wants an angel of his own, he should go for it, but seriously—” Dean wheezed in amusement. “Sam is a giant and Gabe is, like, three feet tall in that vessel.”

“Oh,” Castiel noted with amusement, even though the blankness of his porcelain face didn’t change. “Yes, that would be rather entertaining to see.”

Castiel launched into a recap of Sam’s saving of his and Gabriel’s lives back at the Hawley compound, and it slowly dawned on Dean that Castiel was barely giving him time to get a word in, nevermind ask questions about what they were about to do.

He studied Castiel carefully, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he passed the time listening to Castiel’s deep, rumbling voice in his mind and petting his feathers. He hoped that the simple action might soothe whatever it was that Castiel was avoiding talking about.

***

Gabriel’s head snapped up from the heavy tome he was perusing suddenly enough to draw Sam’s attention.

“Gabe?” Sam questioned, looking over at the archangel as he sat on the edge of the mattress, one leg curled up under as he propped his research up in front of him. The light from Sam’s lamp hit Gabriel’s wide eyes. The color of light shining through whiskey, Sam thought idly.

“Castiel,” Gabriel shook his head after a moment, pushing the books away and rising. “Cassie called me. He’s ready.”

Sam exhaled heavily, a sound of relief. “Thank Chuck for that. What do you want me to do?”

“Go to the infirmary and wait, I’ll bring them straight there. Dean should be easy, as long as Castiel drops his soul back into his body I can restart his heart easily. Castiel—” Gabriel's lips pressed together with concern. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Thank you. For staying, and helping, and—” he shrugged. “For everything.”

“Well,” Gabriel winked, his solemnity gone as swiftly as it arrived, “I’m not going anywhere yet. At least not until your candy pile is completely gone.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head slightly. He smiled, but when he looked back to Gabriel the angel was gone.

Quickly, Sam strode out into the corridor, banging on various bedroom doors as he moved to the infirmary. “Charlie, Jody! Girls! It’s time!”

Charlie was out in the corridor next to him in a moment, her Adventure Time pajamas covered by her favorite Star Wars bathrobe. “Gabriel gone already?” She questioned with a yawn. “It’s still pretty early.”

“Yeah, I woke up a couple of hours ago so we were researching. He just got the call from Castiel.”

“Awesome,” Charlie murmured as they rounded the corner into the infirmary.

Jody and Alex entered almost immediately behind them, followed shortly by Claire.

They stood around for a moment, smiling tensely at each other.

“So now we wait?” Jody asked, turning to Sam.

He nodded. “Now we wait.”

***

“Are you ready, Dean?” Castiel stood in front of Dean, fifty feet or so from the place where Hell simply ended.

“To get out of here? What do you think?” Dean raised an eyebrow, spreading his arms eagerly. “Do your thing, whatever that may be.”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded, reaching forward to place a hand flat on Dean’s chest, his skinny fingers shimmering as they splayed out across his sternum.

He hesitated, drawing his hand back. Before Dean could ask anything, white smoke began to haze at Castiel’s edges, and within seconds, the memory of his human vessel appeared.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said with a small grin. “What’s up?”

Castiel fixed Dean with his usual vivid blue gaze, studying his face intently. Without warning, he stepped up suddenly into Dean’s space. “Kiss me, Dean. Please.”

Blinking, but not having to be told twice, Dean pulled the fuzzy-edged version of Castiel across into his arms. The kiss was softer than Dean expected, given the desperation in Castiel’s voice, but he let him lead it.

Dean wanted to ask Castiel what was wrong—but something was making him afraid of the answer. So he didn’t.

Reaching up, Dean carded his fingers through Castiel’s hair, smiling comfortingly across at him. “It’ll be okay, Cas.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

Castiel wasn’t fooled, but he smiled anyway.

Sliding his hand back to Dean’s chest, Castiel took a deep breath. “I love you, Dean,” he whispered, curling his fingers forward.

Golden-white light burst out of Dean as Castiel wrapped his fingers around his soul. The memory of Dean’s body melted away, until nothing but a throbbing, beautiful light rested in Castiel’s palm.

He looked at it for a moment, smiling fondly, before the white smoke that always seemed to signal his change in form began to whisp around him.

He took Dean with him, wrapping him into his true form like he was a part of him. When Castiel spread his wings to take a run at the Oblivion barrier, his eyes flared not blue-white, but gold.

***

“Gabriel!” Sam barked out in relief as the archangel tumbled into his side, appearing barely six inches away.

“Hey, Samshine,” he mumbled tiredly. “All here. Your brother needs to lay off the burgers though, Castiel was substantially heavier than on the way there.”  

Without hesitating, Sam reached an arm around Gabriel’s waist, supporting him lightly. “Great job, Gabriel,” he smiled.

The group assembled in the infirmary followed Gabriel’s eyes as he tracked something they couldn’t see. The air had that strange feeling to it again, like it was too full, the space dominated by something invisible.

Resting his eyes hopefully on Dean, Sam didn’t even realize that he’d reached for Gabriel’s hand—let alone that he was crushing it— until Gabriel rubbed comfortingly at his forearm.

“Be patient, Sam.” Gabriel’s eyes didn’t leave Dean.

A few more moments of tense silence passed before Gabriel raised a hand to Dean’s forehead. He pressed two fingers there without any theatrics, then slowly withdrew his hand.

They all waited.

After another few seconds, Dean’s eyes simply opened, with no fanfare at all.

“Dean!” Sam covered the space between them instantly, hauling his brother into a tight hug.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grinned through all the hair. “Sorry about that dying thing. My bad.”

Everyone crowded around then, even Claire and Alex squeezing in to hug Dean in relief. Once Charlie had finally released him, Dean looked around to where Gabriel still stood, off to the side.

“Gabriel?” Dean nodded by way of greeting. “Where’s Cas?” he frowned.

Suddenly all eyes were on the archangel. He ignored them all, his focus on the still form of Jimmy Novak, still covered in snaking tubes and steadily beeping machinery.

“He’s here,” Gabriel said. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip nervously. “He’s—he’s having a little trouble.”

The room fell instantly silent. Sam’s hand came up to Dean’s shoulder, but Dean just frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“He, uh—” Sam answered Dean when no one else dared. “He didn’t tell you, did he.”

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice was low, almost threatening.

“He, uh—” Sam tucked his hair back behind his ear. “Jimmy is dead. Technically speaking, he can’t give Cas permission—”

“What does that mean,” Dean interrupted, his voice flat and angry.

“He’s stuck,” Gabriel stated. “He can’t get back into his vessel. It was the risk he chose to take.”

For a moment, Dean was silent. He slowly turned, taking in Jimmy’s peaceful form on the bed. He walked up to the ventilator that sat on a tiny gurney next to the bed, placing a hand on it.

“Cas—” Dean began to say something, before stopping himself. He bit his lower lip, shaking his head. “Damnit, Cas! We said we were done with this!”

Dean’s hands clenched into fists, and Sam barely had time to get his arms around Dean and pull him back before he started lashing out, punching wildly at Jimmy, the ventilator, anything he could reach.

Hot, angry tears splashed down onto Sam’s arms as Dean kicked and screamed.

“We said no more lies, no more hiding!” Dean roared. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!!”

Chapter Text

Dean was dreaming.

He knew he was sleeping because this perfect lake only ever appeared in his dreams. He was in a chair, with a fishing rod he was ignoring and a beer he had no urge to taste. Why was he asleep? He needed to be awake, to be researching, to be fighting for Cas...

I bet someone put me to sleep, he thought grumpily. I bet it was Gabriel. I bet Sam made him do it.

Dean glared saltily at the pristine lake surface. Sunlight reflected off it in beautiful little glimmers that mocked him with their insistence at peace and joy.

Stupid lake .

Behind him, a board creaked on the old wooden pier that led out from the little beach.

“Cas?” Dean was standing out of his chair even as his head turned.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel stood about ten feet away, not approaching any further. He looked apprehensive.

“Is that you-you, Cas? Or dream-you?” Dean squinted as if he’d somehow be able to tell the difference.

Despite his nervousness, a tiny smirk pulled at Cas’ lips. “It’s me-me. Being in my true form doesn’t stop me from being able to do this. It’s easier, actually.”

Dean nodded, silent. He had a lot to say, but he didn’t know how to say any of it.

“You’re still very angry with me,” Castiel stated quietly, after a moment. “Would you like me to go?”

“No!” Dean stepped forward immediately. “Please—stay. I miss you, Cas. I’m not angry. I mean, I was. I was…pretty angry,” he laughed uncomfortably. “But there’s not much point to it now, is there. It’s done.”

Finally closing the space between them, Dean pulled Castiel into a long, tight hug. Dean breathed into him for a moment, burying his face in Castiel’s neck.

“Thank you,” he murmured into his trench coat collar.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel responded into his hair, ensnaring Dean tight in his arms like he might not ever let him go.

“So, where are you?” Dean asked conversationally into Castiel’s neck. His voice was a little strained, but he managed.

“I, uh, I’m actually still in the bunker. With you,” Castiel admitted with a tiny flush.

“It’s been six days already, Cas. You’re still squeezing your giant-ass self down into the bunker with us?” Dean smiled fondly.

“Where else would I go?” Castiel shrugged. “At least I can still see you, even if you can’t see me. Gabriel isn’t really talking to me right now because I upset you and Sam, but at least there’s an opportunity for conversation there.”

“There’s gotta be a way to fix it,” Dean mourned softly into Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes tight shut. “I’m not just gonna sit back and accept this, Cas. I can’t.”

“I know,” Castiel comforted quietly, rubbing circles between Dean’s shoulder blades. “I’m so sorry. But I don't regret it, Dean. My only regret is leaving you alone.”

They stood on the pier, embracing for an indeterminable amount of time. Until, inevitably, Dean felt his consciousness being tugged away. “I’m waking up,” he muttered miserably.

“I know,” Castiel smiled sadly at him. “I can feel it.”

“Come back, Cas?” Dean asked hopefully. “Every night. Please.”

“I promise.” Castiel moved to kiss him before the dream ended.

***

The bunker was stuck in limbo. No one had wanted to leave, to give up, but they had nothing to go on or much hope to make them stay. So for the first few days, they all just stayed, getting under one another's feet and fighting feebly about petty things.

On the fifth day, Jody and Alex had to head back to work. They dragged a reluctant Claire with them, begging Sam to call if there was anything they could do to help.

Charlie remained, determined to assist as best she could. No one had protested at her presence, and if they did, she planned to ignore them.

Gabriel stayed. Charlie didn’t question it, and Dean drank, raged or slept his way through the first couple of days—so it was doubtful he noticed, to start with. Even when he did, he didn’t query it. Gabriel was staying, for now, and that was that.

Sam researched every hour that he could, but he was running out of places to check. Being resurrected in a vessel that didn’t actually have a person inside, like Castiel had the last few years, just wasn’t something that had happened before. There was nothing to go on.

But Sam couldn’t give up. Watching Dean mope miserably around the bunker was awful—not just because he knew his brother was hurting, but because Dean was a pissy bitch when he was upset.

A few times Sam had begged Gabriel to knock Dean out, but he’d taken to sleeping a lot on his own accord the past couple of days, and Sam was honestly relieved.

Sam snapped his laptop shut with a sigh, looking up to where Gabriel sat opposite him in the library. Uncharacteristically perhaps, Gabriel had his nose in a giant tome of angel lore.

“Gabriel,” Sam called to get his attention, before pointing at the book. “Shouldn’t you already know everything about angels?”

“Of course not,” Gabriel looked at him pointedly. “You’re a human. Do you know everything about human biology? About how souls work? What they’re made of, how they fit into your body?”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him before nodding. “Right, of course. What’s that quote – I’m a bird, not an ornithologist?”

Gabriel nodded. “Exactly. Though, please don’t ever call me a bird. I’m way cooler than a bird.”

“If you say so,” Sam smirked. After a moment though, a thoughtful frown passed his brow. “Gabe, if you don’t know how to fix this—do you think anyone else in heaven would? I know they probably wouldn’t want to help Cas, but…they might help you.”

Gabriel considered it a moment, closing his book. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, frowning deeply.

Sam just watched, trying not to get excited.

“You’re right, they might not help Castiel. But there might have been someone who knew—he’s gone now, but I bet she—” Gabriel muttered to himself under his breath, pushing his chair back from the table to pace back and forth.

Sam rose cautiously, watching him pace, unsure. “Gabe?”

“I need more power,” Gabriel cursed under his breath. “Heaven is locked other than one heavily-controlled gate. I’d need to override that and force my way in…”

“You’re an archangel,” Sam pointed out. “Can’t you do pretty much anything?”

“With enough power, yes,” Gabriel agreed flippantly. “But cut off from heaven, my powers aren’t limitless.”

“When Cas needed a boost to send us back in time before, he touched Bobby’s soul,” came Dean’s voice from the doorway.

Sam’s head jerked across to him. “Dean—you’re awake. How are—”

Dean ignored him. “Will getting into heaven get us closer to having Cas back?” he asked Gabriel directly.

“I—” Gabriel threw a guilty glance at Sam, but nodded. “I think so.”

“Then will you do it?” Dean gestured to his chest.

Gabriel crinkled up his nose as Dean walked closer. “Touch that thing? It’s got Castiel all over it. It’s like poking at someone’s used skin mag. Gross.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, who only had enough good graces to flush for a mere second.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Sammy,” he shrugged. “Sometimes doing stuff the angel way is pretty hot.”

Sam looked revolted (and also, despite himself, a little curious) but said nothing of Dean’s angel sexcapades, turning his attention back to Gabriel. “Me, then. Use my soul, Gabe. I trust you.”

Gabriel blinked.

Dean opened his mouth, before raising his hands and beginning to back out of the room. “Suddenly, I have waffles to make. Why don’t you, uh, discuss this,” he gestured between Gabriel and Sam, “and I’ll, uh… waffle.”

Sam watched in confusion as Dean turned and practically ran off to the kitchen. “When, uh,” Sam paused to nervously tuck some hair behind his ear. “When Cas touched Bobby’s soul, I don’t think it was like…that.” He gestured vaguely at the spot where Dean had been, before looking back to Gabriel.

“No, I imagine it wasn’t,” Gabriel chuckled. “And it doesn’t have to be. Though it hurts and drains the human if it’s one-sided, like with Bobby. Dean’s soul is different because he gave back .”

Sam nodded. “Right. I remember, with Bobby. So, if you take power from my soul so you’re strong enough to override the wards to heaven—what then? What’s your plan?”

Sitting back down, Gabriel gestured for Sam to do the same. His face was calm for a change, thoughtful. “The first vessels didn’t come out of nowhere, Sam. What we have now are the descendants of them, their bloodlines, but the very first ones – they were human, once. The vessels were created when angels realized our true forms didn’t work well for this plane.”

Sam nodded along, following.

“Just as most in heaven don’t know how to make new angels, most don’t know how to make new vessels, either. But there’s one person that might have known.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I believe you met him when he was down here.”

Frowning, Sam went mentally back over all of the angels he’d known over the years. “Wait… you mean Metatron?”

Gabriel nodded. “He was closer to Dad than the rest of us. I don’t mean that my Father liked him any better, mind you, just that he stalked him for years and wrote down every word he said,” a smirk came across Gabriel’s lips. “Like an irritating, foul-smelling puppy that no one likes very much, but doesn’t have the heart to put down.”

“But Amara killed Metatron,” Sam pointed out, pushing his laptop aside so that he could lean firmly on the table.

“Yes, Auntie Amara made him a smear on the wall—to the joy of many, I might add,” Gabriel smirked again. “However,” he paused for a second, thinking how to explain. “There’s an angel in heaven called Naomi—”

Sam’s brow crunched with distaste. “I’m aware.”

Gabriel studied Sam’s expression before he nodded. “So you’re aware of her…hobbies.”

“She, uh,” Sam reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking back over uncomfortable memories. “She tortured Cas. A lot. Tried to have him kill Dean. Reset his brain a few times, we think.”

“Many times,” Gabriel clarified, his voice flat. “Sometimes in accordance with Gods plan, perhaps, but—sometimes not.”

“So…” Sam prompted gently, unsure if he was following.

“The memories aren’t just wiped,” Gabriel explained. “That’s a quick fix that leaves them prone to being re-found. In many cases, the memories are removed. Stored. And I have absolutely zero doubt that while Metatron was imprisoned—”

Sam caught up, his eyes widening. “Naomi probably had a good poke around his brain. He knew more of God than anyone – of course she did.”

Gabriel nodded.

“So,” Sam said slowly. “Let me check I’ve got this right. You’re going to blast your way into heaven and persuade Naomi to work with us? To tell you if Metatron knew how to turn Jimmy’s body into a fresh vessel that, what, can give Cas consent somehow?”

“No, I’m going to build the vessel for Castiel,” Gabriel clarified. “It will belong to him. No consent needed. If It requires a soul,” he shrugged, “I’ll chain it to Dean’s. Simple.”

“Don’t you think you should ask Dean?” Sam grinned slightly.

“As if he’s gonna say no,” Gabriel snorted flicking his fingers dismissively at the doorway Dean had departed through. “He’s always been a self-sacrificing idiot, now he’s a self-sacrificing idiot in love. It’s worse.”

“In love, huh?” Sam regarded the doorway that Dean had disappeared through. “Cas said so, but I haven’t really spoken to Dean about it. I guess you’re right, though.”

Gabriel raised an amused blond eyebrow. “They entwined grace. Or… grace and a soul, in their case. Castiel wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t something serious. Something permanent.”

Understanding slowly dawned over Sam’s face. “Oh… so when I offered my soul to you , Dean thought that maybe—” he cut himself off quickly, looking sideways at Gabriel.

Gabriel gave Sam a lascivious wink. “Don’t worry big-boy, I’ll buy you dinner first.”

“Gabriel,” Sam felt his neck heating, but he folded his arms and glared back at the flirtatious archangel. “Can you be serious for like, three seconds?”

Pursing his lips, Gabriel considered. “Probably not. But I can try.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed, realizing it was the best he’d get. He folded his hands in front of himself on the table. “So let’s talk about this soul thing.”

***

There was a loud crack in the bunker, like a peal of thunder that originated from right in the middle of the war room.

Charlie, sat at the table while she innocently wolfed down some ramen noodles, jumped almost out of her skin. Her chair tipped back and her ramen was forgotten as Gabriel materialized in midair. There was an odd half-second where he seemed to hover in nothing before he crashed the remaining six-feet or so to the floor.

Dean dashed in from the corridor that led to the bedrooms; he’d been napping, again.

Following him, more slowly, came Sam. He looked pale and worn, breathing heavily with sweat creasing his brow as he staggered in from his own bedroom.

Charlie was there first, rolling Gabriel onto his back. He blinked a couple of times, breathing heavily. One arm extended, he shoved a bundle of ripped fabric at her; a makeshift bag, gathered around a couple of clanking items.

“Got it.” Gabriel wheezed. “She knew.”

“Gabe! Your face…” Sam lurched over, dropping to his knees next to Charlie and gripping at the archangel’s jaw, turning his face up toward him.

Streaks of blood fell from his left eye, purplish bruising gathering across his skin under his floppy, dark blond bangs.

Gabriel jerked his face out of Sam’s hand. “Nothing. I’ll be fine. Not everything went to plan, is all. But I’m back.”

Sam glared at him, fearlessly moving to grip his jaw again, as if Gabriel was nothing more than an unruly child. “Enough of that. You can’t heal it?”

This time, Gabriel submitted to Sam’s touch without much more than an embarrassed huff. “No. Too weak, right now.”

Charlie stood, placing the bundle that Gabriel had retrieved on the war room table. Everyone’s eyes followed her, and when they returned to Gabriel, Sam was helping him up off the floor.

“Maybe—” Dean began, but was cut off by several light bulbs in the hallway behind him fizzing and popping. “Cas,” he grumbled. “Keep a lid on it. Light bulbs aren’t free, you know.”

Sam turned and raised an eyebrow at Dean. He didn’t get time to speak before something breeze-like and powerful-feeling knocked him away from Gabriel.

The archangel’s head snapped back and white light filled him, causing a cower in all of the humans. After only a second, it was gone. Gabriel relaxed, one hand reaching up to his now-healed face. His smile was lopsided but grateful. “Thanks, baby bro.”

Sam stood, looking about hopefully, but no healing came for his tired state.

Charlie smirked slightly, “No healing for you, Sam. I guess Cas doesn’t approve of you volunteering for a soul-lobotomy to save him.”

Sam rolled his eyes and glanced at Gabriel. “It’s not just Dean that’s a self-sacrificing idiot. Turns out they’re both hypocrites on top of it, too.”

Gabriel snickered, reaching an arm around Sam and jerking his head toward the corridor of bedrooms. “Come on, Samsquatch. You need to rest some more, while I talk to my moody little brother.”

Sam leaned slightly onto Gabriel, muttering something under his breath that only Gabriel could hear as they departed.

Dean and Charlie were left, staring at the bundle on the table.

Charlie folded her arms, clearly indicating that she wasn’t going to mess with it.

Shrugging, Dean pulled the fabric back. Inside lay a tiny silver tube, the cap dislodged to reveal a tightly wound scroll inside. Next to it lay a glass vial of what looked like blood (who it belonged to, Dean couldn’t hazard a guess), and another glass vial of glowing, golden light. “This is… it?” Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow at Charlie.

She shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t make vessels. Go take a nap and ask your three-headed boyfriend,” she smirked.

“He doesn’t know either,” Dean admitted, ignoring the description. “This is all on Gabriel.”

Charlie turned toward Dean, resting her hip on the table as she looked up at him, cautious. “So… Cas’ future is in the trickster's hands, is what you’re saying.”

Dean nodded, mute, pursing his lips as he refolded the fabric around the items.

“Your future, too,” Charlie clarified.

Dean raised a brow; a caution. Charlie ignored it, continuing.

“What happens if he can’t do it? You can’t love a ghost, Dean. You’d make a fugly Demi Moore, for one.”

Dean smirked slightly at the reference. “Cas would make a pretty hot Swayze though,” he winked.

“I’m serious, Dean.” Charlie’s hand came up to Dean’s forearm, resting hesitantly on his plaid. “Can you let him go if you have to?”

Dean’s lips thinned in response and he jerked away, gathering the spell ingredients from the table. He stalked away to the library, silent.

Charlie sighed. She’d had a feeling that was going to be the answer.

***

Everyone in the bunker slept, except Gabriel.

He stood at the door to the bunker, staring at it as he waited for seconds to pass. At precisely midnight, he reached for the iron handle, easing it open with a creak.

With a throb of grace, he bypassed the bunker’s warding with ease and admitted his two co-conspirators without setting off any alarms.

Nodding silently, they moved down into the bunker with him, assembling at the table in the war room.

The two new arrivals settled into seats, and Gabriel stood at the head of the table.

“Alright then,” Gabriel grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Crowley,” he nodded to the demon on his left, “Billie,” he intoned to Death on his right. “Shall we begin?”

Billie fixed him with a flat stare. “I don’t have time for your humor, Gabriel. No theatrics, just business.”

Crowley nodded. “I happen to agree, for once. Goods on the table?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at Gabriel and Billie in turn.

“Alright,” said Gabriel, leaning over the table. “Let’s begin.”

Billie extended her right-hand flat, palm up. A large, leather-bound notebook engraved with a W materialized.

Crowley performed a similar motion, producing a scroll.

They both placed them in the middle of the table. Crowley turned to look at Gabriel once more.

“You sure you’re alright to do this?” Crowley looked curious, rather than concerned. “Aren’t you supposed to be about justice, weighing souls and all that?’

Gabriel’s smile was surprisingly humorless. “You’re thinking of my brother. I’m the one with the horn, not the scales or the spear.”

Crowley shrugged. “Your call.”

“I’m not doing this for justice, Crowley. I have my own agenda, as all of us have. But I could make you a smear on the wall if I wanted, so I suggest you cooperate.”

A tiny laugh came from Billie as Gabriel spoke, but she cut it off quickly. “To business, then. I don’t agree with this, but I’m not going to argue with an archangel. It’s not worth my time,” she admitted. “So, what do you offer, Gabriel?”

Clicking his fingers, Gabriel produced the vials he had brought from heaven, easily summoned from the library where Dean had earlier taken them.

“To Crowley, to buy out the contract on Dean Winchester—“ Gabriel waved the heavy, golden glowing vial enticingly before placing it on the table. “One thousand souls.”

A smile tweaked at the edge of Crowley’s lips. Gabriel had known that one would be easy.

Gabriel’s lesser brothers had dealt in souls often. He’d watched from the sidelines, hidden from them all, as Zachariah and Balthazar gambled and grappled for power with them, used humans as pawns. He had never done so, himself. Before.

“For you, Billie—“ Gabriel turned, serious, but smiling slightly. “There is no currency that can tempt Death. You’re older than I am and not half as fun. So I’m merely offering to relieve you of your most irritating charges. The ones that just won’t do as you say.”

For a moment, a soft silence hung in the bunker. Crowley broke it first.

“I'll admit I'm curious to see the fallout when the Winchester's find out what you paid, Goldie. So...Sold.” He reached for the vial of one thousand unnamed souls, and once it rested in his palm, snapped the fingers of his other hand. The contract scroll, sat on the table, crumbled instantly to ash.

Gabriel nodded with a satisfied smile.

All of the attention in the room rested on Billie as she thoughtfully opened her thick W tome; a record of just some of the ways Dean and Sam Winchester could one day die. She flicked through it for a few minutes, smirking here and there.

When her eyes came back up to Gabriel, she nodded. “I know what your game is, but I don’t much mind it. My old boss liked to think all souls were made equal, that all humans walked the world as ants, nothing more,” she mused.

“I have brothers that would say the same,” Gabriel noted casually, leaning his fists down onto the Arctic portion of the map table.

“But we know different,” Billie offered back. “Not all souls are equal when it comes to their impact on the world. Sometimes, we are meant to bend the rules.”

With a click of her fingers, a rather overly-dramatic feathered quill appeared in her hand. She leaned over the notebook, moving the final pages, and made a flourishing note. As she finished, the book snapped shut, and a glowing, golden chain appeared around it. She slid it across the table to Gabriel.

“Upon death, the souls of Sam and Dean Winchester belong to you, Gabriel,” Billie intoned. “Good luck and God help you, is all I can say.”

Chapter Text

Gabriel was up to something, Sam was certain. He’d become close enough to the archangel since their imprisonment together that he knew when Gabriel was being weirder than usual.

The majority of the feeling, Sam realized, came from the fact that Gabriel had been avoiding him all day. Gabriel was nothing if not a pest, usually. He gave this strange impression that he wanted to be around people all the time, teasing them and living life to the fullest, and yet that he didn’t care about anyone. It was an odd balance that Sam didn’t quite understand, but it certainly didn’t usually involve flapping out of whatever room he entered.

He’d been hoping to pin Gabriel down to get an update on the vessel situation, as he knew Dean was going out of his mind about it. Sam was done watching Dean stalk around the bunker like a caged animal, alternately snapping at everyone and then spending hours in his room, taking long naps.

Eventually, Sam shut himself in his bedroom, armed himself with Twizzlers, and prayed.

Quit avoiding me, asshole.

He waited.

Gabriel, come on. What’s the big deal? Did I do something?

Sam frowned, considering. He knew Gabriel was still in the bunker. He thought back over the last couple of days, trying to work out if he’d crossed a line or offended the archangel somehow.

“‘Sup,” Gabriel commented casually from the other side of Sam’s bed, where he somehow materialized with one of the Twizzlers already in his mouth.

A flurry of relief burst out in Sam’s chest as he rolled his eyes. “So the candy works. It’s like a summoning spell but worse for your teeth.”

“Not my teeth, Sammy,” Gabriel grinned, flaunting his perfect, pearly whites. “Angel perks, and all that.”

Sam glared at him for a moment, pulling his legs up onto the mattress and folding his arms.

“Alright,” Gabriel sighed. “I didn’t come for the candy. I came for you, and yes I’ve been avoiding you, and no it’s not your fault. Happy?”

“What?” Sam blinked. “Of course I’m not happy,” he said. “At no point during that did you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. I thought, I… dunno. I was worried that I’d offended you, that you were going to leave.”

“I said it wasn’t your fault.” Gabriel pouted briefly, then sighed and said, “I did something a little rash, maybe, and I probably should have asked you and Dean about it first.” Crossing his legs on the mattress, Gabriel spun one of the Twizzlers between his fingers, not eating. “It was well intended but you might be mad about it. Hell, I know Dean will be mad. His default is mad, right now.”

“His boyfriend is a thousand-foot-tall, immaterial being he can’t look at. Give him a break.”

Gabriel smirked slightly, but it only lasted a second. Instead, he rolled the red candy between his fingers and looked up at Sam, sat almost knee-to-knee with him on the mattress as they faced each other, cross-legged. “I bought your soul,” he blurted out after a moment.

Sam blinked. “You...what?”

“I arranged to meet with Crowley and Billie. Angels can trade in souls, you know. We don’t, often, or at least I don’t, but—”

“Yeah, Balthazar did,” Sam interrupted, “I know that. But again… what?”

“You and Dean, when you died,” Gabriel dropped his eyes to his hands, slowly shredding his candy like a cheese string, “your souls were committed to the Empty. Billie had her reasons. Crowley helped in his own way, as odd as that sounds, by contracting Dean to Hell.” Gabriel paused to chuckle humorlessly. “But I removed the problem. Your soul won’t go to the Empty, now. It will go to Heaven. A Heaven I create.”

“Because you…”

“Because I bought your soul, yes.” Gabriel didn’t look up, working his way through shredding another twizzler like it was a cheese string.

“That’s why you were attacked in Heaven,” Sam suddenly realized, his chest squeezing. “That’s why Naomi turned on you.”

Gabriel pursed his lips, shrugging briefly. “Well, it could be said that Naomi was a bitch before she found out what I had planned.”

Sam tucked his hair back behind his ear, slowly digesting the information, before he leaned forward to take the Twizzler from Gabriel. “Stop. You’re getting sticky lumps all over my bed.”

Gabriel looked up slowly. “You aren’t angry? That I didn’t consult you first?”

Sam tossed the sticky candy aside, and turned back to Gabriel, meeting his gaze. “If you had, I’d probably have said no. Which, it seems, wouldn’t have been acceptable to you.” Sam smiled gently, “I actually have a lot of experience with those kinds of tight corners. I get it. I won’t ask you what you paid. Dean might, though.”

Pressing his tongue nervously to his bottom lip, Sam leaned forward, reaching to pull Gabriel into a hug, though he didn’t force it.

Astonished, Gabriel went willingly, a small laugh escaping when his face was buried in Sam’s hair, the brown, soft tresses tickling at his face. “You’re really something, Sam.”

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged against Gabriel. “Dean’s the awesome one if you listen to most people. I’m the fuck up, remember.”

Gabriel’s arms crushed Sam tighter, though his frown was hidden amongst the curling hair behind Sam’s ear. “Not to me. Do you know how rare it is, as an Archangel, to meet someone you’d bow down to?”

Sam blinked, pulling back just far enough to see Gabriel’s face. “What? You’re crazy, Gabriel. Stop it.”

“No, Sam,” Gabriel looked nervous. “Let me just—hear me out this time, okay?” His fingers twisted into the plaid at the top of Sam’s arms, but his gaze dropped down to the mattress where their knees were smushed together awkwardly. “I really like you, Sam. If that’s not okay, fine, I’ll leave. But I want to stay.”

“Stay here? At the bunker?” Sam frowned, “I already said you could—”

“No,” Gabriel interrupted, exasperated. “Stay with you , idiot. Be here with you , try for some kind of normal life. See if all this shit Castiel talks about is worth it. Help you, fight with you.” Gabriel’s forehead dipped down, as if he couldn’t quite look at Sam in the moment, but he continued speaking. “Do the horizontal fucking tango, Christ. I wanna be here with you, Sam. I did it all for you.”

“Oh,” was all that Sam squeaked out before the bunker alarm tripped.

***

“Look, Crowley,” Dean grumbled, sounding excessively tired, “All I’m saying is call first. Even if I was still in hell, Cas has your number. I know he pretends not to, but he does.”

Dean and Crowley walked through the entrance rooms of the bunker, making their way toward the infirmary. Dean looked disgruntled but unsurprised at Crowley’s appearance.

Charlie walked a few feet behind them, looking crumpled and tired, as if the alarm had woken her from an accidental evening nap at her laptop. “You’re like a bunch of children,” she yawned. “Just be a happy family, please. For me.”

Sam and Gabriel came running up the corridor from Sam’s bedroom, earning a raised eyebrow from Dean, and came to a halt in front of the demon.

“You? You tripped the alarms?” Sam panted slightly from the exertion, still worn-looking from Gabriel’s use of his soul.

Gabriel just looked livid, his whiskey-colored eyes boring through the demon viciously. He looked like he wanted to rip Crowley apart for some reason, but he said nothing.

Crowley smirked as he made his way along the tiled corridor behind Dean. “Not my fault you don’t have a doorbell, is it?”

“Why are you here, Crowley?” Sam responded flatly, sighing as he fell into line with Dean. “What’s happening?”

“I’m here for a front row seat, of course,” Crowley grinned, gesturing around as Dean turned left into the infirmary where Jimmy rested. “I’m invested in this little fairy tale, and I had a hunch,” his eyes shifted minutely to Gabriel, “that some stuff might go down today. Not to mention, I brought your final ingredient, as requested by my new pen-pal.”

Dean shrugged tiredly. “Whatever, Crowley. Let’s just get Cas back in his vessel and be done with this whole mess, huh?”

Sam looked across to Gabriel, thoughtful and quiet as they came to stand in a semi-circle around Jimmy’s bed; Dean by his head, Crowley next to him, with Sam and Gabriel on the other side of the bed. Charlie moved around the room, pushing them out of the way as required while she fluffed Jimmy’s blankets and checked the IV’s.

Once Charlie nodded, moving back to stand and observe from the end of the bed, Gabriel reached over and pumped a little of his recovering grace into the comatose man. A little ‘freshen up’, as they had all come to think of it, without wanting to ponder too much on the questions that brought up.

Dean cleared his throat, looking across the bed to Sam. “So, I was treated to a round-table business conference with both Cas and Gabriel while I was supposed to be getting my four hours last night,” he explained. “There was a lot of yelling in a language I didn’t understand, but I think the two of them came to an agreement on how to do this.”

Sam nodded, looking unabashedly eager as his eyes rested on Jimmy. “Alright. What do you need me and Charlie to do?”

“And me, of course,” Crowley butted in with a simpering smile.

“Me and Charlie,” Sam repeated with a glare.

“I’ll need Dean, but you two get to relax and watch the freak show,” Gabriel spoke up, stretching as he began to lecture the room. “Vessels for my archangel brothers and I are almost impossible to reconstruct - the bloodlines were created by God himself. But the other angels, those came later. Luckily, the creation of Hell,” Gabriel’s eyes flicked over to Crowley momentarily, “gave a shortcut. That shortcut was used on the original ancestor of the Novak bloodline—a devout man named Ishmael.  From what I could work out, our best chance is to use the same Enochian spell that was used on Ishmael. To begin, Ishmael drank the blood of a demon—”

“Again,” Crowley interrupted briefly, “me, of course. So glad to be here.”

The comment was met with universal eye rolls, but the demon seemed unphased.

“—but his blood was so blessed by God,” Gabriel glared over at Crowley, but carried on without pause, “that the demon could not harm him, and he merely gained the demon’s possessing abilities. The spell used the power of Ishmael’s soul to bind the ability to his own blood, in layman’s terms.” Gabriel flicked his fingers, shaking his head. “There’s a lot more to it. Castiel would have me tell you all kinds of boring crap, but—” Gabriel shrugged. “That’s the gist of it.”

“So,” Dean responded slowly, exchanging a look with Sam, “how does that work for our purposes, with dead Jimmy?”

Gabriel reached inside his jacket and pulled out the glass vial he had retrieved—or stolen—from Heaven. “I’m going to recreate everything as close as I can. Jimmy’s blood is far too watered down now for it to work, so I have some of the blood of Ishmael right here,” Gabriel held up the small container, before giving an amused shrug. “Sometimes it’s best not to ask how certain things end up in Heaven. Go with the flow, kids.”

Someone gave an inelegant snort. It may have been Crowley, but could just as easily have been Dean.

“We’ll inject him with it,” Gabriel carried on, throwing the vial over to Charlie, “and give him a fresh flush of holy blood. He doesn’t have a soul, but no biggie, I’ll power it with yours,” Gabriel finished, jabbing a finger toward Dean with a pleased grin.

Dean’s brow creased in thought, but he nodded. “Sure. Whatever you need, I’ll do. There’s no problem using my soul?”

Sam cleared his throat and gave Gabriel a very obvious side-eye.

Gabriel muttered something under his breath, and Dean’s eyebrows raised in turn.

“What’s the fuss in the peanut gallery? Got some comments to make, guys?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes at Sam and Gabriel in turn.

“Your soul is fine to use,” Gabriel responded with a sigh. “There may have been a problem as it technically belonged to a demon, but I, uh, fixed it,” he surmised shortly.

Dean blinked. “Fixed? You… you fixed my soul?”

“Bought it is more like it,” Crowley almost purred with delight. At Dean’s incredulous face, he clapped his hands with exaggerated glee. “Honestly, knowing you lot is better than any telenovela. Such emotion, such drama, such overacting.”

“Alright, enough,” Gabriel snapped at Crowley. “Smear on the wall, remember.”

Dean didn’t say anything, merely crossing his arms as he looked at Gabriel, waiting.

“Yes,” Gabriel explained calmly. “I purchased your soul from Crowley. Your contract is done. You are also freed from your assignment to the Empty when you die, at my little brother’s insistence.”

“Why?” Dean asked suspiciously, his gaze dead set on Gabriel. “I know you and Sam have some kind of shared-trauma thing going on right now, but I’m pretty convinced you don’t give two shits about me, Gabriel.”

“Like I said, Castiel insisted,” Gabriel dropped his eyes slightly as he responded. “I didn’t do it for you or for him, though.”

“Oh!” Charlie burst out suddenly. She had been all but forgotten, lurking at the end of the bed with Ishmael’s blood in hand, but made her presence known once more with an excited babble. “You did it for Sam! I knew it, I knew it!” she made a couple of pleased fist-pumping motions before she caught herself and swiftly turned back to Jimmy’s bedside, busying herself with the vial of blood to be injected.

Dean’s gaze rested incredulously on Gabriel, but Sam was the one turning a bit pink.

“Can we get on with the body thing, please?” Sam muttered.

“Well,” Charlie said as she rejoined the conversation, waving a syringe filled with Ishmael’s blood, “I have this ready to go.”

Dean and Gabriel looked at each other steadily for another long moment, before Dean nodded. “Let's go,” he said. After a pause, he gave a slightly unsure smile and added, “and thanks, I guess.”

“Let’s make some room then,” Gabriel acquiesced. “I’m going to need some space. If you can get the floor clear, I just need some chalk and the scroll for the spell,” he said as began to move toward the door. “I’ll go get them and we’ll start.”

“I’ll come help you,” Sam said a little too quickly, stepping out of the infirmary door behind the archangel, practically chasing him down.

Dean and Charlie exchanged a small smirk before beginning to push the spare beds back against the wall.

***

Forty-five minutes later, the group in the bunker were somber as they reassembled in the infirmary. Jimmy lay silently, his machinery still beeping. The rest of the bunker family fell into line around his bed, the nervous tension in the air keeping them fairly quiet.

Dean nodded to Charlie, and she reached for Jimmy’s arm, pulling it up into one hand and carefully easing out one of his IV needles with a grimace. “When do we unplug him?” She asked quietly, injecting the large vial of Ishmael’s blood directly into the tube-free arm.

“We’ll leave it until the end,” Gabriel provided. “Being hooked up to life support isn’t going to hurt Cassie any, and I don’t want to risk any damage to the body by taking him off too early.”

Dean moved a few feet back from the bed into the chalked circle full of Enochian symbols that now filled the floor where the other bed had been. Everyone’s eyes followed him as he stood in the middle, nervous energy shifting him from foot to foot. “How long for the blood to, uh, spread its holiness and stuff?” he looked up to Gabriel, ignoring the others.

“Instant, really. Holiness isn’t a virus, Dean, it’s more like a state of being,” Sam responded, busy looking with fascination down at the floor where Dean stood. “What does all this say, Gabe? I recognize a few things…”

“Me too,” commented Dean. He pointed down at a series of Enochian letters that began with something that looked like a backward number thirteen. “That’s Cas’ name, for one.” He looked quite proud of himself.

Sam gave Dean an entertained smirk. “So that’s what it takes to get you to learn a language.”

“Oh shut up,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t know Gabriel’s.”

Sam turned instantly pink, and Dean snickered.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” came Crowley’s bored, yet crisp, English tone. “Some of us have other business to attend to.” He moved up to the head of the bed, switching places with Charlie, and reached inside his coat pocket.

He drew out a sizeable syringe from his inner pocket, strangely archaic looking and silver, with a few symbols scratched into the glass here and there.

Charlie eyed it suspiciously.

“Can never be too careful,” Crowley said, shrugging. Reaching forward, he lined the needle up next to Jimmy’s arm. “Everybody ready?” he grinned.

Dean and Gabriel nodded; Sam and Charlie took the moment to step back out of the way, down to near Jimmy’s feet. Gabriel placed himself between the bed and Dean, at the edge of the circle.

Dean and Crowley exchanged one last look before the demon depressed the plunger on the syringe, and for a moment they were all frozen, waiting in silence.

Then the alarms on the life support machine started blaring, and Jimmy’s body started seizing, wildly.

Dean wasn’t sure when Gabriel began speaking, but now all he could hear was the archangel's voice booming, reciting words memorized from the tiny scroll that had been encased in the silver vial that he stole from Heaven.

“Noco del Oiad, Ol vino od zacar elasa… ” As he spoke, Gabriel’s hands came out to each side, one toward Jimmy and one toward Dean. “ Oiad acaro I ge, Nalama soz dazi Nalamas… ”

The light that filled the room was painful. Sam and Charlie averted their eyes as Dean began a high pitched scream, a blast of white tearing from Jimmy to Gabriel, and then from Gabriel to Dean. Crowley squinted a bit, but looked on dispassionately.

Dean felt like a column of fire was hooking into his chest and tearing him apart—and Dean was intimately familiar with how that actually felt.

He was barely aware of Gabriel’s continued recitation, struggling to maintain consciousness through the pain and overwhelming sense of power. This was nothing like being touched by Castiel’s grace or feeling the healing power of an angel wash over him. Dimly, Dean realized that as an archangel, Gabriel was almost nothing like the other angels he’d met. His power drew Dean down to his knees, roaring and shaking.

“ Castiel, tababaord, bvsdirtilb, izizop, ioiad, ohorela, aboapri ,” Gabriel finished rousingly, his voice raising over Dean’s agonized yells.

Dean wasn’t sure how long the light and pain and white noise went on for. He was on his knees now; he could feel tears streaming down his face, he knew he was shaking, that his muscles rolled with sweat—yet he couldn’t see, hear, or truly sense anything. His chest felt empty, like something had been ripped from him, and yet full at the same time, anchored with something new.

Sobbing, he could feel himself falling, but then there were hands at his biceps, pulling him forward.  

Dean’s chest heaved, but then arms were around him and he could hear his name being called over and over, by a voice he hadn’t truly heard for much longer than he’d have liked.

Finally able to ease his eyes open, his muscles still trembling, Dean took in the room.

Charlie and Crowley stood near the doorway to the room, wearing matching wide-eyed expressions. Sam was next to Gabriel, who leaned on the completely frazzled-looking life support machine— it was silent and smoked a little. Sam reached for Gabriel and pulled the trembling, exhausted-looking archangel into his chest. It was soft, an affectionate gesture. His eyesight wasn’t the best right then, but Dean was fairly certain there was kissing involved. He thought that if his muscles would have cooperated, he would have smiled.

In front of Dean, on his knees mimicking Dean’s own position, was Castiel. Dean didn’t have to even look twice to know it was really him; somehow he always looked completely different to Jimmy. He wore the plain white t-shirt and soft pants Jimmy and been wearing, and he was paler than usual and splattered with what might have been a little demon blood. There were small marks on his arms where, Dean guessed, he’d ripped out the remaining IV tubes rather too fast.

In that moment, Castiel was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen, and he was completely heedless of the others in the room as their lips crashed together.

“Cas,” Dean panted, finding his voice strained. “You’re back,” he smiled, his hands coming up to either side of Castiel’s face and pulling him in for another kiss before there was any chance of a reply.

Castiel’s arms wrapped tightly around Dean’s back, pulling their chests firmly together as he returned the kiss with fervor. “You're alive,” he panted between kisses, and they both managed a small laugh before diving back in.

A few more minutes of sloppy affection passed before Charlie and Crowley reached their limit, slipping quietly out of the room to leave the Winchesters and their angels to it.

Chapter Text

To say that Dean was tired was an understatement. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but the bunker was quiet when he woke. Normally he would have immediately dragged himself, morning or not, to at least check on the other bunker inhabitants before getting some coffee. But the warm shape pressed into his back calmed him immediately.

“Mornin’, Cas,” Dean mumbled sleepily, rolling over to face him.

Castiel smiled, a full grin that showed his gums and slightly pointy incisors, before he dipped forward to press his lips to Dean’s forehead. “It’s two in the afternoon, but I’m glad you’re awake,” he responded.

“How are you feeling?” Dean reached over, cupping Castiel’s cheek, demanding a proper kiss, morning breath or no.

“Never better,” Castiel said as he smiled down at Dean. “A little tired I suppose, which is rather odd as I have my grace restored, but I can’t complain about anything.” For a moment, he looked serious, reaching a hand up to trace two fingers down the side of Dean’s face. “I really am sorry, Dean. For putting you through that. I couldn’t see any other option.”

Despite feeling nothing but warmth and affection in that moment, Dean managed to give Castiel a half-hearted glare. “Yeah, well next time, talk to me first. I don’t care if it takes a freakin’ ouija board and some mojo, you don’t do shit like that without telling me.”

Cowed, Castiel nodded his head. “I know. It was a mistake. I just thought it was easier…” Castiel sighed. “Loving someone isn’t always easy, it seems,” he mused, climbing on top of Dean and looking down at him. “I’m afraid that being a good boyfriend isn’t a skill I was created with. I’ll have to learn.”

Nudging his nose up into Castiel’s neck behind his ear, Dean’s hands made soothing strokes up the angel’s back. “Me either, baby. Sex I’m good at. Relationships I kinda suck at.”

Castiel chuckled, and Dean felt it vibrate through his chest. “I don’t know Dean, you went to hell because of a deal to save me, then helped Gabriel get me back into my vessel,” Castiel pointed out. “I’m not sure what the human bar for a good boyfriend is, but I think you far exceed it.” He hummed happily, tilting his head to the side to give Dean better access to his neck.

“I’ll admit though,” he rumbled after a moment. “You are pretty good at the sex part.”

Dean laughed against Castiel’s skin, his teeth skimming down to his collarbone. Without warning he bit down, sealing his mouth around the flesh and sucking a mark onto the angel’s skin.

“I have to say,” Dean paused, pressing kisses to the red welt as Cas moaned above him, “I did miss waking up with you.”

“As did I,” Castiel agreed. He tightened his grip around Dean and rolled, flipping them so Dean was suddenly above him, straddling Castiel’s hips as he lay down on the bed.

Straddling his legs around Castiel’s waist more comfortably, Dean lifted his arms and peeled off the stretched-out Led Zeppelin t-shirt he’d slept in. When he looked back down, Castiel was looking up at him so adoringly it made him pause, feeling a flush hit his neck.

“What?” he grinned down at the angel.

“I missed you,” Castiel answered sincerely, without any hint of embarrassment. Reaching up, he tugged Dean down gently by his neck, twining their lips fully.

Dean simply enjoyed the closeness for a moment, savoring the soft slide of each other's lips that they’d missed out on longer than either would like.

After a minute he pulled back, just far enough to put a few inches between them. Bracing his elbows either side of Castiel, so that his forearms framed his face and he could tangle his hands in his wild, soft hair. Dean took a breath before speaking.

“Stay here with me, Cas. I know this room in the bunker isn’t much, but it’s all I’ve got right now. It could be yours, too. Share it with me.”

Dean thought that Castiel might raise an eyebrow and tease him slightly at how silly it was, essentially asking the angel who already lived here to move in with him. It wasn’t like Castiel even slept or had much in the way of belongings to move. But strangely, it mattered to Dean. He’d only ever lived with one other partner, and this was far, far more important than that.

Castiel didn’t joke about it at all though. Reaching to place his palms under Dean’s jaw instead, and draw them back together.

“Yes, Dean,” he answered simply. “I would love that.”

Their kisses grew more heated and the breathlessness between them increased. From his position straddling Castiel’s hips, Dean felt Castiel’s thickening cock bob hopefully up against his stomach. He ground his hips forward gently, just a little friction and pressure to share his want in return.

He moved his kisses back around to the side of Castiel’s neck, mouthing at the tanned flesh beneath his lips as he spoke. “What do you want, Cas?” He smiled into his jaw, breathing deep to take in Castiel’s fresh, ozoney-scent.

“You,” Cas whispered huskily into Dean’s ear, well aware by now of the effect his voice had on him. “Inside me.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice, but they took their time.

The way Dean’s body reacted to Castiel now was automatic, everything from the feel of his stubble to the scent of his hair was an aphrodisiac to Dean. But this wasn’t about showing Castiel he wanted him, his body could do that perfectly well without Dean’s instruction. This was about showing Castiel that he’d missed him, that he loved him. It was about wanting to keep him.

Dean’s nightstand provided lube, and slicking each other up slowly, they began almost reverentially. There was no sound beyond breathy gasps between their kisses. It wasn’t until Dean was a few minutes into opening Castiel up for him, sliding in his second finger and rubbing in a now-familiar gesture, that they spoke again.

“Dean…” Castiel gasped, beginning to shake around Dean’s fingers. His eyes locked onto Deans, neither of them able to look away.

“I got you, baby,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s cheek, dragging his fingers slowly across his prostate and working him up into a panting, shivering mess.

“Dean, please …” Cas groaned hungrily, reaching down to wrap his lube-slicked hand around Dean’s eager, dribbling cock. “I need you, Dean. Please.”

Dean couldn’t refuse, nor would he ever want to, enraptured by the beautiful angel below him as he fucked slowly into Castiel’s hand.

“Oh God Cas… yeah, come on…” he reached down, giving Castiel one last, deep kiss before he slipped his fingers out and put pressure onto Castiel’s hips, urging him to turn over. “I need you too,” he whispered roughly back.

The sight of Castiel on all fours, his ass in the air and face pressed down into the pillows, would never, ever grow old. Spreading his cheeks slowly, Dean leaned in and ran his tongue slowly down from Castiel’s tailbone until he could lick a slow circle around his open, waiting ass. The whine that erupted from Cas as Dean darted into him with his tongue went straight to Dean’s dick.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean murmured, his lips and breath vibrating against Castiel’s hole, pulling keening noises from the angel. “You’re beautiful.”

Castiel pushed his hips back, fucking himself back onto Dean’s deeply thrust tongue. Dean was sloppy as he ate into him, gentle but ravenous for the noises it pulled out of the man below him. Dean could only manage a couple of minutes before he stopped, needing more.

“Ready, love?” He leaned forward so that the whispered term of endearment came from right above Castiel’s head.

“Yes,” Cas panted desperately. “Now. Yesterday. Always.”

Dean grinned, pleased to have reduced Castiel to a begging mess before he’d even gotten inside him. Lining himself up, he gripped Castiel’s hips firmly with one hand and used the other to tease his cock up and down against the saliva-coated, slightly gaping hole that awaited him.

Castiel grunted. “You’re a tease, Dean Winchester,” he grumbled into the pillow.

“You love it,” Dean breathed in response, sliding smoothly home.

The way that Castiel’s face was turned on the pillow, Dean could see his blue eyes get wider as Dean bottomed out, a high-pitched whine falling from both of their lips in unison.

“Oh fuck, Cas, Jesus.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep everything under control for just a minute more. His voice was thin. “You feel so good, fuck, so good…”

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was even lower, a rumble against the bedsheets. “Move.”

Dean had wanted this to be slow and loving, a moment where he could say with his body all the words he struggled to with his voice, but his willpower could never be that good with Castiel thrusting back against him.

“Shit,” Dean hissed, looking down to watch Castiel’s ass cheeks shake as he took for himself what Dean was too dazed to give him, twerking back against Dean’s cock with abandon.

It only took Dean a few seconds to join him, grabbing at Castiel’s flesh hard enough to bruise as he pounded forward.

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice was sharp, pleading.

Reaching around, Dean tucked his hand under Castiel’s hips and found his desperately weeping cock, looping his forefinger and thumb around the head. He squeezed and pulled, and within seconds he ripped Castiel’s orgasm from him, hearing him grunt and gasp desperately against the background melody of come spurting down onto the bedsheets.

“Oh fuck,” Dean tried to fight it, but listening to Castiel come was like a trigger that couldn’t be reversed.

Dean had just enough time to slide out and rest his cock across Castiel’s pert ass crack before he came with a yell, falling forward to support himself with one fist on the bed. He shuddered his way through his orgasm, his hand on Castiel’s hip gripping tight. His thumb moved soothing circles, a silent apology for the rough hold. Dean looked down, watching his come pool in the small of Castiel’s back, marking him sticky and white as belonging to him.

Looking at the puddle as they both sighed and shivered, coming down from the high they’d shared, Dean realized with a sharp pang that he wanted this every day.

Not just the great sex or the amazing making out—all of it. Castiel by his side; not belonging to God or to Heaven, just to Dean, and letting Dean be his in return.

***

At the other end of the bunker, Sam and Gabriel were sprawled on the couch together. A documentary about polar bears played on Sam’s laptop, balanced on a pile of pillows in front of the couch.

“If you like polar bears so much Sam, I’ll get you one, but do we have to watch this? It’s depressing,” Gabriel said, pouting.

Sam rolled his eyes. “For an archangel, you’re remarkably uncultured.”

Gabriel snorted in response. “Uncultured? Didn’t know you cared, Sammich. But I’ll have you know I’ve got game. I can tango backward, with a rose in my teeth, reciting poetry.”

Sam lay stretched out on the couch on his side, Gabriel laying in front of him. Grinning against the top of Gabriel’s head, Sam snuck his arm around Gabriel’s front and pulled the smaller man back against him.

Gabriel turned, quirking an eyebrow up in interest, but he missed out on whatever Sam was about to say thanks to Charlie’s interruption.

“Hey guys,” she called through from the war room. “I’m heading out!”

Stretching, Sam and Gabriel rolled reluctantly off the couch. Gabriel stood first, reaching down with both hands to haul Sam up.

“Be right there, Charlie,” Sam yelled as he gathered up a bunch of candy wrappers. He raised an eyebrow at them, shaking his head, but didn’t bother commenting.

They reached the war room at the same time as Dean and Castiel, who shuffled in from the corridor that led to the bedrooms. They both wore sweatpants and old t-shirts, carrying empty coffee mugs. They held hands as they walked.

Charlie squealed a little as she saw them. “This is just so cute guys. I have to leave now, because there are way too many dicks flying around here, but you gotta know this is at, like, Harajuku levels of cuteness,” she pointed out, crossing her arms very seriously. “You both found your angels. They should make a movie.”

“We are not cute ,” Cas pointed out with frown.

“Speak for yourself, baby,” Dean grinned with a wink. “I’m fucking adorable.”

Beaming widely, Charlie spread her arms. “Come on,” she called, waving them in. “Group hug before I bail.”

It was awkward, but they somehow all squeezed in to squish her tight. Sam reached down to grab her duffle, and Dean grabbed her laptop bag.

“We’ll get you to the car,” Dean offered needlessly.

Moving to the garage where Charlie’s gremlin was parked, they carefully placed the bags into her trunk before each coming up to claim another hug.

“I can’t thank you enough, Charlie,” Sam said down into her head, dropping a brotherly kiss into her red hair. “You, and Claire, and even Crowley. You all saved my life and I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

“Begin by being happy,” Charlie said cheesily into his chest. “And don’t let that pesky archangel get too out of hand,” she winked.

Sam laughed, still a little shy regarding the recent developments in his love life, and pushed his hair back behind his ear. He stepped aside to let Dean in for his hug.

“Bye, you,” Dean said gruffly, kissing the crown of her head much as Sam had. “Don’t know what I would've done without you, Charles. So, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she began, but cut off as Dean’s phone began to go off in his pocket, vibrating against her stomach. Fishing it out, she handed it up to him with a smile and stepped back.

Charlie moved to open her car door as Dean answered the call.

“Hey, Jody,” Dean grinned. “You got my message about Cas?”

Sam and Charlie could hear excited talking on the other side of the phone and followed Dean’s expression curiously as his jaw dropped slightly.

“Really, Jodes?” Dean spun on the spot, pumping his fist. “You are the fucking best, Sheriff!”

A brief pause while Jody barked something at him.

Dean winched. “Sorry. You’re the best, Sheriff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow in amusement at Charlie, before they looked back at Dean.

“Thank you, so, so much,” Dean grinned. “We’ll see you on the weekend.”

With that, Dean hung up and resumed his victory spinning.

“What's up?” Sam asked curiously, smiling regardless at seeing Dean happy.

“Jody found my Baby,” Dean sighed happily. “Abandoned off the side of a highway in Indiana.” He reached out and grabbed Charlie and Sam, pulling them both towards him on one more huge hug. “Everything is finally how it should be.”

Dean had Sam back, he had Castiel back, and he had Baby back.

He was happy.