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Chapter Text

“Agent Henriksen?”

Victor hears the voice of his colleague floating through the hallway into his office and he automatically finds himself heaving a very deep sigh while glancing at his computer's clock. It's way too late and he actually wanted to call it a day and go home like two hours ago.

But paperwork always has been a bitch since the dawn of time and now it seems as though the universe is trying to top her efforts to never let him see the inside of his apartment ever again.

“Agent?” Tanner's tone is urgent, tense.

He's obviously not just looking for Victor to share a donut with him or bitch about their new supervisor.

Victor seriously considers turning off the lights in his office as fast as possible and hiding underneath his desk, pretending that he isn't still around to work even later than he's already doing and putting more overtime on top of his overtime. For a few seconds it sounds like a solid plan in his mind and not like the idea of a child trying to evade their chores.

But eventually – unfortunately – he recalls that he's a fucking Federal Agent and he can't just crawl under tables and avoid the world.

No, he has to do this the grown-up way.

And that's why, when Tanner strides into his office a couple of seconds later, Victor greets him with the stoniest expression imaginable and simply states, in a deep tone that bares no objection, “No!”

Tanner immediately pauses and blinks confusedly at the man in front of him. “What?”

“No!” Victor repeats, his tone unwavering. “Whatever you're here for – just NO!”

“But –”

“I don't wanna hear it!” Victor cuts in straightaway as he raises his hand in warning at the younger agent. “You've got your something-important-came-up face on and I don't appreciate that. On the contrary, I'm feeling quite inclined to kick your ass. And do you really want that, Tanner, hm? Me kicking your skinny ass?”

Tanner looks conflicted now, studying Victor tentatively as though he seriously expects the threat turning into reality the very next moment if he'd dare to even speak.

He's so young and naive, it's almost cute.

“I've actually went home over two hours ago,” Victor clarifies. “The person sitting on this chair right now,” he gestures at himself, “is paperwork!Henriksen and paperwork!Henriksen is constantly grumpy and on edge 'coz he's forced to do all this crap he hates, but he does it anyway since it's part of the job. So he focuses on his paperwork and nothing else and eventually he goes home, too.”

Tanner merely stares at him, obviously losing vital brain functions right now.

“And if anyone would dare to interrupt paperwork!Henriksen during his oh-so-important work and would even have the audacity to ruin his weekend, heads would roll.” Victor stretches his mouth into the most evil smile. “So NO! Whatever you have to say, whatever huge-ass case landed on your lap, find some other agent to help you out with.”

Tanner starts to squirm, smelling so much like energy and zest for action it actually hurts to even be in the same room as him. Victor can't help but intensify his glare, hoping it would scare the guy out of his office and – most importantly – out of his life.

Sadly enough, though, Tanner's survival instinct is obviously nonexistent.

Instead of fleeing the scene to never return, he even takes a step forward while gripping the folder in his hand like a lifeline.

“It's really important, sir,” he urges.

Victor rolls his eyes. “It's always important. It's important when the national security is at stake and it's also important when the toilet paper in the bathroom at the end of the hallway runs low. So just let me be, kid.”

Tanner's eyebrow starts to twitch – a nervous tick Victor noticed a couple of times before –, however, he still doesn't budge.

So either the poor son of a bitch has a death wish or somehow fleeing the scene would get him into trouble with someone even scarier than Victor.

And Victor can't really have that, can he? Because he is the scariest motherfucker in this whole frigging building, dammit!

“Why are you still here, kiddo?” he growls. “Just run for the hills and cry on your mommy's shoulder. Because if there isn't someone at least dying –”

“There is!” Tanner interrupts, puffing up his chest while simultaneously widening his eyes like he can't believe he just cut Victor off like that. “Uh, dying, I mean. There might be someone dying.”

Victor scoffs. “There might be?”

Tanner shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Well, we have no real body. Or, um, any body at all, alive or dead.”

Victor arches his brows, wondering why the hell this little child would even dare coming to him at this hour of day (or, more precisely, night) and annoying him with such vague statements. He actually thought Tanner would've at least learned by now that you don't bother Victor unless you have a solid case.

He obviously doesn't value his own life that much. Victor would even be a little concerned by that if it weren't close to midnight on a Friday night.

“Listen, Tanner, I admire your work ethics,” – despite his disgruntlement Victor is still a senior agent who should spread a few compliments here and there – “but I'm really tired and if you don't have anything concrete for me, just go and harass someone else, do you hear me? I don't wanna accidentally kill you 'coz, frankly, I kinda like you, and, more importantly, it would create a fuckload of paperwork I don't have the strength to deal with right now, but please don't doubt for even a second I wouldn't do it in a heartbeat just to be home earlier today.”

Tanner swallows audibly, however, he still doesn't move toward the exit. On the contrary, he even steps a bit closer. Very cautiously, but still with a certain determination gleaming in his eyes.

“I seriously don't doubt that, Agent,” Tanner assures. “But I'm even more sure that you'd rip me a new one if I'd just go without telling you what I know.”

Okay, Victor has to confess his interest is piqued, nonetheless he schools his features into an unimpressed expression, not giving Tanner the satisfaction.

“Fine, this is how we do this,” Victor states, leaning back in his chair. “You'll get sixty seconds to tell me your super important thing and after that I'll decide whether I'm gonna kill you or not. Deal?”

Tanner grimaces. “Well, I'm not really –”

“ Deal ?”

Tanner bites his bottom lip and for a moment it seems like he'd bail after all, just turn on his heels and run for his life, but then he takes a deep breath as though he's bracing himself.

“Two days ago the Police Department of Lafayette, Colorado, booked a murder suspect,” he starts to explain. “Well, suspect is actually too much considering that guy stabbed another man into the chest right next to some police officers. Killed him right there, on the spot. There's not much suspecting going on here.”

Victor can't really argue with that, so he inclines his head and urges him to continue.

“That guy - well, the authorities described him as frantic and psychotic. He went all crazy Constantine, dressed in a suit and trench coat and killing the victim with some sort of blade made out of a material no one has so far been able to identify. The officers had quite a hard time containing him.”

Victor can't help listening up a little bit more. A blade with unknown origin?

Sure, there might be a totally reasonable explanation. After all, the tech labs in bombfuck nowhere aren't the most equipped, at least nothing compared to the big precincts in the major cities or even to FBI resources themselves, so it's clearly more than possible that some small town in Colorado just doesn't have the right technology to identify that weapon.

It sounds logical enough.

But still …

Since that night which changed his life completely all these years ago he always feels some itch underneath his skin.

“The guy, he put up one hell of a fight,” Tanner continues. “According to the records they needed six men to take him down. And at some point the guy even managed to break some freaking handcuffs in half, just like that. I mean, it's probably been a manufacturing error or something, of course …”

Victor merely blinks. Granted, he's never heard of handcuffs breaking due to faulty material before, but hell, it might happen, right?

However, he finds himself leaning a bit closer, his curiosity growing.

A blade no one has so far been able to relate? A man so strong that he could only been taken down by a small army? Right before destroying official detaining equipment?

Yeah, Victor has to admit that sounds fishy.

And maybe even supernatural?

Victor glances at his phone, already thinking about calling Dean and giving him the details. The hunter would know better whether this is something worth checking out or not.

“Any information about the guy?” Victor asks.

“After a lot of struggle the police got the guy's finger prints,” Tanner says, apparently encouraged by the fact that Victor is beginning to take an interest instead of dismissing him altogether. “His name is James Novak. He went missing in 2008.”

A man who disappeared almost ten years ago just shows up on the face of the earth to kill another guy?

Yeah, definitely fishy.

Sure, there might be a marginally normal explanation for the whole thing – gruesome and horrifying, yet human –, but since that life-changing night in the station of the Monument Police Department (and Victor can't really ignore the fact that Lafayette is practically in that neighborhood, coincidence or not) he just knows that sometimes there is more at play than meets the eye.

So yes, this just could be a guy who either got kidnapped or maybe just ran away from his life about a decade ago and now found himself on the radar again after murdering someone in cold blood. People went crazy like that all the time without anything supernatural being the cause of it.

But there could be other explanations. Possession. Witchcraft. Hell, even fucking time travel (he still hasn't fully recovered after Dean told him about that one ).

There are no limits anymore.

And sometimes it still scares Victor to death.

“The forensic team examined Novak's clothes,” Tanner adds, now bouncing a little on his heels like an overeager puppy. “He was covered in blood, naturally. So no surprise there. However, two sets of DNA were found on his coat. The first one was obviously the victim, as you can imagine. The second one though …” He tilts his head, inhaling deeply. “Do you remember the Winchester case?”

Victor flinches and for a moment he can't help panicking a little that Tanner either read his mind just a second ago or that he accidentally said Dean's name out loud without meaning to.

What the fuck?

“The Winchesters?” Victor blinks a few times, trying desperately to collect his thoughts and not look like a startled kid after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “What about them? They're dead.”

Victor made damn sure it would stay that way. Even as those Leviathan doppelgänger bastards tried to undermine his work a few years back, bringing the Winchesters on the freaking news of all things, Victor managed to convince the world (or, well, anybody who was supposed to listen) that they had been dealing with talented, yet absolutely fake con artists. It took a lot of effort, but hell, everyone still thinks the Winchester died in that exploding helicopter in Monument and Victor is more than determined that it shall stay that way until the end of time itself.

However, when Tanner says, “Are you really sure they're dead?” Victor feels a heavy weight pressing on his chest.

“Why do you ask?” Victor urges as his pulse is starting to race.

Whatever is happening right now – he seriously doesn't like it.

“James Novak,” Tanner explains, “he was covered from head to toe in Sam Winchester's blood.”

Fuck.

FUCK.

And there goes Victor's quiet evening.

Chapter Text

“This is Dean. Please leave a message …”

Victor grumbles as he listens to the now annoyingly familiar voicemail for the twentieth time in the last hour alone. He's been calling both Dean and Sam basically nonstop since he left his office last night in a hurry and booked the next flight to Colorado before even putting his coat on, but so far he got no answer from either of them.

It's so no not like them and Victor grows increasingly worried.

Granted, considering their very dangerous lifestyle he half expected to eventually encounter such a situation – not being able to reach the brothers and learning days, months or even years later what evidently happened to them –, however, it feels all kinds of horrible that the possibility might become reality sometime very soon.

Shit.

He basically throws himself into the first cab right in front of the airport as soon as he landed and urges the driver to bring him to the police station as fast as possible. He even flashes his badge and tells him to ignore the speed limit, not giving a damn that he's abusing his authority to break the law.

Hell, since that unforgettable night in Monument Victor has been bending the rules for Dean and Sam more times than he can count. Some traffic violation won't make matters worse now anyway.

It feels like forever and no time at all until the Police Department appears in Victor's field of vision. It's a fairly modern building with some interesting architectural twists which normally would've made him pause and appreciate them for at least a second or two, but now Victor only presses some cash into the driver's hand, not even really checking the amount, and rushes off without even a goodbye.

The woman at the reception smiles politely at him, but it instantly vanishes as Victor shoves his badge right into her face and demands to speak to her superior. He feels a bit bad for coming on so rude, but hell, his stoic FBI face and patented glare always gets him quicker results, so he refrains from wasting his time with stupid manners and all that bullshit.

Even as the receptionist quickly leads him to the chief's office, babbling about her boss, looking all kinds of nervous as though she expects Victor to eat her alive in the next second, he doesn't even bother with a thank you or even a brief glance in her direction while striding into the room.

There's seriously no time to speak with someone unrelated to this case longer than necessary.

However, Victor reminds himself to send her a huge fruit basket as soon as this shit show is over.

“Agent,” the chief – a slender man with the curliest hair Victor has ever seen – greets him, shaking his hand like they're old buddies.

His name is Simpson, as Victor has read in the file before, and he's been in charge for less than a year now. He's young for a guy in his position, but he appears confident enough while pointing at a chair for Victor to sit on. At least he doesn't seem intimidated having to deal with the FBI and Victor can't really tell right now whether that might turn out to become a good or a bad thing.

Time will tell.

Simpson already walks back to his desk, obviously fully prepared to have a talk with Victor first, while the agent hesitates. Everything inside himself burns with the need to go to Novak and squeeze every tiny bit of information about Sam and Dean out of his body until there's nothing left. His emotions are flaring up like crazy, making it hard to think straight for a minute there.

God, he's desperate to do something beside sitting around.

But at the same time Victor knows that he's not allowed to lose his mind over this. He needs control, he needs the upper hand, and he can't achieve any of that if he'd go insane right here and now. He can't risk his supervisors having any doubts about him being able to handle this whole thing.

So yeah, it's usual procedure to get up to speed with the local precinct about the details of the current case before grilling prisoners and going all Hulk on them.

And since some of the events described in the Lafayette report seemed a bit wobbly anyway and his trainers in Quantico as well as Dean later on urged him to get to know everything you're capable of about your enemy before facing them, Victor admits that a few minutes of his time won't be wasted. It might decide about life and death, after all.

“Well, you certainly don't wait around,” Chief Simpson says as he drops onto his comfortable looking leather seat. “I didn't expect you guys to be here so quickly. We just informed you about the case last night.”

He glances at a mug on his desk, most likely his morning coffee that he poured himself after arriving at work not long ago. He didn't even have time to finish it yet.

“It is an urgent case,” Victor says while trying to keep too many emotions out of his voice. For everyone else he's just a dedicated FBI Agent doing his job and not a guy personally and emotionally involved in this mess and dammit all to hell, over the years he became a fairly good actor. Lying, pretending like he's got no clue what's really out there – it's like a second skin now.

“Well, we're happy for any assistance,” the chief says with a slight smile. “I've gotta be honest, we're a small community and we don't have that much homicides going around here. Especially the nutjob kind, y'know?”

“Tell me what happened,” Victor urges. He needs all the details, especially the little things not mentioned in the file because the person responsible deemed them not important enough or maybe too strange to even consider writing them down. It's mostly those small tidbits that make all the difference.

“Well, it's all really weird,” Simpson admits. “That guy just stabs his victim into the chest with his fucking blade like he's in some dystopia movie or whatever. Right there, on a bright day, in the town's center, with dozen of witnesses, two of my officers included.”

He shakes his head as though he can't believe this really happened.

“My men arrested Novak straightaway and tried to help the victim, but it was ultimately too late for that. The poor bastard was probably already dead before hitting the ground.” Simpson leans back in his chair. “We identified the victim as Roger Dylan, a salesman from Arkansas, who went missing a few weeks ago.”

“He went missing?” Victor asks. “Just like Novak went missing ten years before?”

Simpson sighs. “Like I said, it's really fucking weird. Why do two missing people from different parts of the country suddenly find themselves in some small town in Colorado with one of them ending up dead? It doesn't make a lot of sense. There's no connection between Novak and Dylan, never has been even the slightest hint. Usually the chance of them meeting would've been slim to nonexistent.”

Normally Victor would agree. But in the last few years he learned a lot about things he never thought possible before.

“No one can tell where they came from,” Simpson continues, sounding very tired now. “I mean, fuck, nobody even remembers seeing them on the town's square until seconds before the actual murder. It's like they popped out of thin air all of sudden.”

Victor's inner alarm bells ring louder than ever before.

Yep, there's definitely something supernatural going on here.

And obviously the Winchesters have been involved somehow and now neither of them is answering their phones.

That doesn't bode well.

“We were thinking about calling you in earlier,” the chief confesses, apparently unaware of Victor's inner turmoil. “Like I said, missing people from different states and all that. It's clearly something beyond our borders and whatnot. But it took some time to identify both Dylan and Novak and the forensic team was already working, and well, then the report about the blood came in …” He rubs his temple, most likely fighting back a headache. “I mean, there was so much blood. We just knew it couldn't have been all Dylan considering my men pulled Novak off his victim basically immediately and there hadn't been that much time to be practically drenched in the stuff, y'know, …”

Victor can't help a flinch as he thinks about this being Sam's blood.

Fuck.

It's been a few months back since Victor saw him last. He met with Dean and Sam for a case he had previously found deep in the FBI database and figured worth investigating. Victor usually barely participates in actual hunts, he mostly uses his position to help cover tracks or find cases the hunters wouldn't even have heard of under normal circumstances, but in that special situation he felt some itch underneath his skin – probably due to a long row of very frustrating work days and some bad mushrooms in his risotto which clouded his judgment – and before he even knew what happened he found himself two states over to assist the Winchesters in killing some rogue werewolves.

Sam had been open to Victor's suggestions, constantly eager to learn from the older man's expertise, and tried to involve him in return as much as possible. Victor felt both like a teacher and a student in those few days while Dean mostly stayed in the background and smiled at them with scarcely concealed affection.

Yeah, Sam is a good guy.

He doesn't deserve to lie somewhere in a ditch, hurt or even dead.

“When we identified the second blood sample on Novak's clothes your cute little FBI icon instantly popped up,” Simpson explains. “That's when I realized this is even bigger than anticipated.”

He takes a gulp of his coffee, apparently fairly calm despite the circumstances, and Victor suppresses the urge to berate him with the most colorful words imaginable and maybe strangle him a bit.

After all, the man is only doing his job and believes Victor to be the same.

“I presume you're trying everything there is possible to find the original source of the second blood sample?” Victor asks, attempting to not sound too desperate. “The alleged Sam Winchester?”

“Of course,” Simpson assures right away, obviously still picking up on some of Victor's tension as he straightens up in his chair. “Hospital, morgues, etc. We printed the FBI mugshot and showed it around near the crime scene and beyond, hoping that anyone had seen him. We searched the whole area. Nothing so far, not even a drop of blood.”

Victor bites his bottom lip. There are a million questions resting on his tongue, next to another million orders he wants to bark into this man's face, but he refrains from making a scene. He knows from experience it'll sometimes get you the opposite result of what you've been hoping for.

Instead he just says, “I wanna see Novak” in his most authoritative voice that gives no room for objection.

Thankfully Simpson doesn't make a fuss or insists on strict protocol as he simply nods and gestures the agent to follow him. Soon enough Victor finds himself walking through a wide hallway, glancing at a few officers obviously just starting their shift who're immediately eyeing him curiously in return, and eventually ends up in a spacious room with two holding cells at the West front.

The right one is empty, the cell next to it however is occupied by a dark figure. Victor doesn't wait around as he steps closer and inspects the resident.

Novak sits in the far corner on his makeshift bed, his gaze apparently going to nowhere. He doesn't acknowledge the men entering his field of vision in any way for even a millisecond as he keeps staring into nothingness, lost in reverie.

Victor studies him for a moment intently. On first glance there's nothing special about the man – just a regular guy with wild hair and blue eyes, wrapped in some sweatpants and a hoodie seemingly one size too big. He appears harmless enough, even a bit lost, especially in those clothes which are obviously not his (considering his actual, quite blood-soaked stuff is part of the evidence chain now and he won't get them back anytime soon), however, Victor learned very early in his training (and particularly later when he discovered the truth about the supernatural world) that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

After all, Novak apparently killed a guy in cold blood and gave a whole army of police officers a fairly hard time containing him.

Yeah, he shouldn't be underestimated.

As Victor inspects him more closely he even feels something prickling underneath his skin. Perhaps it's just his freaking imagination, fed by the fact that he's most likely dealing with something not entirely human, or maybe there's indeed something present, sizzling in the air around them. At least he notices Simpson shuffling uncomfortably next to him, like he's feeling it as well and has no idea what to make of it, and decides not to take this lightly.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak.” Victor flashes the man the most fake smile as he approaches the cell. “How are you on this beautiful day?”

Novak still doesn't react, doesn't even twitch a muscle, and Victor feels his chest constricting at the sight.

“I'm Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” he introduces himself. “And as you can imagine I'm here because of your little stunt on the town's square. We're gonna have a long, nice talk –”

“Henriksen?”

Novak's voice is deep – way deeper than Victor would've thought – and his blue eyes bore right into Victor's soul as the agent all of sudden sees himself confronted with it.

Damn.

There is definitely something supernatural going on with this fella.

Novak scrambles onto his feet, kinda looking like a newborn baby deer and a graceful dancer at the same time, and steps at the bars separating him from the other two men in the room. “You're Henriksen?”

There's actual hope in his freaking voice and Victor feels highly bewildered by that. That's not the reaction he had been expecting, not by a long shot.

He's got no real idea what's happening.

He only knows that they shouldn't have any witnesses.

So he turns toward Simpson straightaway and gives him the well-known leave-me-alone-with-the-suspect-for-a-few-minutes look. Everyone long enough in law enforcement encountered it at some point in their career and the Police Chief is obviously no exception. He doesn't make a big deal out of it or drop some bullshit about protocol or whatnot as he simply nods and walks out of the room.

Good man.

Victor reminds himself to give him a buddy-shoulder-slap on his way out later.

“Okay, pal,” he says, fixing his attention back on Novak who started to assess him so intensely it's getting very close to awkward. “I've got no clue who you are, but you obviously heard my name before, so why don't you just tell me the whole story instead of wasting my time?”

Novak blinks, but he keeps silent. It seems like he's on the verge of his mind drifting into space once more.

Victor grinds his teeth.

“I don't have all day, amigo!” he urges. “One man is dead and another … well, his blood was all over you, so I guess you attacked him too at some point before …”

Maybe even with the same mysterious blade he killed that Dylan guy with.

A shiver runs through Victor's whole body as he involuntarily pictures in very gruesome detail what might've happened to Sam. It's just been about a week since he last saw him walking in the background while Victor was skyping with Dean, the young man so engrossed in his book shelves that he didn't even notice his surroundings, and now it feels like a lifetime ago and he might be dead somewhere.

And Dean … who knows what happened to him?

God, this is a fucking nightmare.

“Listen up, Novak!” Victor grumbles, his emotions desperate to take full control over his actions. “I don't know where you came from or why you saw it necessary to kill a man that publicly and I honestly don't give a shit. I just wanna know where Sam Winchester is.”

The name seems to jerk Novak out of his reverie.

His eyes widen, like he just remembered Sam's existence, and he grabs the bars of his cell so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Sam,” he whispers, so many emotions swinging in his voice. “Sam …”

Victor raises a brow. There's clearly something wrong with the guy, the haunted look in his eyes probably not considered normal. Unease is creeping up on Victor and he involuntarily straightens up his body, his muscles apparently ready for a fight that hasn't even happened yet.

“I didn't mean to …” Novak breathes, his gaze unfocused. “I didn't mean to hurt him …”

Victor tenses. “Sam? You're talking about Sam?”

Novak doesn't even acknowledge his existence. “I didn't mean to hurt him …” he repeats, his voice barely audible now. “Sam is my friend, I didn't mean to ... I'm sorry, I'm sorry …”

Suddenly the air around them feels charged, as though Novak's emotions are bleeding into the atmosphere. Every single hair on Victor's body, even the most delicate ones, stands on end all at once and the agent finds himself grabbing the chain with talismans wrapped around his neck. Dean gave it to him a long time ago, protecting Victor from all kinds of inhuman stuff the agent doesn't even want to think about too closely (like mind-reading, possession, and so – stuff of nightmares, that's for sure), and so far the collection of small amulets did their job just fine.

But he can't shake the feeling that this time the circumstances might be different.

Dammit all to hell.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Victor urges, clapping his hands loudly to get the guy's attention. “I don't know what you're doing right now, buddy, but I really don't like it. Don't make me shoot you or something.”

Novak blinks again, looking at him as though he's just seeing him for the very first time.

“I …”

He trails off once more, apparently forgotten how words work.

Shit, the guy is a mess.

Great. This doesn't bode well for getting some desperately needed answers about the Winchesters.

But at the same time his strong reaction to hearing Sam's name seems to paint a certain picture. His claim that he's got friendly feeling for the Winchester doesn't look totally fake, at least.

Good. Victor can work with that.

“Okay, Novak, I suggest you take a very deep breath,” Victor proposes, trying to make his tone as soothing as possible. Novak stares at him for a moment, his eyes squinted like he can't believe he should waste his time with fucking breathing of all things, but in the end he concedes, inhaling once or twice in an exaggerated manner.

Well, he's open to suggestions. Yeah, Victor can definitely work with that.

“Very good,” the agents says. “Feeling better?”

Novak grimaces and shakes his head.

“Okay, fine,” Victor waves him off. “We can deal with that later, alright? For now only Sam is important, agreed?”

Novak suddenly looks like on the verge of tears at the reminder.

Damn, this one will be one hell of a ride. And not the fun kind.

“I can see that you're obviously emotional about Sam, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now and assume that you didn't intend to spill his blood all over you.” Victor can be gracious if he wants to and Novak seriously looks like one step away from collapsing from the sheer weight of his guilt. “So why don't you tell me where he is –?”

“I don't know,” Novak cuts in, his face pure anguish. “I don't ... I don't know …”

Victor takes a deep breath. This won't be easy. “Then tell me what you remember. Anything might help. Anything.”

But Novak simply shakes his head, as though he's already given up, and drifts off into outer space again. For a moment it appears like his eyes are glowing up before he whispers, “There's so much chatter. People, all over the world. And the angels. It so much …” He pulls a face, as though he's in serious pain. “Why is it so much all of a sudden, I don't understand –”

He groans, rubbing his temple, while the light bulb right above Victor starts to flicker.

Damn.

Whatever this guy is going through, it doesn't seem like it's gonna be pretty.

“Okay, Novak, you need to focus –”

“Castiel.”

Victor halts. “What?”

“My name is Castiel.”

Victor freezes right there on the spot and meets the guy's intense gaze with his eyes as big as saucers.

What?

WHAT?

“You're … you're …?”

Victor doesn't know what to say. He even forgets for a brief moment how to freaking human.

There's only silence filling the room, so powerful and deafening it seems to squash Victor's body like he's just a paper thin doll, too vulnerable and delicate to survive for very long. 

Is this really happening?

FUCKING HELL!

“I assume Dean might have mentioned me before?” the man claiming to be Castiel asks, his voice shaky. “At least he told me a lot about you.”

Victor blinks.

And blinks some more.

While still having no recollection how to be a proper human being.

The man in front of him, however – the ANGEL, dammit – doesn't acknowledge Victor's inner turmoil in the slightest, doesn't even seem to notice it in the first place. His eyes only digs themselves right into Victor's soul, his expression so grave the agent is sure even his grandchildren are gonna feel the effect of it in the very far future.

“Sam …” Castiel breathes, this one word obviously so heavy on his heart it's nearly crushing him.

And Victor simply continues gaping because he's got no idea what else to do.

Neither his mom nor her church ever taught him how to deal with a situation like this.

“I don't know what's happening with me … and where Sam is …” Castiel whispers, appearing so lost that it almost breaks Victor's heart. “I need your help, Agent Henriksen.”

Chapter Text

Victor's jaw slackens as he stares at the man in front of him incredulously.

“You're ... you're …?” Victor makes some vague hand gestures, unable to pinpoint what he's even about to say or do. He only knows that his brain short-circuited for a moment there and he needs a minute to get it back online again.

Because this … ?

This is fucking mind-blowing!

“You're … Castiel?” Victor squeaks. (Yeah, he honest to God squeaks and he's not ashamed of it.). “A motherfucking angel?”

Castiel wrinkles his forehead. “Well, I didn't fuck any mothers … but yes, I guess?”

“Shit!”

Victor actually never thought this day would ever come.

Of course he knows about Castiel. Probably even way more than he ever wanted to know. But Dean never shuts up about the guy, telling Victor tales about badassery and kindness, sometimes rambling for so long that Victor more than once found himself putting his phone to the side and doing some other stuff, like paperwork or his freaking taxes, while Dean got lost in his stories over and over.

Victor always considered it kinda cute, the way Dean didn't even seem to realize how much he was gushing over his best friend.

Well, as cute as one of the most dangerous hunters on the planet can be, naturally.

So yeah, Victor heard a lot about Castiel, but so far he never had the chance to meet him in person. One or two times he was rather close – him arriving at the Winchesters' with Dean greeting him with the words, “Cas left only a few hours ago, you just missed him” –, but somehow their schedules never collided.

Though, to be fair, it's not like Victor is hanging out with the brothers all the time. He's only been to the bunker like twice so far and all the other times he met up with them during hunts or trips. It's not like they ever spent Christmas together or planned happy family barbecues.

At some point he lost faith that he'd ever meet this ominous Castiel.

The – to quote Dean – “dorky weird little guy who could smash entire cities into pieces just with a flip of his hand”.

To some extent Victor always had been kinda relieved to have never met Castiel before. He's not a religious man per se, but being face to face with a real live angel seemed so fucking surreal and a little bit terrifying to him.

And, as it turns out right this instant, he was right the whole time.

Sure, the circumstances are far from ideal – any other day meeting Castiel would've probably been a fairly harmless experience, with Dean excitedly introducing them to each other –, but he still feels shivers running down his spine, almost paralyzing him.

“Dean talked about you a great deal, Victor Henriksen,” Castiel picks up his voice again after Victor had been silently staring at him in shock for too long. “You are a good man.”

Victor merely keeps gaping. “Um …”

Castiel lowers his head as his body starts to tremble once more. For a moment it looks like his knees would give up right beneath him, sending him to the ground.

It feels wrong, seeing an angel of the Lord like that.

“I don't know …” Castiel whispers again, “I don't know …”

Victor takes a deep breath and forces himself to get his shit together. This might be a life-changing moment, but he has plenty of time to freak out over it sometime later. Right now there are more important things at stake.

“Okay, okay, let's go over this one step at a time.” Victor throws a brief glance at the hallway, checking whether there are any officers close by, before stepping closer to the cell. “You don't know where Sam is?”

Castiel looks like his inside are being shredded right this second. “No,” he confesses, his voice so low it's barely coherent.

“But … you hurt him?” he repeats the statement the angel has muttered just before.

Castiel appears like he's on the verge of crying. “I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to …”

Victor raises his hand immediately. “I know, I know. Whatever happened, it isn't your fault.”

Well, of course he doesn't have any evidence or even the slightest clue what occurred before the police arrested Castiel two days ago, but he can't help hearing Dean's voice in his head. Castiel is family to both of the brothers and that title isn't easy to earn. The angel has their complete trust and Victor can't imagine that he would betray this in any kind. Not to mention that Castiel looks like the epitome of guilt and despair.

“Sam … is he alive?” Victor has to ask nonetheless.

Castiel makes a sort of whimpering noise as he ducks his head once again and tightens his grip around the bars. “I don't … I don't know …”

Victor's stomach twists around as he listens to the sheer pain in the angel's voice. For one irrational moment he considers opening this freaking cell and pulling him into a hug to comfort him to the best of his abilities.

But of course he can't risk for Simpson losing his shit and getting back to Victor's superiors. He won't lose this case to some other agents only because he's unable to control his emotions.

So instead of doing anything stupid and unprofessional he leans in and asks, “Where is Dean? Do you at least remember that?”

Castiel's head snaps up, his eyes big. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, nodding. “Is he hurt, too?”

Castiel's gaze flickers back and forth, like he's busy rummaging in his brain to find the answer to Victor's question.

“You didn't have his blood on you,” Victor continues. “But I can't reach him on his phone.”

Has the angel been anxious and desperate before, he now looks like he's on the brink of a serious panic attack. His breathing speeds up – do angels even need to breathe in the first place? – and suddenly Victor feels himself getting dizzy, too.

At first he thinks it's just him becoming emotionally invested in the whole thing, his entire being relating to the angel and his misery, but when he notices the window on the far right corner cracking on the corners he realizes it's much more than that.

Castiel is resonating his feelings once again all over the place and Victor's sure it might end very ugly very soon.

Damn.

He wants to yell, wants to bring Castiel back to the here and now and set his fucking head straight, however, as soon as he opens his mouth it feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He gasps for oxygen, his heartbeat picking up in record time, as he helplessly watches all the light bulbs in the room exploding into thousand shards of spark raining onto the ground. The bars start to rattle, the floor seems to tilt to the side, and Victor gets a first impression of what the true fear of God might look like.

From somewhere nearby he hears some shouting, the men and women in this building obviously experiencing the change as well. They probably might think of this as the beginning of an earthquake or whatever and Victor really hopes it will stay that way because there would be no way in hell he'd be able to explain the situation right now.

Fuck, he doesn't even know what's happening.

Castiel, meanwhile, doesn't seem to realize that something is amiss. His eyes glow in a faint blue as he clasps the bars and mumbles Dean's name on repeat, like a mantra. Like he's trying absolutely desperately to find the answer to his whereabouts in his brain and tunes out everything else in the process. Even the sparks of the light bulb right above him hitting him don't jerk him out of his hyperfixation.

He's totally lost in his mind.

For a moment Victor doesn't know what to do. He can't breathe, he can't think and the talismans on his neck are burning his skin, like they're reacting in a very painful way to whatever Castiel is doing. Suddenly it doesn't appear hard to imagine being squashed like a bug by an angel's hand.

Yeah, Dean seriously didn't joke around when he claimed Castiel could kill someone just with the raise of his eyebrow.

It's both impressive and horrifying.

Victor hears a loud crash from the room next door and people yelling, apparently scared out of their minds, and before he even knows what he's doing, he suddenly reaches out and grabs Castiel's wrist, squeezing it tightly.

He's quite convinced he'd burn on the spot right away, extinguished by Heaven's almighty power, and he just hopes for a quick death.

But instead of perishing here and now, the touch seems to jolt Castiel out of his messy mind place.

He blinks, staring baffled at Victor's hand clasping him in desperation, before he eventually sends his gaze around the room.

And his eyes widen as he takes in the chaos unfolding around him.

Victor is pretty sure he hears Castiel hiss a quiet, “Fuck!” (probably compliments to Dean for corrupting an angel of the Lord with foul language) and all of a sudden the atmosphere changes again. The shaking of the ground stops, the oxygen returns back to the room and Victor takes the deepest breath ever in his life as he sinks onto the floor, his knees unable to keep him up any longer.

Damn.

Victor's sight get a bit blurry as air is filling his lungs again and the voices of the other people in the building appear faint, almost like a dream. For a moment he's quite convinced he's gonna faint here on the spot, knocked out by a power so unimaginable that he doesn't even have words to describe it properly.

But before his vision goes black Castiel suddenly presses a finger against Victor's forehead and relief is running through the agent's body like he never felt before. Every single muscle in his body rejoices in delight and all at once even the mere idea of losing consciousness seem absolutely ridiculous.

Victor blinks a few times and stares at Castiel's pinched expression. Dean told him a few times that the angel is capable of healing people, but Victor actually never believed he'd be able to experience this first hand.

“I'm so sorry,” Castiel whispers, his voice barely coherent. “I didn't mean to …”

For a moment Victor doesn't know what to reply. He merely gapes at the man – the angel –, wondering if the last two minutes seriously just happened or merely had been a freaking hallucination. But a glance at the broken windows and busted light bulbs reminds him pretty quickly that yes, a motherfucking angel of the Lord just shook the whole precinct.

Hell, perhaps even the entire city.

Yeah, Victor honestly didn't consider to write this on his agenda for the day.

“I'm so sorry,” Castiel goes on and on, like a broken record, looking anguished and so freaking guilty it rips Victor's heart in half.

“It's alright,” Victor assures him as soon as he finds his voice again. He's not exactly sure whether that's completely true or not, but hell, Castiel doesn't need even more on his shoulders than is currently weighing him down.

Victor tries to scramble back on his feet and it works surprisingly well. It looks like even the pain in his left ankle (which regularly flairs up due to some injury a couple of years back) seemed to have disappeared and Victor feels in awe at that revelation.

Is that what happens when you're touched by an angel?

Victor doesn't have time to dwell on this for long, however, as he notices Simpson suddenly appearing in the doorway, looking rattled and concerned and way over his head. An alleged earthquake can do that to a man.

“We're fine,” Victor says straightaway before Simpson is even capable to open his mouth to ask about their well-being. He merely hopes that he sounds confident and professional enough and not like a guy who basically stared into the face of God just seconds ago. “Look after your men first. Make sure nobody got hurt.”

Castiel moans lowly at the last statement as he sinks his gaze in shame.

“We should evacuate the building and call the Fire Department, just to be safe,” Simpson says, apparently already having set his mind to it, but still somehow waiting for Victor's approval in that matter.

“Of course,” Victor agrees instantly. “Safety comes always first. You should do the arrangements, I will stay with the prisoner for the time being.”

Simpson simply nods and rushes off as fast as he came.

Victor turns back to Castiel right away. “We should hurry, I don't know how much time we have left.” He bites his bottom lip. “Does shit like this happen often with you?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don't know … this isn't supposed to happen …”

Victor shuts his eyes for a moment. Damn, his weekend took a very bad turn all of a sudden.

“Okay, we have to get you out of here,” Victor decides. “I have no idea what strings I will have to pull and how many favors I have to collect, but I can't leave you here, for your sake as well as those peoples' sake.”

Victor has to apply for a transfer right this fucking second and he's already calculating the best excuse possible for that. Bringing up the Winchesters' names would probably get him the best results, but Victor isn't exactly sure he's ready to risk that case yet. It took a lot of effort into letting it stay closed for almost a decade now, he'd hate to see it reopened.

But on the other hand, if he doesn't have a choice anyway …

“I will get you out of here,” Victor promises. “And then we'll look for Sam and Dean –”

“Dean …” Castiel murmurs, his eyes lighting up for a second. “I think … I think I remember where he is.”

Victor breathes a sigh of relief at that. At least that's something.

“Charlie,” Castiel whispers, seemingly grasping desperately at that one memory as though he's afraid he might lose it again in the next second. “He's with Charlie …”

Charlie?

Well, contrary to Castiel Victor actually met Charlie once. A quirky and rather lively redhead who speaks in riddles most of the day. She had been at the bunker at the time Victor paid them all a visit, looking so much at home like she actually lived there.

Dean always speaks rather fondly of her. She's like the sister he never wanted, but is happy to have anyway.

And if Dean is seriously with her right now …

“You mean he's visiting her?” Victor urges. He doesn't want to think of Charlie being involved in this too somehow, maybe lying in some ditch, bleeding out slowly. Yeah, he really doesn't want to even consider that.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, appearing a bit surer in his own assessment. “Dean … he went to visit her. A few days ago … I believe.”

He crinkles his forehead and Victor has no doubt in his mind that Castiel lost every concept of time somewhere along the way. He probably doesn't even realize he's sitting in this cell for almost two days now.

“Are you sure about this?” Victor asks skeptically.

“Dean took The Colonel with him,” Castiel explains, more to himself than anyone else, like he has to prove something to his own mind. “I recall him searching the kitchen for those special dog treats he purchased a while ago. He calls them Scooby Snacks, always with that wide grin on his face. The Colonel is not amused by it.”

Okay, that sounds like a fairly specific memory.

Granted, it still might be that he's confusing timelines and Dean taking the dog and visiting Charlie happened like a month ago, but Victor will take what he's gonna get, at least for the time being.

It does make some sense, though. Dean mentioned swinging by Charlie's place the last time Victor spoke with him, so it's at least not completely made up out of thin air. And admittedly, Dean not answering his phone is worrisome, but the reasons for that might be totally harmless and normal. Like him just sleeping in, enjoying his little vacation. Or maybe him and Charlie having a movie marathon with loud High Definition speakers or whatever you wanna name it, making it nearly impossible to hear your fucking phone ring.

It sucks and the timing is terrible, but he seriously might be okay.

Absolutely oblivious to what is happening, but okay.

“So Dean's safe?”

Castiel grabs the bar even tighter and nods. “Yes. I think.”

He still doesn't sound entirely certain, obviously not trusting his mind completely, but for now he has some hope.

“Do you have Charlie's number, maybe?” Victor asks. “I think that idiot Winchester really needs to know what's going on.”

Not that Victor has any idea what's actually happening.

But the thought counts, right?

“I don't know where my phone is,” Castiel admits, grimacing. “And … I can't remember Charlie's number. I mean, I should, but there's so much and I don't …”

He appears like he's close to drifting off again and Victor hastily grabs his wrist once more. It helped before and now it seems to ground the angel as well. As though the touch is making him focus on the here and now, the actual present, and not some faraway wonderland.

“But I remember where Charlie works,” Castiel offers after a moment of silence.

Victor nods. “Perfect.”

It's a start, at least.

“And Sam – you've got no clue where he is?” Victor bites his bottom lip as he shoots a quick glance at the hallway. Some officers are rushing by, accompanied by a bunch of fireman, and Victor feels himself tensing up. He doubts they have much time left before they'll get company again. And who knows when he'll get the next opportunity to speak to Castiel alone?

“What's the last thing you remember?” he encourages the angel. “I mean, were you on a hunting trip with Sam or something? Is that how you ended up here in Colorado?”

Castiel frowns, like the mere idea is strange. “No. We stayed at the bunker.” He lowers his gaze as he adds in a whisper, “We promised Dean. I promised Dean.”

Victor steps closer. “So you promised Dean you'd stay at the bunker?”

Castiel nods in agreement.

“And you can't recall ever leaving it in the first place, with Sam?”

Castiel nods again, but this time a bit tentative. It's apparent he's realizing what Victor is getting at.

“You assume Sam is still in the bunker?” the angel asks cautiously.

Victor shrugs. “It might be possible, right?” he wonders. “Dean told me a while ago that those British Men of Letters basically threw you out of the bunker with some sigil and sent you halfway across the country, didn't they? What if something like that happened again?”

“It wasn't halfway across the country …” Castiel objects, “... but you do have a point.”

He tilts his head back and forth for a moment, apparently evaluating Victor's suggestion from every angle imaginable, while the agent doesn't wait around to dig his phone out of his pocket and light up the display.

“It is as good a theory as any,” Victor mumbles. “We should check it out, just in case, right?”

Maybe Sam is seriously still at the bunker, lying on the floor, bleeding all over the place. At least it would explain why Simpson and his men weren't able to find any trace of him beside the blood on Castiel's coat until now.

Castiel, however, still seems hesitant and Victor can't really tell whether he finds the whole suggestion just laughable to begin with or whether, in the back of his mind, he just knows it's not right, even if he can't really define why.

So yeah, perhaps it'd be a waste of time, but hell, Dean would kick Victor's ass to next Sunday if they wouldn't exhaust any possibility there is.

“I'm gonna try reaching Dean first,” Victor decides. “And if that son of a bitch still doesn't answer his fucking phone I'm gonna send someone over to the bunker. We can't wait around any longer.”

Castiel straightens his back, looking alarmed. “You can't just send someone to the bunker!”

Victor grinds his teeth. He knows that … but still.

“You've got a better idea?” he wonders. “I've got people all over the country. Some in Lincoln, a few maybe even closer. There are scattered everywhere. They could be on scene in no time at all and unless you have some little friends who are in close proximity to Lebanon and could reach it quicker than my men, I think we should risk it.”

Castiel appears like there is something dying in his mouth as he suggests, “Maybe Crowley …?”

Victor scoffs. God, what is his life now?

“You remember his phone number?”

Castiel scowls, making it more than obvious that no, he has no fucking clue how to reach the fucking King of fucking Hell, unless not without a time-consuming ritual, Victor presumes. And there's honestly no freaking time for that!

“Listen, I know it sucks, having the FBI in the bunker,” Victor concedes, “but if Sam's really there –”

Like before the mention of Sam's name sparks something alive in Castiel. His features darken as he glares at the phone in Victor's hand, the finger hovering over the display, ready to call the cavalry.

“Do it!” the angel orders instantly, his voice allowing no objection. “We're gonna deal with the consequences later.”

Victor can't exactly say he likes the sound of that, but screw it.

Sam's life might depend on it.

And by the look on Castiel's face he would do anything to save him.

Chapter Text

Dean wakes up to the smell of waffles drifting into his room.

He finds himself smiling into his pillow as the delicious temptation reaches his nose, feeling all warm and happy. The last time he was jerked out of his slumber by someone else' cooking Sam almost burned down the fucking kitchen, so this is really a nice change of pace. Instead of fire and impending death just fluffy treats and the promise of a good morning.

Dean glances at the alarm clock next to his bed and notices that it's already after 10 AM. Their “Star Trek” marathon last night took way longer than both of them had anticipated, but since Charlie is burning off vacation days and Dean's enjoying some good old freedom neither of them bothered to watch the time too closely. Who the hell cares anyway? It's not like anyone would tell his mom or something.

A little clumsily he grabs for his phone on the nightstand, about to check for new messages, but is greeted with a black screen instead. Dean grumbles a little at that discovery, cursing the battery of that stupid thing once more. About a decade ago cell phones could easily stay alive for days or even weeks without a care in the world, and now you're happy if they manage twenty-four hours without dying on you.

“Some things were seriously easier back then, right, buddy?” he says to the room, looking down at the rug beside his bed, fully expecting a pair of brown and round dog eyes to meet his gaze … but instead there's just nothing.

(Okay, well, the rug, of course. But that's about it.)

Dean furrows his brows. Usually The Colonel likes to rise with the hunter, no matter the time of day. It's a little routine they have adopted over the years and though Dean hadn't been truly happy with it at first, more than once stumbling over the body sleeping next to his bed and almost breaking his neck in the process, now he can't really imagine anything else.

So it feels a bit weird being all alone for a change.

Dean, however, doesn't dwell to much on it as he rolls out of the bed very ungracefully and staggers to the bathroom to take care of the usual businesses. For a minute he considers taking his sweet ass time and maybe catching a nice, hot shower (because he deserves it, dammit), but the waft of waffle seduction is getting stronger by the second and he quickly decides to postpone any lazying around for later.

He can't let get them cold, can he?

That would be a crime of the highest order.

And so Dean finds himself hastily changing into something halfway decent and absently plugging his phone in before rushing toward the kitchen, right at the deliciousness' headquarter.

And instantly he's met with the most wonderful sight.

“Aw honey, you shouldn't have.”

Dean looks at the huge stack of waffles that enthusiastically greets him as he enters the room and his grin turns so wide it almost splits his face. He loved Charlie before, no doubt, but right now his chest is on the verge of exploding from all the fuzzy feelings eager to break free.

“Will you marry me?”

Charlie snorts into her morning coffee and assesses him with a raised eyebrow. She seems relaxed, her hair fixed up in a messy bun, indicating that she probably hasn't been awake that long herself, while she shakes her head in quiet amusement at Dean's antics.

“Sweetheart, that's seriously a tempting offer,” she says, chuckling, “but I'm afraid you've got the wrong parts. Sorry.”

She points at his crotch and grimaces hard.

Dean merely grins at her before shooting a quick glance at The Colonel, who's lying right in front of the oven and has been watching the hunter's arrival with moderate interest. “Can you believe that girl?”

The dog only huffs and focuses his attention back to the waffles, the hoggish bastard. Apparently acknowledging Dean's existence for more than a few seconds with mouth-watering food in the same room is too much to ask for at this point in their relationship.

So much for love and whatnot.

They forget so easily.

Dean drops onto the next available chair, his face in perfect line with the delicious smelling epitomes of sin right in front of him, and sighs overdramatically, cursing the injustice of life itself. “Why would my packaging be a hindrance, huh? I mean, you could make waffles, I could cook burgers – we would be perfect for each other. The Super Couple of the century, capital letters and everything.”

To Charlie's credit she actually considers the idea for 0.2 seconds, quirking her head to one side and probably mulling over all the different possibilities that would entail being married to Dean Fucking Winchester, but in the end she sympathetically pats his shoulder and says, “Sorry, pal, but I love boobs way too much.”

Fair enough.

“Fine,” Dean fake-grumbles. “But you're missing out, honey, I hope you know that. I mean, I've got a sweet ride, a huge house, an awesome plaid collection, a killer music compilation …”

“Tapes!” Charlie reminds him, widening her eyes in mock shock. “They’re tapes, Winchester! I mean, come on!”

Some people really don’t know what’s good.

“They’re classic.”

“You’re such a dinosaur sometimes.” She shoves a big piece of waffles into her mouth and studies him with sparkling eyes. “That’s honestly not a compelling argument here, buddy. My coffee maker turns me on more than your music collection.”

Dean grimaces. Seriously?

“You need proper education, kid,” he decides eventually. “And as your devoted husband I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

“Wow, how generous and condescending of you,” Charlie replies, dead-pan.

“Of course you can teach me a lot of other stuff in return as well,” Dean offers, putting a tad too much whipped cream on his waffles and not giving a damn, totally ignoring Sam’s voice in his head warning him about cholesterol and sugar overdoses and the general end of the world, again. “I mean, you’re the Queen of Modern Technology. I’d be your humble servant.”

This time she seems at least a little pleased at the picture, smiling to herself as she probably imagines Dean crawling on his knees right in front of her and begging for life tips. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad …”

“And what’s mine is yours, naturally,” Dean adds, grinning widely. “So you’ll be co-owner of my mediocre dog over there.”

He throws a smug smirk in The Colonel's direction who reciprocates Dean's gaze with an highly unimpressed expression.

(Like seriously, if Dean didn't know better, he'd say that's the perfect mirror of Sam's bitch face #38: “You think you're funny, Dean, but you're really not.”)

(That stupid dog is way too real sometimes.)

Granted, maybe that's just Dean's imagination since that time they were able to communicate with each other for a day and half a few years back. He still hears The Colonel's voice in his head, still sees him as much more than “just” a dog, and though they're not capable of understanding one another perfectly anymore, there's yet a lot going on between them.

And sometimes it's creepy (like the times Dean notices The Colonel just watching him intently and the hunter finding himself wondering whether he's being scrutinized on a whole new level), sometimes embarrassing (Dean can't even change in front of him without blushing), and most of the time a big pain in the ass altogether.

But he loves that son of a bitch anyway.

“Aw, he’s not mediocre,” Charlie jerks him out of his thoughts, instantly dashing toward The Colonel and ruffling his fur, like she fears his poor heart is about to break into a million pieces if she wouldn’t interfere fast enough. “He’s the best.”

“Yeah, alright, he’s above average,” Dean admits, sending a shit-eating grin in the dog’s direction who simply stares back at him and probably wonders whether it’s indeed impossible for his kind to roll their eyes or not.

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Charlie says in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice while pressing her forehead to The Colonel’s and cooing at him as though he’s a freaking newborn. Granted, Dean told her about his unique meeting with this particular dog and about the fact that he (and most likely dogs/animals in general) is far smarter and more advanced than stupid humans might even fathom, but more often than not Charlie tends to forget that and falls back into instinctual baby voice behavior. It’s almost painful to watch sometimes, especially when Dean thinks about all the conversations he had with The Colonel in that short time he was able to actually understand him, but he doesn’t have the heart to berate her and the dog seems to love her deeply and unconditionally anyway, so it’s not that he terribly minds that much.

Yeah sure, Dean would get a death glare if he’d ever dare to speak to the dumb dog like that, but Charlie always gets a free pass, no matter how silly she sounds.

It’s almost unfair.

But then again, Dean can kinda relate. Even insulting his beloved music collection would never make him appreciate her less.

“And for The Colonel's sake I would actually consider marrying you,” Charlie admits, burying her fingers deep into the dog's fur, turning his scowl into a blissed out expression.

“I feel honored,” Dean says mockingly. “In the end it's the dog who gets me the girl.”

Charlie smirks at him. “Isn't that how it always works?”

Dean can't really argue her point there. Since having The Colonel at his side much more women are approaching him, appearing right next to them out of thin air and gushing over the dog while simultaneously flirting shamelessly with his owner.

Yeah, the dog indeed lured a bunch of girls into his net, Dean can admit to that.

And that's probably one of the main reasons why Charlie always insists to take him for a walk when they visit. She's using The Colonel's chick magnet powers for her own gain as well and Dean can totally relate.

“But seriously, I really appreciate you cooking for me for the last few days,” Dean says eventually, smiling softly now. For emphasis he digs into the big pile of waffles on his plate and moans appreciatively because damn, that woman really knows how to handle her food.

“It’s the least I can do,” Charlie states, waving her hand dismissively. “I mean, you came all the way here to fix my car, I totally owe you. You saved me a small fortune.”

Dean can’t really fight her on that.

Admittedly, there only had been a slight problem with a few cables (apparently some small rodent gnawed at them at some point), but Dean can easily imagine a garage pushing a huge bill into Charlie’s hands for replacing those few parts.

So yeah, when she called him about a week ago, wondering whether he’d have the time to stop by sometime soon and save her like a knight in shining armor (her words, not Dean’s), Dean didn’t hesitate for long. There hadn’t been any cases on the horizon and since that shit show with Ramiel and the Lance of Michael and Cas almost dying, again, that black goo oozing out of his mouth, he becoming weaker and weaker by the second, and Dean feeling like he was dying too …

Yeah, Dean really needed a break after all this.

So Charlie’s invitation to come over and spend a couple of days with her (“Vacation, baby!”) couldn’t have come to a better time. He had gotten restless at the bunker, anxious, always checking up on Cas and probably mother-henning him to a point where even the angel gently asked for some peace and quiet …

Okay, Dean can take a hint.

So after making Cas promise that he would keep resting, at least for a little while, and that he’d not leave the bunker, under any circumstances, Dean felt comfortable enough to leave his angel and his brother alone for a few days.

What could go wrong, right?

“And my cooking is nothing to cry about,” Charlie resumes their conversation, jolting Dean out of his thoughts. “I’m not that good.”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. “It’s been a long while since someone cooked for me, y’know? Both Sam and Mom are more or less just hopeless in the kitchen and Cas' idea of cooking is glaring at the ingredients hard enough until they magically transform into a meal. As you can imagine, he hasn’t been very successful so far.”

So yes, it feels nice having someone cooking just for him.

“So, how is everything, back home?” Charlie wonders, trying for casual, like this just popped up in her head and hasn't been lying on the tip of her tongue for days now.

Dean's actually surprised she was able to wait that long. He expected her to pester him with questions as soon as he arrived, but obviously he looked so exhausted and done with the world that she tamed her burning curiosity for the time being instead and focused on distracting the hunter with broken cars and movie marathons.

But now apparently she deems him settled enough to endure the emotional questioning.

Dean takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “Home is … fine,” he says, carefully. “I mean, it's awesome with having Mom back … but also kinda weird … and then there are the British Douches of Letters, naturally – not really sure what to think about that one yet …”

He shrugs one shoulder, hoping to make it clear that there's way too much going on right now to draw a straight line.

Charlie nods along, seemingly getting his point. “Yeah, I guess, it's quite a lot. Especially with your Mom …”

Charlie hasn't met her yet, but of course both Dean and Sam told her all the details, even the uncomfortable ones. One night, right after Mary left the bunker “to find herself” or whatever, Dean got a bit buzzed and eventually called Charlie, resulting in him starting to ramble about the whole fucked-up situation and revealing more about his inner feelings to her than he had ever planned.

Thankfully the next morning Charlie didn't pick up on that. Sure, Dean's quite certain she thought about it, probably dying to continue their conversation and have some adult talk about fuzzy feelings and stuff, but knowing Dean for a long-ass time now and learning his character fairly well over that period she's very aware that forcing the hunter to talk about his emotions would be the wrong move for everyone involved. So instead she waited for Dean to come forward on his own, no matter how long that might take.

And Dean seriously appreciates her for that.

“Yeah, Mom ...” he says and instantly trails off, making it apparent for Charlie that he's still not really ready to talk about it.

And as expected Charlie picks up on that straightaway as she immediately changes the topic. “Well, and I guess your last case added to that messy pile, huh? I mean, Eileen told me about that ancient super weapon and how it almost killed Cas …”

Dean feels his throat constricting at the reminder.

He would love to forget it, not think about it for at least a few hours on a row, but those pictures seemed to have burned themselves into his eyes, not giving him any opportunity to rest for long.

He sees Cas, lying there on the ground, unable to move.

So weak, his irises glassy, his skin clammy.

And that black ooze …

(I love you.)

(I love all of you.)

Yeah, Dean seriously doesn't want to even consider what he almost lost that day.

So eventually he finds himself shooting Charlie a look and decides to focus on the one thing in her statement that appears harmless enough for now. “You're talking with Eileen?”

She raises her brow, most likely knowing fairly well Dean is merely averting her question, and for a minute there it seems like she'd press some more for Dean finally opening up nonetheless. He already begins to prepare for the inevitable while simultaneously wondering whether faking a heart attack would get him out the situation. Granted, not the smoothest solution, but Dean worked with worse.

However, thankfully Charlie opts for the easy way out – at least for now – and lets it pass.

“Yeah, of course I'm talking with Eileen,” she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Remember how we met at the bunker a few months back? When Sam introduced her as his girlfriend to me and was blushing so much I worried he'd pass out the next second?”

Dean chuckles at the memory. Yeah, the whole thing with Sam and Eileen hadn't been official for that long of a time back then and his awkward moose of a brother transformed into a useless pile of goo around his new girlfriend constantly.

Well, okay, even now he's still more or less useless in Eileen's company, but at least it has gotten a little better.

“Yeah, I think he's on the verge of asking her to move in with him,” Dean says, grinning lopsidedly. “At least recently, when we're talking about her, he always looks at me funny, like he's so fucking close to asking me something super important he needs my permission for.”

Dean really hopes Sam will get it over with sometime soon.

“I mean, he should know I wouldn't mind having her around,” he says, shrugging. “She's kinda awesome. And she makes those amazing crepes. So what's not to like?”

She is good for his brother and Dean can easily imagine her being a fresh breeze of positive air in the bunker as well.

And so he keeps rambling about her and their nice little love story filled with rainbows and cotton candy because this is overall much safer territory than anything else Charlie wants to talk about. And though she doesn't seem impressed by his distraction tactic and even The Colonel looks at Dean like he knows exactly what the hunter is doing, they both indulge him for the time being.

And so Dean uses the chance.

Unfortunately he's interrupted pretty quickly – right in the middle of the beautiful fairy tale of Eileen braiding Sam's hair as he fell asleep on couch and taking dozens of blackmail photos right after – as Charlie's phone suddenly starts to ring very insistently, stopping Dean's stream of words quite abruptly.

Charlie flinches for a moment, obviously engrossed in Dean's story despite everything, and groans immediately as she glances at her phone’s display that shows DARREN in big letters. “Why?”

Dean raises a brow. “Who is Darren?”

“My boss,” she explains, the corners of her mouth drooping. “He knows he isn’t supposed to call me while I’m on holidays, so either he is stupid or there’s a fucking emergency, because why not?”

Dean has no real idea what she’s doing at her job at the local software firm, but her work hours are very flexible and she earns quite a lot of money. At least enough to afford this nice loft apartment, the newest computer gadgets and new LARP outfits every few months.

She’s making a name for herself – as Dean never doubted she would – and enjoying her life, going to work and making honest money, while more often than not using her skills to help the hunters in her free time.

However, right now Charlie doesn't seem happy about any of this as she begrudgingly answers the phone and practically bellows, “Dammit, Darren, this better be important, or else I'm gonna mail your browser history to your freaking girlfriend next thing today!”

Dean chuckles underneath his breath. He's quite sure that this is usually not the tone you're supposed to talk to your boss, but Charlie has always been different. Not to mention that this Darren guy is probably terrified of her and the things she might do anyway.

“A phone call?” Charlie scoffs so loudly The Colonel actually starts to shoot her a dirty look, not pleased by the sounds coming out of her mouth. “You're bothering me because someone called for me at work? Like seriously, Darren, why? Just tell them I'm on vacation and that I'll call back as soon as soon …” She halts as Darren probably continues his explanation. “Um, what?”

Suddenly she looks shell-shocked, the color quickly draining off her face and Dean immediately hears the alarm bells inside of him ring. He straightens his back and leans closer, hoping to catch more words.

“The FBI?” Charlie eventually squeaks. “The fucking FBI has been calling because of me?”

The OH SHIT is written plainly on her face.

For a minute she doesn't seem to know what to say, just gaping like a fish and staring helplessly at Dean, like she hopes he might be able to make this okay just by snapping his fingers.

Fuck, he wishes.

“Dammit,” he curses low-key. “What did you do, Bradbury?”

Charlie scowls at him after covering the phone's mouth piece to not let her boss overhear. “You mean apart from hacking top secret websites to help the whole hunter community – nothing !”

Dean bites his bottom lip.

Ah shit. Of course Charlie would eventually suffer for helping them out, what else could it be?

Their lives are unfair and everyone they love has to pay sooner or later. Dean really should've seen that coming.

Mentally he instantly starts to pack, his gaze flickering around the apartment to assess what is important enough to take with them and what could be left behind without much of a bad conscience, while he desperately suppresses the strong wave of guilt washing over him. Right now he's got no time for a pity party.

He's already on the verge of leaping to his feet and grabbing the nearest suitcase when suddenly Charlie grasps his wrist and keeps him at place while listening raptly to Darren's further explanation of the situation, her expression quickly changing from panic to bewilderment. Whatever her boss is telling her, she obviously has a hard time processing it.

“Can you repeat that agent's name again, please?” she asks into the speaker, her eyes doing something Dean's unable to decipher. “Okay, okay, that's … well, yes, he's here … no, there's nothing shady going on, Darren, c'mon … Can we talk about this later, huh? I need to take care of this first, okay? … Yeah, bye –”

And then she hangs up and her eyes immediately fix on Dean.

“Where is your phone?” she asks with an urgency in her tone that makes the hunter shiver involuntarily.

“My phone?” he wonders, frowning at her. Why the hell would that be important? “Who cares, dammit? What's with the FBI, Charlie? Are they onto you? Should we –?”

“Where. Is. Your. Phone?” Charlie repeats, emphasizing every single word.

“Um …”

For a moment Dean has no idea how to answer that. He only recalls eating waffles and feeling fairly happy and content thirty seconds ago. Nothing else mattered.

“I … I think I plugged it in this morning,” Dean vaguely remembers, scratching his forehead. “Why is that important right now? The FBI –”

“It's not the FBI looking for me,” Charlie explains, scrambling onto her legs and moving toward Dean's room, most likely to retrieve the oh-so-valuable cell phone or whatever. “Just one specific agent.”

Dean's immediately hard on her heels, not eager to miss even a millisecond of what the hell is going on right now. At the corner of his eyes he notices The Colonel falling into line as well, probably having felt the sudden change in mood very easily and now keen to not let them out of his sight.

“What agent?”

But as soon as he asked the question Dean senses a lightning running through his body. Is it possible …?

Is she talking about …?

“Victor Henriksen,” she instantly answers, her expression hard. “I think we have a big problem.”

Shit.

Chapter Text

Dean almost has a freaking heart attack when he finally turns on his phone and notices the sheer amount of unanswered calls and text messages staring him right into his face.

Fuck!

“Oh shit!” Charlie agrees with him, looking over his shoulder with widened eyes. “That can't be good.”

Indeed.

It seems like the first calls came in close to midnight. Right at the time when they both had been deep in their movie marathon, Charlie's awesome Dolby Surround System so fucking authentic he totally missed his phone going crazy. And soon after the battery most likely died due to the consistent calling and Dean was way too tired to think about checking it before heading to bed.

Dammit.

Dean doesn't waste any more time and instantly pushes on the call button without a second thought, his chest tightening painfully.

Victor picks up after the second ring.

“Thank the fucking Gods, Winchester!” he groans in relief, like a thousand pounds weight has just been lifted from his shoulders. “Don't you dare ever doing that to me again, do you hear me? EVER!”

Dean's heartbeat picks up even more at the tone in his voice. He sounds like he expected the hunter to be lying dead somewhere in the ditch or something.

“What is going on, Vic?” he urges, his whole skin prickling as though it's on the verge of catching fire any second now. “What the hell is so important that you had to call at Charlie's workplace and freak out her boss? Is someone dead?”

Victor falls silent for a moment. “Um …”

“Oh God, someone is dead, right?” Dean clenches his hand into a fist. “So what happened? Did vampires invade the FBI building? Is a demon possessing the president? And why didn't you call Sam? You've got his number, too, haven't you? You don't have to go through such extremes to –”

“I'm calling because of Sam!”

Victor's voice is hard and shaky and it makes Dean shut up right away. He feels himself freezing as the images of the text messages captured LIFE AND DEATH suddenly pop up in front of his inner eye again.

“Sam?” Dean asks, his pulse racing now. “What's with him?”

Charlie perks up beside him, studying him with a concerned expression, and before Dean even knows what's happening she suddenly rips the phone out of his grip. Dean instantly makes a disgruntled noise, glaring at her accusingly, but she simply ignores him as he switches to speaker phone and places the device back into his hands.

She obviously doesn't want to miss a thing and Dean can't really berate her on that.

“Okay, there's no way to sugarcoat it,” Victor says, inhaling deeply. “Two days ago the police in Lafayette, Colorado, picked up a man after he publicly killed a guy basically in front of the whole freaking town. The cops arranged an analysis of his blood-drenched coat and learned that one of the samples on the fabric actually belongs to Sam. So they called me because I've been the lead agent on your case, as you maybe remember from two hundred years ago –”

He rambles on, apparently trying to deal with the stress that's been building up inside him for a while, while Dean stares at his phone in utter disbelief.

Is he seriously hearing that correctly?

“What are you even talking about?” Dean interrupts quite sharply. “Sam is back at the bunker.”

“And when was the last time you spoke to him?”

Dean opens his mouth, more than ready to give him hell, but then he halts as he tries to find the right answer to Victor's question. He sincerely wants to claim “Just yesterday” and dismiss the whole thing as some sort of misunderstanding – that kind of stuff happens like all the time, right? – however, when he tries to recall his last contact with Sam he encounters some trouble getting the correct time frame.

Dean remembers quite vividly that it's been a string of texts – merely them joking around about unimportant things while Dean subtly attempted to get a few updates on Cas' condition without appearing too much like mother-hen again –, but he can't really place when it happened exactly. For a brief second he's absolutely convinced it's just been the day before, though thinking about it more closely now it might also have been two days ago. Spending time with Charlie and having one movie marathon after another seriously blurred all of that together somehow.

So yeah, perhaps it's been a bit longer than Dean realizes.

But still …

“What are you telling me here, Victor?” Dean asks, his entire body tense. “Colorado? There's a guy walking around with my brother's blood on his clothes, is that it?”

Dean's insides actually start to jolt as his overactive brain immediately begins to consider the possibilities.

How did it land there? Is it fresh blood or maybe from an old hunt sometime ago? And what the hell?

“I figure you tried to call Sam?” Charlie pipes in, apparently noticing Dean's inner freak out without much difficulty. She lays her hand on his knee and squeezes it slightly while offering him a small smile in comfort.

“Hello, Charlie,” Victor greets her first, always the gentleman. “And yes, I did. As much as I tried Dean, maybe even more. No answer.”

Dean feels a bit dizzy all of a sudden.

He just wanted a few days of vacation and lazying around. Was that already too much to ask for?

“What about Cas?” Charlie wonders. “Have you tried to reach him?”

Dean's head snaps up.

Cas.

Of course.

“Well, I don't have his number,” Victor explains before Dean's even able to wrap his head around it. “Not that there's any need right now considering we finally met in person anyway …”

Dean raises his eyebrows incredulously at that statement.

What?

This is getting confusing very fast.

“Okay, man, I seriously don't understand,” Dean cuts in, already feeling a major headache coming his way. “You're saying … that Sammy doesn't answer his phone? And you met Cas?”

What the fuck?

“Yep,” Victor agrees easily.

“But … how?” Dean shakes his head, not sure what to think of this. “I mean, are you at the bunker?”

It would make sense, meeting Cas there, right?

It seems logical enough.

But then Victor answers, “Nope, I'm in Colorado,”, crushing all of Dean's hopes for a moderate plausible explanation.

“In Colorado?”

“Yep.”

“Where you met Cas?”

“Yep.”

What. The. Hell?

He shoots a glance in Charlie's direction, kinda wishing she would have some answers ready for him on the silver platter, but unfortunately she appears as bewildered as he is, perhaps even more so. She merely wrinkles her forehead in utter puzzlement and mouths What is happening? to him.

Yeah, Dean can relate to the feeling.

“Why the fuck would Cas be in Colorado?” Dean asks through gritted teeth. “He promised he'd stay at the bunker.”

He swore.

Dean made perfectly sure of that.

“And even if he would've decided to take a trip to freaking Colorado, he would've told me about it.” Dean feels confident enough in that assessment. “Victor, man, are you really sure you've been talking with Cas? I mean, the real one? This could be some fucking ruse to –”

“Dean, he caused a motherfucking earthquake!” Victor interrupts in a very sharp tone, his knuckles cracking even audible through the phone. “So don't tell me I have no idea what I'm dealing with, boy. I know exactly what's right in front of me!”

Dean feels his jaw going slack. “An earthquake?”

Okay, it's official now.

He's still fast asleep and dreaming some very weird shit up.

Because this, this doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

“How about you just tell us the entire story from the beginning?” Charlie suggests, her voice so calm and collected Dean once again can't help feeling grateful having her by his side. “Right now this whole thing is all kinds of fuzzy from our end.”

Victor takes a deep breath, as though he's actually annoyed they don't grasp the gist with that terribly scattered information thrown at them, but eventually he complies. “The quick version, though. Time is of the essence.”

And so he starts.

With his FBI colleague practically invading his personal space last night, choking that case down his throat. With the killer's coat covered in Sam's blood. With the murderer identified as James Novak, aka Cas himself, now sitting in fucking county jail in Colorado of all things. With Cas not really having the slightest clue what even happened to him. With the ground beginning to shake after Cas' emotions ran rampage. And with their hunch that Sam still might be at bunker, injured or even worse …

More than once Dean feels the need to cut in, to ask literally million of questions, to scream “Are you fucking serious?” right into the phone's speaker.

But Dean stays silent.

Mainly because it seriously seems like they can't afford to waste any time with interruptions and side plots, but also because Dean's still frozen on the spot, not feeling any wiser than before. Is this story supposed to make any kind of sense now? Is this for real?

Dean has no clue what the fuck is going on.

He only knows one thing: his family is in trouble.

And for now that's all that matters.

So he shoves all the powerful emotions desperate to overthrow his brain and render him useless as deep down as possible and switches his hunter mode back on. He doesn't have time for stupid feelings clouding his judgment and preventing him from doing his job.

Not now.

“So let me get this straight,” Dean jumps in after Victor finishes his report. “Cas suddenly appears in Colorado and kills some dude out of the blue, for everyone to see. With Sam's blood on his trench coat.”

He bites his bottom lip as that image appears before his inner eye. It seems so wrong, imaging that piece of garment which Dean has been associating with the angel since day one now sullied with his little brother's blood.

So wrong.

“And he hasn't the faintest idea what happened to Sam?” Dean inquires.

Victor hesitates for a moment. “He's … he's obviously got some trouble remembering.”

Dean doesn't like his tone at all. There's more to it than that, more than Cas most likely being hit hard by some spell that compromised his memory for the time being, however, for some reason Victor doesn't seem eager to voice his doubts. Maybe it's just the whole situation in general (which is, quite frankly, rather unorthodox), maybe it's something very specific that makes the agent pause.

“I wanna talk to Cas!” Dean urges, the need almost overwhelming.

It almost killed him, leaving the angel behind in the bunker. Cas still had been weak after their meeting with Ramiel and Dean's desire to just wrap him in thousand blankets and never letting him out of sight was stronger than ever before. The whole thing shook him to his core, made him realize with absolute horror what he almost lost, and it drove him crazy to even picture a different outcome.

If Crowley wouldn't have shown up and destroyed the Lance …

Fuck, Dean doesn't want to consider it.

It took so much effort to eventually leave Cas behind at the bunker – after practically a million reassurances by both the angel and Sam that they would stay put, no matter what – and now to see his nightmare have come true nonetheless is the most awful feeling. Why did he even bother to think that things would go smoothly for once? How the fuck could he be so stupid to believe that the universe wouldn't screw them over again?

Things never go their way. Ever.

Dean seriously should've learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I need to talk to Cas,” he repeats once more, the demand in his tone replaced by a plea so raw and human he probably would've been embarrassed under different circumstances. He needs to hear the angel's voice. He needs to know that the guys is at least somewhat okay.

However, Victor crushes his hopes as he says, “Sorry, man, but that's not gonna happen.”

Dean feels very sick all of a sudden. “C'mon –”

“Dean, he's a murder suspect currently surrounded by at least four police officers,” Victor reminds him, his voice harsh, yet understanding. “I can't just give him my phone like that, it would raise like a trillion uncomfortable questions. I can assure you he's fine for now, but that's all I can give you for the moment.” He takes a deep breath. “There are rules and regulations for fucking everything and if I don't play by the book, I will lose this case faster than you can blink.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn't like it, at all, but unfortunately the agent has a strong argument here. Having Victor on this case is a godsend and they can't afford to jeopardize that.

Granted, they could come up with some plausible excuse if they put their minds to it, but it still would be a risk.

A risk that might cost Sam his life.

And that's what they should focus on right now.

So Dean inhales deeply, chasing away the images of Cas close to death out of his head, and asks, “So you think Sam is back at the bunker?”

Part of him just wants to leap to his feet and rush over to Lebanon to make sure for himself. To do something at least.

Anything.

But there are still so many unanswered questions and Dean just can't drive around blindly because of the off-chance his brother still might exactly be where he left him, contrary to the angel. Not to mention that the bunker is in the opposite direction of Lafayette right now. Dean might lose very precious time if he'd jump the gun too soon.

“It's as good a guess as any,” Victor says. “Castiel can't remember what happened and the bunker is the last place we know for sure Sam has been. He indeed might still be there or maybe we'll find at least some clues on the scene. One way or another, we can't pass up on checking it out.”

Naturally he's right on that, the bunker would be the logical place to start without much to go on.

But Dean doesn't really wanna think about the scenarios waiting for him there. If Sam's seriously been at Lebanon the whole time Cas has been sitting in prison – two whole fucking days, according to Victor – there might be a very horrible reason why he hasn't tried to contact anyone yet.

Shit.

“I'm currently organizing my people,” Victor continues, his voice all business, though there is a strain to it, like he has to force himself to stay professional on this one. “I've got a bunch of guys close to Lincoln who could be in Lebanon in no time at all –”

“Wait, wait!” Dean cuts in immediately, his body tensing up uncomfortably. “You wanna send your guys? The FBI?”

Victor scoffs, obviously not very delighted by the hunter's tone. “You've got a better idea? Like I said, my people are close by and if Sam is really back at the bunker, apparently unable to pick up his damned phone for whatever reason …” He takes a sharp breath. “I know this is a huge risk, but Sam's life is on the line here and I don't think we have time for another option.”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment.

The idea sounds awful – having the authorities rummaging through the bunker's room, running their hands all over humanity's most important secrets without having a clue what they're really dealing with –, but is there honestly much of a choice? Sam might be back at the bunker, clinging to life, and every second wasted could be one second too long.

And right now none of their friends would be close enough to beat the FBI there, at least to Dean's knowledge. Jody is in Sioux Falls, doing her thing, Donna is back home as well, Mary is gone with the wind again …

Dean hates this, so much, but Sam's well-being is much more valuable than anything. Always has been, always will be.

“Okay, you're right,” Dean agrees, his chest clenching hard. “Call your people, tell them to hurry up and make sure they don't touch anything since the last thing we need are a bunch of agents ending up cursed or even worse only 'coz they're stupid enough to not keep their hands to themselves –”

“Yeah, yeah, Winchester, don't worry, I didn't forget about that.”

“And tell them to ignore every speed limit possible …”

“Naturally –”

“And I'm not sure what they're gonna find, but opening the front door with force will trigger a very loud alarm –”

“Yeah, I still remember how to disable that one, trust me –”

“How about we try yet another option first?”

The sudden rise of Charlie's voice next to him makes Dean flinch involuntarily and he quickly shoots a glance in her direction. She raises a pointed eyebrow at both of them, apparently not impressed by their emergency planning, and simply shakes her head at them right before leaping to her feet and rushing to the doorway.

“Don't let the FBI anywhere near the bunker yet!” she commands, no objections allowed. “I'm gonna fetch my laptop real quick and then we can check what's going on in Lebanon in thirty seconds.”

Dean wrinkles his forehead, feeling way too overwhelmed all of a sudden. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you seriously forget the security system I installed a few months ago?” she asks incredulously. “I get that you're quite emotional right now, but c'mon, man, I designed the whole thing for exactly this kind of situation, so you really should remember it. Thank God you have me.”

With these words she rushes off, leaving Dean behind gobsmacked.

Right.

The security system.

After the arrival of the British Men of Letters and their rogue bitch breaking into the bunker and taking Sam hostage, the brothers decided that additional security measures would be necessary. So Charlie spent a very long weekend installing cameras in all the important strategic places next to motion detectors, heat sensors and whatnot. Neither Dean nor Sam wanted a repeat performance of crazy Women of Letters walking in and out of the bunker unobstructedly anytime soon.

So Charlie helped them out with all her modern gadgets. And made sure that you could have access to the system from anywhere on the planet.

“Ah shit, how could I forget about that?” Victor exclaims, jerking Dean out of his thoughts. “I mean, you were bitching to me about that an entire afternoon.”

Yeah, Dean hadn't been entirely happy about cameras invading his living space, feeling like his privacy and his home might be restricted all of a sudden. So Charlie made extra sure to only install them in the open areas, like the entrances, hallways, the war room and the library, and left out anything else. The private rooms, the bathrooms, even the kitchen have been a solid no-go zone right from the start.

And since only themselves, Charlie and Jody in case of emergency have access to the system to begin with, Dean learned to live with it in the last couple of months. Hey, apparently after a while he even forgot about its existence in the first place.

And now he's very grateful they made that decision.

It might not save Sam's life directly, but it would give them answers if sending the fucking FBI inside would be necessary or not.

Waiting for Charlie to return seems like an eternity (though it's probably only been half a minute at the most) and Dean finds anxiety gripping his whole being, making it harder to breathe. He had no time to process all of this yet and he still feels way too steamrolled to get a good grasp at what is really happening.

Victor's voice is floating back to his ear again, but Dean registers right away that he's not the right recipient for now. It seems like the agent is barking some orders around, most likely getting back to his colleagues he actually meant to send to the bunker, making sure that they stay put for at least a few more minutes. Dean can't really understand what he's saying (Victor most likely placed his cell phone on the side and switched to the landline to contact his people), but he's not very eager to have the whole experience anyway. As long as Victor holds his horses for the time being, Dean couldn't care less.

Suddenly he notices something wet touching his hand and he looks down where he is immediately met with a set of big dog eyes staring right back at him. The Colonel placed his head in Dean's lap, probably for comfort and support, for himself as well as Dean, and the hunter finds himself smiling softly down at him as he buries his fingers in the dog's fur.

Back then it had been a spur of the moment decision to take him with them and though Sam had been delighted beyond belief about their new family member, Dean felt a bit uncertain about his choice for several months, wondering more than once whether he made the right call. But in moments like this, feeling a warmth in his heart just by knowing that there's someone at his side no matter what, he just knows he's been right all along.

“Everything will be alright, buddy,” Dean reassures him quietly. “Sam's gonna be fine and Cas …”

They will all be okay.

Because Dean seriously doesn't wanna even consider the alternative.

Eventually – finally – Charlie comes back into the room, her laptop open and ready to go.

“I already started the system,” she explains. “It always needs a moment to boot.”

Soon enough Dean looks at several little screens, all showing different areas of the bunker. It feels a bit surreal, eyeing them from another angle than he's used to, and for some of them it takes him a few seconds to recognize what exactly he's even looking at.

One thing, however, Dean notices right away: the bunker seems absolutely untouched and peaceful.

The hunter expected chaos, blood on the wall, books and papers scattered everywhere. But instead it appears neat and orderly, just the way Dean left it behind days ago. The only thing slightly out of the order are a couple of open books on one of the library's tables, with a coffee mug sitting right beside them. But apart from that everything appears normal.

A quick glance at the garage also shows that every vehicle seems to be accounted for, including that pick-up truck Cas got himself a while ago. However the angel ended up in Colorado, he sure as hell didn't take one of the cars at the bunker.

“I already started the heat sensors and motion detectors,” Charlie informs them. “They didn't pick up anything.”

Dean takes a sharp breath. “So there is nobody inside?”

Charlie pulls a face as she admits, “Well, nobody alive.”

God.

Not the words he wanted to hear.

But yet again, the pictures of the peaceful bunker set him at ease at least a little bit. It doesn't seem like there had been a big fight anytime in the past.

And Sam wouldn't go down without a fight, Dean knows that better than anything.

So what does that mean? Where's Sam? How did his blood end up on Cas' coat? And what the hell is the angel doing in fucking Colorado, getting himself arrested?

“Do your cameras only capture the present or is there some kind of recording?” Victor's voice pipes up once more, sounding contemplative as his investigator brain kicks back into action. He's probably more annoyed than Dean about this whole situation and wants to see it resolved as fast as possible. He has done a lot of things for the brothers over the years and having it on the verge of collapsing just like that isn't really the sort of fun he most likely had been expecting for his weekend.

“Well, I only got the best of the best, so recording there is,” Charlie announces proudly. “Just give me a time and date.”

The shuffling of paper is following immediately as Victor probably looks through his files to search for the required data. “Wednesday, 18:46 PM,” he eventually says. “That's the time Castiel got arrested by the Lafayette Police.”

Charlie huffs. “That's oddly specific.”

“Well, your angel killed a man in broad daylight on the populated town's center, with plenty of cell phones capturing the whole thing. The time frame of the murder hasn't been difficult to figure out.”

That's yet another thing: Who the fuck did Cas even kill? Victor had been very vague on his description earlier, making it pretty apparent he didn't give the murder victim much thought in the light of Sam's disappearance. And Dean certainly gets that, it's not his first priority either, but for some reason Cas saw it necessary to kill this man with his angel blade next to a bunch of witnesses and that couldn't have been a small thing.

Has that guy – Roger Dylan, if Dean remembers correctly – something to do with Sam's sudden absence?

It sure would explain Cas going all badass supernova angel on him.

“Just give me a few minutes,” Charlie mutters meanwhile as she types away on her keyboard, absolutely captivated by all the numbers suddenly popping up on the computer screen. “Recording is not the main feature of the whole system, so it takes a moment to set it all up.”

Her fingers fly over the keys, like it's the sole purpose she has been born in the first place, and Dean can only stare at her movements in incredulous awe while The Colonel studies her as though he's fearing for her health.

“Don't worry, we should have some answers soon enough.”

And Dean really hopes she is right.

Chapter Text

In modern computer jargon “soon” obviously means “a fucking eternity”.

After watching Charlie doing her thing on the laptop for a while, feeling fucking useless in the process, Dean eventually gets into gear, figuring that doing something is better than doing nothing. And after realizing he's somehow still in his freaking sleeping clothes, he starts to strip right there on the spot, totally ignoring Charlie's vehement lesbian protests in the light of that new development.

“Oh, don't get your panties in a twist,” Dean grumbles as he shucks his sweatpants somewhere near his duffle bag and grabs the pair of jeans he wore the day before. They're fine for now and it's not like anyone would judge his wardrobe anyway.

“But why do you have to do this right in front of me?” Charlie protests, sounding like she never experienced that much misery in her life ever before.

“'Cause you're in my room, sweetheart,” Dean reminds her with an eye-roll. “Don't worry, I won't flip my bits around or something.”

“You better not,” she mutters before fixing her gaze back on the screen.

Dean shakes his head in exasperation, but in the end decides to ignore her for the time being.

“Okay, Vic,” he says loudly instead as he's ungracefully fumbling with his pants, “if that video recording won't show us anything helpful, I'm gonna be on my way to Lafayette next thing. I'm not really sure how long I'd take, but I guess I can make it in about three hours …”

If he ignores every speed limit along the way.

Which Dean totally intends to do.

However, Victor doesn't seem thrilled by that statement. “No way!” he grumbles. “I don't wanna see your face around here.”

Dean glares threateningly at the phone lying on the little table. Is this guy for real? “What the fuck?” he hisses. “You think I'd stay away?”

Even the mere notion is absolutely absurd.

As if he would ever leave his family behind.

“Dean, we have to be smart about this,” Victor throws in, his voice tense. “And you showing your stupid freckled face here in Lafayette is the opposite of that.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Why do you think, dumbass?” Victor snorts. “After finding Sam's blood all of a sudden everyone is taking an interest in the Winchester case again. You remember that thing? With that long list of felonies and stuff?”

Dean grimaces. He doesn't like being reminded of that. They busted their asses so many times, saving people left and right, and all it got them was a freaking crime record longer than Sam's ridiculous hair.

Sometimes he really wonders why he didn't listen to that job counselor in high school back in the days and become an engineer instead. It would've saved him a lot of trouble.

“Every single police officer in Lafayette has been looking at that file,” Victor says with emphasis. “Which includes your fucking Bambi face. You're still officially considered dead, but believe me when I tell you that the people around here are on high alert and you showing up in town might end up in your arrest pretty quickly. And I'd really like to prevent that if possible.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist. Of course Victor has a strong point here, it certainly wouldn't do them any good seeing him in custody again, but it hurts to imagine he can't just walk into that police station and talk to Cas.

“I can't stay away,” he says nonetheless because it's the fucking truth. Not when the people he cares about most in the world are in trouble.

“I know,” Victor states, his tone getting a bit softer now. “You should get a motel in the next town over and stay low until I've got more control over the situation. So far it's still officially police business, but I ain't got my badge for nothing.”

Dean feels some relief rushing through his system. Having Victor on their side has been a blessing more than once so far and the hunter thanks their lucky stars every single day for that.

“And you need to ditch the Impala.”

Okay …

Maybe Dean shouldn't send out thank you notes just yet.

“What the hell?” the hunter grumbles, not at all pleased by the sheer thought of leaving Baby behind.

“Oh please, Winchester,” Victor scoffs, sincerely not impressed by Dean's tone. “Your car is way too auspicious. I seriously have no idea how you managed to stay out of sight all these years with that thing roaring so loudly walls start to shake.”

Dean's scowl deepens even more.

Perhaps he should reconsider that friendship again. Victor has clearly lost his mind.

“He does have a point,” Charlie suddenly has the audacity to pipe in as she shoots him a crooked smirk. “Don't get me wrong, Baby is sexy as hell, but she's honestly the wrong choice for any kind of undercover work.”

Well, it's official then.

Dean needs new friends.

“What a happy coincidence that you just finished fixing my car though,” she adds. “Perfect timing, I'd say.”

Dean pulls a face at her. “Full offense, Charlie, but your car is a yellow abomination. It's not less auspicious than Baby.”

“But it's not associated with that FBI Winchester case and that's what's important here.”

Dean curses underneath his breath. He seriously hates to admit it, but they do actually have valid arguments here. If those Colorado cops indeed buried their noses way too deep into those old files they certainly ordered a local lookout for a 1967 Chevy Impala and Dean can't have ending up exposed because of that. He's not allowed to make any stupid mistakes while Sam's life is on the line and Cas is rotting in a prison cell, probably about to be transferred to who knows where.

No, Dean needs to keep his head in the game.

And if that means to leave his car standing a few more days in Charlie's parking lot, so be it.

“If you're too embarrassed to be seen behind my car's wheel, I can totally take over driving for you,” Charlie offers while her fingers simultaneously fly over the laptop's keyboard again. “I mean, I know you're a control freak about those things and you can probably get us to Colorado in less than forty minutes or whatever, but it's just a friendly suggestion.”

Dean raises a brow at her. “That sounds suspiciously like you're expecting to come with me.”

Charlie scoffs and shakes her head as though she can't believe the level of stupidity she has to deal with on a regular basis. “That's exactly what it sounds like. Because newsflash, I'm not staying here like an innocent damsel.”

Dean can't help a very unattractive snort in response to that. “No way in hell you're coming, Bradbury!”

Charlie side-eyes him, her expression so thoroughly unimpressed Dean's almost in awe of the not-giving-a-shit aura surrounding her. “You can't expect me to twiddle my thumbs and do nothing.”

“And you can't expect me to drag you and the freaking dog along with me!” Dean counters through gritted teeth. He's worried enough as it is, he seriously doesn't need further distractions.

Charlie doesn't bother even looking at him while The Colonel throws him a death glare. Though he doesn't fully understand what's going on, he obviously doesn't appreciate Dean's tone. At all.

Great.

“I'm not saying I will jump on the first chance of danger,” Charlie says after a moment of tense silence. “But an extra set of eyes can't hurt and I might be able to do a lot more with my special skills if I were on-site.”

Dean bites his bottom lip as his scowl deepens.

“Besides, you're not the boss of me,” she reminds him. “I will go to Lafayette and you can't stop me.”

“I could chain you up here,” Dean proposes, smirking at the mere thought.

Charlie, however, only blinks before exchanging a very distinctive is-this-guy-for-real glance with The Colonel. “Seriously? You wanna leave me here, all by myself, without any clue how long you'll be in Colorado? Days? Weeks?” She huffs a hollow laugh. “You wanna see me starving and peeing myself, living in my own, disgusting filth –”

“Okay, fine, I get it!” Dean hastily cuts in before she could get too graphic on him. Charlie has the uncanny ability to make things as vivid as possible – probably a side-effect from reading all that fanfiction – and he honestly doesn't need yet another nightmare to the ones he already has, thank you very much.

“I won't put myself knowingly in danger,” she promises, her voice a tad softer now. “I don't wanna be a liability, trust me. But I just can't sit around here, wondering what is happening, you know? No idea if I'll be able to help much, but fuck, even wrapping Cas and Sam in some blankets would be better than nothing –”

Dean pulls a face. He hates to admit it, but he can relate to her. Of course he wouldn't fancy sitting around on his ass either.

It's unfair to expect it from her.

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “If you stay out of trouble.”

Dean anticipates some snark remark coming his way, a funny quip to lighten the mood, but instead Charlie looks him dead in the eyes, her expression more serious than he's ever seen before, and promises, “I will, don't worry.”

Dean feels some of his muscles unclench.

It's good to know she doesn't take the whole thing lightly, at least.

“Great,” Victor suddenly pipes in again. “With you around, Charlie, the chances of Dean doing something stupid will be significantly smaller.”

Dean pouts at that accusation while Charlie can't help a stifled laugh, unsuccessfully trying to cover it up as a cough.

“Keep him in line, Charlie,” Victor says. “I have to go for now. I think the firefighters are almost finished checking the building and I wanna stay close to your angel.”

Dean tenses once more.

Their angel.

His angel.

Damn, Dean wants to run over there so badly.

“Yeah, keep a close eye on him,” Dean finds himself agreeing, his voice so hoarse that Charlie shoots him a funny look. “And tell him …”

Tell Cas what?

That everything will be alright?

That they're gonna find Sam and be back at the bunker by the end of the day?

Yeah, seems highly unlikely.

So Dean stays silent, not really sure what message he should rely to Cas anyway. Everything seems hollow, just empty promises. And that's the last thing he wants to give the guy right now.

However, Victor appears to get the sentiment nonetheless.

“I will,” he reassures the hunter. “I think he will be thrilled to hear you're okay.”

Dean swallows. “Then tell him that,” he urges. “That I'm okay. And Charlie. And the dog.”

“Consider it done,” Victor promises and after a quick goodbye hangs up, ready to go back to business and start to clean up the mess.

Dean takes a deep breath, emotions once more attempting to drown him, and he stares at his phone for way too long than strictly necessary, probably looking like a fool in the process.

Thankfully Charlie doesn't comment on it as she proposes, just a minute later, “How about you start packing up all the necessities into my car while I look through the video footage?” She instantly pushes her car keys into his hands. “It might take a moment and we shouldn't waste any time, don't you think?”

Well, he can't exactly argue with that.

So he grabs the duffle bag next to his bed where he stashed all the basic needs for a hunter – knife, holy water, gun, angel blade –, shoots a glance over his shoulder to The Colonel and says, “C'mon, buddy!” before rushing outside without looking back, knowing fairly well that the dog will be on his heels.

Charlie's monstrosity of a car is parked beside the Impala and Dean thanks their lucky stars for such convenience. It's always a lot of effort to deal with weapons and fairly occult looking stuff in broad daylight and Dean's glad he doesn't have to carry all the things across the parking lot while trying desperately not to appear suspicious.

It's not always the easiest.

Dean doesn't waste any time opening the trunk of Charlie's car and stash the things from the apartment inside (because despite being on vacation Dean never goes anywhere unarmed – a lesson hard learned) before moving toward the Impala and packing up the rest of the stuff. He left a bunch back at the bunker, especially the most valuable objects, but Baby has a standard equipment the Winchesters never mess around with, no matter where they're going. A little bit of everything, so to speak, so that they're prepared to handle any situation at any time, even while grocery shopping or going to the dentist (or more like Sam dragging his very reluctant older brother to the dentist).

It normally gets them around and has so far kept them alive (more or less) just fine.

And it has to do for now.

Dean throws everything that might be of value inside his bag and only stops in his motions and hastily closes the lid of the trunk when The Colonel suddenly barks once, indicating that someone is close by. The hunter throws a glance to the right side and notices one of Charlie's neighbors crossing the parking lot. The guy is solely focused on his phone and doesn't even spare them a millisecond of attention, but The Colonel watches him closely the whole time until he disappears around a corner.

“Good boy,” Dean praises and rubs the dog's ears once with affection. “Not sure what I'd do without you.”

The Colonel's chest seems to swell hearing that fond tone (even if he might not be able to understand them anymore) before going back into guard dog mode and searching the area for any possible disturbers.

Dean finishes the job quickly, happy not having to worry about people all of a sudden appearing next to him, and places everything inside the trunk of Charlie's car.

“Okay, buddy,” he says after shutting the lid, “we're gonna be stuck inside that car for a couple of hours, so if you need to take a leak, go for it now. There won't be any pee breaks for any of us in the foreseeable future.”

He points at a patch of grass nearby, hoping that the dog would catch his drift. The Colonel stares at him for a moment, his gaze almost as intense as Cas', before he finally decides that his bladder has priority right now and dashes toward the little scrap of nature to take care of his business.

Dean watches him a minute, making sure that no one is around who might feel uncomfortable with an unleashed dog crapping on their back lawn, when he suddenly feels a vibration in his pocket.

This time he doesn't fail to pick up his phone instantly, already feeling his heart starting to pound harder as he sees Victor's name again on the display. For a second there the hunter images the most horrible things and he feels his knees going weak at the sight of those pictures popping up in front of his inner eye.

However, as Dean realizes just a second later, it's merely a photo, with a “I figured you'd appreciate it.” text attached to it.

Dean squints his eyes, trying hard to recognize something despite the bright sunlight and it takes some turning and repositioning, probably looking like a dancing fool in the process, but eventually he's got a good enough angle to make out some details.

The picture is grainy, most likely due to Victor's ancient phone not having the best camera in the world, and quite dark, however, Dean believes to recognize a person.

A very familiar person.

Cas.

Dean's heartbeat picks up as he shoves the phone closer to his face to have a better view. The hunter can't really tell where Cas is in the picture, but he is standing upright and stares at something outside of the photo's frame. He appears uncharacteristically small, with someone obviously having thrown an overgrown coat over his shoulders at some point, and Dean feels the almost unbearable urge to pull the angel into his arms and never let go.

Unfortunately Dean can't really determine how Cas is doing. The angel never has been the most expressive of beings on the planet and though Dean has learned over the years to interpret every single twitch or slight head tilt with relative ease, the bad quality of the picture makes it absolutely impossible to distinguish any details.

At least Cas is standing on his own two feet without any help and that's at least something.

Dean sighs as his thumb involuntarily brushes over the screen, almost like a caress. He'd give almost anything to be with him right now, to tell him that all will be fine, that he doesn't have to worry.

Even if it would be a lie.

Dean doesn't know how long he stares at the picture, idiotically hoping that those blue eyes would turn toward him eventually, but when he feels something nudging his knee and he notices The Colonel impatiently trying to get his attention, he knows that he has been in some kind of daze for way too long.

So he inhales deeply and brings himself to close the picture and shoot Victor a quick text instead.

Thanks man. You're right, I really needed this. Keep me posted, we're on our way.

Dean bites his bottom lip and shuts his eyes, trying to collect himself for a minute there. It's hard not losing your head over this and though he has been in fairly dire situations before, it never gets any easier.

Don't worry, Cas, he sends a prayer out in the world, hoping desperately that it'll reach his angel. I'm coming for you.

* * * * *

“Did you find something?” is the first thing out of Dean's mouth as soon as he's back in Charlie's apartment. He steps close to her side and leans over her shoulder to take a look onto her computer screen.

“Well, kinda,” she says vaguely, apparently not really sure what to think. “I don't know what it means, though.”

She points at the laptop and Dean follows the gesture, studying the flat surface. And just a second later he frowns in deep confusion.

“What the hell?”

By the way the clock on the far right corner is counting backwards in high speed, it's obvious that Charlie is still rewinding the recording. However, instead of looking at clear pictures Dean sees himself confronted with gray snow.

“What's going on, Charlie?” he asks, gritting his teeth. “Is that some sort of malfunction or what?”

“Not the normal kind,” she replies, her voice tense. “The system is programmed to inform me if there is any kind of interference. The usual stuff or even tempering. This is high quality equipment, it just doesn't stop functioning for no reason.” She side-eyes Dean as she hesitantly adds, “I think this is not a natural kind of disturbance.”

Dean should've already guessed, but he hates to hear it anyway. Why is the supernatural always so eager to piss into his Wheaties?

“When did this start?”

“No clue,” Charlie admits, pulling a face. “So far I've covered about the past week. Snow the whole time.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist. The entire week?

Fuck, even he had been at the bunker at that time and he didn't notice anything. No one did, not even Cas and his tingling angel senses.

What the fuck?

“When did it stop, though?” he wonders, leaning closer. “I mean, the real time picture of the bunker was perfectly alright.”

Nothing had indicated that there had been any kind of interference in the first place.

“It stopped on Wednesday, at exactly 18:41 PM,” Charlie announces.

Dean feels something prickle underneath his skin and he finds himself creasing his forehead in bewilderment. “Wednesday?” he asks, shaking his head. “But … that was only a few minutes before Cas got arrested in Colorado, right?”

Charlie nods in confirmation, her expression absolutely grim. “Right.”

Damn.

Dean seriously has no clue what's going on anymore.

“One thing I noticed though is that it's not fully consistent,” Charlie explains, pointing at all the small screens. “Just look closer.”

Dean does as he's told and indeed he recognizes a couple of discrepancies just a moment later. Some areas of the bunker are completely unrecognizable, only wild snowfall all around, but a few are a little less terrible. Hell, on one of the tiny screens he can even marginally make out some shapes. It's still far from perfect, but it's certainly a difference.

“It changes,” Charlie tells him. “One time you can almost identify the library, in the next second it's totally impossible to distinguish anything. But then all of a sudden the garage isn't so bad anymore.” She takes a deep breath. “Hell, a few times I could even make out some of you guys. I'm pretty sure I've seen Sam for a moment, walking through a hallway. Cas sitting on a chair in the library. I think I've even recognized you and The Colonel once. And then a second later boom, snow!”

She hits her palm hard onto the table, making both Dean and the dog flinch in surprise.

“Whatever this is,” she says with emphasis, “it's definitely moving.”

Dean tenses at those words. “Moving?” He starts to rub his temples, hoping desperately – but most likely in vain – that this is just a nightmare. “Are you implying … there is something inside the bunker?”

Charlie throws her arms up into the air. “With you guys, anything is possible!” she declares, unfortunately having a point there. “Maybe it's a spirit or something? Do they interfere with technical systems?”

Well, they sure as hell can cause a lot of trouble.

And it wouldn't be the first time the bunker is haunted.

God, Dean seriously hates his life sometimes.

“It could be,” he concedes reluctantly. “But still … how did Cas end up in Colorado, with his memory messed up? And where the hell is Sam?”

It doesn't really add up. At least it's not the MO of your typical ghost, not to mention that they added a bunch of precautions after their last haunting. It's not like spirits can walk around freely in the bunker anymore.

Well, at least not any normal spirits.

But considering all the secrets the bunker still might've hidden from them, Dean wouldn't be totally surprised if some super ghost – or basically any other supernatural entity – would've decided to show up and ruin their weekend.

“It looks like right now Cas is our best shot of getting some answers,” Charlie says with a heavy voice.

The picture Victor sent him automatically pops up in Dean's mind and the hunter's chest clenches uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” he mutters as he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping against all odds that everything will turn out okay for a change.

You can always dream, right?

Chapter Text

It takes them three hours and twenty-three minutes to reach Louisville, Colorado, the town right next to Lafayette.

As promised Dean didn't stop for any bathroom breaks or anything similarly inconvenient as he practically flew over the highways, forcing Charlie's yellow Bug to its limits and not giving a damn. He doesn’t have any time to waste and in case of need he would fix the frigging thing all over again as soon as everything would be settled again. For the time being he just knows he can get this thing to Louisville without it exploding right underneath their asses and that’s all that counts for now.

Meanwhile, Charlie is busy informing all their contacts about the current situation and wake up the whole network. Mary, Jody, Donna, Garth, the Banes twins and basically any other hunter and ally they could think of. Everyone is on high alert right away and instantly leap into action. Donna uses her resources as law enforcement to look for trails, Garth promises to keep his ears open in the supernatural communities, and the Banes’ already prepare some witchy voodoo to find Sam before Charlie is even able to finish her explanation of the events.

And Jody basically jogged to her car and drove toward the bunker as soon as she realized what was going on, planning to meet up there with Mary who immediately set out to her son’s home as well. Jody assured Dean to stay cautious and even keep some healthy distance if necessary, with all of them not really knowing what’s going on inside, but they’re both right in assuming to find some valuable clues like that. Sam might not be inside the bunker - hell, maybe he’s even in a totally different state, just like Cas - however, their intel on site could prove vital for their further investigations, concerning both Sam’s whereabouts as well as if there’s anything supernatural going on within the building.

Yeah, everyone drops what they’re doing in that moment without a second thought to help the Winchesters and Dean is highly grateful for that. He remembers a time when he felt fairly alone, just him and Sam against the rest of the world, and it’s really nice to see this has changed over the years.

“I still can’t reach Eileen though,” Charlie says, an edge to her voice, just as they pass a street sign that tells them Louisville is only five miles away now. “I’ve been trying and trying …”

Eileen had actually been the first Charlie attempted to call (via facetime, naturally), figuring the hunter would like to know about her boyfriend’s disappearance, but so far no luck. Charlie shot her several texts in the meantime as well, however, to no avail.

“It’s probably just a bad cell reception,” Dean tries to soothe her nerves.

For about three weeks now Eileen had been helping out a friend and fellow hunter who got hurt by a pissed-off ghoul about a month ago. Next to a broken leg the poor woman had to deal with severely bruised ribs, a dislocated jaw, and an annoying head injury that’s giving her lots of migraines and dizziness. As soon as Eileen heard about her friend being in trouble she rushed to her side (in a sleepy little town close to Canada) and has been taking care of her ever since.

“Do you think it’s possible she came back though?” Charlie wonders, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “Back to the bunker, I mean? Right on time for … well, whatever happened?”

Dean takes a deep breath. Of course there’s a chance and he hates to even consider it, but it could also be a pretty harmless explanation for it all. After all, she is (hopefully) in the middle of nowhere, right where phones happen to fail building up good connections. At least Sam had been complaining about that once or twice to Dean in the last few weeks, if he remembers correctly, so it seriously might just be some technological problems and nothing more.

Furthermore, the last time Dean spoke with Sam, his brother didn’t even hint at the possibility that Eileen might return sometime soon. Obviously the recovery of the injured hunter friend seems to take longer than originally planned, so Dean can’t really imagine Eileen returning back to the bunker just now. On the contrary, Sam sounded like he was considering driving up north to see her and help her out as soon as Dean would’ve been back home.

Sure, plans change and perhaps nobody had time to inform Dean yet before things turned into a big pile of shit, but for now the hunter would like to stay optimistic for a little while longer.

It’s already enough to worry senselessly about Sam and Cas, he seriously doesn’t need to throw Eileen into the mix as well. At least as long as he has no further information.

“She is fine,” he says with conviction, trying to reassure Charlie as well as himself. “She has to be. They all have to be.”

Because Dean honestly doesn’t want to consider the alternative.

* * * * *

Louisville is small and unremarkable and seriously nothing to cry home about. But truthfully Dean couldn’t have cared less anyway, even if the town would’ve been the most exciting place on the planet, his mind is way too occupied with other things to pay attention to anything else.

The motel Victor assigned them to is just as bland and forgettable, but at least the room looks surprisingly clean and the walls are not covered in hideous wallpapers, so that’s definitely a plus.

The Colonel immediately walks to the bed nearest to the exit and lies down right beside it, declaring that piece of floor his property for the time being. He always chooses the same spot when visiting motels with the brothers, liking the fact that he has a perfect view on the door from that vantage point and also knowing very well that Dean will make that bed his own for the very same reason.

Dean can’t help a smile at the similarities between them and just a moment later he drops onto the ground next to the dog and rubs his ears affectionably, enjoying the feeling of soft and warm fur tickling his fingers.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he whispers, low enough for Charlie not to overhear to avoid any kinds of smug looks from her. “Always protecting your family.”

The Colonel proves just that only about ten minutes later when he suddenly leaps onto his paws, every part of his body abruptly standing at attention, and he starts to bark darkly at the closed door, indicating a potential threat coming their way.

It takes only a second for there to be a knock on the door and Victor’s unmistakable voice floating through the wood, exclaiming, “It’s me, don’t sic your dog on me!”

The Colonel immediately falls quiet as he recognizes the voice, his tail starting to wag as his glare morphs into excitement and he begins to do his typical happy dance, jumping back and forth and yipping like a goof.

Dean snorts in amusement while he scrambles to his feet and gives the dog one last pat on the head before heading toward the door.

The hunter just manages to turn the knob before Victor is suddenly standing right in front of him and pulling him into a tight embrace, squeezing all the air out of Dean’s lungs without any mercy whatsoever. “Fuck!” the agent growls. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Dean simultaneously gasps for oxygen and pats Victor’s back in greeting while The Colonel joyfully bounces around them, apparently eager to join their hug, and Charlie merely grins in the background.

“Nice to see you too, Vic,” Dean croaks, wiggling somewhat to get a little space before his ribcage would start to crack.

Thankfully Victor eventually lets him go, a relieved smile still on his face as he assesses Dean from top to bottom, like he has to make sure that the hunter really is okay, and then turns toward the enthusiastic dog and showers him with a few moments of his sole attention, including belly rubs and exaggerated high-pitched noises which seriously don’t fit to the image of the badass FBI agent, but still somehow create a whole picture anyway.

And then Charlie gets a hug as well, this one though gentle and affectionate, as he whispers something into her ear that makes her giggle for a split second and shoot an amused look in Dean’s direction.

“Okay, guys!” He clasps his hands loudly, ignoring the obvious side blow since they honestly don’t have time for this. “It’s nice that we’re all fine and everything, but the clock is ticking.”

Victor releases Charlie and turns on his heels, facing the hunter. “I hate to say it, Winchester, but you’re right for a change.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “How about a status update instead of smartass comments, huh?” he commands, scowling at the agent before activating his hunter mode once more. “Any news since we last spoke?”

There is something odd flickering over Victor’s features for a very brief second, but it’s gone so quickly Dean isn’t sure he only imagined it. “Not really,” he says. “The fire department declared the building safe again, so they brought Castiel back inside. This time, though, in some old cells at the end of the station since your angel destroyed all the windows and lightbulbs in the other one.”

Dean chews his bottom lip as he tries to make sense of it all. He hasn’t really focused on Cas causing a freaking “earthquake”, because of Sam and basically a hundred other things occupying his mind at the same time, however, now he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t dismiss it again.

“So you’re saying Cas wreaked havoc?” Dean urges. “Just like that?”

It really doesn’t add up. Cas’ mojo hadn’t been up to full power for some time now. Dean doesn’t exactly know its full extent, mainly because the angel never offered information on that regard and the hunter felt it’d inappropriate to ask, but Cas hasn’t been shaking up buildings for years . Dean didn’t even think he still had it in him.

Obviously he was wrong.

Huh.

Victor, meanwhile, looks all kinds of awkward, fidgeting right there on the spot. “Look, I haven’t mentioned it before ‘coz frankly I didn’t wanna freak you out,” he says, apparently choosing his words carefully. “Our priority is finding Sam and I figured we should focus on that first, especially with not much to go on …” He takes a deep breath. “But I think there is something wrong with your angel.”

Dean feels his chest clench uncomfortably. He isn’t surprised by that statement - Victor acted weird when talking about Cas before -, but it’s not fun to have it spelled out.

“What are you talking about?”

Victor moves into the room and sits down at the edge of the bed next to the window, his expression sorrow as he avoids Dean’s intense gaze. “I’m not an expert on angels,” he clarifies instantly. “I’m sure you’re very aware of that. But Castiel … he’s acting like he’s losing it, man. He loses his train of thoughts in the middle of a sentence, he acts irrational and emotional, most of the time I think he doesn’t even know where he is, he’s causing fucking earthquakes of all things …!”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment, trying hard to calm his loud mind. This doesn’t sound promising at all, but it’s also - unfortunately - not the first time Cas acted out. Just last time, with Rowena’s attack spell fucking with his head, he became a unpredictable danger for anyone nearby.

Dean wouldn’t be surprised if something like that happened again - with their lives sucking real bad and everything.

Perhaps he was hit by a spell, right in the face? Or maybe whatever creature might be at the bunker has been messing with him, leaving him confused and unable to grasp reality?

Dean clenches his hand into a tight fist. God , he seriously hates those supernatural forces playing with their lives like they’re some puppets in a fucking games!

Cas just got better after that whole Ramiel business - and now this!

Are they not allowed to catch a break at some point?

“I think,” Victor picks up his voice again, jerking Dean out of his thoughts in the process, “I think there’s even a chance that Castiel is the one who hurt Sam.”

At the mere idea Dean’s stomach begins to jolt and twist.

He wants to laugh this off or even yell, because Cas would never hurt Sam , not in a million fucking years - but damn, Dean knows first hand what a strong enough supernatural influence can do to you. Absently he rubs at his arm, right where the Mark of Cain used to be for such a long time, and feels very sick all of a sudden.

What the hell happened in the last few days?

“Cas would never hurt Sam!” Charlie pipes in, bless her innocent heart, as she glares at the agent like he offended her whole family.

And maybe, in a way, he even kinda did.

“I don’t like the idea either,” Victor says, sighing. “But he’s repeating ‘I didn’t mean to hurt Sam’ over and over basically since I arrived here -”

“That could mean anything ,” Charlie cuts in harshly, scoffing at the agent. “It’s probably just some stupid guilt complex, the Winchesters are very good with this. That doesn’t mean -”

“Charlie …” Dean interjects, his tone soothing as he pats her back. “We don’t know what happened yet.”

Charlie looks at him incredulously. “You think Cas hurt Sam?”

“ Our Cas? Of course not!” Dean scoffs. “But Charlie … I’ve been in the business long enough. We tried to kill each other multiple times already. Remember when the Wicked Witch used me and Sammy as her little play dolls and almost made us hurt you?”

Charlie grimaces, apparently not happy by that reminder. But at the same time she seems to get his point.

“I hate to even consider it,” Dean continues, his voice low now. “Monsters and angels messed with Cas’ head too many times already in the past. He doesn’t deserve …” Dean trails off, biting his lips. Cas doesn’t deserve any of it. And neither does Sam, wherever he is. “Whatever happened, it’s not Cas’ fault. But by the sound of it he might be a danger to others and we should get him out as quickly as possible. Nothing else matters for now.”

With these words he turns toward Victor, his gaze inquiring. “You have any news on that front?”

Victor sighs deeply. “A request of getting him transferred is already in process,” he explains. “I think that would be the best chance for him to ‘escape’. But stuff like that takes time, unfortunately.” He leans back, scratching his beard. “I also have a really hard time assessing your angel’s strength level in general. It took lots of officers to incarcerate him and, as mentioned, he casually made the ground shakes beneath our feet. But in the next second he looks like he can barely stand on his own two legs. I don’t know how much we can rely on him to get out of there.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “I need to see him.”

He has to get a picture of the situation himself. Look into Cas’ eyes. Hear his voice. Dean just can’t make any kind of decision without being face to face with the angel first.

“I know it’s risky,” Dean says through gritted teeth, “but I’m feeling like I’m flying blind here, man, and I hate it -”

“I already figured you’d say something like this,” Victor cuts in, sounding resigned. “And since I know you’re stubborn and reckless, I tried to come up with something slightly less suicidal. At least I hope so.”

Dean perks up at those words. “And what would that be?”

“We’re using the justice system to our advantage,” Victor proposes, shrugging as though this should be a fairly obvious thing.

Dean, however, raises his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Castiel is a prisoner,” Victor clarifies. “And prisoners have rights.”

Dean doesn’t feel any wiser after that statement, just staring at the man in front of him with a blank expression. Charlie next to him, however, gasps quietly as she seems to catch on.

“Oh, you mean …?”

Victor nods in confirmation before turning toward Dean. “So Winchester, in all your life impersonating FBI, Homeland Security, State Police or whatever else, have you ever played an attorney?”

Dean blinks a few times while realization begins to kick in.

“Every prisoner has the right to be represented by a lawyer,” Victor explains. “So far Castiel has been sitting in that cell for over two days, without any legal consultation or even a medical examination although he’s showing clear signs of erratic behavior. I don’t really blame such a small police station in the middle of nowhere for such oversights, especially considering the fact that they’re obviously overwhelmed with all of this. They probably didn’t have a freaking murder since the dawn of time itself.” Victor shakes his head. “We can use that to our advantage, though. Them making mistakes like that gives us the opportunity to burn their asses and make them grovel before us. They won’t dare to question the FBI and some big shot lawyers, not when their jobs are on the line.”

Dean sure sees Victor’s point here. If those officers really messed up it might be a lot easier to get them to do whatever they want.

“So I’m playing a lawyer now?” Dean snorts. That’s definitely a first.

And he can’t help the pang in his chest as he realizes that Sam would be far better qualified for that. Hell, that stupid jerk studied in Stanford for this, after all. That’s exactly the kind of shit he planned to do before the hunting life dragged him back in.

“No, you’re playing an associate,” Victor objects, fixing him with a hard expression. “The associate who’s staying in the background and doesn’t look anyone in the eyes. Even the best disguise isn’t an absolute guarantee that someone won’t recognize you. So I’d advise you to keep in the dark, make fake phone calls or whatever, and let your boss handle it.”

He gestures toward Charlie whose eyes widen in surprise. “ Me ?”

Victor shoots her a crooked smirk. “You having a problem playing Dean’s boss?”

Charlie snorts at the mere notion. “Of course not! That’s everyday life for me.” She winks at Dean, way too cockily. “But you really want me to do this? I’m not, uh, the best actress.”

Dean can’t really argue with her. He vividly remembers the time when she had to pretend to be an FBI agent to help him out with that djinn case and she didn’t really pull off a brilliant performance. Granted, she was not as bad as Cas - alienating people with intense stares and talks about demons and angels roaming the earth -, but she wouldn’t get an Oscar nomination anytime soon for that either.

“Well, right now you’re the best we’ve got,” Victor presses. “Dean can’t just walk into the police building with his head up high. That would be beyond bold and stupid, even for him.”

Dean grimaces at his friend and seriously considers for a moment to stick out his tongue, like the mature adult he is.

“I will do most of the talking anyway,” Victor reassures her. “You just have to stand there and glare at the officers like you’re thinking about sueing all of them so hard even their grandkids will feel it. You think you can do that?”

Charlie takes a deep breath, looking back and forth between the men (and the dog, at one point), and eventually nods. “Doesn’t seem so hard, I guess,” she says. “Just glaring and scowling and remembering every single episode of Law & Order I’ve ever seen.”

Victor pulls a face at that last statement, like it actually causes him pain. “Real life is nothing like TV -”

“You want me to help or not?” Charlie interrupts, shaking her head. “So let me have this, okay?”

Victor releases a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “Think about Law & Order if that helps you. As long as we’re able to sell it, I don’t care.”

Dean slowly feels every single cell in his body coming alive again. Not feeling helpless and way over your head but having a concrete plan instead - it does wonders. His brain is already turning into overdrive, trying to assess everything they have to think of before walking into battle.

“We have to plan this very carefully, though,” Victor reminds them. “We have to catch the perfect moment and we need an absolutely solid background story because right after Castiel’s ‘escape’ questions will be asked and I’d rather have nothing getting back to me, alright? You have to be legit lawyers on paper, otherwise my superiors will start to wonder why I let some morons without any legitimate licenses near the prisoner.” He grimaces at the mere idea. “I would like to keep my job, if that’s okay with you.”

Charlie shoots him a crooked smile, like she thinks his lack in her abilities adorable. “Oh honey, don’t worry. We will be the best fake attorneys in the whole wide world.”

Victor still doesn’t seem entirely convinced and Dean as well can think of at least five thousand ways how this may go wrong, but for now this is their best option and he seriously doesn’t wanna wait around another fucking minute to see Cas.

So he states, “Let’s do this!”, hoping against all odds that they won’t blow their cover in the first twenty seconds.

But by the way The Colonel eyes him skeptically he seriously isn’t sure they will be able to pull this off.

* * * * *

In the end it turns out surprisingly easy.

Well, okay - surprisingly easy for Dean .

All he has to do is dress himself in a fancy suit and some nerdy Clark Kent glasses Charlie had been keeping in her trunk for some reason (and Dean really hopes those are LARP reasons and not something else), style his hair a bit differently and avoid anyone’s gaze as he stays in the background while fake talking into his phone and looking so annoyed and done with the world no one would even think about addressing him in the first place.

And it sure does work, as the cops are way too busy training their sole attention on the intimidating FBI agent and the red-headed lawyer with the death glare at his side to pay any heed to the stressed looking associate.

So yes, Dean’s part is easy.

But the whole thing took a lot of groundwork.

Charlie molded a solid backstory for them, so that Victor wouldn’t have to jeopardize his job. She created an entire law firm from scratch, consisting of herself, Dean (whose picture isn’t on the website “yet” because he conveniently joined the company only a short while ago) and some other fake guys, and let it look like a well-established institution right there in Pontiac, Illinois, only a few blocks from Jimmy’s old address. Dean thought it would be much more believable to pretend having been “Jimmy’s” attorneys all along, even back before his “disappearance”, instead of playing some random lawyers popping out of freaking nowhere, and Victor wholeheartedly agreed.

Now they’re here, posing as James Novak’s old lawyers.

Victor, on the other hand, made extra sure to catch the right time for their ruse. Avoiding the Police Chief, who might have asked a bunch more questions than his subordinates, had been high on his list. So instead of being faced with that Simpson guy they find a young cop named Finch in charge of the late shift. A man according to Victor scared so shitless of the agent and the whole institution of the FBI that he wouldn’t cause any sort of trouble.

And it totally seems to be working. While Victor chats him up and tells him about “negligence” and “the prisoner’s right to see an attorney” and “I just wanna make sure we have all our bases covered - we don’t wanna see that scumbag walk free because of a technicality, right?”, Finch only gets paler and paler and nods along to anything Victor has to say. He seems like he would’ve agreed to anything, even if Victor would’ve told him the greatest bullshit in the history of bullshit, and that’s exactly what they need right now.

Yeah, both Charlie and Victor planned this thing beautifully and Dean reminds himself to buy them a few drinks and cook them some burgers as soon as this shitshow is over.

Soon enough they find themselves walking down a bright hallway to the end of the building, right where Cas has been relocated after the “earthquake”. Victor takes the lead, striding forward like a man on a mission, and just a minute later ushers them into a small and unremarkable room Dean would’ve passed by otherwise.

At first glance the hunter can totally understand why those cells haven’t been in use for quite some time. The room is far from big and the whole layout is unpractical for keeping an eye out for the prisoners behind the bars. Too many dark corners, too many niches to secretly do stuff you’re not supposed to do …

Yeah, Dean seriously gets why the Police Department is using that room mostly for storage now.

But just a second later all these thoughts fly out of the window, probably to never return, as he notices the dark shadow shuffling in the first cell, obviously startled awake by the unexpected company, and the next thing Dean sees is a pair of startingly blue eyes looking at him.

It feels like his heart leaps into his throat as he croaks, “Cas!”

He feels relief flushing through his system at the sight of his friend standing and breathing and being fucking alive all on his own. Relief and anxiety and fear and about a hundred other things all at once. It’s an onslaught and almost overwhelming, making Dean dizzy for about a second.

He wants to run toward Cas, break those stupid bars, even with his bare hands if necessary, and just make sure for himself that the angel is at least physically unharmed, but just when he’s about to move Victor grips his shoulder hard and keeps him right on place.

“Dude, what the hell ?” Dean hisses, his glare probably the most murderous it’s ever been.

Victor, however, only shoots him a meaningful look and points right behind them at the wall, right above the door. For a moment Dean doesn’t know what he’s on about and he seriously doesn’t really care anyway, but then he spots the camera sitting right there, dutifully recording everything that’s happening in front of it.

“Let me turn off that thing first before you run toward each other in slow motion right on a flowery meadow, okay?” the agent grunts before grabbing a nearby chair and positioning it at the door, so that he can climb on top of that and put the camera to sleep for the time being. Dean can’t help a slight blush as he watches his friend for a moment, chastising himself for totally forgetting that Finch mentioned its existence and that they’re supposed to turn it off for their confidential lawyer-client visit.

But who can blame Dean for that tiny tidbit slipping his mind with Cas right there in front of him? The angel looks lost wrapped in clothes too big for him as he staggers toward the bars like a newborn not really sure how balance works and Dean just wants to wrap him into a blanket and never let go.

The last time Dean saw him Cas still had been a bit affected by his confrontation with the Knight of Hell merely weeks ago, but he was well on his way to recovery, already walking and talking about like a big boy. Dean at least felt comfortable enough to leave him with Sam for the time being.

But now? As he steps underneath the light Dean registers his pale skin, his bloodshot eyes, a slight twitch of his lips. He seems like he’s barely holding himself together, on the verge of collapsing, and Dean feels his chest clenching painfully.

Damn .

“Cas,” Dean whispers, facing away from the camera to hide his probably very emotional expression from the police. And just a second later, when Victor declares his task done and the red light on the device goes out, the hunter instantly rushes forward, not giving a damn about anything but Cas.

Unfortunately the bars are in the way, so he can’t just grab his angel and pull him into a bone-crushing embrace, but he nonetheless finds himself reaching out and letting his hands run over every inch of Cas’ body he’s able to touch, looking for any kind of harm.

Meanwhile, Cas lets himself manhandle without any complaints, even as Dean grips him by the collar of his shirt and drags him closer to the bars to have better access. He merely stares back, motionless, silent, and studies the hunter like he’s not exactly sure whether he’s dreaming or not.

“You okay, buddy?” Dean asks, his voice way shakier than he would’ve ever expected.

Cas’ features soften at the sound of Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking. Assessing.

“Cas?” Dean tries again, with more emphasis. “You okay?”

Cas blinks and tilts his head in that very unique way of his.

And still keeps quiet.

Dean feels merciless concern gnawing at his bones, hating the vacant look in Cas’ eyes more than anything, and he immediately turns around to face Victor again. “You’ve got a fucking key for this cell?”

The agent shakes his head. “Too risky,” he apologies. “Sorry.”

Dean curses underneath his breath, but decides not to dwell on it. Victor already did more than enough for their sorry asses, there’s no need to get upset about a freaking key.

And after all, Dean’s father taught him from a very young age that a closed door doesn’t have to be a hindrance.

Thinking about the lockpick stashed inside his pockets Dean evaluates the cell door for a moment. It doesn’t appear too complicated and though he never tried to break into jail before, there is a first time for everything.

But just as he’s about to let go of Cas to get to work and see that stupid door open, the angel’s eyes suddenly widen in panic as he feels Dean’s grip loosen and he hastily grabs the hunter’s wrist like a lifeline.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his tone unsteady as he fixes Dean with a pleading look.

Dean feels his heart breaking at the sight. Cas seems like he’s scared Dean would disappear into thin air as soon as their contact would be interrupted and he tightens his grasp into something almost painful. There is so much desperation, so much fear, and Dean seriously hates to see it right there on his best friend’s face.

Shit , what the hell happened?

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean reassures him, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here .”

Cas just breathes deeply, in, out, in, out, obviously attempting hard to focus on the current situation at hand.

And he doesn’t let go.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean says softly, leaning forward as far as the bars between them allow. “Everything is alright.”

Cas frowns at that. “No, it’s not,” he objects and yeah, sure, he does have a point there.

But still.

“I’m here , okay?” Dean assures once more. “I’m not a hallucination or a dream or whatever. And I don’t intend to leave here without you, you hear me?”

It’s certainly a promise he’s not sure he can keep - at least they won’t be able to bust Cas out now , on short notice, without any proper plan or anything -, but he sure as hell won’t leave Lafayette without his angel and this is something he’d swear before God himself if necessary.

Cas, at least, seems to register the sincerity in Dean’s tone and his grip relaxes a little. He still appears hesitant to let go completely, though, and Dean can’t help wondering how long they might stay this way.

Minutes? Hours?

They don’t have that time, not with the police breathing down their necks, but nonetheless Dean is more than willing to indulge the angel as long as necessary, keen on never seeing that frightened look on his face ever again.

And if required he will pick that stupid lock with one hand only and fight this whole precinct just with a series of well-placed death glares.

After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his family.

Chapter Text

It turns out that Victor is also very good at lock picking.

After getting the tools out of Dean’s pockets it takes merely a blink of an eye before he’s got the door open, and when Dean eyes him with a suspicious look the agent only shrugs and explains, “What, you think they didn’t teach us the useful stuff in Quantico?”

And okay, yeah, that makes kinda sense. A highly trained FBI Agent - prepared for about any kind of situation imaginable - shouldn’t in the end fail only because of a locked door. That seriously wouldn’t be any productive.

“I’m gonna post myself outside on the hallway,” Victor says as he swings the cell door open. “We don’t want any surprises, right? Not to mention that I shouldn’t technically be present at this attorney-client conversation anyway.”

He tips his head toward Charlie who fumbles with her pressed skirt and seems way too busy to stare at Cas to acknowledge the agent in any way.

“Try to hurry up, though,” Victor urges, stepping toward the exit. “We should get out of here as quickly as possible.”

From a reasonable point of view Dean sure knows that Victor is right - after all, he’s in a fucking police building with his mugshot hanging all over the place -, but the mere idea of leaving Cas behind again makes him sick to his stomach. Charlie seems to share the sentiment as she grimaces hard like she’s in actual pain.

Damn , the whole thing is seriously a mess.

Dean watches Victor stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind himself before he dares to go inside the cell, right there with Cas, without any bars standing in their way.

The angel slumped to the floor in the meantime, his legs obviously not strong enough to hold him for much longer, and Dean instantly falls onto his knees in front of him and runs his hands over Cas’ body once more, this time way more thoroughly, to make extra sure his friend isn’t hurt anywhere. At some point he even gets almost criminally close and personal, bordering on dangerously intimate, but Dean can’t bring himself to be bothered by it.

He needs to know that the angel is at least physically okay.

“We don’t have much time, Cas,” Dean whispers just as he runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, making the situation even heavier in many aspects than it already is. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas says while he leans into the touch, almost greedily, so it seems. For a moment Dean even believes to hear him sigh in content.

“We will get you out of here, though, okay?” Dean promises with as much emphasis as possible. “If necessary I’m gonna bring this whole building down -”

Cas offers him a weak smile. He looks so freaking tired all of a sudden. “I’m not important right now.”

“But you are ,” Dean presses through gritted teeth.

“I’m fine,” Cas insists instead, apparently deciding to ignore the desperation in the hunter’s tone. “Sam … Sam is the one …”

He blinks, trailing off again as he finds himself struggling with his focus once more.

It’s heartbreaking to watch.

But unfortunately he also has a point. Granted, Cas is far from fine , but at least they know where he is and there’s apparently no immediate danger going on.

Sam, on the other hand ...

“Okay, Cas, try to concentrate,” Dean urges, his grip tightening. “You think you can do that?”

Cas looks skeptical at best, but he nods anyway. “I will try.”

“Great.” Dean flashes him a hopefully reassuring smile. “Just focus on me, alright?”

Cas nods again, this time a tad more determined. Fixing his whole attention on Dean is probably not that much of hardship for him and the hunter forcefully pushes down the confusing (and right now highly inconvenient) feelings that thought awakens inside of him.

“Okay, you told Victor that you don’t remember much of what happened, correct?”

Cas’ expression turns miserable pretty fast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean is quick to soothe him and before he even knows what he’s doing, his hand settles on the back of the angel’s neck and caresses Cas’ nape in a way that’s probably not exactly considered platonic. But he doesn’t really care, especially when he feels Cas relaxing under his touch.

“Please, just try , okay?” Dean says gently, leaning even closer. “Everything you can remember, even the tiniest bit, might be helpful.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line and trains his blue eyes on Dean, apparently having a hard time to center himself and get his thoughts straight, but attempting anyway.

“I recall you and The Colonel leaving the bunker,” he says after a while of tense silence. “And I recall … normal things.”

“Normal things?”

“Sam going for his morning runs,” Cas explains. “Talking with Eileen on his laptop. Trying and mostly failing to make some decent meals and ending up getting takeaway from town every single time.”

Dean huffs at that. Sounds about right.

“And I …” Cas creases his forehead. “I was … ‘resting’. Like you told me to, Dean.”

Dean nods grimly. He recalls vividly how he told the angel at least five hundred times before setting out for Charlie’s to lay low and keep it quiet.

“I was reading, mostly,” Cas adds, though still a bit hesitant, like he’s not really sure. “And chilling with Netflix.”

Dean can’t help a smile. That’s close enough, at least.

“And I tried helping Sam cooking once, too,” he remembers. “It didn’t go well.”

Dean surely isn’t surprised by that.

“And did you notice anything weird?” he wonders. “In the bunker?”

Cas looks at him intensely, his expression bewildered. “What do you mean?”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Charlie and I watched a recording from inside the bunker,” he explains patiently. “And there was heavy snowfall all around. It looked … well, it looked like something was interfering with the devices.”

Cas seems truly baffled by that statement and for several moment he falls silent again, obviously digging deep into his memory to find some validation of that claim. Meanwhile, Dean can’t help shooting a look at Charlie who has been watching their interaction worriedly the entire time, seemingly more than once on the verge of wrapping the angel into her arms to never let go.

“I … I …” Cas’ gaze flickers back and forth, apparently unable to focus. “I think …”

Dean increases the pressure of his fingers on Cas’ neck a little bit, making the angel aware of the contact again. Touch at least appears to have some kind of effect on him, so Dean is more than keen to use any tool necessary to keep Cas in the here and now.

Not to mention that it isn’t really a sacrifice to touch Cas in the first place.

“The last thing I remember,” Cas says at last, his words obviously carefully chosen as he slowly puts the pieces in his brain together, “the last thing … I was with Sam in his room. We were watching a Disney movie. The one with Rapunzel.” He nods like he’s congratulating himself for recalling that, but then he grimaces fairly hard all of a sudden. “And he made me promise not to tell you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

He looks so stricken, as though he’s betraying Sam’s whole existence while accidentally revealing to his older brother that he likes to watch some Disney movies in his free time.

“It’s alright, Cas, Sam won’t hold it against you,” Dean says. “He’ll just have to live with all the teasing.”

Because they will find him, alive and well.

There’s no alternative.

“You don’t have much reason to taunt him anyway,” Cas pipes in, now a weak smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “As I recall you like to watch romantic comedies when he’s not around.”

Dean merely grumbles at that while Charlie snickers in the background, not at all caring to at least hide her big grin behind her hands or something.

Dean rolls his eyes and decides to ignore his shitty friends for the time being. “Okay, the Disney movie. What happened after that?”

The small spark in Cas’ eyes vanishes instantly and Dean almost feels bad for bringing it up again. He would love to spare the angel any of this and just take him home with him, safe and warm and far away from any danger imaginable.

But unfortunately life has never been fair, especially not for the Winchesters.

“We were watching the movie,” Cas repeats, his whole focus fixed on that single memory now, so it seems. “And suddenly … there was a voice.”

Dean perks up right away. “A voice? Inside the bunker?”

Cas nods and shakes his head almost at the same time, apparently not sure what to even think of that. “I … I don’t know. I think so?”

Dean leans closer, their breaths intermingling now and sending a weird shiver down the hunter’s spine that’s difficult to ignore. “Do you remember what that voice said?”

Cas blinks. “I believe … I believe it was screaming.”

“Screaming?”

Dean exchanges a look with Charlie who appears increasingly concerned listening to Cas’ retelling of the events. She bites her bottom lip while glancing at her phone, probably wondering whether her special skills might find a way to shed some light on the entire thing.

“It was screaming, so loud ,” Cas says again, an edge to his voice now. “ So loud .”

He pulls a face, as if he’s in pain, as if he’s not only remembering but actually experiencing the whole thing once more, and before Dean can do anything about it Cas all of a sudden slumps forward and buries his face into the hunter’s chest.

“So loud …” he whispers. “So loud … so loud …”

Out of instinct Dean instantly wraps his arms around Cas’ torso, his mind yelling Protect so harshly he almost finds himself flinching. For a moment he even considers to just drag Cas out of here, to safety, and smash every cop in their path into unconsciousness along the way.

It can’t be that hard, right?

Dean faced far worse odds in the past. At least the Lafayette Police Department doesn’t hold a candle against the armies of Hell.

“And Sam …” Cas breathes into Dean’s shirt, his whole body starting to tremble. “Sam …”

Dean feels himself getting even more tense at the mention of his brother. If Cas is so clearly affected by the events he isn’t so sure anymore if he wants to know what really happened with his brother.

“Sam …” Cas continues whispering nonetheless, “he … he was …”

Dean’s heart squeezes painfully. “What happened with Sam? Do you remember?”

For a long while Cas says nothing, only stays in Dean’s embrace and obviously tries to get back control over his body, but eventually he pulls away and fixes his gaze on Dean. His eyes seem dull and glassy, a clear contrast to the life normally shining inside of them.

“Sam …” His voice is even less than a whisper now. “He is … Eileen … and the penguins.”

Dean frowns in confusion, wondering for a second whether he perhaps misheard the angel. “What are you saying? Sam … is he with Eileen?”

He shoots a glance at Charlie whose eyes turn wide as she immediately starts typing on her phone again, probably sending Eileen yet another, fairly desperate message, hoping against all odds that she would finally answer.

“Was Eileen with you at the bunker?” Dean urges. “Did she come back from her friend’s after I went to Charlie?”

Cas shakes his head and then he suddenly nods and then he shakes it again. He has obviously no freaking idea what his body is even doing.

“Eileen …” he breathes. “And the penguins …”

His eyelids start to droop and he sags forward, back into Dean’s chest. He mumbles incoherent words into the hunter’s shirt while his limbs are beginning to get lax.

“Cas?” Dean drags the angel closer and almost drops a gentle kiss on his temple. “C’mon, buddy, try to focus! Only on my voice and nothing else.”

“Your voice,” Cas mutters faintly. “Your heartbeat, your breathing …” He suddenly digs his nose so deep into the hunter’s shirt that some of the buttons nearly pop open. “Your scent … you smell really good, Dean. Always have.”

Dean finds himself blushing instantly and sincerely hopes Cas’ voice wasn’t loud enough for Charlie to overhear. “Cas …”

“I’m trying , Dean,” Cas whispers, his grip getting tighter. “I’m trying to concentrate , but it’s so … so …” He inhales deeply. “It hurts . My head, so much …”

He repeats it, over and over, groaning in pain like his head is being ripped apart, and Dean feels so helpless all of a sudden he has no idea what to do. He tries to comfort the angel with touch and whispers soothing reassurances into his ear, but Cas doesn’t even seem to hear him anymore. He only mumbles to himself, obviously stringing random words together which don’t appear to make a lot of sense.

And then he goes quieter and quieter and as Dean looks down Cas’ eyes are already closed, his whole body shutting down from all the exhaustion.

“Shit,” Dean hisses before throwing a glance at Charlie to beg her for help. Thankfully he doesn’t have to say anything as she appears right next to him only a second later and together they hoist the angel to the cot at the wall. It’s far from graceful, but it does the job, and as soon as Cas is in a horizontal position Dean covers him with all the blankets he can reach. There are quite a lot of them (probably thanks to Victor) and Dean makes extra sure not to waste a single one.

“He’s in really bad shape, huh?” Charlie eventually raises her voice, sounding as tired as Dean feels.

The hunter takes a deep breath and finds no strength inside of him to reply.

What is there even left to say?

He watches Cas, his face now thankfully relaxed, and Dean’s chest clenches so freaking painfully that for a moment he seriously wonders whether he’s having a heart attack right now.

“We need to get him out of here,” Dean says with urgency. “We just can’t leave him behind like this.”

“Dean …” Charlie grasps his shoulder and squeezes it gently. “We will .”

Dean inhales deeply, his ribcage suddenly feeling way too tight. “Just look at him!”

The pale face, the shallow breathing, the bags underneath his eyes. The last time Cas looked that shitty he was sprawled on a dirty couch in some barn, writhing in pain, while thick, black goo poured from his mouth.

Dean seriously doesn’t want any kind of repeat performance.

“We should get him a doctor,” Charlie suggests.

Dean merely scoffs. “A doctor can do jackshit for him.”

“You don’t know that,” Charlie objects. “At least they might be able to ease some pain and make him sleep peacefully for a while. That wouldn’t do him any harm, would it?”

Dean grimaces. Of course she has a point.

And it would at least be better than leaving Cas all by himself again.

“We get Cas a doctor and then Victor will watch out for him until we have a proper plan to bust your angel out of here,” Charlie says. “I’m sure after the surprise visit of Mr. Novak’s big-shot ‘lawyers’ and Victor glaring at them the whole time, the cops are super spooked and will make extra sure that Cas is well taken care of. I’m pretty certain I could even get him a gaming console and some nice lobster meal at this point.”

Dean manages a smile at that. It’s weak and very fleeting, but he hopes it conveys his gratitude anyway.

“It will be alright,” Charlie assures. “You’ll see.”

Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair and tries not to think about the possibility that she might be wrong.

-----

As soon as they are back in their motel room, Dean starts to walk up and down restlessly, like a tiger in a way too small cage. His whole body is on fire and the thought of being not really closer to any answers than before is seriously driving him mad.

Eventually leaving Cas had been one of the hardest things Dean ever had to do, but after Victor burst into the room only ten minutes later and announced that the chief was on the way to the station (obviously his men informed him about the attorney’s visit) they couldn’t stay for much longer. Granted, that Simpson guy might’ve ignored Dean just as much as the rest of his officers, however, the hunter simply couldn’t risk ending up in the prison cell right next to Cas and compromising both Victor and Charlie in the process.

Dean honestly didn’t want to jeopardize the fate of his family for that.

Cas, meanwhile, didn’t wake up anymore and though Dean felt bad for not even saying properly goodbye and reassuring him once more than he would get him out of there soon , at the same time he was glad Cas found some rest. He looked like he really needed it and Dean just couldn’t bring himself to startle the angel out of his sleep.

It didn’t matter anyway. Soon enough the angel would be at his side again.

Dean just had to believe that.

For now, at least, Cas wasn’t in the worst hands. Charlie slipped into her role of badass attorney once more and showed them all an Oscar worthy performance as she put the fear of God into the policemen at the station. She demanded medical attention for Cas and a change of clothes and books and entertainment and whatever else she could think of while threatening to sue the whole building to the ground until nothing would be left of it.

Dean stayed in the background, impressed and proud, as Victor next to him apparently considered to record the entire thing for future generations.

However, they instantly hurried off when they overheard two officers talking about Simpson coming in soon. Although, not without Victor telling the present officers in his deepest baritone that he would be back quickly and that they should make sure to meet all of the “lawyer’s” demands as good as possible, or else .

On their way back to the motel they tried calling Eileen several times again, but like before to no avail, and Dean isn’t really sure what to think anymore. Cas at least sounded pretty sure that Sam is with Eileen and now they’re both MIA, so that’s clearly not a good sign. It seems likely that she returned to the bunker while Dean was at Charlie’s place and then … well, then the things happened that let Cas end up in a cell in fucking Colorado, with neither Sam or Eileen anywhere to be seen.

This is all way too much.

“I really don’t know what’s happening,” Dean groans, running his finger through his hair and not giving a damn he’s turning it into an utter mess. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We should stay rational,” Victor urges as he closes the door behind them, his expression grim. “What are the facts we have for now?”

Dean takes a deep breath and tries to clear his mind. It’s not exactly easy with those very powerful emotions attempting to rip his head and the rest of his body apart, but Victor has a point here. At the end of the day this is a fucking case - and they need some distance to evaluate every single detail.

“Sam and Cas stayed back at the bunker,” Dean begins. “According to Cas everything was quite normal at first. But then one day he hears that voice screaming, inside the bunker apparently.” He chews on his lower lip. “This might indicate something supernatural going on, right there at home. Next to our security cameras totally failing.”

Dean grimaces at the picture. The bunker is considered to be a safe place, their safe place, and to think about something invading it just like that makes him nauseous.

“So one moment he was hanging out with Sam - and perhaps with Eileen as well? - and then suddenly that voice appears,” Victor summarizes. “And then - after an unknown period of time later - he pops up in Lafayette, with his coat drenched in Sam’s blood. So what did happen in the meantime? How did he even end up in his trench coat?”

Dean finds himself scoffing. “He’s a weirdo, Vic,” he says, clear fondness in his voice he’s way too tired to suppress. “He was probably already wearing suit and coat as they started their movie night.”

Though Dean likes to see Cas in his holy tax accountant outfit - because it’s just Cas -, back at the bunker he began to nag the angel to change clothes more often than not. Cas doesn’t see any need for it, obviously, but for Dean it kinda felt a bit like seeing the angel always on the go, ready to vanish at the next second. Like someone not bothering to take off their jacket when they come to visit you because they know right away they won’t stay for long.

So Dean started to get Cas into more normal clothes when he hung around the bunker. Jeans, sweatpants, hoodies. Dean has way too many clothes in his closet anyway - buying in bulks since they can get destroyed at a hunt at anytime and he likes to have some spare available without much hussle -, so it wasn’t much of a hardship to lend him some.

It made Dean feel a little bit more at ease to see Cas relaxing in some comfy pants on the couch than his usual slacks and sensible shoes.

(Not to mention that the sight of Cas in his clothes did make Dean’s stomach flutter in a very exciting way every single time - a fact he doesn’t really like to think about too much, but which just can’t be denied either way.)

Sam, however, didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, apparently not giving a damn what the angel was wearing in his freetime, as long as it were clothes , still traumatized by the one time he encountered Cas walking down the hallway naked because before taking a shower the angel realized he had forgotten something in his room and seriously didn’t see any need for modesty as he stepped out of the bathroom to retrieve it.

(Dean had been in the garage working at Baby at the time, completely missing the tumult, and till this day he’s not exactly sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed about that.)

So yeah, Sam probably wouldn’t have said a word against Cas wearing his suit and trench coat while watching Disney movies.

“Then what about Eileen?” Victor wonders. “Was she with them? Is she missing too? What do we know about her?”

Dean chews his bottom lip. “Last thing I heard she was still with her friend, somewhere up north,” he says. “Sammy had been moping around the bunker for weeks. So I assumed she’d still be there.”

But had he been wrong?

“But now we can’t reach her on her phone,” Charlie summarizes, her forehead wrinkled. “And Cas is placing her with Sam. And some penguins.”

Dean scoffs. “That’s just an association or something,” he states. “In Cas’ head that whole thing totally makes sense. Eileen was probably wearing some shirt with penguins or whatever and that image got stuck in his mind for some reason. It doesn’t mean that actual penguins were walking around in the bunker.”

At least he really hopes so.

“Is there any possibility to reach Eileen’s friend?” Victor asks. “The one she had been staying with for the last few weeks? Just to verify the story.”

Dean feels an ugly headache coming his way as he closes his eyes for a second.

“I remember Sam writing down that friend’s address and landline number,” he says. “The cell reception up there isn’t the greatest apparently, so Sam just wanted a way to communicate efficiently if something might’ve happened. I don’t know where he put that note, though. Probably in his room somewhere?”

“Maybe Jody or your mother could look for it?” Victor proposes. “They’re at the bunker at the moment, right?”

Dean’s expression hardens at the mere thought. “Yeah, but they’re keeping their distance,” he points out, his voice allowing no objection. “As long as we don’t know what’s inside, I don’t want them anywhere near. Especially since we don’t really know where that note even is to begin with and they could end up looking for ages. It’s too risky.”

He knows that both Jody as well as Mary would take that chance, without any doubt, but Dean honestly can’t bear the idea of losing anyone else.

“Do you at least remember the friend’s name then?” Victor wonders, obviously knowing fairly well that it’d be pointless to argue with Dean and deciding to not even start in the first place. “Or the town where they live? I could use my resources and track them down.”

Dean instantly pulls a face. “I recall her name starting with an ‘S’. Stella or Sandy or something. And that it’s a little town close to the Canadian border. That’s about it.”

Sam sulked about it at least often enough and Dean never forgot to nod his head in sympathy, but he never really made the effort to remember any specific details.

Why should he have?

In a perfect world that wouldn’t have mattered for him anyway.

“So what about Roger Dylan then?” Victor raises his voice again, jolting Dean out of his thoughts. “The man your angel killed in broad daylight.”

Right.

Dean almost forgot about that. Which is kind of ironic considering that’s the very reason Cas is sitting in that depressing prison cell in the first place.

“There’s not much about him in the system,” Victor explains. “He’s forty-years old, divorced, no kids. Works as a salesman in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and his record is squeaky clean. No arrests, no warnings, not even a freaking parking ticket. Nothing special about him.” Victor shrugs his shoulders. “Apart from the fact that he went missing about four weeks ago. According to one of his colleagues he just suddenly walked out of his office and never came back. Nobody had seen him - until now.”

Dean rubs his temples and shuts his eyes for a minute. God , all of this doesn’t make a lot of sense.

“The question is: Is that Dylan guy a victim, a perp, or just a vessel for something even more awful?” Victor wonders.

Dean inhales deeply. That’s indeed the question.

Usually he’d say that Cas would never kill an innocent human, not in a million years, but seeing him in that cell, so clearly out of it - Dean seriously can’t be totally sure, even though it breaks his heart.

“Well,” Charlie suddenly pipes in, “I’d guess it’s the last one. With the vessel and awful and all that stuff.”

She sounds pretty certain all of a sudden. Dean shoots her a puzzled look and realizes she’s intently reading something on her phone.

“What makes you so sure?” he asks.

“Donna just sent me a message,” she informs him, pointing at the little screen in front of her. “It’s a police report from Sterling, Colorado.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “What the fuck has Sterling to do with this?”

His geography skills aren’t the best, but he’s pretty sure that town is at least several hours away from Lafayette. And even much farther from the bunker.

“Well, Donna went through the database of the whole frakking country, it seems,” Charlie explains, sounding fairly impressed. “Looking for keywords. ‘Trench coat’, ‘long shiny hair’, things like that. Just to get a trace of the guys. And apparently she found something in Sterling.” She narrows her eyes as she reads the text in front of her intently. “Something very interesting.”

Dean’s whole body tenses up. “What is it?”

“A woman named Haley Timms filed a report against unknown for assault on Wednesday,” Charlie reads aloud. “After her yoga class that evening she suddenly was attacked by a man and dragged into an alley close by the studio. The description of the perp … well, it matches the description the Lafayette PD put in their file about that Roger Dylan.”

For a moment Dean has trouble collecting his thoughts and jointing this new information into a clear picture. “Wait, you’re saying - the guy Cas killed attacked that woman in Sterling before?”

Charlie nods, her expression grim. “The description fits, one to one,” she states. “And according to Haley Timms the eyes of her attacker were so dark ‘they appeared to be black’.”

Dean straightens his back immediately and presses his lips into a thin line. “ Demon .”

It makes sense, of course. That Roger Dylan suddenly disappearing and eventually ending up dead by an angel’s blade. Cas obviously had a very good reason for killing that man after all.

It’s almost a relief, to be honest. The thought of Cas maybe being so out of himself and murdering an innocent man in the process - Dean’s quite sure Cas would’ve had a very hard time living with himself after that. There’s already way more than enough weight on his shoulders, the guilt of a thousand lifetimes, so it seems, and he seriously doesn’t need more of it.

“And get this,” Charlie continues, “according to Haley the man - well, the demon - had a knife and threatened to do unpretty things to her … until suddenly two men appeared right next to them, seemingly out of thin air. Haley didn’t see that much, but she recognized the first man wearing suit and trench coat and the other one having long hair. That’s why Donna’s radar picked this up in the first place.”

Dean exchanges a glance with Victor who looks equal parts intrigued and completely bewildered.

Dean sure as hell shares that feeling.

What the hell?

“The demon naturally got distracted by the new arrivals and Haley managed to escape,” Charlie says. “That’s where the report ends, unfortunately. Not sure what happened after that.”

Dean blinks a few times.

So … does that mean Cas and Sam went on a demon hunt?

Found the son of a bitch and at least Cas followed him to Lafayette to finish him off?

It actually doesn’t sound totally far-fetched, but there are still so many unanswered questions. How did they learn about the demon’s existence? Why didn’t they call Dean and give him at least a heads-up? Why would they both decide to do this in the first place after promising Dean to stay in the bunker?

Sam certainly agreed with Dean to let Cas have his rest after the shit with Ramiel and the almost dying mess, so Dean can’t really imagine his brother suddenly dragging the angel across state borders to go an a fucking hunt. At least not without a very good reason.

And what about the malfunctioning cameras in the bunker? And the voice Cas heard screaming inside the walls?

Where is that coming into play?

“You said the victim filed the report on Wednesday, right?” Victor suddenly chimes in. “When exactly was she attacked that day?”

Charlie takes a moment to look for that specific information and eventually her eyebrows climb up toward her hairline. “Well,” she says, clearly a bit hesitant, “it seems her yoga class ended at 18:30 PM. She was attacked shortly after that.”

Victor tilts his head, the gears in his head obviously working overtime as his gaze flickers back and forth between them.

“Castiel killed the demon and was arrested by the Lafayette PD at 18:46 PM,” he reminds them. “About a quarter of an hour later.”

Ah dammit all to hell!

Why do they never get a break?

Why ?

“How did they end up in Lafayette so fast?” Victor asks. “That’s not possible.”

“Not humanly possible, yes,” Charlie agrees. “But in the world of the supernatural - there’s a lot of messed-up stuff.”

Dean couldn’t have phrased it better.

He can think of several ways how Cas and that demon could’ve found themselves in Lafayette in that short amount of time and he doesn’t like a single one of them.

Once again Dean can’t help groaning, “What the fuck is going on?”

This time, however, he seriously gets an answer to at least a part of his question.

Because suddenly The Colonel, who had been lying quietly on his spot the whole time, leaps to his feet and starts to bark loudly, his entire body so strained probably every single muscle is called to action right now. His gaze, though, isn’t directed at the door but at the ceiling instead.

Dean frowns in confusion at that. He’s pretty sure this is just an one-floor motel and there’s honestly nothing above them beside air. For a moment he considers that maybe simply a few birds are having a stupid fight on the roof on top of them and he’s already on the verge of scolding The Colonel for startling them for something so dumb … and then he notices it .

A sound he hasn’t heard in a very long time.

The flapping of wings.

Angel wings.

And just a second later, like so often before and simultaneously like never at all, Cas suddenly appears right there in the middle of the room, seemingly out of nowhere.

Stunned silence is what follows.

From every side.

Even from the freaking dog.

“I think I know what happened,” Cas abruptly announces, his voice unsteady as it fills the quiet room. “It seems I have been flying.”

His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe it himself. Like he has no idea whether he’s dreaming or not.

And then he collapses right there on the spot.

Chapter Text

Dean is frozen to ice and feels absolutely useless as he can do nothing else but watch Castiel going down in slow motion.

The voice in his head screams NOOOOO so loudly it nearly bursts his skull and every single muscle in his body just wants to rush over there and catch his angel before he’d be able to connect with the floor, but at the same time nothing works.

It feels like a nightmare where you’re simply unable to move and lose your mind in the process.

Thankfully Victor is able to do what Dean is not.

He’s at Cas’ side in record speed - it even makes Dean question some supernatural involvement for a brief second - and wraps his arms around the unconscious man’s torso before he keels over completely. Cas sags into Victor’s embrace, apparently not a single body function working right now, and the agent groans at the sudden onslaught of weight. His legs start to tremble, for a moment obviously on the verge of losing his balance as well, but nonetheless he grits his teeth and holds on tight.

“Dean!” he moans, his gaze flickering to the bed beside him.

Victor’s urgent tone finally jerks Dean out of his reverie and he forces himself into action. He hurries over and grabs Cas’ right side, stabilizing the angel well enough that both men are capable of maneuvering him onto the bed. It’s more like inelegant dragging and cursing, it gets the job done, tough.

They place Cas on the mattress - with Dean making extra sure that he doesn’t hit the headboard somehow - and take a deep breath.

Fuck .

“What. The. Hell?” Charlie is the first to pick up her voice, staring at the passed out angel with wide eyes. “What the fuck just happened?”

Good question.

Very good question.

While all three humans continue to gape at Cas and try desperately to remember how to even function, The Colonel doesn’t appear to have any hangups whatsoever. He makes a low whining noise as he shamelessly crawls onto the bed next to Cas and cuddles up to him in a both protective and reassuring manner.

The Colonel fell in love with the angel the very first time he saw him and the feeling was returned immediately. They’re both inseparable as soon as they’re in the same room and till this day Dean hasn’t really figured out whether he’s annoyed or endeared by it.

Right now, however, the sight of the dog being so damned determined to be at the angel’s side at all costs, even facing Dean’s potential anger for him having the audacity to jump onto the bed in the process, warms his heart.

“I don’t understand …” Victor’s confused voice jerks him out of his thoughts. “I thought you told me the angels can’t fly anymore.”

“Well, they can’t,” Dean responds gruffly, realizing how stupid he sounds considering what just happened, but can’t help himself saying it nonetheless.

“They obviously can!” Victor points out. “At least yours.”

Dean groans and rubs his temples, fiercely fighting back the nasty headache that’s hanging over his head like a black cloud since this whole fucking mess started.

“I just …” He shuts his eyes for a moment. “I have no freaking clue, man. He shouldn’t … this shouldn’t be …”

God , why did he ever believe his life might get easier someday?

“The angels’ wings burned during the fall a few years back,” Dean explains. “And I … I was under the assumption the damage is permanent.”

He asked Cas about it, only once. Wondering whether it might be possible to heal them eventually. And Cas looked so devastated at these words, as if it would’ve been kinder for Dean to just drive a knife through his chest, that the hunter never dared to bring up the topic ever again.

“You think his wings healed themselves?” Charlie wonders, still looking shaken, but a hint of curiosity beginning to show on her features. “That it maybe just took some time?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. It might be possible, all things considered. Though Cas himself obviously hadn’t been optimistic about his prospects, it’s not entirely irrational to assume that he’d been wrong. After all, the whole thing with the fall and burned wings was a whole new experience for the angels altogether. They probably didn’t really know themselves which miracles might be possible and which not.

But still …

Dean can’t imagine this would be something that happened overnight. And if Cas would’ve sensed some improvement, he surely would’ve told the brothers about it.

Right? 

“I don’t know,” Victor chimes in. “I’m seriously not an expert on angels, so please interrupt me if I’m wrong, but Castiel right now seemed ridiculously surprised about this. He had no fucking idea he was even flying in the first place. You can’t tell me that’s how things are supposed to be, right?”

He sure has a point here.

Dean rubs his temples even harder, not caring that he’s irritating his skin a great deal along the way.

“You considered there might be something wrong with his powers?” Victor asks. “His mojo or however you wanna name it? He’s been causing earthquakes as a result of a powerful emotional reaction. He’s been flying across the country without even realizing he’s doing it. Hell, Sam could be anywhere at this point.”

Shit, Sam .

If Cas seriously started to zap in and out of places again like before, Sam could be in fucking Jerusalem or wherever.

Fuck .

Dean feels so helpless all of a sudden. So freaking useless.

“We should stretch our search pattern,” Charlie says, her voice all business now. “Beyond the borders even. Those witch twins of yours should use all the magic and resources they’ve got.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t like to say it, but what about Crowley and his mother? They could be useful.”

Dean grimaces at that, but unfortunately she’s right. They have the King of Hell and his powerful witch mother on their side (kind of, at least), so they should make use of them.

Everything for Sam.

Just as he’s trying to remember where he put his phone there’s suddenly a low moan coming from the bed.

“Cas!” he exclaims and instantly rushes to the angel’s side, just in the time for him to see Cas’ eyelids beginning to flutter open.

“Cas,” he whispers once more as he crouches onto his knees right next to him. The Colonel, meanwhile, whines quietly and nuzzles Cas’ neck, apparently eager to make him wake up, while Charlie hurries to the little kitchenette to grab a glass of water.

“Dean?” Cas breathes. It sounds like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or not.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me,” Dean is quick to reassure. He reaches out and squeezes the angel’s knee before he can talk himself out of it. “You’re safe now.”

Cas knits his brows together, as though Dean’s word make no sense at all, before he eventually attempts to let his gaze wander over his surroundings. His movements are sluggish at best and his eyelids threaten to drop again at least ten times in the process, but nevertheless he seems determined to get a clear picture of the situation.

“I’m …” he croaks in the end, his voice unsteady. “Where …?”

“In our motel room,” Dean explains. “In Lafayette’s neighboring town. Louisville.”

Cas blinks a few times. “Oh.”

He looks at Charlie and Victor, as if he’s having a difficult time identifying them, while simultaneously burying his hand in The Colonel’s fur. The dog makes a happy noise at the contact, apparently delighted to see Cas awake, and presses their bodies even closer together. Dean is just on the verge of scolding him and reminding him not to smother the poor guy too hard, but then he notices how Cas significantly relaxes under the attention and eventually keeps his mouth shut.

“I flew,” Cas announces after a while, his tone still absolutely incredulous.

Dean huffs a breathy laugh. “Yeah, we noticed.”

“I flew ,” he repeats again.

His mind is obviously blown. His fingers dig even deeper into The Colonel’s fur, as though he needs the touch to remind himself that this is seriously reality right now.

“Do you know what happened?” Dean wonders. “How … how is this possible?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t know. This shouldn’t be …”

He seems so freaking overwhelmed he probably doesn’t even know whether he should be happy or terrified about the whole thing.

“I recall … sitting in that depressing cell,” Cas says tentatively. “After you left … I wanted to be with you, so badly … and then I felt your longing …”

Dean can’t help a slight blush and just hopes that neither Charlie nor Victor catch up on it. “My longing.”

“You were thinking about me,” Cas points out as though that explains everything.

And yeah, sure, Dean had been thinking about Cas. Of course. And he had been fucking yearning to know the angel by his side instead of that sad prison cell.

And Cas felt all of that?

“I longed to be with you, too,” Cas adds. “That feeling … it was so overwhelming. I wanted to reach out … and suddenly I was here.”

Dean blinks.

Wow.

“So you just wished to be with me - with us ,” he corrects himself hastily, “and then your wings did the rest?”

Cas tilts his head on the pillow. “So it seems, yes.”

He carefully tries to get the upper part of his body into a vertical position, but Dean quickly presses a soft hand onto his chest and urges him to stay where he is. 

“You need to rest, buddy,” Dean says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “You look like hell.”

Cas creases his forehead at Dean’s phrasing. “Not the best look for an angel.”

Dean scoffs, affection blooming inside of him. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

The urge to follow The Colonel’s example, just crawling onto the bed right next to the angel and snuggling up to him, making sure he’s safe and protected, is so fucking strong all of a sudden Dean has to shut his eyes for a minute there and calm himself down. His heart squeezes painfully as his entire body practically demands to get closer .

What he can do, however, is taking the glass of water from Charlie’s hands and force the liquid down Cas’ throat while he totally ignores the dude’s “I’m an angel, I don’t require nourishment” glare in the process. It’s a messy affair, with Cas not being allowed to properly sit up straight, but Dean feels good about doing at least something, even a tiny bit. And though Cas clearly deems this highly unnecessary he indulges the hunter anyway, neither having the energy nor the heart to fight Dean on this.

“Your wings,” Charlie’s voice suddenly pipes up after Dean got enough water into the angel and withdraws the glass with a satisfied nod. “Are they …?”

She doesn’t seem sure how to phrase it as she tiptoes for information.

Cas is silent for a long while, partly contemplating and partly trying not to lose consciousness yet again, and in the end he simply shakes his head.

“I can feel them,” he breathes, in awe. “They’re … they’re strong. Healed.”

If he would’ve enough strength right now he surely would’ve popped them out, here in this shady motel room in some little town in Colorado.

An angel’s wings, in full glory. For the first time in years.

“They’re fine?” The emotions in Dean’s voice are so palpable he can’t suppress a shiver. “How …? I mean, did you heal them yourself?”

Cas grimaces. “I don’t know what happened,” he confesses, his tone shaky. “I didn’t do it. It should be impossible . I gave up on it a long time ago.”

Dean hates to hear the resignation. The pain. 

And he curses Metatron even more for making the angels fall and lose their wings in the first place. If that fucker wasn’t dead already, Dean sure would kill him again without any hesitation. In the most excruciating way imaginable. 

“So you have been flying around for days now?” Dean asks instead. Because despite his desire to comfort the angel and see him take some obviously needed rest, there are still so many questions unanswered.

Guilt flickers over Cas’ features. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know what was happening. And it never even crossed my mind to check on my wings.” He lowers his gaze. “Since they burned … I tended to ignore them. It hurt too much otherwise.”

Yeah, Metatron definitely deserves to be killed twice.

At the very least.

“But I remember now,” Cas reveals. “Fragments, at least.”

Dean perks up. “You remember? What happened with Sam?”

He feels new energy flowing through his body at those words. Hope .

Cas, meanwhile, heaves a deep breath before pressing his lips together. “We were watching a movie at the bunker. The one with Rapunzel. Just Sam and me, no one else.”

Dean leans closer. “So Eileen wasn’t with you?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, she was …” He blinks a few times, apparently trying to recollect the event in all its magnitude. “Well, I think she was still with her hunter friend. She hadn’t come back to Lebanon yet.”

Dean quickly glances at Charlie and Victor who have been starting to lean in, clearly intrigued and more than ready not to miss a single word.

“And then I heard the voice,” Cas says, his voice firm, yet quiet.

Dean’s grip around the angel’s knee tightens, his desire to offer comfort in any way possible only growing and growing by the second. “The one inside the bunker?”

Cas stares at him for a moment, like he has no idea what the hunter is even talking about, and Dean is just about to elaborate when the angel eventually answers with a simple, “No.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “No?”

Cas huffs as though Dean is an adorable idiot. “I heard a voice while sitting inside the bunker, yes,” he agrees. “But the voice came from the outside.”

Dean can’t help feeling a little bit stunned.

Thankfully both Charlie and Victor appear to be the same.

“Outside?” Dean wonders, after a short while of silence. “Like … outside the front door … or outside, farther away?”

Cas shoots him a tired half-smile. “Sometimes you act like you’re completely forgetting that I’m a celestial being,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m actually not even sure whether to be offended or charmed by it.”

Frankly, Dean doesn’t really know either.

Though when in doubt he’d always go with the ‘charmed’ option.

“I could listen to a conversation in Paris right now, if I wanted to,” Cas says, mostly for Charlie’s and Victor’s sake, but also probably as a reminder for Dean, too. “Voices. Hundreds, thousands, millions, all talking at once. We have the ability to tune them out or only focus on something or someone specific, otherwise even we would go insane in the end. It’s too much, even for an ethereal mind.”

He pauses for a moment, as he suddenly shoots a guilty look at Dean. “But for a while now I have some difficulties to control it.”

Dean tenses up instantly at this very new information. “Wait, what?” he exclaims, his eyes going wide. “For a while? What does that mean? Days ?”

Cas grimaces. “Weeks, to be more precise.”

Dean gasps. “ Weeks ?” 

Oh fuck it all to hell!

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” Dean growls, the urge to clasp the angel tightly and give him a good shake to knock some sense into him is only squashed by the annoying reality of Cas being way too weak to endure such treatment. Dean, however, swears to himself to make up for that as soon as the angel will be back on his feet again.

“Dean …”

“Don’t Dean me here!” the hunter protests. “You know you can always come to me when shit like this goes down, right? Don’t leave us in the dark, man.”

“I thought it was merely temporary,” Cas tries to defend himself, his tone shaky at best. “It started … well, after Ramiel and the Lance of Michael … I just felt shaken and exhausted and believed it would fade as soon as I’d be better.”

“But it obviously didn’t,” Dean points out.

Cas pulls a face, like he’s in actual pain, and Dean feels his anger immediately dissipate. Damn , he can never stay mad at the angel for very long.

“It got worse,” Cas confesses quietly. “I began to have more and more trouble to control it. Shreds of conversations from the neighboring towns or even the next states … sometimes I just couldn’t hold them back.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Sam started to catch up on it. He got worried.”

Dean listens up. “And why, the hell, didn’t he tell me about this either?”

“It didn’t seem to be a life or death situation,” Cas states. “And he … he didn’t want to disturb your little vacation. We both agreed that you needed it. Deserved it.”

Dean grinds his teeth. It never felt truly natural to him to be taken care of, to be considered like that, and he’s not really sure it ever will.

“ And you get very overprotective,” Cas adds, like an afterthought. “It’s endearing, but also quite exhausting.”

Dean scoffs, absolutely determined to have an argument about this and completely intend to win, but just before he’s able to even open his stupid mouth he remembers that there are far more pressing issues at stake right now.

“Okay, the voice,” he urges, making a vague hand gesture. “Tell us about the voice.”

Cas still seems a bit skeptical, as if he expects Dean to fight back nonetheless any second now, but still he answers dutifully, “It was a woman. And she was screaming.”

“A woman?”

Cas nods. “Yes, she was …” he trails off, apparently memories hitting him so vividly all of a sudden that he finds himself tensing up. “She was so scared , Dean. So very scared.”

He swallows audibly, his blue eyes glazing over as the pictures overtake him.

“She was crying for help,” he whispers. “And no one heard her … only me … she was crying and begging … I felt it … and there was this demonic presence …” He shudders all over. “I wanted to help her so badly … protect her … and then all of a sudden … I was there.”

Dean blinks as he takes a moment to wrap his head around the story. “You flew,” he realizes.

Cas heaves a deep breath. “Not consciously,” he states. “But … yes, my desire to be with her, to save her - it was too overwhelming … and I guess my wings just took over. I didn’t even know what was happening.”

Dean has no idea what to say to this.

What to even think .

This is still all way too much for him and a part of him can’t help clutching desperately on the hope of waking up in Charlie’s apartment any second now and realizing that all of this just had been a horrible nightmare.

“And Sam?” Victor prompts, bending forward to not miss a thing.

Cas shoots him a glance and for a second there it seems he’s having a hard time remembering who the FBI Agent even is. He presses The Colonel even closer, the furry body obviously giving him lots of comfort, as his other hand finds Dean’s and links their fingers before the hunter even knows what’s happening.

“Sam … he was with me,” the angel whispers, an odd sheen glazing over his eyes. “I … I don’t know how … I think he must have touched me when - when it happened, when my wings … my wings …” He takes an unsteady breath. “I have no idea where we even were … there was just this dark alley and the woman and that demon attacking her …”

“Sterling,” Victor pipes in, his expression grim. “You popped up in Sterling, Colorado. A woman named Haley Timms got attacked by a black-eyed man after her yoga class. She escaped when suddenly two men - one in a trench coat and the other one with long hair - appeared out of nowhere.” 

He reaches out, probably wondering whether he should offer a reassuring shoulder pat or something, but eventually letting his hand awkwardly hover in the air, most likely recalling that he’s dealing with an actual angel of the Lord of all things and having no clue if it would be his place to touch him in any way.

In the meantime, Dean feels his chest constricting. It makes sense now. The weird police report that Haley woman left with the authorities. How Cas could travel between Sterling and Lafayette in such a short amount of time.

“Haley …” Cas speaks the name like he’s testing it on his tongue. “Is she …?”

“She’s alright,” Victor assures him instantly. “I’ve read the report. Some scrapes and bruises and naturally shaken up about the whole thing, but overall she’s okay. You most likely saved her life.”

No arguing about that.

Dean has no clue what that demon intended to do with her - whether he “only” planned to possess her or whether he followed some bloody thirst for murder -, but he just knows it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Cas, at least, seems highly relieved to hear Victor’s words. “That’s good.”

It sounds suspiciously like a “that’s at least one good thing coming out of this mess” .

Dean feels sick all over again as he recalls once more what the “bad things” are.

“Sam,” he breathes, his voice close to breaking. He hates this. He hates it so much. “Cas, man, please … do you remember …?”

Cas grips his hand even tighter, his expression turning so crestfallen Dean feels his throat closing up.

“When we suddenly arrived in that alley,” the angel starts, his tone so heavy as though he’s rather do anything else than tell the story, “... we were surprised, of course. Startled. We didn’t know what happened. One second we were just watching a movie and the next …” He licks his lips. “The demon was naturally shell-shocked as well. And he … he had a knife in his hand and reacted out of pure instinct … I can’t even really blame him, it was just a reflex -”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment.

Oh God .

“Sam was closest to him,” Cas says as his hand begins to tremble. “The knife - it went straight into his stomach … there was so much blood -”

The blood on Cas’ trench coat.

Dean’s baby brother bleeding out right in that dark alley in Sterling, absolutely steamrolled and having no clue what was even going on.

“It happened so quickly,” Cas states. “So quickly … I had no time to react, to prevent it … and it was all my fault -”

Cas felt guilty about a lot of shit in the past before, but the expression on his face right now might’ve been the worst Dean has ever seen. It’s weighing on his shoulders, it’s basically crippling him, and it’s making the hunter ill even looking at him in this condition. 

For Cas’ sake … and for Sam’s.

“Sam.” It actually hurts to say the name now. “Is he … is he alive? What happened to him?”

Of course Dean learned to expect the worst since a very young age. In their field of work death is a constant companion, always ready to snatch you up and take you to the next life. Hell, it happened a couple of times to them already.

But nevertheless Dean will never get used to it. He knows that one day it will be it , the one time they won’t be able to talk the higher powers out of them dying. However, it doesn’t make this any easier.

“Sam,” Cas whispers, his eyes getting dull again, “... there was so much blood …”

“Cas, please ,” Dean urges, his thumb rubbing over Cas’ skin, hoping that the touch will help the angel from passing out again. “I need to know - I need to know if he’s alive or … or …”

“I healed him.”

Dean blinks.

Once. 

Twice.

“What?”

Cas looks at him, his gaze somewhat unfocused, but still determined. “I healed Sam.”

For a second it feels like the world stopped spinning.

Everything frozen to ice.

And then Dean takes a shaky breath and actually starts to laugh. “Oh my God!” he breathes, relief washing over him like a powerful wave. “Oh. My. God.”

In the corner of his eyes he notices both Charlie and Victor reacting in the same way as blinding smiles almost split their faces in half. They visibly deflate as though their bodies had been strained all over the whole time.

And Dean sure can relate. He feels his muscles relaxing just hearing Cas’ words, the constant tension vanishing all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas mumbles. “I couldn’t …”

“Cas, buddy, it’s alright,” Dean assures him as he offers the angel a soft smile. “You healed him.”

“Not completely,” Cas corrects with a grimace. “His injuries were so severe … and my powers weren’t working properly and I was afraid to do more damage than good at some point …”

Dean leans closer. “But he’s out of danger, right? He is alive ?”

At Cas’ nod Dean feels ready to throw a freaking party.

Fuck dammit !

“So where is he?” Charlie eventually asks the most pressing question.

Cas immediately pulls a face, apparently not happy to be reminded of that. “I don’t … I don’t know …” he confesses, his voice so croaky Dean wonders whether he might break out into tears the next second, “I wanted him somewhere safe … somewhere protected … and my powers took over again, all on their own …” He lays his palms over his face like he wants to hide himself from the world. “I sent him somewhere - but I don’t remember where.”

And then he keeps muttering, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,”, as if he’s committed the worst crime in the history of mankind and he doesn’t expect Dean or anyone else to ever forgive him for that, while his eyelids starts to droop again, exhaustion taking over once more.

Dean makes extra sure to squeeze his hand in a gentle manner and whisper, “It’s alright, Cas,” several times, hoping it might get through to him, while he watches the angel slowly succumbing to sleep again.

And his heart feels heavy to see Cas like this, but also full of joy to know Sam is still alive and kicking, wherever that might be, and he’s not sure he can’t take all these emotions for very long.

He just knows he will find Sam, even if Cas sent him to Russia or the fucking North Pole of all things, because they will always find each other.

And Cas … he’s gonna be fine again.

Dean is sure of that.

Since he can’t risk to believe anything else.

Chapter Text

Dean doesn’t know how long he’s already sitting at Cas’s bedside.

Ten minutes? Half an hour? Days?

Time seems to fly and crawl at the same time and Dean gave up keeping track a while ago.

It doesn’t really matter anyway. Cas obviously needs his rest, he hasn’t even moved much since he fell asleep again, and the hunter would make sure that he’d have all the time in the world to recover properly. No matter how long it would take.

It’s been a whirlwind of epiphanies as soon as Cas relayed his story. All the small and little things that didn’t make any sense before suddenly painted an absolutely clear picture.

For one, there never was any supernatural being in the bunker to begin with. Just Cas’ powers apparently malfunctioning so hard that they started to mess with whatever kind of frequence the cameras were working on. It sure conforms with all their phones suddenly having trouble in Cas’ vicinity and the little camera in Cas’ former cell also not really doing its job, as Victor remembers overhearing the Lafayette cops complaining. Naturally he didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it seems so crystal clear.

Whatever is going on with Cas, he’s broadcasting it loudly. Cameras, phones, even the TV -- they’re all not reacting very well to the angel’s proximity.

That’s why, in the end, both Victor and Charlie left the motel room to coordinate further steps. Charlie looked ready to commit murder after the wifi connection failed too many times in a row and Victor wanted to make sure to return to the police station and cover any possible tracks. He already began to awaken his acting skills (since he technically was “completely unaware” of the prisoner’s sudden disappearance, of course) and he seemed almost scarily excited to yell at those cops soon for losing their criminal.

So while Victor is off to cover their asses once more and Charlie shares the new development with the rest of the crew, Dean decided to stay at Cas’ side and not leave him out of his sight.

A stupid part of him fears the whole time Cas might vanish again, just like he did before Metatron’s scheming kicked the angels out of Heaven. Before Cas’ wings were clipped. But this time it’s even worse, with Cas having obviously no real control over the whole thing and throwing himself into dangerous situations without even meaning to. This time it was a demon with a knife, perhaps next time it will be someone with an angel blade right in their hands.

Dean doesn’t even dare to think about what might happen.

So he told himself to stay guard and watch the guy sleep and though the irony of the latter certainly isn’t lost on him he can’t really bring himself to laugh or at least muster a small smile.

Overall it’s all just way too much.

Dean’s muscles feel tense and the longer he studies Cas sleeping quietly the more he remembers how he hasn’t allowed himself even a brief second of rest ever since Victor ripped him forcefully out of his little fantasy vacation with Charlie. It’s just been a long and absolutely stressful day and Dean’s beginning to feel exhausted like he’s been awake for a whole fucking week. He can’t even recall if he ate or drank anything.

There was only worry. About Sam, about Cas, about whether there might be something horrifying supernatural in the bunker, defiling their personal safe haven.

And though some of these questions are answered, to a certain degree, Dean still feels cramped all over.

Sam is alright, but they have no idea where he is right now. And the fact that he hasn’t contacted them yet on his own doesn’t sit too well with Dean. There’s a clear reason he can’t use his phone right now and Dean doesn’t like any of the possible explanations for that.

And then, of course, Cas.

His powers going crazy. His body failing and requiring sleep. His memories being messed up.

Yeah, Dean isn’t too happy about any of this.

And he ended up disappointed too many times in the past to lie to himself properly that everything will turn out fine.

-----

Dean has been fighting his drooping lids for a while now when he suddenly hears a grunt coming from the bed that’s definitely not coming from the quietly sleeping dog still nestled beside Cas.

The hunter startles fully awake in a heartbeat and scrambles to the angel’s side immediately.

“Cas,” he whispers, his voice carrying all the emotions he usually tries to suppress so very hard. Right now, however, he can’t care to bother, his only focus is on the angel in front of him.

Like before Cas seems to have quite a rough time orientate himself at first. He blinks several times, his gaze roaming over his surroundings in confusion and also a hint of fear. But as soon as his eyes land on Dean his features relax, like he feels safe and calm in an instant, no matter where he might be.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas croaks with a lopsided grin and this so familiar greeting makes Dean chuckle in relief. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says right back, probably beaming so brightly he’s currently blinding the poor angel to no avail. “How are you feeling?”

Cas falls silent again, looking pensive as he most likely checks his current state of being. Eventually he sighs. “I’m not sure.”

Dean reaches out, eager to take his hand again or at least touch him somehow, to ground and reassure himself, but he hesitates under Cas’ scrutiny and envies The Colonel instead who has no hang-ups whatsoever to push his wet nose into the angel’s neck and whining happily at the sight of Cas up and somewhat running.

Not that Dean feels any urge to lick the angel’s face and make incoherent noises, fuck no!

“You think you can sit up for a bit?” he asks, fighting back even the mere idea of a blush with all forces imaginable. “I wanna get some food into you.”

Sam uses to call it his “inner mother hen” and Dean feels it calling to him so loudly and aggressively his ears start to ring. The need to take care of the angel, to see him fed and warm, is tuning out almost anything else. Cas still looks pale and haggard and Dean wants to wrap him in at least a dozen blankets.

But Cas, as expected, merely frowns at him. “I don’t require nourishment.”

Dean rolls his eyes and can’t help a snort. “Tell that to your face, Cas,” he grunts. “You look like you could really use a sandwich and a strong cup of coffee.”

“I don’t --”

“C’mon, man, just humor me.”

“But that’s not necessary --”

“Pardon my French, Cas, but you look like shit. So get over your high horse and eat the fucking sandwich I got you. Some food won’t kill you.”

Cas doesn’t appear to agree, but he obviously doesn’t have the strength to argue with the hunter any further right now. So instead, with Dean’s help, he wrestles his torso into an upright position and sighs so deeply as though the weight of the world has been put upon his shoulders.

“I don’t have any coffee right now,” Dean immediately apologizes as he grabs the packed sandwich Charlie went out to get a while ago and shoves it in Cas’ hands, giving him no time to protest some more in any way. “We didn’t know when you’d wake up and cold coffee is a disgusting bitch. But the sandwich is fresh and everything. I made sure they put all the good rabbit food inside and that they used wholewheat bread …”

Cas’ expression gentles at those words, his gentle eyes making Dean’s skin burn. “Thank you, Dean,” he says in the softest tone possible. “This is very kind of you.”

Dean clears his throat awkwardly and hastily lowers his gaze as he feels the temperature in his cheeks rising instantly. “It’s, uh … it’s nothing, Cas. Just eat it.”

Cas looks more inclined doing so upon hearing the kind of care Dean put in that simple sandwich. And after a bite or two he actually seems to realize the wisdom of Dean’s actions as he begins to almost devour the meal in record time, like a man suddenly noticing how close he’s been to starving to death, and doesn’t even leave a single crumb behind.

“You were right, Dean,” he admits straightaway, shooting the hunter a small smile. “Forgive my stubbornness, but the food in prison didn’t have that same effect on me.”

“Yeah, prison food isn’t the greatest,” Dean agrees.

“And most of the time I only pretended to eat anyway,” Cas explains. “I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. So eating, drinking, sleeping, urinating -- I tried to appear as human as possible.”

Dean can’t help a chuckle. “You faked peeing?”

Cas only shrugs. “I used the water I didn’t have to drink anyway.”

Dean finds himself highly amused by the image of Cas standing in front of the toilet bowl, with a water bottle in hand, and attempting to calculate how much he should dump into it to create enough of that distinctive peeing noise. He’s almost sorry he missed that.

“Later I’ll get you some good coffee, Cas,” he promises. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up having to pee for real after that.”

Cas narrows his eyes, as though wondering what the right response to this might be, and in the end he decides to fall silent for a while. He buries his hand in the dog’s fur, who is still pressed against his side, obviously not ready to put any distance between them anytime soon, and smiles gently at The Colonel.

From the beginning there has been a special bond between those two, like they’re communicating with each other with just a few looks, and it always kinda wonderous to watch.

“Where are the others?” Cas wonders eventually, his gaze still not leaving the dog for even a second. Dean almost feels like he’s intruding on an intimate moment or something.

“Victor is off to deal with things at the police station,” Dean answers nonetheless. “And Charlie is outside coordinating the search for Sam. Your … um, your mojo is currently interfering with lots of our electronic devices, so she had to get some distance between you.”

Cas doesn’t seem overly surprised by that revelation. Perhaps he already guessed such a thing or even experienced it firsthand.

“The cameras in the bunker …” he mumbles, realization obviously slowly creeping up on him. “That was me, wasn’t it?”

Dean nods in confirmation. “Yeah, seems that way. Of course we’re gonna make sure, just to be on the safe side, but it’s plausible that … well, that your mojo affected them. Without you noticing it.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line. “How long?”

He sounds like he already knows the answer, but has to voice the question anyway. For his own sanity’s sake.

“We can’t say for sure,” Dean replies. “Charlie didn’t wind back that much yet. But … uh, seems like it’s been going on for a while. Most likely …”

He trails off and grimaces.

Cas, however, doesn’t pull a face as he continues, “Most likely since the moment I stepped into the bunker. After Ramiel and the Lance of Michael.”

Yeah, Dean already started to form some suspicions. “You think this has something to do with, uh, your mojo acting out and stuff?”

Cas’ shoulder sag at those words. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He inhales deeply. “I’ve been feeling weird ever since, but I thought I just needed a little time to get back to my former self. I never considered …”

He pauses, his expression completely motionless for a long moment, before eventually turning so intense that Dean senses a shiver running down his spine as it is directed straight at him.

“Why are you still here, Dean?” he asks bluntly, shaking his head in incomprehension. “Why are you not out there, looking for Sam?”

Dean feels all of his defense walls going right up at Cas’ tone. “What do you expect me to do, huh? Running around blindly and hoping to stumble upon Sammy by accident?”

Cas’ muscles declamp a little when a flicker of guilt flashes over his features. “I didn’t mean …”

“Trust me, I wanna be out there,” Dean says with emphasis. “So badly. But there is nothing I can do. Nothing at all.”

Which really hurts to say out loud.

And yet it’s the truth nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas whispers, unfiltered regret wavering in his voice now. “I didn’t mean to imply … I just …”

Dean sighs. “I know, buddy, I know. You’re worried about Sam. We all are.” He leans a tad closer, fighting back a blush as Cas’ gaze doesn’t leave him for a millisecond. “But we’ve got Charlie and Jody and Donna and even the Banes twins. They do have so much useful resources and I’m positive that could find a needle in an ocean of haystacks.”

Dean just has to trust them. He’s got no other choice at this point.

“So yeah, I can’t do much right now.” He’d probably only stand in the way and delay any kind of progress. “Apart from one thing.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “And what is that?”

“Taking care of you, dumbass” Dean points out with a huff. “Because that’s just as important.”

“Right.” Cas nods in understanding. “I might remember some more details that could help in the search.”

Dean scoffs. “No, you idiot! Because you’re family and we care about you. That’s why.”

Cas sometimes has this annoying habit of thinking he’s replaceable. That he’s not valuable enough, beyond his fighting skills and angel mojo. That he’s a fucking weapon and nothing much besides that.

And yeah, some part of that is due to Heaven and the angels and their fucking “no hugs”-attitude. No one believes to be an important member of society with such a way of growing up.

But Dean has to admit that in the past he didn’t do all that much to help Cas think otherwise either. He only called him for cases, picked his brain for his expertise -- no wonder the guy thinks he’s not much worth beyond that. In the end it even led to Cas saying yes to freaking Lucifer himself and till this very day that’s something Dean barely can forgive himself for. Dean fucked up majorly with a lot of things concerning Cas and he just hopes that eventually he’ll have the chance to make up for that at least somewhat.

“If you remember anything, that’s great, but I’m here ‘coz I was crazy worried about you, Cas,” Dean says, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable being so open with his emotions, but nevertheless telling himself over and over that Cas needs this, no matter what. “And I still am. You’re family, man, and I just wanna see you safe.”

Safe and sound.

Right by Dean’s side.

Cas stares at him for a moment, his gaze still after all these years so undecipherable Dean doesn’t know what to do with it, and eventually whispers, “But what about Sam?”

Despite better judgement Dean scoots closer and places his hand over Cas’, suppressing the desire to link their fingers together and hold on tightly.

“You healed Sam, right? Before you sent him away?”

Cas nods instantly. “I did. But … not completely. I couldn’t --”

“But he was out of danger.”

“Yes.”

“And you sent him to a safe place?”

At that Cas starts to grimace. “That was my intention, yes,” he confirms. “But … I don’t know where. I recall actually intending to send him to you because there is no safer place on earth …”

Dean swallows audibly at that and tries not to flush like a schoolgirl.

“But obviously that didn’t work,” Cas concludes, sounding all kinds of miserable now. “Something went wrong and Sam could be anywhere at this point. Maybe he’s at the bottom of the ocean right now and it would be all my fault --”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean hurries to reach out and places a steady hand on the angel’s shoulder, hoping that the touch might calm him down. “Don’t freak out, Cas. Everything will be fine.”

Cas snorts like that’s the most ridiculous joke in history. 

(And granted, with the life they’re leading, that’s actually not too far from the truth.)

“I’m just saying, you’d never hurt Sam,” Dean states with all the reassurance he’s able to scrape together. “And your mojo … even if it’s acting out and doing things on its own will or whatever, it’s still a part of you, right? It went off to save that woman, it healed Sam, sent him somewhere protected. There’s still some kind of rationality to it, woudn’t you agree? And though I’m not sure about many stuff in life, there’s one thing absolutely unwavering: You would never do anything to harm Sam.”

There’s no fucking doubt about that.

“It might’ve not turned out as you planned,” Dean admits. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t work.”

Cas still appears highly unconvinced. “How can you be so sure?”

Dean smiles warmly at him. “Because I know you, man. And I have faith in you.” When Cas remains silent, merely gaping and obviously still unsure what to think, Dean adds, “Just listen inside yourself. You’ll see I’m right.”

Cas stays quiet, this time however following Dean’s suggestion, probably digging deep inside his inner self, turning every stone, peeking around every corner.

And eventually he relaxes.

“Your confidence in me is very flattering,” he whispers. “I can feel … I can feel that Sam is safe. That he is alright.”

Dean releases a breath he’s been holding for quite a while. Granted, he’s been pretty confident in Cas and his powers, no matter what, but it’s good to have it confirmed verbally as well. 

And when Cas offers him a tentative smile, it gets even better. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean simply waves him off. “Don’t mention it, buddy. Just focus on getting better and leave us the job of finding Sam.”

Cas sighs once more. “It might take a while. He could be anywhere.”

Dean pulls a face, not really happy to be reminded of that. “I know,” he says. “But we’ve got a great team. We’re gonna find Sam and by the end of this week we’re gonna laugh about the whole thing.”

Dean really has to grasp at this hope because there is nothing else left at this point.

There are still so many variables, so many possibilities, and Dean can’t just jump into the Impala and drive around aimlessly, hoping that against all odds the universe would grant his wish and put his brother in his path by dropping him coincidentally at the side of the road just at the right time. He aches to do something, of course he does, but the confirmation that Sam isn’t lying dead in a dark hole somewhere is enough to calm him down for now.

Yes, Sam still might be highly affected by the injury inflicted by the demon. Considering that he didn’t try so far to reach Dean or anybody else it seems logical to assume he isn’t in any condition to operate a phone right now.

And yes, he might even be in fucking Timbuktu or wherever. God knows what kind of fleeting thought flickered through Cas’ mind as he sent Sam away. It probably was just a transient distraction, something Cas didn’t even realize happened in the first place, but it was enough to overshadow his original intention to send Sam to Dean.

However, Dean is overall more hopeful than he has been the last couple of days. He felt helpless and desperate the whole time, almost going mad not knowing what happened to his brother, and though the current outcome is not exactly a happy ending yet, it’s so much better than Dean could’ve hoped for. 

And they’ve got tech geniuses and sheriffs and witches at their disposal, making the entire search for Sam a bit easier than for any regular mortal. Not to mention an angel who possibly might remember a thing or two sometime soon.

Especially if he’d rest a little bit more.

“You should lie down again,” Dean suggests. “You look beat.”

Cas shuts his eyes tightly for a moment. “I shouldn’t need to sleep or to eat.”

Dean is well aware of that and it frightens him more than he can say, but for now it appears this is what Cas needs and Dean would go to Hell and back again just to see to it.

“How about you change into something more comfortable first?” Dean proposes, plucking at the oversized shirt Cas obviously got at the police station. “You can put on some of my stuff.”

Dean offers a warm smile and tries hard not to look too excited about the idea of the angel wrapped in his clothes.

Cas hesitates at first, gazing down on himself critically, as though he didn’t even waste a single thought about his attire before, and Dean is totally prepared to hear some stupid “the concept of clothes is irrelevant to angels” bullshit coming his way the very next second. But instead Cas sighs eventually and says, “That would be quite nice, actually. This shirt itches.”

And so it’s set.

Happy to have a task at hand Dean rummages through his duffle and settles on a pair of comfy sweatpants and a shirt that’s so ridiculously soft Dean had to buy it the very first moment he touched it. Hopefully Cas will feel warm and comfortable enough in them to shake off the shitiness of the last few days.

As expected Cas doesn’t show any signs of shyness as soon as Dean hands over his findings but just pulls his shirt over his head while simultaneously stepping out of his way too big pants. Dean merely has a chance to blink and Cas is suddenly standing right there close to naked, presenting his tan skin, his well-defined muscles, his murder thighs and criminal hipbones in all their glory.

Dean’s brain instantly short-circuits at the unexpected and so overwhelming sight and for way too long he only gapes like a fish, probably looking outright foolish in the process. His heart picks up its pace rapidly and his libido suddenly seems to wake up from a long slumber, perking up with a high level of interest. Dean switches between blinking like a maniac and desperately trying to get his body functions under control, whiplash quickly approaching.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t appear to notice and is soon enough covered from top to bottom in Dean’s clothes, looking a little more relaxed now. He even sniffs at the shirt for a brief second, most likely not thinking anything by it, and smiles gently in a way the hunter has rarely seen before. And Dean doesn’t know whether it’s the detergent Cas finds appealing or Dean’s own scent somewhere mixed underneath it, but for his own sanity he decides not to dwell on it.

“C’mon, man, lie down,” Dean urges, eager to see Cas covered with blankets. “The dog can’t wait to cuddle with you.”

It’s true, The Colonel didn’t leave the angel out of his sight for even a millisecond as he remained on the bed and keenly awaited Cas’ return. His tail begins to wag happily as Cas pets his head briefly before climbing underneath the sheets again and soon enough the dog is pressed against his side once more. Ready to cuddle, ready to keep him warm and protected.

Fuck, Dean’s really jealous of a dumb dog!

Where has the world come to?

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs, his voice already sounding a little drowsy. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s nothing, Cas,” Dean shrugs him off instantly. “Just rest for a while. And if you need anything, just say so.”

Cas hesitates at that statement, gazing at the hunter with his big, blue eyes in anticipation. He opens and closes his mouth several times, as if he’s got something on his mind he has no idea how to bring even up.

“What it is, Cas?” Dean helps out and attempts to let his voice sound as soothing and encouraging as possible.

“I …” Cas starts to squirm under his blanket. “It’s … nothing.”

“No, c’mon, buddy,” Dean urges. “You wanna say something, just out with it. I promise not to bite your head off.”

He grins widely to make it clear he’s only joking, but Cas actually appears concerned all of a sudden.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says. “I’m fine.”

But he surely doesn’t sound like it.

“Please, Cas.” Dean carefully positions himself on the side of the bed and lays his hand on Cas’ thigh, telling himself it’s okay with the sheets between. “I wanna help you.”

Cas chews on his bottom lip, still looking all kinds of unsure whether what he’s about to say might be appropriate or not.

“You want a bedtime story?” Dean asks with a chuckle. “A foot massage? You want me to join your little cuddle fest? Or --?”

“Yes!” Cas cuts in.

Dean blinks a few times. “What?”

Did he seriously hear that correctly?

“I’m just …” Cas heaves a very deep breath and pulls The Colonel closer to him, much to the dog’s delight. “This entire situation -- I feel fairly unstable right now. Like I could fly off again any second. And who knows where I could end up then?”

Dean finds himself nodding in understanding. He surely shares that sentiment.

“Your presence … I think it might ground me,” Cas continues, obviously having a hard time looking Dean straight into the eyes. “I know on a logical level that you could do less to nothing if something like that occurred again, but … I guess the mere feeling …”

Dean certainly gets where he’s going with this. The illusion of security. Of protection. Of safety.

It might not be real, but at least a powerful enough fantasy to let him rest peacefully for a while.

And so Dean finds himself climbing out of his shoes and crawling into bed right next to Cas because at the end of the day his own hang-ups and irrational emotions pale in comparison to Cas’ well-being. He seriously doesn’t have time to be weird about this if he might be able to help Cas feel better.

So he doesn’t allow himself some time to second-guess and evaluate as he aligns his body with Cas’ and throws his arm like a dead weight over Cas’ chest, grounding him right there on the mattress. His heart is dancing a fucking samba in his ribcage and he’s pretty sure Cas can totally feel it, but he tells himself it’s for the greater good and not a big deal anyway as he focuses on digging his hand into The Colonel’s fur, who is lying right on the other side of the angel, and hopes it’s enough of a distraction to calm his nerves quickly.

Cas, meanwhile, watched him the whole time with a somewhat wary expression, like he was not really sure what to make of this entire thing. However, his muscles relax noticeably as soon as Dean found a good position and finally settled down.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he says nevertheless, one last time giving Dean a chance out. “I’d understand if you --”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean cuts right in. “No biggie.”

Yeah, no biggie that he can feel Cas’ warmth radiating through his skin. No biggie that Cas’ hot breath brushes his face. No biggie that Dean’s face is almost pressed against the angel’s neck.

No biggie at all.

“I need to catch up on some rest anyway,” Dean grunts, glad that Cas can’t look directly at his face. “Might as well do it here.”

Cas makes a humming noise. “Right, The Colonel mentioned that you put yourself under a lot of stress.”

Dean raises a brow and shoots a glance at the dog who merely looks back at him ridiculously innocently, before he turns his attention back toward the angel.

“You know,” he says gruffly, “till this day I have no idea if you can really understand that damned dog or if you’re just having me on this whole time.”

Cas’ features stay blank as he announces, “Angels speak all the languages in the world.”

Dean scoffs. “So you’ve been telling me,” he agrees. “But damn, sometimes you’re just so full of shit, man.”

For a moment Cas’ features don’t change a bit, but then the corners of his mouth start to twitch upwards in clear amusement.

That fucker.

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

And so he does.

Chapter Text

The sun already starts to rise when Victor is finally able to return to the motel in Louisville.

Of course the sudden and unexplainable disappearance of a prisoner out of the blue caused a major stir in the police department and way beyond. Questions were asked, confusion rolled through the hallways, panic settled in those officers’ bones. Huge search parties swept the whole area before Victor even arrived at the station and as soon as they spotted the FBI showing up on the scene they doubled their efforts even more. The fear of being punished for this big fuck-up reached a new record and Victor just couldn’t help feeling all kinds of bad for them.

Sure, on the outside he pretended to be absolutely outraged about this “incompetence”, but naturally he knows it’s not these peoples’ fault. They’re dealing with powers way beyond their imagination and no cell on earth could have kept Castiel in one place.

Naturally he wasn’t able to tell them any of this, so he spent most of his time yelling and looking pissed off and barking orders left and right while simultaneously making sure that Castiel’s miraculous escape truly stayed “unexplainable”. Fairly easy since Castiel left not a single trace behind, but Victor still doubled check to be on the safe side.

He even debated getting Castiel’s blood-stenched trench coat and all the other belongings he had with him at the time of his arrest out of the evidence room and make them disappear as well, but in the end he decided against it. The officers were on a too high alert at that point and Victor seriously didn’t want to be the one who eventually screwed up.

So he instead focussed on sending the officers in all the wrong directions while he tried to downplay the situation to the Bureau. He knew it still would be lots of work to straighten this out in the end, but for the time being he settled on the Lafayette Police Station. The FBI, the files in the databases about Sam and Dean suddenly coming back to life, James Novak unexpectedly showing his face after almost ten years of being considered a missing person -- that’s all gonna be a bitch to deal with.

And Victor surely doesn’t look forward to it.

He sighs tiredly as he finally wheels his rental car on the motels’ parking lot, right next to Charlie’s little bug, and climbs out with any lack of elegance. 

He glances at the room he left them all behind last and notices the windows being dark. Figuring that Cas (and most likely Dean as well) deserve some sleep he turns toward the other end of the motel, right where Charlie booked a second room as soon as she realized that the angel’s proximity fucked with her technological equipment. She sent the agent a text fairly soon, telling him he should drop by whenever because she would most likely not go to sleep anytime soon anyway.

And true to her words the light inside the room shines brightly.

“You got any coffee?” Charlie grunts at him right away instead of a proper greeting, her eyes merely slits now. “Because I’m sure I’m gonna drop dead anytime soon.”

Victor raises his empty hands in apology and says, “Sorry, no can do. I drank about fifteen cups at the station and didn’t even think about stopping somewhere before coming here.” He shoots her a sheepish smile. “But there’s a coffeeshop down the road. I could rush over there and get you something if you want.”

Charlie looks at him intently, clearly mulling his proposal over, before shaking her head and pulling him into the room to close the door behind him.

“No, man, you probably worked harder than any of us,” she says with a sigh. “You deserve your rest.”

Victor knows better than to argue with that, so he simply takes off his coat and slips out of his fairly confining shoes.

“I’m sure you worked your butt off as well,” he adds nonetheless. “Got everything coordinated?”

“More or less, yes,” Charlie agrees. “Notified everyone who needs to know about the new developments. They’re spreading their search patterns as we speak while Mary and Jody went into the bunker to look for any clues. So far no luck, but seeing that Cas could’ve sent Sam fucking everywhere it’ll probably take a while.”

Victor nods in understanding. He knows how long nationwide manhunt usually take, he doesn’t even want to consider a worldwide search.

“Castiel hasn’t remembered anything else in the meantime?” he asks. The angel putting the pieces together in his head is right now the preferred outcome, for everyone involved.

“Well, I was at his room a while ago to give everybody a status update,” Charlie answers, a grin suddenly flickering over her lips. “And … uh, he was asleep. Looked rather peaceful and everything. I didn’t want to disturb them.”

“Them?”

Charlie’s grin even grows as she suddenly pushes her phone into his face, clearly meaning for him to see the picture she pulled up on the screen. Victor has to blink a few times, his sight having to adjust to the small device, but eventually he recognizes two people (and something else that might be a dog) lying on a bed, absolutely entangled with each other.

Victor takes a moment to realize it’s Dean and Castiel.

Huh.

He takes the phone and studies the image more intensely. Dean’s head is lying on the angel’s chest, his arm wrapped around the torso in a protective gesture, while Castiel has his entire body turned toward the hunter, like he is drawn to him and his warmth.

Victor has to admit, that’s some pretty cute shit right there.

Who would have thought?

Yes, Dean speaks highly of Castiel almost constantly, even at the times they were pissed off with each other for some reason or another, but Victor didn’t believe them to be so fucking cuddly close.

“Adorable, right?” Charlie asks, snickering into her hand. “I found them that way and just had to take a picture. Don’t tell Dean, though.”

Victor lifts a brow. “You wanna use this as future blackmail material, I assume?”

Charlie beams. “You never know when you might need it, right?”

Thinking ahead -- she’s clearly an expert at that.

He looks at the picture again, drinks in the serenity it radiates, and he can’t help noticing that he’s never seen Dean like this before. Granted, he’s been there for the three most prominent sides of him: 

One, a badass motherfucker hunter who gives monsters actual nightmares. A legend in his field, probably even way long after his eventual death.

Two, the family man who takes cares of everyone. Who wraps Sam in blankets when he’s sick, who vets Charlie’s small cut like it’s a battle wound, who goes the extra mile and cooks a side dish just for Victor because of his nut allergy.

And three, the dorky nerd who over the years got more confident about his likes and preferences. Chick flicks, fantasy media, the occasional roleplaying game. That’s clearly the side of Dean Winchester the monsters and most of the hunter community know nothing about.

But now there is this picture and Victor wonders whether there is even more to guy that he originally thought. Something private and quiet only a few selected people ever got the privilege to see. Something so fucking personal the agent actually starts to feel a little bad looking at this image, as though he’s intruding on a fairly intimate moment.

Victor isn’t sure if he isn’t interpreting too much into this (after all, Charlie clearly doesn’t have the same hiccups as him), but at the same time he was always able to trust his gut and he sure won’t stop now.

So he just murmurs, “Be careful with that,” as he hands the phone back to Charlie and doesn’t bother to watch her expression while he shuffles over to the next bed and lets fatigue finally take him.

-----

When he blinks his eyes open again at first he has no fucking clue what startled him awake.

He just knows it’s way too early.

His body cries, his brain screams and weeps, and Victor finds himself swearing into the pillow and cursing whoever or whatever dared to disturb him in his slumber.

But just a second later he feels something gripping his insides, the alarm bells in his head ringing so loudly it physically hurts. Victor forces himself to actually open his eyes for good and evaluate the current situation.

And suddenly he notices that his bed is moving.

At first he considers he accidentally laid down on one of those vibrating beds and somehow activated the mechanism by mistake while turning around, but just a second later Charlie suddenly storms out of the bathroom, her eyes wide with fear.

“What the hell is happening?” she exclaims, her gaze sweeping around the room.

And then Victor realizes the entire room is moving. Shaking.

Like … 

“Is this an earthquake?” Charlie asks in a high-pitched voice, her eyes already searching for the perfect corner to stay moderately safe against anything falling from the ceiling.

But Victor is hit by an immediate memory and he’s out of the bed before his mind is even capable to catch up.

“This is not an earthquake,” he announces before storming outside, even leaving his shoes behind, and rushing over to Dean and Castiel’s room. Out of the corner of his eyes he notices Charlie following him instantly, clearly confused by all of this, yet determined not to leave the agent out of her sight.

Victor practically barrels against the door, running way too much on adrenaline to even think about asking Charlie if she’s got a key with her, and the hinges give in right away, being affected by the ground shaking violently as well as being made of cheap material in the first place.

Inside the room a picture unfolds in front of him Victor’s not surprised to see.

The Colonel is dancing around the room nervously, barking and jumping, obviously not having the faintest clue what’s even happening and being freaked out of his mind. Castiel lying on the bed, his eyes closed, squirming and groaning deeply. And Dean sitting right beside him, shaking his shoulder fiercely and yelling, “C’mon, Cas, wake up!”

Victor is at his side in an instant. “What’s going on?”

He can already guess, but he wants to know for sure because taking any action.

“I dunno, man, he’s having a fucking nightmare,” Dean growls, his grip on Castiel’s shoulder so tight his knuckles begin to turn white. “And he doesn’t wake up.”

His voice sounds pretty steady considering the situation, but Victor easily detects the concern and uncertainty in his tone. The hunter is tense all over which proves only a moment later when a framed picture falls from the wall behind him and the noise makes Dean almost leap out of the bed. He’s totally on edge and doesn’t know what to do.

Thankfully Victor already experienced this before, so he’s at least a bit steadier on his feet than the others. Instead of falling flat on his face his intense training kicks in and he assesses the scene quickly before finally grabbing a glass of water that is prancing around on the nightstand, just short of dropping onto the floor as well, and dumps the liquid content right into Castiel’s face.

Dean makes a surprised noise, blinking startled like he didn’t see that coming at all, but at last it has the desired effect.

Castiel’s eyes snap open and just in the exact same moment the ground stops moving.

So freaking abruptly Victor almost loses his balance.

“Cas,” Dean says, his voice all kinds of croaky as he probably tries to get his emotions under control. “You alright, buddy?”

He reaches out, apparently desperate to touch, desperate to make sure Castiel is really fine, and his hands linger in the air uncertainly for a few moments, mere inches separating the hunter and angel, close and yet far away. Eventually he settles on lying his palm on Castiel’s shoulder again, this time, however, his touch soothing and tender.

Castiel stares at Dean for a long while, his brain clearly having severe trouble catching up with the situation. His eyes are dazed, looking like a man abruptly finding himself jerked free of a deep and fairly intense dream and now having not a single clue what’s real and what’s not.

But Dean’s proximity and the words he continues to whisper to the angel, too low for Victor to understand, eventually do the trick and Castiel’s features slowly begin to soften.

“Dean …”

That one word seems to ground the angel more efficiently than anything else. Calm him to his very core.

Just one name. And everything that’s associated with it.

“Dean …” he breathes again, so much emotions in his voice Victor finds himself unable to depict them all. “What happened?”

Dean’s shoulders sag a bit, clearly relieved to see the angel’s focus coming back. “You had a nightmare, Cas,” he explains. “A pretty massive one.”

Castiel seems puzzled at first, but then he roams his gaze around the room, reviewing the chaos with an almost blank expression, and eventually heaves a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, lowering his head. “I didn’t mean to.”

Dean offers him a weak smile. “We know, man.”

Victor throws a quick glance over his shoulder to Charlie to check how she’s doing and spots her kneeling on the ground, with The Colonel pressed to her chest. The dog looks at Castiel with the most pitiful expression, apparently so damned eager to rush over and examine if he’s really okay, but his protective instinct to stay with Charlie and make sure she’s safe keeping him from leaving his post for now.

Victor can’t help a smile at the picture. Good boy.

From outside excited voices float into the room, freaked out people finding themselves on the parking lot, next to the unmistakable sound of sirens in the distance. Victor hurries to close the mangled door as good as manageable, to not have them too exposed and someone maybe sneaking a peek, and already starts to make some potential departure plans. If it’s like the last time Castiel lost control over his powers the shaking ground was a fairly local event and soon enough that might lead police and fire department way too close to their doorstep.

Dean thinks exactly the same as he suddenly appears next to Victor and whispers, “I guess we have to get out of here. Fast. ”

Victor glances back at the bed. In the meantime the angel managed to sit up and found himself with a lap full of worried dog and Charlie rubbing his wet hair with a fluffy towel while obviously talking a mile a minute. The poor guy looks a little overwhelmed, yet touched by all the concern directed at him.

To be honest, Dean seems actually worse to wear than the angel at the moment. While Castiel still appears mainly bewildered, Dean is just downright freaked out. Almost sickly pale, every single muscle in his body strained again and his gaze flickering back and forth like crazy, as though he expects the building to crash down on them any second now.

“I don’t know what happened,” Dean mutters, leaning closer to Victor to avoid anyone overhearing. “One second he was sleeping peacefully and the next …”

He trails off and sighs deeply.

“Same thing happened at the station,” Victor relies. “Lost control when he thought something happened to you, too. His emotions got the better of him.” He takes a heavy breath. “Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.”

Dean presses his lips into a tight line. “I think I heard him mumble Sam’s name once.”

Would make sense. The things happened to Sam obviously weigh gravely on Castiel’s conscience, so naturally it would be a strong catalyst for him to wreak havoc once again.

“You should grab those three,” Victor says, pointing with his head at Castiel, Charlie and The Colonel, “and get out of here as soon as possible.”

That has been his plan all along. After all, even with proper damage control he couldn’t have convincingly argued against a widespread search, beyond the borders of Lafayette. The cops would’ve showed up at the motel sooner rather than later anyway and Victor would’ve liked to see his little fugitives gone before that could happen.

And once more Castiel is hurrying things along.

“I’m gonna stay behind for a couple of days to keep my cover,” Victor explains. “Try to send them on some phony chases. Feed them false leads. You know the gist.”

Dean nods and manages to look both grateful and worried at the same time.

“I apologize,” Castiel’s voice suddenly pipes up. He looks small and lost, his hair wet, his gaze still a little glassy, like he can’t shake the nightmare off, no matter how hard he tries. “This is all my fault.”

He glances around, his expression miserable as he studies the room’s disarray in great detail. Nothing valuable got broken (not exactly surprising with a cheap motel room), but he acts as though important treasures have been destroyed for good.

“Cas …” Dean says, an unexpected softness in his tone Victor never heard before.

Castiel, however, merely droops the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to …” he mutters, shaking his head. “My powers, Sam … without me, none of this would have happened.”

While Dean instantly opens his mouth, most likely to protest as loudly as possible, Victor beats him to it as he bluntly announces, “You’re right, without you we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Castiel actually seems weirdly thankful someone agrees with his guilt trip as he nods in the agent’s direction. Dean, meanwhile, glares daggers at Victor, the what the fucking hell, dude? clearly on his features.

So Victor hurries to elaborate, “It’s true, without you I would be enjoying my free weekend and both Dean and Charlie would’ve watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy at least four times within the last twenty-four hours.”

Charlie snorts at the exaggeration while Dean continues to scowl at Victor and most likely considers punching him in the face.

“Without you, none of our lame asses would be in fucking Colorado right now,” Victor adds, with emphasis, as he steps closer to the angel and leans a bit forward to look him straight into the eyes. “And without you Haley Timms would very likely be dead.”

Castiel obviously didn’t expect that change of tone, surprise flickering over his expression.

Victor allows himself a brief sensation of triumph before he continues, “We don’t know exactly what that demon planned to do with her in that alley. But considering he was carrying a knife with him I can’t imagine it being anything good.” He takes a deep breath, trying not to think of all the other poor souls who weren’t so lucky to escape. “Maybe he would’ve killed her on the spot. Maybe he would’ve kidnapped her and tortured her for days, weeks, months. Perhaps he intended to possess her and put her through unimaginable psychological agony.”

Everyone in the room is silent, just looking at the agent with grave expressions.

Even the fucking dog listens to Victor’s words with awe.

“I read Haley Timms’ file, y’know?” he says. “She just gave birth to a little girl about five months prior.”

Castiel’s eyes widen at those news while Dean next to Victor gasps a little breath. “That’s about the same age Sam was when Mom died,” he whispers, an old edge wavering in his voice.

“Without you, Castiel, that girl would’ve grown up without a mother,” Victor states. “And yes, the situation we’re currently in sucks big ass, but where I’m standing you have nothing to apologize for. You saved Haley and killed the motherfucker without any kind of mercy. He can’t never hurt an innocent person ever again. That’s the things you should focus on for now.”

Castiel stares at him for a moment, his face so unreadable Victor wouldn’t even dare trying to analyze it. Instead he concentrates on standing his ground and not freaking out too much. Because at the end of the day Castiel is still a damned angel and they might not enjoy being lectured by a mere human of all things.

But then Castiel smiles. It’s weak and only brief, but it’s most definitely there.

“Thank you, Agent Henriksen.”

“Call me Victor.”

Castiel nods slightly, his gaze so intense Victor can’t help a little shudder.

He only gets jolted out of it when he suddenly hears a bunch of sirens, sounding suddenly way too close for his liking.

“Okay, guys, get your moves on!” he commands, clapping his hands to hurry them along. “If they catch me in your company I’m gonna have to face some very awkward questions.”

Charlie instantly spurs into action and rushes outside to get to her room and quickly pack her things while Dean hesitates at first, simply looking at Victor and obviously being on the verge of saying something. Something important, at least judging by the emotions sparkling in his eyes.

But then Castiel lets out a pained groan when he tries to climb out of the bed and whatever Dean meant to do is immediately forgotten as he hurries to the angel’s side in a heartbeat.

Victor can’t help watching them, seeing them interact with each other in such an unusual setting. Over the years he heard all kinds of stories about the angel, listened to Dean’s stories and the excitement in his tone, like a little boy giddy to rely the tales about his best buddy.

And now Victor finally sees them together, in flesh and blood, and it’s both everything he expected and at the same time nothing at all.

He totally anticipated the closeness, the familiarity, the concern for one another and the attempts of comfort.

But he didn’t foresee the touches that seem to linger a little bit longer than usual or their gazes being much more intense when looking at each other. Sure, Sam joked about this with Victor once or twice, claiming that those two idiots could stare at each other for hours if no one would interrupt them, completely able to forget the rest of the world around them, but Victor always assumed this to be exaggerations. Just brotherly teasing and nothing more.

Now he isn’t so sure anymore.

Because just as the picture Charlie showed him of the two of them this is something Victor never witnessed before. There is an unexpected gentleness he had no idea even existed. It’s kinda captivating to watch.

And Victor finds himself wondering whether he missed something important over all these years.

Chapter Text

When Castiel wakes up he instantly notices a dire sensation of disorientation and panic starting to settle in his bones before he even manages to open his eyes properly.

He tries to calm himself down right away, tells himself he shouldn’t freak out before assessing the situation first, but as he properly regains his consciousness and realizes he seriously has no idea where he even is, his heartbeat picks up on its own volition.

He remembers being in the motel room, with Dean at his side the entire time, fretting and worrying, always looking at the angel as though he expected Castiel to collapse the very next second. And he recalls their little group to hastily pack their things and pushing Castiel out of the door.

After that … nothing.

And now Castiel finds himself sitting in the backseat of a car he doesn’t recognize which is parked right in front of an unremarkable gas station.

He could be anywhere.

And his chest clenches painfully as he wonders whether he flew again without meaning to. Whether he totally lost control over his powers once more and flung himself into yet another impossible situation.

Did people get hurt again? And where is Dean? Charlie?

Castiel closes his eyes and tries to collect his thoughts, attempting to convince himself not to assume the worst right away. There might be a plausible explanation. A harmless one … 

And then he hears the dog’s bark.

Castiel looks outside, to a small patch of grass closeby, and his heart soars as he spots The Colonel, jumping up and down excitedly and fixing his entire attention on a branch right in Dean’s hands. The hunter teases the dog for a moment, a smug smile on his lips while watching The Colonel switching between impatience and unrestricted elation, before finally throwing the stick and watching in amusement as the dog rushes after the item like this is all he’s ever been waiting for in his life.

Castiel releases a relieved breath as he slowly puts together the puzzle pieces in his head. He can’t be entirely sure, of course, but due to the countless pop culture items scattered around the car he’s currently sitting in he gets a strong sense that this might be Charlie’s vehicle. Still fairly dazed by everything that happened Castiel probably didn’t even really notice where Dean led him after they left their mote room and quickly fell asleep again afterwards.

He has no idea where they are right now, but he highly assumes they’re on the way back to the bunker. The license tags on some of the other cars nearby surely hint into the direction that they’re getting closer to Kansas, at least.

Castiel glances at the clock inside the car and realizes how early in the morning it actually still is. He can’t exactly recall when the nightmare jerked him out of his sleep, but it’s most likely been briefly after midnight. And in the end it didn’t take long for them to pack their things and squeeze themselves into the car.

The sun just started to rise, illuminating Dean in a soft and warm light, making him look even more beautiful as he laughs happily at The Colonel, appearing carefree for the first time since all of this happened. Naturally Castiel knows it’s not completely genuine, Dean will never stop worrying and he won’t be truly relaxed until Sam will be at his side again, but for now he obviously allows himself a moment of personal indulgence.

And in Castiel’s opinion there is nobody who deserves it more.

So he watches the pair for a while, letting them enjoy their time together all on their own, before he eventually decides to open the door and climb out of the car.

His legs still feel a bit wobbly and for a quick second he finds himself wondering if they would be strong enough to carry his body on their own or if he would end up on the ground once again sometime very soon, but after taking a deep breath or two (something he actually doesn’t need to do, but proved to have some sort of calming effect in the past many times) he straightens his back and begins to walk.

His body system flares up for a moment, alarm bells beginning to ring inside his head, however, they fall silent pretty quickly as they realize that moving around actually does him a lot of good. Castiel feels fresh energy pump through his veins with every step he takes.

The Colonel is the first to notice Castiel’s approach. His face lights up like a Christmas tree and he immediately abandons his beloved stick to run over to the angel and dance in front of him like a giddy puppy. It’s clear he wants to jump right into Castiel’s arms, wants to tackle him with all the love he’s capable of -- and that is quite a lot --, but he’s smart enough to know that Castiel might not have the strength to endure such a treatment just yet. So the dog restricts himself to loud whining and rubbing Castiel’s legs, almost like a cat.

(A thought Castiel won’t voice, of course, no matter what. The Colonel doesn’t appreciate being compared to felines and Castiel surely can respect his wishes.)

“Cas!” Dean manages to sound both relieved and concerned while he rushes over to his friend, his eyes automatically roaming over Castiel’s body as though he’s looking for any kind of injuries or signs for an impending malfunction of the angel’s body.

And Castiel can’t really blame him considering he achieved to collapse in Dean’s presence several times in the last twenty-four hours. If he were Dean, he’d surely be cautious about a possible repeat performance too.

“You alright there, Cas?” Dean instinctively reaches for Castiel’s elbow, wants to stabilize his stance, and the angel feels something fluttering in his chest at the sight of all these emotions flickering over the hunter’s features.

“Where are we?” he asks instead of giving a straight answer, mainly because he has no real idea what the correct response to that question might be. He isn’t keen on using the traditional Winchester “I’m fine” excuse, but at the same time it’s hard for him to evaluate how he’s feeling exactly.

There is so much going on inside of him.

At least he’s capable of standing on his own two feet. For now.

That surely should count for something.

“We’re close to the bunker,” Dean, meanwhile, dives into an explanation. “Just passed Norton about ten minutes ago. Charlie got restless and demanded some coffee ‘NOW, Winchester’ and the goddamned dog -- well, he got his ‘I gotta poop’ face on for a while now. Figured a little break couldn’t hurt.”

Castiel nods. If he’s not wrong Norton is located about an hour from the bunker, so they wouldn’t have to drive that long anymore. Quite a relief, he has to confess, because though he got used to traveling with an automobile over the past few years right now he doesn’t feel up for an extensive drive inside a fairly small car filled with three adults and a big dog.

“Where is Baby?” he can’t help wondering in the process. She might not be the newest model, no seat heating or voice-controlled features to make the whole experience even more comfortable, but she is big and Castiel just feels the lives lived inside. She’s been a safe space for the brothers for such a long time now it’s impossible not to sense this underlying feeling of serenity.

Dean, meanwhile, started to beam, like Castiel remembering the Impala’s mere existence is the most wonderful thing. “She’s still at Charlie’s place,” he explains. “We left her behind ‘coz both Victor and Charlie conspired against me and told me she’s too conspicuous. Jealous dumbasses, the lot of them.”

Castiel tilts his head, deep in thought. “They have a point, though. She is very striking.”

Dean just looks at him for a moment as though he has no clue how to react and eventually settles on a low grumble.

“Well, whatever,” he mutters. “She’s fine where she is for now. I’m gonna pick her up later.”

Castiel sighs, once again feeling unadulterated guilt running through his veins. “I’m really sorry you had to leave her behind because of me.”

Dean is quick to reach out and squeeze Castiel’s arm in a soothing manner, obviously not keen to let the angel have any doubts for even a second.

“Hey, everything’s fine,” he assures. “The car is the least of my worries right now. She’ll probably have the time of her life on Charlie’s parking lot, no doubt about that. It’s at least a nicer scenery than the bunker’s garage.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t have any energy to argue Dean’s lack of logic.

“You’re impossible,” he states instead because it’s true on so many levels and it needs to be said out loud.

“And you’re an idiot,” Dean adds, the fond tone in his voice belying his words. “You’re sure you’re up for walking around just yet? The last few times you tried you fainted right into my arms --”

Castiel scoffs. “I didn’t faint --”

“Like a damsel in distress, man,” Dean objects. “I already started to feel like a frigging knight.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but so far I don’t have any intentions to fall into your strong and manly arms anytime soon. Sorry to disappoint.”

For a moment the corners of Dean’s mouth tug upwards, clearly amused by their little banter, but just a second later worry flickers over his features once more and he finds himself stepping closer on instinct.

“But you’re really sure you’re alright?” he asks. “You don’t wanna make the earth shake again? You don’t hear any voices …?”

Castiel reaches out before he can berate himself and wraps his hand around the hunter’s wrist. Dean flinches for a brief second at the unexpected contact, but right after he relaxes and even appears to be leaning into the touch.

“I always hear voices, Dean,” Castiel reminds his friend. “But usually I’m able to control them …”

Technically fully-powered angels are capable to listen to any voice in the universe, but it’s a skill only used lightly since even an ethereal being would go insane by the sheer amount of it. They can train their focus and tune voices out at their own will.

And even though due to his dwindling powers Castiel wasn’t as omnipresent as he used to be, he still was able to listen to a mother in Paris singing a lullaby to her newborn baby and to a man in Australia yelling at a bunch of kids to get off his lawn. He was able to control it, keep it grounded.

But now that ability seems to slip through his fingers. Dozen, hundred, thousand different voices all over the world seem to attack him at random, without his doing, hitting him so hard and unexpected that it’s a sheer miracle his head hadn’t exploded yet.

It might only be a matter of time, though.

Castiel sighs deeply before looking around. They’re on a fairly deserted gas station -- so far they seem to be a the only customers -- and though the road right next to it is pretty busy, they’re currently standing at a fairly secluded spot. At least not one of the drivers passing by would notice them anytime soon.

Overall it’s a good opportunity.

To finally do the thing he’s been dreading.

He casts one last glance at Dean, leaning into the sensation of safety his proximity is giving him, before he closes his eyes and takes a heavy breath.

And then he spreads his wings.

He hears Dean gasping in surprise and The Colonel letting out a confused whine. They’re both unable to plainly see the wings since those are still on another plane of existence, but they surely noticed a shift in the atmosphere and maybe are even capable to spot a slight and flimsy shadow. 

Castiel remains with his eyes closed for a minute more, bracing himself for whatever he’s about to see. For years he never dared to hope, to dream, to even imagine for one single second, because at the end of the day it turned out too painful. Way too much to handle, even for an angel.

But now … there’s hope.

And also fear.

Because whatever caused this sudden change, it obviously found itself accompanied by some fairly unpretty side effects.

Castiel slowly opens his eyes and as his gaze immediately lands on his glorious and absolutely healthy wings shimmering in thousand different colors in the sunlight his heart sets out for a beat.

It feels like a dream.

Like a hallucination.

But there they are. Flexing and rustling and basking in the warmth.

It’s so much.

Castiel feels his knees going weak and he can’t help losing his balance, sinking to the ground as though his legs suddenly forgot how to work properly again.

Which is not an entirely impossible scenario considering both Castiel’s brain and Grace stopped functioning at the exact same time.

“Cas!” he hears Dean exclaim in worry and just a second later the hunter is at his side, grabbing his elbow and carefully stabilizing his body so he wouldn’t drop onto the grass underneath him like a heavy sack. “You alright?”

When Castiel doesn’t respond at first, his eyes solely fixed on his wings, on the way they move, on the fact that they instinctively curl around Dean, on the way they brush over The Colonel’s fur like they seem desperate to pet him, Dean eventually leans closer, his heat radiating so strongly it warms Castiel’s bones.

“Are … are those …?” He gestures at Castiel’s back.

Castiel keeps silent for a long while and Dean just stays at his side, apparently realizing that his friend needs some time to process all of this.

“They’re fine,” Castiel mutters at last. “They’re … healed.”

It feels all kinds of strange uttering these words.

Surreal.

“Cas …” Dean whispers, obviously not sure what else to say. Castiel doesn’t blame him, though, considering he has no idea himself what to make of this.

“I … I can feel them again,” Castiel breathes. “Their energy … their strength … running through my body.”

He hasn’t felt this powerful for a long time.

And it frightens him.

Because for now he might feel fine, but soon enough his control will slip again. He just knows it.

Rather sooner than later.

So he needs to grasp the opportunity and use the time he has left for something good.

“I think I can do it,” he murmurs, instinctively leaning into Dean’s touch as though looking for reassurance. “I think I might be able to find him.”

“Find …?” Dean blinks a few times, clearly bewildered by Castiel’s words, but just a moment realization hits him and his eyes widen as he stares at the angel. “Sam? You mean Sam?”

Castiel grits his teeth and nods.

“You know where he is?” Dean asks, his voice getting an excited hitch now. “You remember?”

Castiel sighs. “Not yet, no,” he objects. “But my strength … this …” He spreads his wings even wider and looks at the feathers glistening brightly in the sun with all the awe and anguish he can muster. “I need to try. I think I might be able to locate him.”

Now there is concern flickering over Dean’s features. “Are you sure about that?”

“Dean …”

“Trust me, I wanna find Sam even more badly than you, but I don’t need you to overdo yourself,” Dean says, with emphasis. “I don’t wanna, I dunno, let Kansas sink into a fucking sinkhole only because -- well …”

He gesticulates with a frown, clearly on the brink of saying “only because you lose your shit again”, but eventually being kind enough not to vocalize it.

The implication, however, is strong and Castiel fully understands his concern. Considering what happened before, it’s only natural to stay cautious.

But for the first time in days Castiel feels lucid enough to do this.

To try, at the very least.

“I won’t snap without any warning and wipe out the entire continent, Dean,” he reassures the hunter. “I promise you that.”

Dean looks far from happy about it. “Dude,” he sighs, sounding like the weight of the world is lying on his shoulders. “Please don’t get me wrong, you know I trust you and everything, but your mojo --”

Once again he gestures at Castiel, his face a myriad of emotions.

“I will be fine,” Castiel swears. “Kansas will be fine. The whole continent will be fine.”

“Cas …”

“My powers might be unreliable right now, but I’m sure you trust my judgment, right?” He raises a pointed eyebrow at his friend and watches how Dean instantly deflates. “I can handle this.”

Dean grimaces, apparently still the opposite of excited about the entire thing, but eventually he nods. “Fine, whatever, do you magic.”

Castiel can’t help a quiet laugh. “Thank you for your permission, Dean,” he says. “Despite me technically not even asking for it. It’s not like a mere human like you could stop me.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but there is a hint of fondness lighting up in them for a second. “Quit playing cute, asshole.”

Castiel offers him one last smile, warm and soothing, before shutting his eyes and going into “angel mode”, as Dean likes to call it.

For a minute he has serious trouble focusing, all the sounds surrounding him loud and deafening and very hard to tune out, and on top of that he feels Dean’s piercing gaze on him, gnawing through skin right into his bones. 

But Castiel forces himself to ignore all of that in favor of Sam.

Sam. 

The one this is all about.

The one Castiel has to concentrate on at all costs.

So he ignores Dean and The Colonel and the wind tugging at his wings and basically anything else that starves for his attention and fixates on Sam alone.

Tries to remember.

How they sat on Sam’s bed, side by side, watching that Rapunzel movie together. How he suddenly heard the screams of a woman -- Haley Timms -- ripping through the room. How she cried and pleaded and begged for help. How Castiel felt so desperate to save her.

How his wings spurred into action on their own accord and carried Castiel -- and with him Sam, who touched the angel’s shoulder at that very moment, concern written all over his face at Castiel suddenly shifting behavior -- into that dark alley, right next to Haley and the demon.

The demon …

A vile creature. Ugly and rotten to its very core.

And absolutely taken aback when suddenly an angel and a hunter appeared right beside him out of thin air.

Castiel can’t even blame the demon for reacting on instinct in that moment, he probably would have done the same. 

Just one second they were staring at each other in shock, not even understanding what the hell was happening, and the next he just used the knife in his hands and attacked the target nearest to him.

Sam.

The blood …

The cries of pain … 

Castiel flinches violently as he recalls his own panic and desperation when the Winchester dropped onto the ground, all that blood oozing out of the huge wound on his torso. For a second there he even forgot he was an angel and felt utterly helpless watching his friend suffer, so close on the edge of death.

Castiel had no clue what happened. He was overwhelmed and way over his head and at that point he didn’t even realize it’d been his own wings that brought them into this situation. He just remembered watching a movie and in the next second suddenly being attacked by a demon.

Eventually, though, he got a grip on himself. Castiel can’t really remember how it went down, if just his instinct kicked in and took over without him consciously noticing it or whatever.

He only knows he found himself suddenly next to Sam and healing the injury at the best of his abilities. And he stopped when he felt his powers wavering, when he sensed his control slowly slipping through his fingers. Too afraid that he might accidentally hurt Sam and do more harm than good.

And then …

The demon …

He was still there, confused and agitated and such a danger for everyone around. And Castiel just had to protect Sam.

Had to take him somewhere safe …

Somewhere where no one would be able to reach him … 

And so his mojo acted on its own again … 

Protecting Sam … 

Sending him … 

… where?

Castiel winces as realization suddenly hits him so violently he almost loses his balance.

He remembers thinking about Dean in that moment. How there could be no safer place for Sam -- or basically any living soul on the planet -- than at the elder Winchester’s side.

But right before Castiel sent Sam away, right before he touched him and let his powers take over, a brief thought crossed his mind. A memory, flickering through his head.

A voice saying, “I just want Sam to be safe.”

And penguins … 

The damned penguins.

Castiel suddenly snaps his gaze up and fixes his eyes on Dean. “Your phone.”

Dean, who seems startled and confused and overall way too tired to deal with anything of importance right now, merely blinks. 

“Your phone,” Castiel insists, pressing the words through his gritted teeth. “Take it out.”

Dean only blinks some more. “My … what the fuck … what just happened with you, dude? I think you were glowing or something.”

“Your. Phone.”

Dean appears ready to argue some more, but eventually he pulls his phone out of his pocket as requested and offers it to the angel.

“Okay, what is going on?” he grumbles. “Remember an important phone call or something? Wanna play Candy Crush?”

Castiel simply ignores him and places his hand over the phone, closing his eyes and letting his powers run free for a moment.

It overall only takes about two seconds before he withdraws his arm yet again, leaving the phone in Dean’s outstretched hand.

“Call Sam,” he orders.

Dean merely gapes at first.

And then he laughs. Breathy and humorless.

“You think we didn’t try that before?” he asks. “Only like five million times or so.”

Castiel meets him with an unimpressed expression. “It will work now.”

Dean frowns, suddenly looking very suspicious. “What did you do to my phone, man?” he wonders, studying the device as if he expects it to explode any moment now. “Did you give it some super powers?”

“Something like that,” Castiel agrees before encouraging him to move forward.

Dean hesitates for a while, apparently not really trusting whatever is going on right now, but eventually he sighs, dials Sam’s number and switches it to loudspeaker, most likely to prove to the angel that nothing will come out of it.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Dean already begins to lift his eyebrow in a “see, dude, I told you” manner --

And then the call gets picked up.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes widen comically at the sound of Sam’s voice and he stares at his phone in utter shock.

“S-Sammy?”

He obviously believes he’s dreaming.

Or gone mad at some point.

Castiel, meanwhile, only smiles and feels relief rush through his system.

“Shit, it’s so freaking good to hear your voice,” Sam sighs, his tone shaking with countless emotions. “I almost thought I’d never hear it again.”

Dean gapes at his phone.

And then he gapes at Castiel.

“It’s really him,” the angel reassures. “Trust me.”

Dean remains shell-shocked for a few seconds more, but then his brother instinct finally awakens.

“Sammy, what the hell?” he hisses.  “We’ve been calling you for fucking days. Did you just wake up from a damned coma like two minutes ago or something?”

“No --”

“But you are okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why the fuck --”

“Dude, you wouldn’t believe the days I just had!” Sam interrupts. “I can’t … I just … damn, it’s really good to hear your stupid voice, you know?”

Dean seems like he wants to glare at his phone -- and, in extension, his brother -- some more, but his features soften instantly as all the tense muscles in his body relax. No matter what, no matter where, he will always be glad to have his brother alive and well.

“Sam …” he breathes, obviously not certain what to say or even think about this entire situation, and yet so relieved to finally have a sign of life. “Man, I don’t … where are you?”

“I can show you,” Castiel leaps in, not even giving Sam on the other end of the line a chance to answer at first.

Dean merely looks at him with a funny expression while Sam exclaims in the background, “Is that Cas? Is he with you?”

Castiel ignores both at them as he turns toward The Colonel and tells him, “Stay with Charlie. We will be back soon.”

Then he grabs onto the shoulder of a fairly confused Dean, inhales deeply and spreads his wings.

And then he flies.

Chapter Text

Dean almost forgot how much he hates flying with Angel Airways.

Especially without a proper warning first.

He barely has time to process anything before his world and his stomach turn and his surroundings change abruptly in the blink of an eye. Just a millisecond ago he was standing on the soft ground of a patch of grass and now he suddenly finds himself on a wooden floor inside a rustic living room.

Right in front of a woman sitting on the couch, a potato chip halfway in her mouth.

Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at the unexpected visitors and for a long moment they simply stare at each other, the shock obviously powerful enough to freeze time on both sides.

But then she reacts.

Her reflexes are absolutely magnificent as she flips the little coffee table right in front of her over with just one hand and grabs the freaking gun that had been taped underneath it, in perfect position for easy access. There are probably even more weapons scattered around the place, one deadlier than the other, hidden in convenient spots to reach them fast and kill anyone or anything who dares to enter her premises.

Like Dean and Cas right now.

Dean gapes at the barrel of the gun and instantly raises his hands in surrender. He feels naked and helpless, his own gun lying safely in Charlie's car because he seriously didn't expect to be dragged across the world by a damned angel, and he just hopes he won't end up dead because of it.

“Who are you?” the woman growls, her grip steady as she aims at the two intruders.

Dean doesn't doubt she could shoot both of them within a split second, her gaze and posture unwavering. However, she remains sitting on the couch and Dean takes a moment to notice her right leg having been propped up with some pillows, like she injured it a while ago and now she has to let it rest.

That doesn't make her appear any less deadlier though.

Cas, the stupid overprotective bastard, steps right into the line of fire, getting between Dean and the gun, shielding the hunter with his body and making Dean both annoyed by this display of protectiveness and also a little bit flustered. At least Dean's traitorous heart does a tiny somersault, apparently easily impressed and flattered by Cas playing his bodyguard without even the slightest hesitation.

For a brief moment he feels like Whitney Houston lying in Kevin Costner's arms and then he instantly flushes as he remembers with what kind of movie he's comparing his relationship with Cas to.

“We don't mean any harm,” Cas says to the woman, somehow managing to make his gravelly voice sound so soft and soothing no one could remain unaffected. “My name is Castiel and this is Dean.”

Though Dean is pretty sure he's never met that woman ever in his life before, she certainly seems to recognize their names. Her eyes go wide and she immediately lowers the weapon as she stares at them in disbelief.

“Are you for real?” she exclaims.

Cas blinks, clearly not exactly sure how to react to that question. “Well, yes, we are … uh, real.”

The woman gapes at them some more, her eyes roaming over every inch of their bodies, every tiny wrinkle in their clothes, her scrutiny so fucking intense it even rivals Cas', and Dean feels the strong urge to squirm like an awkward teenager and hide behind the angel once again. But before he's able to make up his mind and come up with a witty comeback to throw her off her assessment she suddenly turns toward the door behind her leading into a hallway and hollers, “Hey, Bigfoot, I think your uber just arrived.”

Dean barely has time to wonder what's happening, quick footsteps all of a sudden coming closer, obviously rushing towards them in a hurry. He braces himself out of pure instinct, even without a weapon in his hand, but his tension melts right away as a familiar face – and very familiar floppy hair – shows up at the door frame.

Damn, it feels like the weight of the world is slipping from his shoulders.

“Sammy!”

Sam beams, wide and happy, and instantly rushes inside the room to pull his brother in a tight embrace. Dean immediately returns it tenfold, even though he's getting trouble breathing fairly soon. All he cares about is having Sam with him again, alive and well. Who cares about oxygen at this point?

“Fuck, Sam!” Dean hisses into his brother's shoulder. “Don't you dare ever doing that again, you hear me?”

Sam chuckles. “I'm trying my best.”

“Good.” Dean squeezes him ever tighter. “Otherwise I'd have to ground you for life.”

It actually doesn't sound like a bad idea, come to think of it.

They stay like this for a long while, simply holding each other to remind themselves that they're both okay, and overall it's just an awesome feeling.

But then Sam starts to pull away, his attention clearly on the other person in the room now. “Cas.”

Before Dean even has time to blink Sam goes for a big bear hug, wrapping the angel into his large arms. Cas appears a bit overwhelmed at first, as if he didn't anticipate for the younger Winchester to show him any kind of affection. However, in the end his strained muscles loose a little bit as he pats Sam's back with a small smile.

“Sam.” His voice his deep and filled with all kinds of relief.

“Damn, I was so worried, man,” Sam says when he eventually steps back to study Cas from top to bottom. “I didn't know what happened to you. I thought maybe the demon –”

He halts and grimaces, the pictures he made up in his mind obviously still haunting him.

“I'm fine, Sam,” Cas reassures him.

Dean, however, snorts, that statement so far from the truth it actually hurts.

“How – how did you end up here?” Sam wonders. “I didn't hear any car coming up …” He looks out of the window, as if he expects the Impala to park right beside it, but then his shoulders sag as begins to catch up. “You flew, didn't you? You actually flew!”

He shakes his head, sighing. “For the last couple of days I was totally considering I dreamed the whole thing up. I mean, I was out of it for a while, so …” He shrugs. “But it did happen, didn't it? We flew, right?”

Cas' expression turns very grave again. “I'm so sorry, Sam. I never meant to put you in such a dangerous situation –”

Sam quickly raises his hand, shutting the angel's guilt trip up effectively. “There's no need to apologize, dude,” he says with emphasis. “I know you didn't do any of it on purpose. I don't remember all that much, but that look of surprise on your face when it happened is hard to forget. I know you had no more idea what was going on than me.”

Cas seems to relax a bit at those words, but he still appears fairly guilt-ridden. So much, in fact, that the desire to yank him into a soothing embrace and wrap him into some warm blankets gets so strong again Dean is actually considering to physically restrain himself to keep himself at bay.

“So what happened?” Sam asks, glancing back and forth between them. “The demon –?”

“Oh, the demon is dead and we're officially on the FBI watch list now, hallelujah,” Dean tells him, grinding his teeth. “But more importantly, what happened with you? What, you've been here the whole time and didn't even consider calling me? Or like anyone else?”

Just then another person enters the living room. One that Dean knows quite well, too.

“Eileen?”

She smiles and shoots him a small wave while he stares at her, taken aback. A big part of himself feels instantly relieved that she's obviously fine, but the confusion grows and grows.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he demands to know. “Why are we here and why did nobody call me?”

Eileen steps forward, raising her hands. “Don't yell at me, I was just here, minding my own business and helping out Sally –” she nods at the direction of the woman on the couch, “and suddenly Sam pops up on the doorstep, all bloody and unconscious.”

Dean glances at the woman. Sally. Eileen's friend who she's been nurturing for the last couple of weeks after that nasty monster attack. Where, among other things, she broke her leg.

Right.

That explains why she's still staying on the couch, her leg propped up. And why she, as a fellow hunter, has weapons scattered around the house.

Prepared for anything. Even shooting unwanted visitors who suddenly appear in her living room out of freaking nowhere.

Dean finds himself throwing a look in Cas' direction. “So you sent Sam to Eileen after the demon attack?”

The angel seems deep in thought, apparently digging intently through his memories. “Well, yes … it appears so,” he says, still cautious, as if, despite the evidence, he isn't absolutely sure. “Like I mentioned, I actually intended to send Sam to you … but then a single, fleeting thought … about penguins …”

Dean frowns, still wondering what this has to do with anything. But after a quick glimpse at Eileen he suddenly notices that she doesn't look as puzzled as the rest of them.

“Penguins?” she asks, moving her fingers in tandem. “Like the documentary we watched the other day?”

“Yes!” Cas calls loudly, realization obviously striking him so hard out of the blue he actually jumps. “The documentary … about the penguins …” He rubs his temples, like his restoring memories are giving him a headache. “That scene – when the penguins reunited … you said you wanted for Sam to be safe …”

Oh.

Slowly Dean begins to catch on.

“So when you wanted to send Sam to a safe place after the demon attack that little moment popped up in your head without your own volition?” he guesses.

Cas nods in confirmation. “Yes,” he agrees. “The way you said it, Eileen, the way you phrased it, it left an impact on me. I knew you wanted to do anything in your power to protect Sam from any harm.” He takes a deep breath. “And in that moment in that alley, when I was about to send Sam away, with every intention to bring him to Dean, that reminder flickered through my mind. So quickly I actually didn't even register it, but my powers … well, they obviously deemed it valuable.”

“So you sent him here instead,” Eileen finishes, a warm smile on her lips. “We figured as much. We had a lot of time to put at least a few puzzle pieces together.”

Dean spurs right into action at those words. “Which brings us back to the most important question: Why the fuck did nobody call?”

Sam squirms on the spot. “Well …”

He looks straight at Cas.

And the angel sighs. “This is my fault as well, isn't it?”

Sam pulls a face, pity all over his features. “You didn't do it on purpose –”

“And yet it happened because of me.”

“Cas, man –”

“Stop it!” Dean cuts in, growling like an angry bear as he raises his hands to interrupt their stupid game of who-is-to-blame. “Someone better tell me what is going on before I throw some punches.”

Cas and Sam look at each other, obviously trying to determine via an intense eye conversation who should tell the tale and have to deal with Dean's wrath firsthand.

In the end, though, it's Eileen, the bravest of them all, who jerks into action. “Well, it started Wednesday night,” she explains. “I was just preparing dinner when Sally suddenly informed me about a loud noise coming from the living room. Right here,” she adds, gesturing at the wall surrounding them. “We went to investigate and well, there he was. Lying on the floor, covered in blood.”

She shivers, the memory obviously still very fresh in her mind.

“At first I thought … I thought he was dead.” She presses her lips into a thin line, emotions welling up, and Sam hurries to link their fingers together and give them a reassuring squeeze. “We had no idea where he came from, what even happened … I mean, I just talked to him via video call like half an hour before that. He was at the bunker and told me he was about to watch a movie with Cas. So clearly nothing to indicate some weird shit is close to happening.”

Dean snorts at that. She's got a point there.

“Thankfully Sally's got some nursing training and she quickly gave Sam a first evaluation,” Eileen continues. “He was fine, more or less. No visible wounds, only a slight red spot underneath his chest area. But he was ridiculously pale.”

“The blood loss,” Cas pipes in, grimacing at the reminder.

“Yeah, well, at the time we couldn't be sure about that,” Eileen points out. “Because, as mentioned, there weren't any injuries on his body. But I already started considering that he somehow got hurt, lost a lot of blood and got healed afterwards.”

She glances at Cas and there is so much gratitude in her eyes the angel seems to become really uncomfortable by it.

“After we made sure Sam was okay for now and Sally already organized some of her guys helping her out with providing a blood infusion, I tried calling you, Dean. It didn't work.”

Dean frowns, leaning closer in curiosity.

“At first I assumed it was just the reception 'cause it can get pretty bad up here, sometimes for no apparent reason,” she says. “So I switched to the landline. And when that one didn't work either I grabbed the laptop and tried everything I could even think of. Skype, e-mail, anything. I tried contacting you over and over again and nothing worked. You, Cas, Mary, Charlie and whoever else I could think of. When I felt comfortable enough to leave Sam for a moment I even drove to the local police station and asked them to call Jody. And once more they couldn't get through, even though their phones worked perfectly. I mean, I was there for a while, I actually saw other officers using their phones for different matters without any problem whatsoever. But when they tried to contact Jody, Donna, hell, even that Victor guy – nothing. Nada.”

Dean blinks, absolutely confused now.

What the hell?

“The same with me,” Sam jumps in, offering his girlfriend a warm smile before turning to Dean. “When I eventually woke up and was lucid enough to remember what was going on I tried calling all of you guys. The connection always broke off, like my fucking phone was downright refusing to make those calls.” He sighs. “And 'cause I had no clue what happened to Cas I was freaking out real bad. I mean, he could have had ended up dead somewhere and nobody would've known.”

Dean bites his bottom lip, suddenly remembering Cas sitting in that dark cell in Colorado, all alone and lost. If Victor wouldn't have been informed about his whereabouts, Dean probably would still be enjoying his free time at Charlie's place, nothing the wiser, like a damned and clueless fool, while Sam would go crazy with worry right here in the middle of nowhere.

“We had to do something, so we decided to jump into the car and drive back,” Sam explains. “But the stupid thing wouldn't start.”

Damn, this is getting weirder and weirder.

Dean surely has no idea what is going on anymore.

“We switched to Sally's truck then – and it was the same,” Sam says, the frustration in his voice strong. “They had worked fine the minute before and you taught me enough about cars to recognize any troublemakers. I looked underneath the hoods and everything was right in its place. And yet, two perfectly fine cars stopped functioning at the exact same time.” He grits his teeth. “We tried everything. Hell, at one point I even attempted to steal a car some tourists had parked right up that hill, but it was only the same. Nothing worked. And at that point I was ready to admit there was some strange hoodoo crap going on.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, no shit.”

It's actually a wonder it took him so long to acknowledge that.

“I was contemplating a lot of things,” Sam continues. “The craziest stuff. I thought that demon in the alley did something. Or maybe Crowley. Rowena. Perhaps I accidentally stumbled upon a sacred graveyard and angered some Gods or spirits along the way. Whatever. With our lives, nothing is impossible, right?”

Unfortunately he's not wrong.

“It took me a while, but at some point, just when I was about to eat a PJ sandwich, Cas' last words suddenly came to my mind.” Sam looks at the angel, his expression so much that even Dean is unable to decipher it all. “He told me he would send me to a safe place. That he would make sure that no one would be able to find me there.”

Dean glimpses at Cas who looks exceptionally guilty again.

“You caused this?”

Cas' shoulders tense. “Not on purpose –”

“I know that, man.”

Dean has no clue what's happening, but this he is certain of.

Meanwhile, Sam pats Cas' arm and squeezes it tightly, apparently on the verge of pulling the angel into yet another bone-crushing hug. “I guess he put me into some kind of safety bubble out of pure instinct,” he says, a low chuckle in his throat. “Nobody should know my location, therefore his mojo did everything to prevent this from happening. Banning phone calls and car trips and whatever.”

Wow.

For a minute there Dean has no real idea how to react to all of this. He imagined a lot of different scenarios, getting darker and darker the more time passed, already painting a grim picture of what had become of Sam.

But this?

Yeah, not in a million years he would have thought of this.

But it makes sense, in a weird way. Cas' powers are acting up, doing lots of stuff on their own account while staying in a close connection with his emotions. And knowing Sam safe and sound must have been on top of his list.

And to keep Sam's location secret – from anyone, even insanely concerned brothers – Cas' protective spell or whatever the hell you wanna call it cut off any contact with the outside world. No matter who, no matter how, the prime goal had been to let Sam stay hidden.

And considering how fucking effective it's been Dean would've never been capable of finding Sam on his own. If Cas truly would've ended up in the depths of some high security prison and Dean wouldn't have been able to reach him God knows how long it would've taken them to finally locate Sam.

Days. Weeks.

Maybe even longer.

Dean doesn't even want to think about it.

“I apologize for creating such a mess,” Cas says, eyes downcast. “I should have realized sooner what was going on –”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean cuts in, more than fed up with all this guilt riding. “Stop that. It's not like you triggered another apocalypse.”

Yeah, he's still feeling a lot of emotions, mostly bafflement about the entire thing, but he seriously doesn't want to see Cas lifting the weight of the whole world on his shoulders again.

They already had enough of that.

Cas, in the meantime, lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “Does only an apocalypse suffice for an apology?”

Dean snorts. “I'm just saying, from my point of view you don't have to feel sorry for trying to protect Sam. I mean, look at him.” He gestures at his brother with flailing arms. “He seems healthy, rested and Eileen probably made sure he ate all his greens and burped after every big meal.”

While San shoots him bitch face #68 (“How old are you? Five?”) Eileen merely grins and nods in confirmation. “He even ate his carrots.”

“See? He even ate his carrots.” Dean smirks lopsidedly. “Everything's fine, man.”

And for the first time he genuinely means it.

Sure, they're still back on the FBI watch list which all kinds of sucks and not to mention they still have no clue what's going on with Cas and whether it'll become even worse, but for now, standing right here, with his angel on his side and his stupidly tall brother nearly bumping into the lamp on the ceiling – for this one fleeting moment the world is alright.

Chapter Text

For the first time in what feels like years Dean finds himself able to breathe a sigh of relief again.

Of course he knows it's far from over. Sam might be at his side once more and overall just fine by the look of things, but the mess with Cas is still hanging in the air, like a dark cloud grumbling over their heads, on the verge of letting rain and lightning drop down on them. Not to mention the fact that the fucking FBI is getting curious about their case again which might result in major troubles on their future endeavors in the long run. It could make hunting significantly harder if Victor would be incapable of sorting this out.

Yeah, in the grand scheme of things the whole thing is still an utter shit show.

But for the moment Dean allows himself to feel happy. He sits down at the small kitchen table, with his brother beside him, as they share a beer and just relax, at least for a moment.

“This was one hell of a ride,” Sam says with a breathy chuckle, clinking his bottle with Dean's. “I'm not eager for a repeat performance anytime soon.”

Dean surely can't blame him. Being basically trapped, without any contact to the outside world, right in the middle of nowhere, doesn't sound like fun. They probably don't even have decent wi-fi here.

“I'm surprised you didn't lose your mind somewhere along the way,” Dean jokes.

But as his gaze wanders to the adjacent living room where Eileen and Sally are currently lost in a very animated conversation in sign language Dean can't help a little smile. Yeah, this entire thing might've not been great, but having someone like Eileen with him surely helped Sam a lot.

Once again Dean is more than thrilled that Sam managed to find and – more importantly – keep her. It's not easy with the life they're living, far from it, and to see Sam all joyous and smitten and thousands kinds of both annoyed and flustered whenever Dean comes around to tease him mercilessly is truly a gift.

Yeah, if Dean had someone like that and would one day find himself locked up in a place like this the whole thing probably wouldn't have been that bad for him either.

Dean's eyes automatically shift towards Cas who is standing beside the two women. He doesn't pay their discussion any mind, his attention solely focused on Sally's propped up leg, apparently debating whether he should take the risk and try to heal her. The unease in his expression, his lack of faith in his own abilities, is seriously hard to witness.

Dean watches the angel for a very long moment, a gloomy sensation rushing through his veins. “What do you think is happening to him?”

His voice is croaky, nearly unrecognizable to his own ears, and he can't even find himself surprised by how affected he is by all of it.

Meanwhile, Sam follows his gaze and studies Cas intently. “Well, even after all this time angels are just so complex most about them is still a mystery to us. In the end it could be a million different things –”

“It's the Lance of Michael, isn't it?” Dean cuts right to the chase, voicing the suspicion that's been with them the entire time. “The dude nearly dies on us because of that super ancient weapon nobody ever survived before and all of a sudden he goes sideways? Yeah, no way in hell that's just a coincidence.”

For a moment it seems like Sam wants to argue, wants to throw some other suspicions into the mix, but in the end he merely sighs and nods in confirmation. “Yeah, at this point it's our best bet.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. “So what do you think is happening to him?”

Sam pulls a face and performs some vague hand gestures that don't appear to make any sense at all, even to him. “I – I dunno –” he admits. “I guess technically it's a good thing he's got his wings back and everything – but, um …”

Yes, but.

Cas is flying again, but he's also slipping. Losing control over his powers. Powers he shouldn't even have in that magnitude. Not after everything he's been through. After falling, losing his Grace, being cut off from Heaven for such a long time …

The abilities he's showing right now remind Dean of the old days, back when Cas was at the height of his power. The ultimate soldier of God, strong enough to stride straight into Hell to pull Dean's sorry ass out of there. A guy who could make the earth shake just with a tilt of his head.

Dean actually doesn't know how much of that old power has been left in the end because, frankly, he was too afraid to ask. Cas fell for him, lost everything he had known for millennia and longer. That surely weighs heavily on a guy's shoulders. Especially if in the end you really start to wonder whether it was all worth it.

Cas lost so much, and that's all because of Dean.

And now? It seems some of the old glory has returned to him. But not in the way Cas probably has hoped for.

“What should we do about it?” Dean wonders, turning his gaze back to his brother. “Can we even do anything about it?”

Sam shrugs. “I mean, I'm not sure. Back at the bunker we should hit some books, dig around – maybe there is something there …”

“I highly doubt that,” another voice suddenly leaps in, deep and rumbling and of lately starring way too often in some very confusing dreams for Dean. Both brothers snap their heads up and stare at the angel standing right next to the table, his expression hard and stern, as though he just caught them trying to steal some cookies.

“Cas –” Sam clears his throat awkwardly and fidgets around on his chair. “So I guess you heard us?”

Cas rolls his eyes. Very impressively.

“Of course I heard you,” he states. Like believing anything else would be utterly ridiculous to begin with. “You have an astounding tendency to forget, but I am actually a celestial being.”

And on top of that he's currently having so much trouble controlling his abilities that he's probably unable to shut them down for privacy reasons, like he had done in the past.

“Right,” Dean mumbles.

And to be fair, he does forget more often than not these days. When he tries to keep Cas around at the bunker and convince the guy to watch some movies with him, even though Meta-Douche downloaded them all into his brain years ago. When he makes coffee in the morning and Cas indulges him every single time by drinking it while not caring at all that he's pulling the most hilarious grimaces at the taste of it. When he gets Dean to explain the most mundane things to him, like how to do your laundry, and listens so attentively as though it might be absolutely vital at one point in his life.

Yes, sometimes Cas' angelness simply slips Dean's mind.

But then, just a moment later, the dude smites some demons without breaking a sweat, makes people burst into tears just with the raise on his eyebrow, and nowadays lets the earth shake underneath their feet, and Dean once again remembers what kind of company he's keeping these days.

More often than not Dean still finds himself utterly gobsmacked by the whole thing. Ten years ago it surely wouldn't even have crossed his mind for a single second that one day the dorkiest and most badass angel would be his best friend.

But now they're here.

Life is seriously funny sometimes.

“So, do you know what's happening to you?” Sam picks up the conversation again, his tone showing signs of his typical nerdy curiosity as he regards Cas intently. “Why your wings are suddenly back and, um, all that other stuff?”

Cas quirks his head to one side. “I have a strong theory, yes.”

“The Lance of Michael?” Dean chimes in.

“Among other things,” Cas agrees.

Dean frowns at the phrasing. “What other things?”

Cas seems to be a bit reluctant at first to elaborate on that, but in the end he sighs. “I believe the Lance plays a major part in this indeed. After all, the timing is too perfect to just ignore it.”

That's most certainly true.

“Never before has an angel survived the Lance,” Cas goes on. “And it's not only because of the nature of the weapon itself but also because it's been forged with a part of Michael's Grace.”

Dean and Sam both instantly perk up at that.

“His Grace?” they ask in unison.

“Yes, of course,” Cas says, like it should've been obvious right from the start. “The Lance was meant to be an extension of Michael and his power.”

Okay, fine, Dean has to admit that makes kinda sense. Maybe that's just a thing Heaven does, pouring angelic life sources into their huge arsenal of super impressive weapons to make them stronger and bind them to their wielders.

Hell, perhaps even angel blades have some Grace in them. Dean never even considered asking, but now it's lying on the tip of tongue as he thinks about the blade he's been using for quite a while now and is currently resting in the trunk of Charlie's car.

“The Grace of an archangel is powerful beyond measure,” Cas explains. “However, it's not always destruction but life as well. Healing. Creation.”

Sam leans forward, in full-on nerd mode now. “So Michael's Grace healed you, you think?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Cas confirms. “And perhaps not Michael's Grace alone, but Lucifer's as well.”

While Sam makes a little noise in the back of his throat at that statement, Dean can't help grimacing hard at the mere reminder of what went down when Lucifer was taking roots in his best friend's body.

“You – you think it's some reaction?” Sam wonders, a little waver in his voice now. Lucifer rising from the dead not so long ago truly shook him more than he let on, Dean is sure of that. He's hiding it well, no question about that, but Dean used to change the guy's diapers back in the days and he likes to think he knows him better than anyone else.

“As you well know, when an angel exits a vessel they leave some remnants of their Grace behind,” Cas says. “Usually it's not really noticeable for the regular human. But with an archangel, of course – well, it's something different.”

“And with two archangels in the picture now …” Dean summarizes, once again wondering what the hell they did wrong in their past lives to deserve such bullshit.

“Not to mention what might have left behind when Chuck raised you from the dead all those times before,” Sam adds with a slight frown. “I mean, one way or another he must have rebuilt your body, considering you, uh, exploded more than once and all that stuff …”

And those are yet another things Dean doesn't enjoy thinking about.

Cas, meanwhile, looks rather pensive at Sam's words. “You're not wrong,” he concedes. “This might play some part as well.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip and feels his nerves getting frazzled again. “So what does this mean for you now? Are you getting fucked over by those sons of bitches even if they're not around anymore? Or are those different Graces or whatever trying to heal you in some way –?”

“I think it's the latter, yes,” Cas agrees. “But it's way too much all at once. Like dumping someone living at the North Pole suddenly into the midst of the hottest day in the Sahara from one second to the next.”

Dean pulls a face at the comparison. That definitely doesn't sound like a blast at all.

“So your whole system is getting overwhelmed by this?” Sam asks.

“It's hard to pinpoint, I have to admit, but it's my best guess,” Cas tells them. “It feels like – like there is far too much going on right now. Like I'm getting attacked from all sides at the same time.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist and fights back the urge to pull the guy into a tight and overall probably far too emotional embrace.

Cas looks quite alright right now, at least better than when Dean found him in that prison cell, but the hunter still notices little things which make it clear that the situation is far from over. The angel remains all tense, as though he's expecting his wings to betray him once more and carry him across the country without any warning whatsoever again, and his eyes flicker back and forth the whole time. It's obvious he's having trouble focusing on their conversation as he's most likely hearing thousand additional voices simultaneously as well.

Dean grits his teeth and feels way over his head with this one. Give him a monster to kill, no problem. Put some research in front of him – no fun, but also manageable. Show him the way to the nearest cemetery and let him dig up a grave – not a blast either, but something he's familiar with.

However, all this Heavenly-divine-holy-supernatural crap is just getting too much after a while. Dean seriously misses the times when it was only spirits and ghouls and vampires and the occasional rogue demon. Now everything seems to bite them in the ass.

“Okay, any idea what we can do about this?” Dean wonders, more than ready to finally take some action, whatever the hell that might look like in the end.

Hopefully he would be able to roast some bastard along the way.

Merely for his own sanity.

That would be really nice.

“I don't know,” Cas says with a heavy sigh. “There is no precedent to this. It could go either way.”

Worse or better.

One way or the other.

Considering their luck Dean is almost tempted to bet on the first. After all, barely anything has gone right in their lives so far.

But he'd also like to be a bit more optimistic for a change. Especially if Cas is involved.

“This might very well just be an adjustment period, right?” Dean asks hopefully. “I mean, you're already looking better than when I found you. And you were actually able to control your wings and fly right here, to Sammy –”

Cas seems not very convinced, but he gives a tentative nod nonetheless.

“Maybe you just need some time to get used to it all,” Dean suggests. “I mean, I know I would …”

While Cas still appears rather reluctant to agree, Sam perks up as well, a little smile on his face now. “Dean is right,” he says. “It's probably just a matter of time –”

“And if it's not?” Cas cuts in, his eyes narrowed. “If it stays like this or even becomes worse? What if I end up hurting more people in the process?”

His gaze rests on Sam and Dean surely can't blame him for feeling guilty about this. Yeah, he knows it's irrational because it's not like Cas had any control over what happened, but Dean's also very familiar with the feeling of putting too much on your shoulders, even though your brain tells you over and over that it's not been your fault, and he definitely won't start berating the angel now if he's not better himself in that department.

“Well, for now we have proof you're getting better,” Dean emphasizes. “Victor told me you were basically babbling nonsense most of the time when he found you. And now look at you!” He gestures at all of Cas. “You're coherent, you're flying to destinations you meant to, you're able to focus on this conversation –”

“Barely,” Cas pipes in, his face a grimace.

“But you're doing it,” Dean states, now leaping from his chair and stepping closer to the angel. As always way too much into the guy's personal space, but for years now Dean is barely able to help himself and he certainly won't start today. “I know it's a lot and probably painful and I'm sorry about that, but you can't deny there is improvement. Maybe you really just need a bit more time.”

Cas' eyes are even more intense so very close and Dean has to swallow hard not to make some embarrassing noises as he steadily holds the guy's gaze.

It's obvious Cas is still skeptical, still thinks Dean way too naive, but there is also a little spark of determination on his features. He wants to believe, he wants to fight this …

“We're getting through this, pal, alright?” Dean says, his voice lower now, just for Cas to hear. “Together.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line.

And then he nods.

“Together.”

Chapter Text

They travel back to the bunker the next day.

Castiel actually would have liked to try flying again, to spread his wings and have control, but the mere idea of it made him uneasy right away. Back in the days he didn't think twice about it, the act of flying more natural to him than anything else, and after he lost that ability he craved it with an incomparable passion, promising himself to take full advantage of it if he would ever be capable of flying again one day.

Castiel had prayed, many times, that such a moment might finally come.

But now, as the opportunity presents itself, he feels paralyzed. Yes, he could use his wings and arrive at the bunker in a matter of milliseconds if everything would go according to plan. However, as things are now he might also land somewhere completely different.

And people could get harmed again.

So Castiel doesn't make any fuss as they squeeze themselves into Eileen's car and wave Sally goodbye. The night before Castiel had proposed to the hunter to heal her leg, but just as with the flying he hadn't felt particularly comfortable with it. And Sally surely noticed his reluctance and assured him that she was fine, currently entering the last phase of her healing process anyway and more than happy to do the last few meters on her own as well.

She spoke the truth, Castiel noticed this right away, but he couldn't help feeling bad for being so skittish about his powers nevertheless.

The way back to Kansas takes way too many hours for Castiel to keep up on. Most of the time he either just looks out of the window, simply allowing his mind to wander, or falls into some exhausted meditative state an amateur might think of as sleeping. Once in a while Dean – who, for some reason, decided to share the backseat with the angel instead of taking over the wheel – convinces him to try a couple of travel games to pass the time. Castiel doesn't really understand the deeper meaning of a lot of those, but they keep them entertained for a while and maybe that's been their sole purpose from the beginning.

(Furthermore, they make Dean smile and that in itself is a huge win in Castiel's book.)

When they eventually – after half an eternity – arrive at the bunker and steer Eileen's car into the garage Castiel releases a sigh of relief. Out of necessity he had gotten used to being confined in small spaces over the last few years and human automobiles surely started to become a tolerable part of his life, but under the current circumstances he can't help feeling cramped in a way that makes his skin crawl. As if he's too big for it all, as if his true form is bleeding out of his small vessel, trying to escape and break through the barrier.

It's been a rather uncomfortable sensation and even though he still squirms awkwardly as he finally climbs out of the car the vast space of the garage is an instant improvement.

The Colonel is the first to greet them, basically barreling into them when they open the heavy door to step into the living area. The poor dog doesn't seem to know in the beginning who to direct his attention at first and so he ends up jumping back and forth between them all, whining happily and fiercely leaning into all the pats he is offered.

He is soon followed by the remaining residents. Mary and Jody – both, according to Dean, having stayed at the bunker since this whole mess started – appear to have the same problem as The Colonel for a moment, unsure who to pull into a tight embrace first, but evidently they make their rounds and offer everyone a heartfelt squeeze.

Charlie joins in just a minute later, switching between cuddling them all (though especially Sam and Eileen) and complaining in great detail how Dean and Castiel left her all alone at the gas station. Since she seems more relieved than angry, however, Castiel decides not to dwell on it.

Soon enough they gravitate towards the direction of the kitchen and it's not only Castiel who suddenly notices the smell of food.

“Is someone cooking?” Dean asks, perking up with interest.

Jody shoots him an amused smile. “We figured you might be hungry after that long trip and would like some home-cooked meal. Got you some meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

“And don't worry, Jody handled all the important steps,” Mary chimes in with a chuckle. “Charlie and I just helped.”

Dean looks like he wants to yank them all into a bone-crushing embrace yet again. And maybe propose marriage to Jody specifically.

(It surely wouldn't have been the first time. Dean appears to have some tendency to ask that woman to marry him whenever there is food involved.)

“You've got some time to freshen up, though,” Mary says. “Food will be ready in like fifteen minutes.”

Sam and Eileen gratefully retreat to Sam's room at those words, the younger Winchester probably more than eager to finally put on some of his own clothes again instead of the borrowed garments of Sally's neighbor, a mountain of a man who made even Sam look like a tiny toddler.

Dean lets out some appreciative sound as well as the prospect of free time for himself and his personal hygiene and heads out to his room. Not without grabbing Castiel's wrist and pulling the angel after himself, however.

As soon as they're all alone, the comforting familiarity of Dean's private space surrounding them, the hunter turns toward Castiel, his expression pinched.

“You're not alright, are you?” he asks, even though it doesn't really sound like a question.

Castiel, meanwhile, squints his eyes. “In a general manner or …?”

“Don't play cute with me, okay?” Dean huffs. “You've been all jittery for hours now. Like you wanna scream your head off and rip your hair out or something.”

Castiel blinks. He actually believed to have hidden his restlessness rather well, but it appears Dean, as usual, is able to surprise him.

“It's … a lot,” Castiel confesses, a bit reluctant.

“Too many people?” Dean guesses.

Castiel nods. Normally he loves company, but now it's severely adding to his stress levels. He senses all those human souls shining brightly, he hears the blood running through their veins, he listens to their steady heartbeats, he feels their breath brushing over his skin … and he can't do anything to tune it out. To downgrade it to an acceptable level.

It's giving Castiel a headache and as a powered-up angel it actually shouldn't be possible for him to suffer from those.

“If you don't mind I will skip the family dinner this time,” Castiel says, the mere idea of squeezing himself into yet another small space with even more people making him shudder. “I think silence might do me some good.”

Granted, he will still hear the Winchesters and their friends clear as day even on the other end of the bunker, but at least they won't have to watch him firsthand how he struggles with the new situation. They won't have to see him grimacing in pain and get concerned over him all over again.

“Okay, yeah,” Dean mumbles, stepping closer to Castiel and instantly flinching back again. Like he doesn't really know what to do with his body. “It's – I guess – what's best for you, buddy. Some peace and quiet never hurt anyone, right?”

At least not that Castiel is aware of.

“Do you need anything, though?” Dean asks, some weird sort of urgency in his tone now. “I dunno – something to eat? To drink? Some fluffy pillows?”

Castiel isn't exactly sure whether there exists anything in the bunker someone might actually describe as “fluffy pillows”, but Dean seems determined enough to drop everything right here on the spot and rush into town the very next second just to purchase it for Castiel.

He's obviously sliding back into “mother hen mode” – as Sam has called Dean's behavior in the past before – just as he's been basically doing since he found Castiel in that prison cell in Lafayette. It actually appears even more prominent now, as though Dean thinks he has to prove something here, but that might very well just be Castiel's imagination considering he was still pretty out of it back in Colorado and didn't process everything that was going on around him.

“Dean –” he starts, sighing heavily.

“Or maybe some warm extra blankets?” Dean goes on, apparently already diving deep into his nurturing instincts. “Or we could drag the TV into your room and let you watch some Netflix –?”

Castiel opens his mouth, more than ready to argue his point and assure the hunter that he's fine and doesn't need any special treatment. But he halts right away as he realizes that Dean most likely wouldn't budge anytime soon and Castiel is seriously not in the mood – and most definitely doesn't have the energy – for any kind of struggle in this very moment.

Besides, there is actually a little something Dean might help him with.

“A shower,” Castiel announces, effectively interrupting Dean's still ongoing chatter. “I think I would like a shower.”

He's an angel and he doesn't actually have any need for it, but somehow the smell of the demon's blood and of the stifling prison cell has been following him around the entire time and he would very much enjoy getting rid of it soon enough.

Dean instantly straightens his back at the request. “A shower? Yeah, no problem, buddy.”

The communal shower in the Men of Letters bunker is large and clean from top to bottom (most likely thanks to Dean) and Castiel can't help a little sigh at the thought of indulging in that perfect water pressure again. Since his brief time as a human he learned to appreciate even the small things in life angels usually don't think twice about (if they even have any knowledge of its existence in the first place) and he's very keen on never losing this feeling, no matter what the future might hold for him.

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, more to himself than Castiel, while he heads straight for the nearest shower. “You can use my stuff … or if you want Sam's fancy shampoo, I'm sure he won't mind …”

While he continues to mutter Castiel decides to get things ahead as well and save them some time. He's still wrapped in Dean's clothes the hunter lent him days before and Castiel actually feels rather reluctant to let go of them, but he knows enough about humanity and its many wonders to be pretty sure that showering while wearing garments is not exactly the best way to do this.

So he peels out of the clothes and drops them onto the floor, one after the other. Until there is nothing left on his body but the air brushing over his skin.

Satisfied with the outcome Castiel is just about to inform Dean that he's able to handle the rest of the shower journey himself without any additional assistance when the hunter suddenly turns, apparently on the verge of giving further instructions, and then instantly freezes at the sight of Castiel.

His eyes grow very wide.

His breathing stops.

Even his heartbeat seems to skip a beat if Castiel's supernatural hearing isn't fooling him.

And Castiel … well, he just rolls his eyes.

“I hardly doubt this is the first naked body beside yours you have ever seen,” he points out with a scoff. “Please don't make this unnecessary complicated like you humans tend to do.”

Dean gasps and splutters.

While his gaze roams all over Castiel's form like he can't help himself. He's clearly fighting the urge, trying everything in his power to direct his attention basically anywhere else, but his gaze rests on Castiel for a rather long moment.

And then he makes a quite unintelligible noise and hastily covers his eyes.

“Dude!” he grits through his teeth, his voice abnormally high-pitched. “What –? What the –?”

“I can't imagine you being so offended by my body,” Castiel declares, looking down on himself. “I'm more or less average in most aspects, even above in others, and I don't think my appearance is that appalling –”

At least he seriously hopes not.

Dean, meanwhile, flails his arm around in a manner that borders on frantic while still fiercely making sure his eyesight remains covered up. “You – you – dude, you just don't –”

“I know about the concept of decency,” Castiel says. “Don't worry, I won't start walking around like this in the next mall –”

“Good to know,” Dean whispers to himself.

“But we're in a bathroom right now and I'm about to step into the shower,” Castiel explains patiently, like Dean might've forgotten their situation altogether. “I'm not an expert, but I'm rather certain it's normal to remove one's clothes under such circumstances.”

Dean grumbles underneath his breath.

“After I'm out of here,” he hisses, a blush showing up on his cheeks which is either a result of anger or embarrassment. Or maybe even both.

Humans are so strange sometimes.

And Castiel seriously doesn't have any time for this. Despite him being able to rest for the entirety of their drive back to Kansas his legs still feel somewhat wobbly and the thought of lying down again, preferably in a bed, as soon as possible urges him on to get this show on the road.

“Just step out of the way, Dean,” he grumbles. “I'm gonna take this shower now and I will do it naked because this is the way to do it most people would agree on. And if you have a problem with that please let us postpone this ridiculous discussion for another time because I'm really tired –”

This seems to shake Dean right out of it.

No matter what, his protective instinct is stronger than anything else and he snaps back to attention at Castiel's words without a second thought. He even drops the hand over his eyes and looks him over all worriedly.

“You okay? Do you need to lie down? Should I get –?”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts in, now a soft smile on his features faced with so much compassion. “I'm fine. I just would like to get this shower over with rather sooner than later so I can rest a bit more. You stirring up an absurd argument about my very reasonable state of undress is not helpful …”

Thousand different emotions appear to flicker over Dean's face in a matter of seconds and Castiel feels way too exhausted to interpret them all. He simply steps forward, heading for the shower, and as expected Dean instantly stumbles out of his way, flushing all over and mumbling something to himself that Castiel has no energy to focus on.

“You – do you need –?” Dean mutters, fumbling around like he has no idea what to do next.

Castiel merely shoots him a reassuring smile over his shoulders and replies, “No, I don't need any help. I won't be long anyway.”

Dean nods dumbly, his gaze fixed solely on Castiel's face as though he has to restrain himself once more to not let it wander. For a moment they remain like that, Castiel with one leg in the shower and being all naked, and Dean staring and not blinking and becoming agitated in several different ways.

In the end, though, the hunter gestures vaguely into the direction of the door. “I'm – I'm gonna, um, – gonna get you some clean clothes –”

And then he suddenly rushes out of the room before Castiel is even able to say anything in response.

Castiel, not having enough strength to analyze this social interaction properly, just shakes his head and finally steps into the shower.

The water pressure is just as nice as he remembers it and he can't help breathing a sigh of relief as his body gradually warms up underneath the spray. As an angel he doesn't care for temperatures, but it's still helpful to loosen up tense muscles he hadn't even realized to have become strained in the first place.

Castiel closes his eyes and lets the water run down his face. For a while he just exists, not thinking of anything and simply being in the moment, but soon enough the voices that have been plaguing him for weeks now are slowly coming back. He hears Dean rummaging through his closet a few rooms down the hall and whispering, “stupid, stupid, FUCK” over and over to himself. He hears Sam laughing loudly in the kitchen, immediately accompanied by Eileen, Jody and Mary. He hears Charlie in the library talking to The Colonel, telling him cheerfully about the dog she owned as a child.

Castiel tries to concentrate on them and them alone, but it doesn't take long for conversations from further away to pierce through his barrier. There are the people of Lebanon, all chatting without a care in the world. And they're soon followed by the residents one town over. Two towns.

And in the end it doesn't take long for voices which are speaking Russian or German or Hindi reaching Castiel's ears. All over the world.

They all talk and talk and talk, getting louder and louder …

Castiel attempts to blend them out, just like he had used to back in the days. It was easy then, barely any effort at all, but now it feels like such a battle his legs start to tremble with it.

He grits his teeth and tries his best to power through this.

It's hard, though.

So very hard …

And just when he believes he might slip away again the door to the bathroom suddenly opens. Dean walks into the room and announces, “Got you some clothes, Cas. Not sure if they're gonna fit you perfectly, but I think they'll do their job …”

He goes on, obviously feeling the need to justify his decision, while he heads for the dresser next to the sink to stash the pile of clothes there.

And as he rambles on Castiel focuses on his voice alone.

It had worked before, Dean's presence grounding him in a way barely anything else had been able to manage so far. Maybe it's because of their special bond, maybe it's just something Castiel decided on and would technically function with basically anyone if he gave it a shot.

One way or another, Dean's voice might be deep and gruff, but it's also soothing and makes all the other ones in Castiel's head slowly retreat into the background. They're still there, as lively as ever, but they appear dull in comparison. Almost muffled.

Castiel sighs.

And so he continues to focus on Dean, even as the hunter walks out of the bathroom again. Castiel feels a bit bad about it since he knows Dean values his privacy, but it's not like the angel can control it either way right now and Dean probably would appreciate Castiel doing everything not to lose control again and cause another earthquake.

He follows Dean, hears him mumbling, hears him humming, hears him going back to his room to have some quiet to give Victor a quick call. Castiel forces himself not to listen to the actual words that are spoken, but just Dean's voice in a general manner. The tone, the vibrations, the change of volume, the subtle emotions wavering within.

It's enough to give Castiel some sense of peace.

And so it comes that he actually ends up smiling.

Chapter Text

Dean's phone call with Victor is a quick one.

The agent has been sending him regular updates since they left Louisville and Dean just wanted to check in real fast. Apparently Cas' disappearance from the prison cell caused a huge commotion, just as expected, and Victor's got the time of his life playing the outraged FBI demanding some answers NOW.

Naturally everyone is highly puzzled how this could've happened and more than determined to solve this mystery as quickly as possible. Dean doubts that they will come even close to the truth in their investigations, but they're certainly welcome to try.

When Dean eventually ends the phone call he finds he's got mixed emotions about this all. Sure, it's great that Cas is with them again instead of rotting in a lonely cell, but Victor also couldn't prevent the FBI from officially opening the Winchester case once more and that's quite the low blow. It made things rather complicated in the past and Dean doesn't look forward to going back to these times at all. Yeah, for now it's by far not their biggest issue, but in the long run it might kick them in the ass rather painfully.

However, he's got faith in Victor and he knows the guy will do his best to see the case closed again. It'll be quite hard this time around, Dean has no doubts about that, but Victor also managed to somehow control the situation after those wacko Leviathan twins inflicted chaos and misery while wearing Dean and Sam's faces, therefore there is truly a chance for this all to go away at some point.

For now, though, he just needs to focus on Cas. See him cared for and make sure he takes all the rest he requires. Cater to his needs, even with simple things like taking a shower, all tanned skin and so very naked …

Yep, not going there.

Dean grimaces hard as he forces his brain to think of basically anything else, no matter what that might be. Because otherwise he wouldn't be able to function anytime soon.

And he doesn't wanna be rendered useless only because he caught a glance of the angel's dick.

How embarrassing would that be?

Yeah, Dean is seriously not down for that.

He fought monsters and demons and even God's sister, he certainly won't be brought to his knees by the sight of a naked ass.

Hell no.

Dean scoffs at the mere implication and spurs himself into action again. Heading for the kitchen to join the others he passes the bathroom and merely pauses for a millisecond, listens for the water of the shower still running while suppressing all the inappropriate pictures that might conjure, before getting his moves on again and walking towards his destination.

Everyone is gathered in the kitchen now besides Charlie and The Colonel and they all look up from Jody taking the meatloaf out of the oven and putting it on the counter to turn their attention towards Dean entering the room.

He sees it on their faces, all the questions they burn to ask, but Dean needs some of that delicious smelling food in his stomach first before diving into such serious territory. So he beckons them to continue their task and for the next few minutes it's a jumble of people setting the table, trying to find a seat and getting into each other's way, Charlie trotting into the kitchen and proposing marriage to Jody at the sight of the meatloaf, and everyone eventually quieting down, far too occupied with savoring the food to use their mouth for anything else.

And it's some while later, when they all managed to appease most of their hunger, that they come back to the issue at hand.

“How's Cas?” Sam is the first to ask.

Dean shrugs and tries to stay as casual as possible at the mention of the angel. “He told me he was tired. He just took a shower and I guess he's crashing in his room right now.”

Sam nods, apparently satisfied with that, while Mary can't help leaning forward and furrowing her brows. “That's not normal, though, right? Him needing sleep and taking showers and all that?”

She hasn't been around much to get to know the angel that well – or her sons, for that matter –, but obviously she's aware of at least that much.

“Yeah, it's certainly not normal,” Sam agrees. “But I guess whatever is happening to him takes a lot of his energy. His Grace is focusing on dealing with the situation at hand.”

“Like when you've got the flu or whatever,” Eileen pipes in. “You're only functioning on a very low level because your body is busy fighting the disease.”

“Yeah, like that,” Sam agrees, shooting her a smile.

And of course it does make sense. If Cas' Grace is occupied handling the aftereffects of the Lance of Michael it doesn't have much time and strength to maintain Cas' vessel – his body – like it usually does.

“So is there anything we can do?” Jody wonders, nibbling on a piece of lettuce absently. “Anything to help him get through this?”

“Well, we're still not sure if what we think is happening to him is actually the thing that's happening to him,” Sam says. “I mean, it's the most logical conclusion in this scenario and Cas seems to agree and I figure he knows better than all of us combined … but I guess it wouldn't hurt to hit the books nonetheless.”

Dean seriously doubts that they would find anything in their vast collection actually able to help Cas, especially considering the Men of Letters' knowledge on angels had been sparse at best, but Sam certainly isn't wrong nonetheless. It's surely better than just sitting around and doing nothing

“Also the other day I was reading up on some sigils,” Sam goes on. “I vaguely remember I stumbled upon one that keeps any noises from the outside out. Makes everything soundproof and whatnot. I don't know if it's powerful enough to actually help Cas or if it'll be just more of a band-aid on a bullet wound, but if there is a chance that it would keep some of the voices out for the time being until Cas feels better it's worth a shot.” Sam shrugs. “And perhaps there is some other stuff in the books – sigils, witchcraft, whatever – that might be able to aid Cas get through this a bit easier. Wouldn't hurt to look out for something like that either.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. He hadn't thought about it yet, but Sam actually makes a good point. There is so much magic hoodoo-voodoo out there that assisted them in the past, it actually might benefit Cas with his situation. Even a small alleviation for the guy would be a success right now.

“We could also ask around a bit,” Sam suggests, trying to sound nonchalant while starting to squirm on his seat. “We've got our sources after all …”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

Figures.

“We're not calling Rowena,” he states, leaving no room for objection.

Sam instantly flinches at the mention of that name. “I didn't mean –” he splutters, his eyes flickering back and forth between everyone at the table. “I wasn't talking only about her –”

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“She's a powerful witch, though,” Sam comes to his own defense right away. “And she's seen some stuff we wouldn't even dream about –”

Dean sighs. “Only because you've got a little crush on her doesn't mean we've got to call her for everything.”

Sam grimaces at Dean's accusation. It isn't the first time the older Winchester teased him about it and yet Sam gets somewhat flustered every single time.

“I don't have a crush,” he presses through his gritted teeth, switching between glaring at his brother and shooting worried glances at Eileen.

His girlfriend, however, just seems as entertained by the whole thing as she always is when Dean taunts Sam about his weird relationship with that specific witch.

“Dean has a point, honey,” Eileen chimes in, a bright smirk on her lips as she pats Sam's arm in a mockingly reassuring manner. “You've got quite the hard-on for that woman's magic –”

Sam rolls his eyes at that, even though he's unable to hide the little color showing up on his cheeks. “I don't trust her in any way –”

“Never said you did,” Dean points out with a chuckle.

“But she can be useful on occasion,” Sam states, glaring at his brother. “Remember how she helped out when you lost your memory just the other day? Without her you'd still point at lamps and call them 'light sticks'.”

“Well, in my defense, that lamp was very weirdly shaped,” Dean tells him. “Besides, that was witchy stuff, Cas' problem is on a more seraphic level. I'm not so sure she can help us with that –”

“It can't hurt to ask –”

“Oh yeah, let's tell the King of Hell's mom that our angel is a ticking time bomb, great idea,” Dean says, turning the sarcasm up a notch. “I don't know about you, but I really don't want her to know. Not unless we absolutely have to, alright?”

Yes, Rowena is powerful in ways they can't even imagine. And perhaps she might be able to help them, one way or another. But the mere thought of Cas' current condition getting back to other people in the process – namely, Crowley – is too much to bear at this point. Dean has no idea what damage they might cause with an unstable angel at their disposal, but he's not eager to find out.

And thankfully Sam seems to agree in the end, his shoulder sagging at Dean's words. “Okay, fine, you have a point.”

Dean nods, satisfied with his victory.

“But you're not wrong either,” he concedes. “We should contact some of our sources. Ask around. It can't hurt to try, at least.”

And so they talk for the next hour, throwing names and ideas back and forth, and even if it sometimes feels like they're walking in circles it's nice to actually have some sort of game plan instead of freaking out and not knowing what to do.

Eventually, though, they all get quieter, the adrenaline of the last couple of days wearing them down one by one. Soon enough they decide to retreat for the night, with Dean first making sure that everyone is well settled in and cared for in the guest rooms before heading to his own safe haven himself.

But just as he's about to step into his room he halts in his steps, his thoughts once again drifting to the angel. He hadn't heard or seen anything of Cas since their time in the bathroom and he figures he should check up on the guy first, see for himself that everything is alright. Dean knows he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise anyway.

Dean makes a beeline for Cas' room and quietly opens the door a crack, totally expecting to see Cas curled up underneath his blanket, snoring away.

However, instead of a napping angel of the motherfucking Lord he finds Cas sitting on the bed, wide awake.

Dean instantly steps into the room and closes the door behind himself without a second thought, every cell of his body insisting on giving them as much privacy as it's possible right now.

“Dude, why are you still up?” the hunter asks. “I thought you were tired.”

Cas makes a face at that. “My body is tired, yes,” he agrees. “My mind, on the other hand, is not.”

Dean grimaces, immediately feeling a huge wave of sympathy for the guy. He certainly knows how it feels to be bone-dead exhausted and yet unable to get some rest because your stupid brain is working overtime. It's been way too many nights to count at this point and Dean's certain that it'll be many more in the future.

For a moment Dean lingers right at the door, just watching the angel from afar and wondering whether he should approach or allow Cas some space. But as Cas' expression turns into something pained, apparently troubled by the confusing reactions of his system, Dean spurs into action before he even knows what's happening. No matter what, no matter the situation, no matter how awkward he still feels remembering the event in the bathroom earlier, Cas looks like he needs a friend and Dean has to make up an awful lot in that department.

So he steps toward Cas and, after a second of consideration, sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough for contact. Fighting back all the uncomfortable feelings this proximity might bring Dean manages a smile that he hopes would be comforting.

“You wanna talk about it?” he wonders, eager to let his voice sound soft and understanding.

Cas still hesitates.

And then lowers his gaze.

“C'mon, talk to me,” Dean urges, patting the guy's knee and trying to be as casual as possible about it while he's most definitely not thinking about how he's seen that knee (and all of the rest) sans clothes not that long ago. “It helps get those thoughts out of your head and all that.”

Cas studies him for a while, like he's calculating whether Dean's words are indeed true or just utter bullshit. In the end, though, he sighs, indicating defeat. “I can't really explain it …”

“Try me,” Dean offers.

“I'm just – I don't know what to expect,” Cas tells him tentatively. “I highly doubt that any other being on earth and beyond has ever been in a situation like this. And it's – it's –”

“It's scary?” Dean helps along.

Cas nods. “I'm not sure what will happen to me next. Will I get better? What does 'better' even entail? How long is this all going to take? Days, weeks, years? Centuries?”

Dean feels a shiver running down his spine at the mere thought of Cas having to suffer through this all for such a long time.

“And what about my powers?” Cas continues, obviously on a row now. “Will they return to the state they've been in before I encountered the Lance of Michael? Will they increase? Or are they even going to vanish?” He pulls a face. “And my wings – will I – will I –?”

He trails off, apparently not keen on voicing his worry out loud. But Dean gets it nonetheless. Cas isn't sure if his wings are gonna be okay after that, if he'll be able to keep on flying or if they end up crippled once more …

And Dean feels for the guy. They never really talked about it before – mainly because Cas never looked like he wanted to even touch the topic and Dean was more than happy to respect that and not have to dive into an overly emotional conversation –, but Dean can imagine that the loss of his wings hit Cas very hard. It's probably like losing all your limbs at once, only a thousand times worse.

Back when it all happened – Metatron, Gadreel, Cas becoming human, Sam nearly dying – everything was downright crazy and Dean told himself over and over that he never really had the time to sit down with Cas in a quiet corner and talk about it on a personal level. He knows now that he's mostly been a coward, that he would've found an opportunity if he would've had really wanted to, but back then it felt like the world was collapsing around him and one disaster was following the next and in the long run Cas and his feelings slid into the background.

Dean convinced himself that Cas was fine, that he was getting used to the new state of things with admiring ease, and he pushed the whole thing into the back of his mind.

But now he recalls the look of wonder on Cas' face back at the rest stop when he spread his now repaired wings for the very first time. How disbelieving he had seemed, but also tentatively happy. It surely had been muted at the time, him being afraid to get too joyous only to have his hopes crushed merely a second later, but Dean saw all the emotions on his features clear as day.

Dean looked at them and wondered if they've always been there. If he's just been too stupid and blind to spot them over all these years.

“Cas,” he whispers, despite his own confusing emotions scooting closer to the guy because he figures the angel could need it, “I – I can't tell you what's gonna happen to you … and I can imagine how much it must suck, not knowing … but we'll be here for you, alright? No matter what.”

Dean knows it's not much in the grand scheme of things, just a little flickering light in a very long and dark tunnel, but it's all he's able to offer for now.

And Cas seems to appreciate it, at least according to the small smile flashing over his features.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You're welcome, buddy.” Dean squeezes Cas' knee once more, for good measure. “For now just try to relax. One step at a time.”

Cas nods, even though he looks rather doubtful again.

“You angels,” Dean huffs, fondness in his voice. “Always on the move, never sleeping. You never even considered stepping on the brakes and testing for yourself if a good nap might solve the problems of the world, did you?”

Cas arches his brows. “I highly doubt a simple nap could be the solution to everything.”

“But it doesn't hurt either,” Dean answers with a crooked grin.

They go back and forth like that for a while longer, Cas' scowl deepening with every passing minute while Dean is barely able to contain a smirk. Somewhere along the way, though, their stupid bickering finds an end when the angel yawns rather impressively mid-sentence.

“Okay, looks like it's past little angels' bedtime,” Dean teases. “C'mon, man, close your eyes and have some nice dreams.”

For a moment Cas looks like on the verge of a passionate argument again, but soon enough his exhaustion catches up with him. With a deep sigh he crawls underneath the covers and appears rather unhappy as he finally rests his head on the pillow.

And Dean is just about to mock him not to be so bitchy about the whole thing as he notices fleeting pain flickering over Cas' features and Dean's words get stuck in his throat. Cas' eyes twitch all across the room again, as though his brain tries to focus on thousand different voices coming from thousand different directions at the same time, and Dean remembers once more their time alone in that motel in Louisville, with Cas struggling with his condition just as he's apparently doing now and eventually almost shyly confessing that Dean's presence grounded him. With Dean at his side he fell asleep soon after, the tension in his muscles slowly fading away.

And since that worked before Dean sees no reason why it shouldn't now as well.

“You want me to stay for a while?” he asks, acting all casual even though his heart does a little somersault. “Until you're asleep?”

One corner of Cas' mouth tugs upwards at the proposal. “You want to watch me sleep?”

Dean hastily fights back a blush. “I won't be watching you, dumbwit,” he grumbles. “I just thought some company might be nice –”

“It would be, yes.”

“And I've downloaded that stupid game on my phone and I got really addicted to it, I can easily play it here –”

“I don't think your phone will work very well in my presence.”

“Well, then I'm just gonna read a book, it's better for the eyes anyway –”

While he rambles on, as if he's got to justify his actions, he grabs the Vonnegut book on Cas' nightstand he lent the angel a while ago.

“Don't worry, I'll have enough to stay occupied,” Dean states. “Just go to sleep, buddy.”

Cas stares at Dean for a minute or two, obviously a lot going through his mind in that moment, before making some huffing noise and finally settling down. Dean watches him at first squirming around to find a suitable position, but then he decides to give the guy as much privacy as possible, makes himself comfortable leaning against the headboard right beside Cas and directs his attention to the book in his hands instead.

Soon enough the room gets eerily quiet.

Almost peacefully so.

And for the next fifteen minutes Dean just fixates on his book and absolutely refuses to throw a glance in Cas' general direction, not at all eager to be caught watching of all things. Not after he gave Cas such a hard time about the topic over the last couple of years.

That's why he flinches a bit when Cas suddenly raises his voice again, apparently not as fast asleep as Dean had believed.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean mumbles, looking up from his book.

Cas falls quiet again after that at first.

Takes a deep breath in.

And a shaky one out.

“If this – if my situation will not improve –”

“It will, buddy,” Dean cuts in right away, not in the mood to hear any negativity at this point. “You're gonna be fine –”

“You don't know that,” Cas points out (and quite rightfully so). “I might get better, yes. But there is also the possibility that it might become worse. Much worse.”

It's obvious this has been weighing on his mind. That this is important to him. That he wants to address the elephant in the room.

“Cas –”

“You have seen it, Dean,” Cas reminds him. “I couldn't control myself. And what happens the next time I cause an earthquake and the bunker collapses right above all of us?”

Dean grimaces at the mental picture. “That won't happen, man –”

“You. Don't. Know. That,” Cas repeats, emphasizing every single word with a scoff. “And I'm not willing to take any risks.”

Dean seriously doesn't like the sound of that. “What are you saying?”

“That I won't jeopardize your lives.”

Dean feels something painful clench at his heart. “Cas –”

“Dean,” the angel says, in that very unique way of his. “You know as well as I do that I can't stay here if I'm becoming a danger to all of you.”

And there it is.

Dean honestly hates his life.

“So you wanna leave?” Me, he can't bring himself to say.

“I don't want to,” Cas states, a soft waver in his tone now. “But if at some point I realize that my situation is not improving and that I might turn into a risk for you –”

“So where would you go?” Dean asks, unable to keep the sharpness out of his voice. The mere thought of Cas leaving, again, makes him tense up from head to toe. “Where would a nuclear angel go?”

“Somewhere secluded,” Cas answers, calm as ever. As though they're talking about the freaking weather or something. “Antarctica, the Sahara –”

“Heaven?”

Dean grits his teeth only imagining it.

Cas, meanwhile, merely sighs. “Yes, maybe Heaven.”

“Dude, that's insane,” Dean grumbles. “As you hopefully remember they don't like you very much up there –”

“I haven't forgotten,” Cas says. “But Heaven is vast and I'm sure I would find some quiet corner where nobody would be able to bother me.”

Dean wants to argue that statement hard, but the truth is he still doesn't know too much about Heaven to make a strong case. He always kinda avoided the topic for various reasons and now he can't help scolding his past self for not being at least a little curious about the whole deal.

“Then … how long do you think this might take?” he asks with a grumble. “Days? Weeks? Months?”

Years?

A lifetime or two?

Nothing is impossible at this point and considering the lack of good fortune in their lives Dean would be stupid not to add everything into the equation.

“I can't tell, Dean …” Cas breathes, his voice sounding tired and heavy.

“Okay, you know what? Let's not think about this for now, how about that?” Dean proposes. “This is just the worst case scenario. No need to wreck our heads over it just yet.”

If there's one thing Dean is good at, it's denial.

Yeah, he knows it's not something he can tune out forever. And he knows that if worse would come to worse and Cas would be dead set on leaving to protect them all Dean wouldn't be capable of stopping him. He never managed before and he certainly won't now, with the guy all powered up.

“Dean …”

“Just get some fucking rest, man,” Dean says gruffly. “Everything looks grim and hopeless when you're bone-dead tired, trust me.”

“Dean, we have to talk about it –”

On a logical level Dean knows that. He learned from a very young age to assess a situation from all angles, consider all options, and expect every potential outcome, good or bad.

But when Cas is involved Dean just can't be logical.

“Just go to sleep,” he insists, his hand clenching so hard the book's pages start to crinkle. “Everything will be fine, just wait and see.”

Yeah, denial is surely the strongest tool in Dean's arsenal.

Chapter Text

Castiel is fairly sure Dean didn't mean to fall asleep in the angel's bed.

But somewhere along the way the hunter must have drifted off. Castiel himself didn't notice it right away, considering he was the first to lose consciousness soon after Dean joined him in his bed, but when he eventually found himself slowly waking up some hours later he instantly realized that Dean never left.

Castiel actually believed the hunter would have retreated into his own room as soon as he would have known his friend peacefully asleep. After all, Dean himself said it would only be for a while.

But when Castiel blinks his eyes open he notices something warm plastered at his side. For a few minutes he just revels in the nice sensation, not in the mood to investigate its source any further just now. However, when the furnace suddenly shifts next to him, pressing itself even closer, and Castiel feels something nuzzling his neck curiosity wins.

And Castiel is both surprised and not surprised at all that Dean is still by his side.

At some point Dean obviously crawled underneath the covers and decided to seek as much contact with Castiel as manageable. There is barely an inch of space between them now and Castiel doesn't really have an idea what to do with all the emotions this causes. He always feels something fluttering wildly in his chest when Dean is near to him, but this intimacy just now is rather new and almost so overwhelming Castiel wants to scream.

He feels like he could go crazy any second now.

But at the same time there is also some sort of serenity washing over him. Dean is warm and safe, his breathing even and steady, his heartbeat rhythmical and soothing. And he also smells very nice – a detail Castiel is quite wise to keep to himself.

And so Castiel lies on his back for a long while and contemplates what to do next. His heart clearly tells him to savor the moment, but his brain insists that Dean would've wanted to be woken up and made aware of the situation. Granted, Castiel certainly remembers their time together back in the motel in Colorado just a few days ago, right where Dean willingly shared a bed with him as well and obviously didn't seem to mind that much, and it's fair to assume the hunter wouldn't be upset about their current predicament either, but there is a rather nagging voice in the back of Castiel's head that is trying to convince him it's not the same thing. That only because Dean spent the night with the angel back then doesn't automatically mean he wants to make it a repeat performance.

Castiel sighs, uncertain what to do next, and doesn't even notice as his fingers automatically start to play with the hair on the nape of Dean's neck. Dean makes a rather content noise at the contact and shuffles even closer, resulting in Castiel not feeling too inclined to stop as he realizes what is happening. On the contrary, once or twice he buries his hand even deeper into Dean's hair, almost softly massaging his scalp, and can't help getting all elated at the sleepy smile flashing over the hunter's features at the touch.

At one point it even appears as though he's mumbling Castiel's name, but the angel isn't completely sure whether he heard this right or not and he doesn't dare to hope.

In the end Castiel doesn't know how long they've been staying like this, hell, he doesn't even know what time it is because he never bothered to put some kind of clock in his room and his cellphone is still with the Lafayette Police Department –

It could be deep in the night. Early in the morning. Maybe they already missed lunch.

It doesn't really matter, not for Castiel. Lying like this with Dean is the only thing important right now. He concentrates on every point of contact between them, on Dean's gentle breathing, on his steady heartbeat, and as before it's enough to keep at least the worst of the outer influences out.

Nonetheless he soon enough registers footsteps coming down the hallway and eventually stopping right in front of his door. Castiel stills at first, knowing exactly who's standing outside and that Dean might seriously not appreciate that person finding him in such an intimate position. But just as the angel is considering disentangling himself quickly to create at least some kind of normalcy Dean all of sudden, maybe sensing what Castiel is about to do, mutters something underneath his breath and throws his leg over Castiel's, trapping the angel effectively beneath him.

And before Castiel is able to assess this new state of things the door opens slowly and Sam's head peeks quietly through the gap.

It's obvious he just wanted to check up on Castiel, only make sure his friend is alright, and that he certainly didn't expect his brother to be there as well.

Sam's brows climb up to his hairline at the picture suddenly presented to him and for a long moment he's just frozen on the spot, staring at his brother happily snuggling up to Castiel with wide eyes.

And it takes him a while to notice that Castiel is awake. For a few minutes their gazes just meet as Sam's mouth opens and closes repeatedly, apparently on the verge of saying something and then instantly changing his mind again. The atmosphere around them gets tense and weird and Castiel isn't exactly sure how to deal with this.

In the end, though, Sam decides to not address the issue for the time being. Instead he asks, as quietly as possible, “You okay? You need anything?”

Castiel smiles slightly. “I'm fine,” he signs, knowing that Sam's ASL skills have been improving rather impressively over the last couple of months and that he would have no problem understanding this simple phrase. Furthermore, it keeps Castiel from speaking right with Dean's ear close to his mouth.

Sam grins at the response and throws him a quick thumbs up before retreating back into the hallway again. Not without shooting one last, rather baffled look at his brother, though.

And Castiel actually shares the sentiment, still feeling rather perplexed by everything, the sensation now even fueled by the look of surprise on Sam's face. Because Sam definitely didn't anticipate any of this and he knows his brother better than anyone, after all.

But Castiel doesn't dare to attempt any kind of explanation for this. It might very well just be that Dean fell asleep by accident and cuddled up to the angel's warmth without meaning anything by it and Castiel can't risk assuming anything else at this point. The thought of Dean getting so close and personal for a completely different reason is too much to handle for Castiel right now.

So he simply revels in the moment. The feeling of Dean's body against his, his soft breath skidding over Castiel's skin, his fingers digging into the angel's hip as though he wants to keep Castiel in place …

Yes, Castiel allows himself to just enjoy it.

And it's quite a while later when he suddenly notices Dean slowly waking up. The hunter's heartbeat changes – at first getting a little faster as he regains consciousness and then abruptly picking up, most likely at the moment he becomes aware of the situation.

Castiel totally expects him to leap out of the bed the very next second, mumble some incoherent excuse and rush out of the room without further ado. Or perhaps make a series of inappropriate jokes and try to brush it off with an awkward laugh. Or simply just sneak out of bed, hoping Castiel would still be asleep.

In the end … he does none of that.

Castiel anticipates some kind of action, but Dean remains right where he is. Somewhat more rigid, but still plastered all over Castiel. After a few minutes he shuffles even closer and seems to take a tentative sniff, like he's trying to catch the angel's smell.

Castiel has no idea what is happening right now, how to interpret any of Dean's behavior –

He doesn't even know whether the hunter is aware that Castiel is awake or not –

In his long life Castiel faced many battles and stood his ground without fear or hesitation. But this –? He's never been designed to handle such a situation and in the end he takes the coward's way out.

For Dean's sake, but mostly for himself.

He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

And when, after a while, Dean eventually climbs out of bed and leaves the room quietly Castiel forces himself to ignore the painful pang in his heart.

---

Nothing seems out of the ordinary when Castiel arrives at breakfast later on.

Sam is eating an avocado sandwich, Dean mocks his choice of food, Mary fries some bacon, Jody and Charlie look barely awake, and The Colonel watches everyone in the kitchen intently, making sure that he doesn't miss a thing.

Castiel takes place on the chair next to Charlie and everybody shoots him a smile and wishes him good morning before going back to their tasks. He can't help noticing, though, that Dean avoids his gaze while Sam sometimes shoots curious glances back and forth between Castiel and his brother.

Overall it's a fairly normal morning, however, and as Castiel chews on a piece of far too crispy bacon he's able to pretend at least for like half an hour that nothing is wrong.

---

Being surrounded by so many people gets exhausting rather soon, though, and so Castiel retreats to his room again. It's not the most comfortable, rather sparse compared to the other lived-in areas of the bunker, but it's private for now and nobody would bother him here that much, therefore Castiel prefers its solitude.

He climbs back into bed, makes himself comfy as much as possible and takes the book from the nightstand Dean lent him an eternity ago. Castiel would've actually rather watched some Netflix and taken his mind off things (after all, it's been quite successful in the past to shut his brain down to its bare necessities), but electronic devices are still acting up around him, making such plans obsolete.

So a good book it is.

At first Castiel has some trouble concentrating, still feeling all the forces from outside tugging at him relentlessly, but the more he urges himself to focus on the writing and the plot the quieter it gets around him. Of course it's still there, still trying to get through to him, however, the story is compelling enough to distract him for the time being.

That is, until he hears Sam saying, “So I paid Cas' room a visit this morning ...” from somewhere in the bunker and he can't help raising his head. He always attempts to block the actual words out from all the conversations attacking him left and right, turning it into an unintelligible jumble, but more often than not it doesn't work as well as Castiel would have liked.

Besides, deep down he's rather curious about what Sam has to say and his brain actually refuses to respect the younger Winchester's privacy under these circumstances.

Especially when it is suddenly Dean who answers, “… so what?”

Sam apparently decided to confront his brother about what he had seen in Castiel's room a few hours before. And Castiel knows he shouldn't listen, he should just tune them out and return to his book, but his efforts remain futile.

“You looked chummy,” Sam points out, amusement in his tone. “You and Cas …”

Dean grumbles, clearly not amused by any of this.

“I mean, I know you're a bit of a cuddler,” Sam goes on with a chuckle. “But that was seriously next level –”

“Oh jeez, will you cut it out?” Dean interrupts rather harshly. “What do you wanna hear? The guy had a rough time last night, so I offered to stay with him for a while. And then I fell asleep.”

“On purpose?”

Castiel can't actually feel Dean's eye rolling. “By accident, idiot.”

“I'm just saying, Charlie showed me a picture of you and Cas snuggling it up in that motel room,” Sam states. “So it doesn't really seem to be a single occurrence, huh?”

Dean makes a gruff noise and refuses to answer.

“Okay, fine, hide behind your macho wall,” Sam waves his brother off. “It's just cute that you're so touchy-feely with your buddy, that's all. Maybe I should give Cas a tight cuddle as well –”

Dean grinds his teeth so fiercely at that an unpleasant shiver runs down Castiel's spine.

While Castiel can't help thinking that yes, he would enjoy such kind of physical contact with Sam, but it certainly wouldn't be the same as with Dean. Not even by a long shot.

Castiel knows exactly why that is.

And maybe Sam is beginning to realize that as well.

“It's just – I never really noticed, didn't even consider it – because you're you, you're Dean, and you're my big brother –” Sam continues, now sounding a bit nervous all of a sudden, “… but Eileen – she said – and I guess she's got a pair of fresh eyes on this – and I thought at first she was crazy or something, that she was seeing things that weren't there, but then I looked – I really looked and watched – and, um, I guess –”

“What are you saying, Sammy?” The edge in Dean's voice sounds beyond dangerous.

But Sam doesn't appear impressed by it. He answers, still a bit tentative, “Are you … like … you and Cas …?”

He breaks off again, but Castiel is pretty sure the Winchesters simply fall back to their silent communication at this point. At least he hears Dean making some indignant noises, indicating that whatever Sam is insinuating with his gestures and faces doesn't fill him with joy at all.

“You're an idiot, Sam,” Dean grumbles eventually.

“But –”

“Can we not talk about it?” Dean interjects. “Like ever?”

“But –”

“And especially not right now, with Cas having no control over his powers and probably hearing everything that is going on in this bunker?”

Castiel winces hard at that and flushes all over. Logically he knows it's not his fault, that he can't do anything about it, but he feels like a child having been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Sam, meanwhile, splutters at Dean's words. “You think … you think he can hear us?”

Dean scoffs. “You do remember what Cas is capable of, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Sam states with a huff. “But I didn't … I didn't really …”

“He doesn't mean to,” Dean mumbles. “But he's got no control over it. I think he can still blend some stuff out – uh, but not all, I guess? So how about we don't talk about the guy like that when he's not in the room, okay? Doesn't seem very nice and all …”

Castiel is pretty sure Dean's mainly saying this to avoid this conversation with Sam entirely, but he knows there is also some truth to it.

“Yeah, you're right,” Sam concedes eventually.

“So yeah, keep that in mind, I'd say,” Dean points out. “And the next time you're about to have sex with Eileen in your room again, think about who else is forced to listen in.”

Sam makes a choked up noise at that and the brothers instantly fall back into their normal routine, bickering and teasing and riling each other up.

And Castiel … he just sighs.

---

For the rest of the day Dean avoids Castiel.

Not in a physical manner, no. Dean still remains attentive of Castiel's needs, always makes sure that the angel is as comfortable as possible, and goes out of his way to see his friend well taken care of. May it be peace and quiet, an extra pillow, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich – Dean is more than quick to spur into action.

But he avoids Castiel in a completely different way. He barely meets the angel's gaze, keeps their conversations strictly about Castiel's health and nothing else, and actually seems to struggle with himself not to touch his friend one way or another. More than once Castiel also notices him throwing brief glances over his shoulder as though he's looking out for someone (most likely Sam), as though he is worried his brother might find him fussing over Castiel and have something taunting to comment about that.

Dean is distant in a manner Castiel doesn't like, but fears to address. So he lets the hunter do his thing and just hopes the tension will fade out eventually.

However, Castiel's reservations start to unravel soon enough.

It's late at night, probably way past midnight, and he finds himself lying in his bed wide awake. He knows he needs to sleep, feels utterly exhausted as his Grace continues to tug at his life force mercilessly, but rest just doesn't come.

His bed seems empty and cold and Castiel stares at the vacant space next to him, right where Dean had slumbered only this very morning, far too many hours ago.

Castiel tries to ignore it. Tries to brush it off. Tries to tell himself to get over it.

However, it doesn't work.

For a long while Castiel contemplates whether he should bother Dean with this. After all, it feels intrusive and Castiel certainly went to worse before. But as he eventually feels like scratching the skin off his bones might actually be a relief, his entire being on edge, he just can't take it anymore.

He notices himself slipping again, his Grace swirling inside of him.

And so, without further ado, he leaves his room and heads over for Dean's.

He spends about half a second knocking before stepping into the room without waiting for a reply and marching straight toward the bed. He expects Dean to be fast asleep at this late hour, but to his surprise the hunter is awake as well, looking at something on his small phone screen.

Dean immediately snaps his head up and doesn't appear overly astonished to find himself confronted with the angel.

“I was just about to check on you,” he informs Castiel, lifting his upper body up a bit. And at Castiel's following puzzled expression he raises his phone and adds, “Technology's getting all jumpy again.”

Castiel can't help slumping his shoulders. “I'm sorry –”

“Stuff it, man,” Dean waves him off. “Phones and light bulbs flickering is not the end of the world. You can trust me on that one, I'm an expert.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Unfortunately you are.”

“So you alright?” Dean wonders, concern weaving through his tone now. “What do you need?”

Castiel looks him straight in the eyes and announces, “I need you!”

Dean blinks at the brazen comment, a light blush creeping up his cheeks. “Um …”

But Castiel is not in the mood for any explanations or discussions, so he just crawls into Dean's bed absolutely shamelessly, right at the empty spot beside the hunter. Which Dean left open as if he had expected someone to join him at some point.

Dean had told him many times before in the past how incredible his memory foam mattress feels and Castiel merely nodded along, not really paying all that much attention after hearing the exact same thing twelve times in a row. But now, as Castiel settles his body slowly on Dean's bed, he suddenly understands far too well why the hunter is barely able to shut up about it.

Castiel sighs in relief, at all the comfort and warmth engulfing him, and he decides right there on the spot that he will never leave again.

“You surely didn't exaggerate about your mattress,” Castiel points out, both to show his appreciation properly and also to diffuse the situation by latching onto a safe topic of conversation before Dean even has a chance to become uncomfortable and freak out about the angel in his bed.

Dean stays silent for a while longer, obviously processing the new situation.

And then he laughs. It still sounds a bit nervous, but not as awkward as it could have been. “I'm not sure why nobody ever listens to me, I'm such a fountain of wisdom and knowledge …”

He dives back into familiar territory and instantly starts to ramble about the memory foam as if his life depends on it, relaying stories Castiel has heard countless times before.

While the angel just smiles to himself and lets himself lull into sleep by Dean's voice like he's listening to the most wonderful fairy tale.

Chapter Text

There are good days and bad days.

And then there are the very bad days. The days Cas just can't hide how awful and out of control he feels.

Dean wants to help as best as possible, but for like three weeks now he's forced to watch from the sidelines how his friend wrestles with the new situation. Yeah, Dean gets him food and clean clothes and makes sure he exposes himself to enough fresh air and sunlight and he also shares his bed with the guy every night – something they merely do and not really talk about afterwards –, but Dean knows he's barely scratching the surface with his meager attempts.

He's only helping a tiny bit with the symptoms, the actual root of the problem lies far beyond his reach. And also far beyond his understanding.

And every time he watches Cas struggling, watches his mind drifting off to God-knows-where, Dean's anxiety spikes as he remembers their talk a few weeks ago about Cas leaving if the situation might get too bad. In those moments he always expects the angel to suddenly poof off to Antarctica or Heaven or wherever and that would be the last instance Dean would see his friend for a very long time.

Therefore Dean is doing everything to help Cas along and make him choose to stay for a while longer.

For one, they minimized the people being in his near vicinity – Mary and Jody both left early on and also Charlie set out soon after, eager to get home and check on things after their hasty departure and also keen on being reunited with her electronics again since technology and an unstable angel still don't mix that well more often than not.

Also Eileen contemplated giving Cas some space, but in the end she was vetoed on that by everyone else. So instead she settled on mostly communicating via sign language, allowing Cas at least a little reprieve on that front. Sam was quick to follow her example and it was more than obvious he's gotten rather good in the last couple of months. Even Dean tried joining them from time to time, but his knowledge of ASL is not that advanced yet and his topics of conversation are still very simple compared to them.

And he knows hearing a few less voices is probably next to nothing for Cas right now, but it's at least something and Dean is determined to use everything in his repertoire to make the guy's day a bit more bearable.

Furthermore they went into deep research mode to find some sort of solution or at least something helpful in the vast Men of Letters collection. Sam immediately covered Cas' room with those noise-canceling sigils he had read about before and it was seriously a bit eerie how effective they turned out to be. Cas said so as well, even though his pained grimace barely changed and Dean couldn't help wondering if he just uttered those words for Sam's benefit. One way or another, they kept those sigils restricted to Cas' room for now because the thought of spreading them through the entire bunker and afterwards being unable to hear any sound coming from outside, even if someone would be about to break in or something, was way too much for Dean's survival instincts.

Also at some point, when Cas went into a really ugly episode and made the lights around them flicker in a rather alarming manner, Dean remembered the angel cuffs in their dungeon and in a desperate effort to help his friend (and not see the bunker collapse on itself) he snapped them around Cas' wrists. And it surely showed some immediate effect, the sorrow on Cas' face vanishing slowly, and it gave the guy enough time to cool down again. Since then Dean is keeping those cuffs around with him all the time, just to be safe.

But he also knows it's only a temporary solution because the issue that's plaguing Cas is happening inside him and the handcuffs are only able to tame down anything which is trying to get through the barriers of Cas' body. It's not really helping Cas to fight this thing, it merely makes him less destructive for everyone around. Granted, a good thing in the grand scheme of things, but it's not the cure in any way.

Aside from all of that they also reached out to their contacts to hopefully gather some useful information. Most of them knew unfortunately next to nothing about an angelic crisis like this one (not surprising), but the Banes twins recalled a vaguely similar case with a witch a few centuries ago messing with some Heavenly Grace and her body getting overwhelmed by it rather fast. It's not exactly the same situation, but close enough that Sam has been communicating with the siblings for the better part of a week now to find some more information.

Dean doesn't expect much coming from this, but it's another straw they can desperately cling to.

And right now that's all they have.

---

They're entering their fourth week now when Sam one day shows up next to Dean and says, “So get this –”

Sam's following description of suspicious activities he got aware of via a news article sounds like a rather vengeful spirit in a small town close to Lincoln, Nebraska. Quite a bunch of people have died already and the Winchesters seem to be the closest to deal with this problem as quickly as possible.

And Dean hates the thought of leaving Cas behind, but that spirit appears to be targeting teens and that's just something that makes Dean itch all over with unbridled rage. The mere notion of ignoring this is simply too much.

But still Dean finds himself hesitating for a moment, the urge to keep a close eye on Cas 24/7 rather powerful. He can't drag the angel along with him on this hunt, however, staying behind isn't an option either.

They debate about the issue for a while, Sam proposing that he and Eileen could take care of the problem while Dean would remain at the bunker. It's a reasonable suggestion, but Dean also knows that Eileen is still recovering from that nasty cold and he would feel bad about forcing her to throw herself into action right away. Besides, despite everything it might be nice to get out of the bunker for a few days. Just do his job and be normal (the Winchester kind of 'normal') for a little while again.

And so it's decided that Eileen stays with Cas and keeps Dean up-to-date about everything (“And I mean everything, you hear me? The slightest change and you call me right away!”) while the brothers head out and roast a ghost.

For the first few hours it feels good to be on the road again. Just him, his brother, his car and his music they both sing along to exaggeratedly off-key. They reminisce, buy cheap gas station food and bicker about the stupidest stuff.

Yeah, it's great.

And next to Eileen keeping close contact to him Cas also seems eager to shoot Dean regular texts. He borrowed one of Dean's old other other phones before the Winchesters set out on the hunt (since his own cell is probably still with the Lafayette Police Department) and apparently decided to make good use of it. Instead of updates about life in the bunker, though, like Eileen does, Cas rambles about anything that just crosses his mind at that very moment. It's random and all over the place – one minute he talks about the history of butter, the next he wonders how long it would take for humanity to finally invent flying cars – and it repeatedly puts a smile on Dean's face because the whole thing is just so Cas he can't help but feel all warm inside.

And Sam definitely notices, throwing Dean long looks several times, but for now he keeps his thoughts to himself. It will only be a matter of time, however, until he's gonna burst, Dean's quite sure of that.

He definitely doesn't look forward to it.

For the time being, at least, they've got a case they can distract themselves with.

---

When they arrive at the small town they instantly slip into their fake personas, knowing the dance by heart by now.

They pretend to be FBI, they peek into the investigation's progress (which is not impressive, no surprise there), they interview witnesses and act like asking about cold spots in the house is a totally normal question, they research and research and research …

It's tedious work, lots of records to go through, but it feels so familiar to Dean, something he's been doing his whole damned life. It's really nice, in a weird, twisted sort of way.

---

There is, however, an obstacle Dean didn't anticipate.

Late at night, when they find themselves in their respective beds in yet another dingy motel room that looks exactly like all the other dingy motel rooms they lived in for decades now, Dean certainly expects to fall asleep right away. He's certainly drained enough after a long day of driving and working, therefore he never expected there to be any problem.

But hours later he's still staring at the dark ceiling, wide awake. His body is tired, his mind is even more so, but his instincts keep him alert, telling him over and over that something is majorly wrong.

At first Dean thinks it's related to the case, that he somehow missed something important and now he or someone else might be in danger because of it. He beats himself up over it, wondering what it could be.

However, in the end it doesn't take him long to realize what the thing is that's bothering him so much. Before his brain is even able to catch up his body acts involuntarily, his hand brushing over the empty side in his bed. And the moment Dean actively notices that he decided to lie down just on one side, as though he anticipated someone to join him soon, it certainly clicks.

He's gotten so used to sharing the bed with Cas over the last couple of weeks that it's kind of strange to be alone again all of a sudden.

Dean's chest starts to hurt at that revelation.

It's stupid, he knows that. He's been sleeping by himself in his bed more or less his entire life, there is no reason for him to get worked up over this now. He even talked to Cas for like twenty minutes before hitting the hay, making sure for himself that the guy was alright (considering the circumstances). And Cas sounded calm and relaxed, rambling about the day he had, about the disappointing ending of his book, about him and Eileen baking cookies and afterwards having to deep clean the kitchen … Yeah, there was nothing in his voice or demeanor that would've made Dean's alarm bells go off.

It certainly can't be concern about his friend that's keeping Dean awake then.

No, he's just missing the warm body next to his.

He's missing Cas' warm body next to his.

Dean grinds his teeth as he forces his mind to finally get some rest. To stop being so foolish and simply shut down for the day.

It sounds easy enough.

And for a very long time it just doesn't work.

He lies there, for hours and hours, longing for Cas' presence, his warmth, his gentle touch. He aches for the way the angel's fingers run through Dean's hair carefully when he thinks the hunter is asleep. He imagines Cas' soft breathing, the quiet murmurs when he's dreaming (or whatever the hell angels do), his displeased grumbles at being woken up too early in the morning.

Dean thinks about all that – and his mind goes into overload, the longer it lasts.

At some point he even considers calling Cas again, hoping that the sound of the guy's voice might lure him into sleep. But a) he doesn't want to disrupt the guy's night, and b) Dean sure as hell would have some explaining to do if he'd call Cas at this time and there's no fucking way he's prepared for that, especially with him being so utterly exhausted. He knows for sure that he'd say something stupid he'd never able to take back and Dean just can't risk that.

So he tosses and turns in his bed for half an eternity, cursing himself and his active brain repeatedly.

Eventually though – finally – the exhaustion catches up with him and his eyes fall shut as he gets dragged into a deep sleep.

---

They're at the beach.

Dean knows right away it's a dream because he had it many times before. But he doesn't dwell on it, just enjoying the sensation of the sand between his toes and the sounds of the waves breaking. He's lying underneath a big sunshade, wearing the swim trunks he bought on a whim many years ago and has never actually used since, and just takes in the view.

The wide sky, the glittering ocean, some seagulls hovering close to the surface.

It's peaceful and quiet.

Dean smiles easily as his eyes wander to two figures at the shore, laughing and splashing in the shallow water. He can't make out their faces or any other significant details, but as it is with dreams he knows immediately that it's Sam and Eileen having a good time. They're just blurs in the distance, his brain not having enough energy to make their edges sharper, but it fills Dean with a sensation of serenity seeing them together nonetheless.

And it automatically makes him long for the one person that's still missing.

For the one person that's always by his side in this dream, smiling with his blue eyes and contrary to Sam and Eileen much more fleshed out.

Cas, Dean thinks. Prays. Cas, Cas, Cas …

Over and over and over.

And then, finally, a familiar shape shows up right next to him.

Dean grins brightly and looks up to Cas standing next to him, the guy's gaze roaming all around over the beach. “Hey, buddy,” the hunter greets him cheerfully. “You took your sweet time.”

Usually when Dean has this type of dream Cas is only wrapped in some tight swim shorts leaving barely anything to the imagination. Now, however, he looks like the last time they've seen each other in the bunker – shirt and sweatpants – and it seems both so out of place and fitting at the same time Dean's sleepy brain has no idea what to make of it.

So he merely keeps smiling as he grabs Cas by the arm and pulls him downwards onto the sand beside him. The angel goes willingly, even though there is a hint of confusion on his features. Like he has no clue what's going on.

And that's a bit unusual as well, but Dean is more than happy to remind him.

“You almost missed all the fun, babe,” he states with a chuckle.

Cas, obviously suddenly taken aback by something, just stares at Dean. “Um …”

Dean shakes his head in fond exasperation as he leans closer to the angel. Cas appears to tense up a little at the proximity, but since he doesn't back away either Dean figures that his dream brain is just making things a bit more realistic today, trying to recreate how the real Cas would react in such a situation.

Well, it's either way with Dean …

He doesn't hesitate to drop a feather-light kiss onto Cas' temple first and can't help smirking to himself when the angel draws in a sharp breath at the action. Fueled by that Dean continues to pepper soft pecks onto the guy's skin, trailing down over his cheek and jaw with a joyful hum.

While Cas remains motionless. “Dean …”

There is a weird edge in his voice, but Dean's way too busy wandering even further down and starting to shower Cas' neck with kisses to care much.

Cas hisses.

And then he whispers, “Dean – you're dreaming –”

“You don't say, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, the taste of Cas' skin already beginning to drive him wild. “Don't act like this is the first time I had this dream …”

Silence.

“… it's not?”

Dean laughs in response before turning a bit more heat in his so far rather tame and sweet kisses. He opens his mouth, adds some tongue, sucks at one point –

And Cas squirms and makes the most delicious sounds –

Dean dares to use his teeth, nibble at the perfect skin –

Which seems to evidently startle Cas out of it and makes him retreat in a hurry.

He doesn't go far, but he puts enough distance between himself and the hunter that Dean finds himself pouting quite impressively at the abrupt loss.

“What is it?” he wonders.

Cas looks flushed, almost a little debauched, as though those few kisses already got him going in a major way, and Dean seriously sees no reason whatsoever why they shouldn't be all over each other.

“You playing hard to get today?” Dean asks. It's certainly new, in his dreams Cas is normally willing and overly enthusiastic, but if that's what Dean's brain has cooked up for him this time around the hunter can surely work with that.

In a way it's actually kinda thrilling.

“You wanna be seduced today, sweetheart?” he purrs, a sultry smile flashing over his lips. “I can make it so good for you, I promise …”

Cas, however, looks rather pained at those words. “Dean –”

“For starters, we're both wearing way too many clothes –”

“Dean –”

“Like seriously, buddy, we're on the beach, what's with all the attire?”

“DEAN –”

“Okay, fine, I will start –”

Dean begins to tug at the waistband of his shorts, eager to get them off like yesterday.

But instead of enthusiasm and delight Cas lets out a protesting noise. “No, please – you're dreaming, Dean –”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I know that, stupid.”

“You're dreaming,” Cas emphasizes. “And I'm not a product of your imagination!”

Dean, who has already been fantasizing about Cas sprawled out on the sand sans clothes, blinks in confusion at those words. “Huh?”

Cas grimaces so hard it actually looks painful. “I'm sorry, I don't know how it happened,” he says, despair in his voice. “It seems my powers … I believe I felt your longing … and your prayer – yes, I think you prayed to me –”

Dean frowns, wondering what's going on. Why is his dream taking such a weird turn all of a sudden?

“I'm sorry,” Cas goes on, emphasizing the word like there is nothing more important in the world. “I didn't mean to walk into your dream – I didn't even know what was happening at first –”

Dean narrows his eyes. And stares straight at Cas, trying fiercely to get to the bottom of things.

For a moment he considers just shrugging it off. Dreams sometimes go very strange ways and only because this very particular dream has been following a specific formula before doesn't mean it's above any changes. Yeah, the human mind is a funny thing and paired with all the shit that's going on in his real life it's actually no wonder to see it going a bit crazy. His brain is probably just mixing up some things and that's about it.

Quite disappointing since Dean surely had hoped for a different outcome, but not the end of the world or whatever.

At least Cas is here with him, that's always nice.

But as he continues to watch the angel and his ongoing rambles, flailing his arms around while apologizing profusely over and over that he had no intention to invade Dean's personal space like that, Dean finds himself wrinkling his forehead when he takes a closer look.

Despite having Cas' face memorized perfectly, dreams are fickle things and usually the angel's features are sometimes a bit fuzzy around the edges. Not by much, basically next to nothing compared to Sam and Eileen still jumping around in the background somewhere, but Dean certainly always noticed even the smallest things when there is Cas involved.

But now?

Cas' face is clear and sharp.

Alarmingly so.

The way his eyes glint. That little scrunching of his nose. The cute wrinkle between his eyebrows. The light stubble on his cheeks.

It's absolute high definition.

Dean doesn't have dreams like that. He's fairly sure nobody does.

So does that mean …?

Dean knows it should be impossible to feel pain, but the sudden clenching of his insides takes his breath away.

“… Cas?”

His voice is timid and small and morphs into a whine when Cas looks up at the mention of his name, his expression filled with so much guilt and regret it's hard to witness.

Dean glances at the guy's face and then at his clothes who look exactly like he wandered into Dean's dream straight out of the bunker.

And then his overwhelmed dream brain remembers that angels have the ability to dreamwalk and that Cas currently has some significant trouble controlling his own mojo.

So that means …

That means …

Dean's eyes go wide as realization finally catches up with him.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Chapter Text

Angels don't dream.

And yet, when Castiel finds himself at that beach at first he thinks it must be something his own mind made up. Ever since Dean talked about going on such a vacation one of these days Castiel had been curious and early on started to wonder how such a scenario might actually look like. The Winchesters, finally out of their many layers of plaid, all relaxed and carefree, lounging around in the sun …

It's an intriguing thing to imagine and Castiel has done so many times since the moment Dean first brought it up.

So yes, when he shows up at the beach he figures it's some kind of odd dream his Grace has conjured for him. It's unusual for an angel, no question about it, but the last few weeks have been a long series of unusual, therefore Castiel doesn't find any energy inside of him to freak out about it.

On the contrary, in the grand scheme of things it's actually a nice change.

He's still not prepared for Dean pulling him down right next to him, though. It might not be real, but Dean smiling at Castiel in such a way makes the angel's chest flutter.

When the hunter drops his first, innocent kiss onto Castiel's temple, though, the angel suddenly realizes that this is not his dream.

He's unable to say where that epiphany is suddenly coming from. But he stares at Dean who has got that fondly amused look on his face, he glimpses at the two people in the background that might be Sam and Eileen, he lets his gaze roam over the entire beach, and he just knows.

Feels it deep in his gut, as Dean always likes to describe it.

For way too long this realization freezes him. Dean gets more affectionate, calls him “sweetheart” and “babe”, and Castiel is very aware that this is wrong, that he should shake his friend out of it before it might become awkward for both of them (or awkwarder, to be more precise), but for the first few seconds the only thing somewhat decently working is his voice.

So he tries to make Dean see reason while at the same time, deep down, he enjoys this way too much. He knows it's not right, that Dean has no real clue what's going on, but Dean showering him with that sort of special attention and whispering sweet things to him makes Castiel's insides flutter in a very excited manner.

It's something he's been wondering about for quite some time. Since the moment he admitted to himself that the things he felt for Dean were vastly different compared to everybody else. That all those love songs in the radio Castiel has heard a thousand of times sort of make sense when he thinks about Dean. He recognizes himself and his relationship with his best friend in them more often than not these days and he is very aware of what that means.

Therefore it's no wonder he finds himself leaning into Dean's touch. It's not just some fantasy, but actually Dean – not his body, but his mind – and that makes all the difference.

Of course Castiel realizes that Dean is probably just seeing some blurry shape, that he has no clue that's really Castiel he's getting so personal with. Dreams are oftentimes weird and confusing and Dean most likely isn't registering anything apart from the fact that he's on the beach with an unspecified love interest.

That's about it for him.

On that account Castiel feels seriously bad for ripping Dean out of that illusion. But he just can't let this keep going on, not with Dean so eager to please and with Castiel having no idea how to get out of this dream. It feels like he's trapped, like Dean is grounding him once more, and it slowly becomes clear to him that he won't be able to get out of this without Dean releasing his invisible grip.

That's why he has to tell the truth.

Dean, as expected, doesn't react overly enthusiastic as soon as everything shifts into the proper place. His eyes grow wide, he curses like a sailor, and for several minutes his shape flickers in and out, as though he's on the verge of startling awake, putting a stop to this dream here and now.

In the end, however, they remain at the beach, the shock of Castiel's presence apparently not strong enough to wake Dean up.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dean hisses as he tugs at his hair in despair. “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry …”

“Dean, it's alright –”

“So sorry, so sorry …”

Anguish and anxiety suddenly weave throughout the dream, turning the peaceful atmosphere into something constricting. Castiel feels his Grace flaring up at the abrupt change, so connected with Dean's mood it's hard to distinguish them. He gets dizzy with it, the faster Dean spirals downwards into what looks like the beginnings of a panic attack.

In the end Castiel reaches out and takes both of Dean's hands into his. The hunter feels hot and cold at the same time, as though Dean's brain can't decide what to settle on, and Castiel rubs his thumbs over the hunter's skin, hoping to soothe him somewhat.

“Please, Dean, calm down,” Castiel whispers. “It's fine …”

“No, no, no,” Dean mumbles, shaking his head. “I didn't mean to – I had no idea –”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Castiel assures him. “It was just an accident.”

Dean makes some incoherent noises. “I didn't mean to grope you like that,” he goes on, clearly close to a frenzy. “I had no idea – I'm sorry – I know you'd never want that in real life –”

Oh, how wrong you are, Castiel thinks, but doesn't say. This is clearly not the time or the place to have that particular conversation.

“Dean, it's okay,” Castiel promises as he squeezes Dean's hands gently. “You did nothing wrong, you just had a nice dream. I am the intruder here. I walked into your head and somehow your mind mistook me for your love interest – it's fine –”

Dean frowns, suddenly looking very confused. “Mistook?” he asks, sounding like he has no idea what this word is even doing here in this specific context.

“Yes, that's what you did,” Castiel states with confidence. But as Dean continues to stare at him incredulously he adds tentatively, “Right?”

Dean makes a little sound in the back of his throat.

And suddenly the atmosphere around them changes again. The blue sky turns dark, Sam and Eileen in the background vanish like they never existed, and Castiel feels like he's suffocating. Technically he knows he doesn't require any oxygen, therefore it shouldn't affect him, but Dean's powerful and conflicting emotions wash over him like a merciless wave and make him choke for air.

Castiel is well aware that Dean doesn't mean to do any of this. But it's a dream and sometimes in a dream your feelings are amplified and all over the place. Castiel surely learned that the hard way during his brief time as a human himself. He remembers waking up crying more than once only because he wasn't able to control his emotions properly. They slipped out of his grasp and there had been nothing he was able to do about it.

Dean obviously just has the same predicament right now.

Castiel tries his best to calm him down, to reassure him that anything that happens in a dream doesn't really matter, that they're just odd sometimes – but his Grace acts up once more, deeply affected by Dean's troubles. As it has become his new normal over the last couple of weeks Castiel has no control over it whatsoever, is only able to helplessly watch it deteriorate.

His eyesight gets hazy, everything surrounding him suddenly hidden by a thick fog. Even Dean's features blur out, merely a speck of his green eyes remains for Castiel to focus on.

His skin vibrates, the urge to just let go so strong Castiel feels like he's being ripped apart at the seams. And even though his common sense slips he knows he needs to fight it, the consequences of his Grace going absolutely haywire too horrible to imagine. He already managed to hurt Sam, almost got him killed, and Castiel would rather die than see anyone else end up being harmed because of this.

No, he can't risk it …

But it's so powerful …

So much stronger than he is …

He doesn't know if he can … if he can …

… can he stop this? …

… can he push this down …?

Something he doesn't even understand …?

It seems so impossible all of a sudden …

“Cas?”

Dean.

His voice is barely clinging to the edge of Castiel's consciousness, but the angel forces himself to concentrate on Dean and Dean only. It's not easy and it seems to take forever, like they've both been asleep and trapped in Dean's dream for days on end, however, at some point he hears the hunter, a little more clearly than before, saying, “Oh Jesus, this is my fault, isn't it? Fuck, I didn't mean –”

The rest of his sentence frazzles out, but Castiel notices the anxiety in his tone and it gives him something to focus on. Dean keeps on talking and even though Castiel can't make out every single word it pulls him back from the abyss bit by bit.

“ … just have to … listen to my … I'm here for you …”

Castiel allows himself a little smile as he feels his being calming down slowly. Granted, it's still way too much and he's utterly exhausted by it all, but he knows Dean is here and as long as he fixates on that very important fact anything is possible.

It seems to take forever until the blurriness around him disappears just enough for him to make out some of Dean's features again. The beach is gone, everything else is gone, they're only existing in a bare space, but Dean's aura is the bright spot that lets them settle down.

Castiel tries to speak, say something, even though he doesn't even really know what that might be. However, his throat is still closed up in a way that only happens in dreams. The words scream in his head, desperate to be released, but they're unable to pass the invisible barrier.

“ … you … alright? …”

Dean's voice is still a faint thing, his touch, though, feels real. At least as he takes both of Castiel's hands into his, mimicking the soothing gesture the angel had used on him before, Castiel leans into it like a man starving. It might not be Dean's actual skin he's sensing, not his strong fingers clutching to him tightly, but it's the strength of his soul that touches Castiel's core.

Castiel notices the muscles in his body, which technically don't even exist here in Dean's head, relax at the contact.

“… everything … I'm so sorry … can … hear me? …”

Castiel finds himself nodding, even though he's understanding barely anything. Due to the edge in Dean's tone it's obvious he needs some reassurance, though, and Castiel is more than willing to give it to him.

“… didn't mean … shit, I'm so sorry … so … sorry …”

Dean sounds emotional and guilty and Castiel just hates to listen to it. The hunter always puts far too much onto his shoulders.

So Castiel forces his throat to do its job again. He wants to make Dean see reason, wants to explain to him that this isn't his fault, that dreams are oftentimes linked to your emotions and tend to blow things out of proportion. A little surge of panic can turn into a wildfire easily.

And having your friend walk into a very private dream surely can be overwhelming and embarrassing and all those other human emotions people have stashed inside of them.

Yes, Castiel just wants to tell Dean that this is a completely normal reaction.

But just as he thinks he might get his vocal cords back into action again a sudden pang of pain hits him so hard he stumbles. Castiel's vision becomes foggy once more, Dean's soothing appearance in front of him turning so utterly blurry the angel might have believed him to be gone if it hadn't been for Dean's hands still holding onto him.

Castiel grits his teeth, for a long moment torn between determining what's even happening and fighting back the searing pain in his head. It feels like something sharp is forcefully drilling through his cranium, eager to dig deep inside. To lay out all his feelings and secrets, even those he kept hidden in the darkest corner of his being for so very long.

He tries to concentrate on Dean, on that last contact between them, but tears start to sting in his eyes and he finds himself sinking to the ground, his legs not able to hold him upwards any longer.

It's only at the edge of his consciousness that he notices that Dean still grips on tight, apparently not willing to let go.

For a brief moment Castiel entertains the idea that Dean is somehow doing this unconsciously, his dream once more taking a life of its own. Maybe something triggered another reaction from him, resulting in Castiel losing his control again …

But then Castiel hears the voices.

Voices talking at the same time, agitated and energetic. Coming from all over.

And Castiel knows right away that there is something different to this than to all the other times where he had been incapable of keeping the voices of people out of his mind in the last few weeks.

Those new voices … they're strong, they're powerful, they're actually vibrating. Their sheer existence makes the atmosphere around them shake and tremble.

Castiel recognizes them.

Because he listened to them for millennia.

Communicated with them regularly.

Called the owners of those voices brothers and sisters.

Up until the day he shut down their communication completely.

Angels.

Heaven.

Dean likes to call it “angel radio” and Castiel adopted the term after a while, figuring it surprisingly accurate.

But now it doesn't feel like a radio.

No, it feels like it's trying to rip him apart.

For a split second Castiel actually believes that this is what's happening right now. That the angels caught up with him and decided to punish him for his past sins in this very unique manner. Turn Castiel's destruction into a group effort.

Castiel can't say it doesn't sound reasonable. He certainly drew enough of Heaven's wrath onto himself to see the angels reunite in such a way to make him pay.

But then he notices that the voices do sound upset, yes, but there is also a lot of confusion wavering in them. It seems like they're debating heatedly with each other and Castiel just ended up in the crossfire. It seems like they're not even realizing that Castiel is linked into their conversation at all.

Castiel manages to pick up a few words here and there. Hears them discussing a sudden power surge showing up on their radar totally unexpectedly. Hears them wondering about its origin and if they should do something about it.

It takes Castiel a shamefully long while to grasp that he is that power surge they're talking about. They obviously caught Castiel's Grace acting up just now, just reacting to Dean's onslaught of emotions, and it's making them reach out, looking for the source of it all.

Which is not good.

Castiel winces and groans as the angel's voices pierce themselves deeper and deeper into his head. He knows he won't be able to withstand such a magnitude for long.

“… Dean …” He finally achieves to press through his teeth. He has no idea whether his friend can even hear him, with everything crumbling down around them, but he takes the chance nonetheless. “… it's angels … Heaven …”

A second later everything turns dark as the dream dissolves into nothingness.

---

Dean startles awake.

His heart pounds wildly, his heart races, and for the first few seconds he's got real trouble orientating himself. But in no time at all, unfortunately, it hits him like a truck again.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

He shoots out of his bed in no time at all and grabs for his phone. His hands tremble as he dials Cas' number over and over, to no avail. He's directed to voicemail right away and Dean grinds his teeth so hard it actually hurts.

This is so not good!

“Sam, Sam,” he says impatiently, shaking his brother's shoulder while he simultaneously tries Eileen's number next, hoping against all odds he might be more successful with that one. But unfortunately, as expected, it's the same as with Cas and dread starts to rush through Dean's veins.

He felt Cas' struggle, for the first time ever actually got an idea what the angel is fighting all this time for weeks now, and it was so utterly overwhelming Dean is sure he would've passed out by the sheer magnitude of it all if he would've actually been physically present for it and not just a dream. Dean can't even begin to imagine how Cas managed to somewhat keep it together more often than not, his inner strength apparently so much more than the hunter ever thought it would be.

Okay, yeah, he always knew Cas was a powerful son of a bitch, but this? This seemed like an entire new level.

And the thought of Cas eventually losing the battle, his control slipping through his fingers, frightens Dean more than anything.

“Dammit, Sam, wake up!” Dean growls impatiently while wondering when the hell his brother became such a heavy sleeper. Did the safe walls of the bunker turn him mellow somewhere along the way?

“SAMMY –!”

It's finally enough to rip Sam out of his dreams. He shoots upwards like he's been stung by something painful and blinks his bleary eyes in confusion.

“W-what – what is happening –?”

Dean scoffs and already heads towards his duffle bag, not in the mood to lose any more time. “We've gotta go back to the bunker!”

Sam, of course, is rather slow on the uptake. “Huh?” he asks, his face scrunched up in bewilderment.

“Dude, Cas is in trouble,” Dean fills him in, his heart beating so fast he's actually surprised he's able to get straight words out. “I can neither reach him nor Eileen –”

As expected, that wakes Sam up a bit more.

But he still doesn't look very alarmed.

“Dean, you do remember that this is not the first time, right?” he asks, eyeing Dean warily. “I mean, technology and Cas don't mesh that well these days sometimes, it's probably just that. I talked to Eileen before we went to bed, everything was fine –”

“Everything is not fine!” Dean cuts in harshly. “Cas – he walked into my dream – and … and …”

Fuck, Dean doesn't even want to think about it.

His own emotions went absolutely crazy at the realization that he's been molesting the actual Cas the whole time instead of some dream version and Dean was utterly incapable of getting a grip on things. He tried, he really did, but dreams are so freaking weird that way and everything felt so much more …

No wonder it affected Cas in the process. It must've felt like a shitload of confusing and conflicting feelings got dumped onto him all at once without any warning whatsoever.

And then it led to …

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body aching.

“I freaked out as I realized what was going on –” Dean admits while determinedly staring at his bag, not at all willing to meet Sam's gaze. “And – and I guess Cas got hit right in the chest with it – and he got bad again –”

The sounds of the covers shifting and the bed creaking indicates that Sam scrambles out of bed. “Are you sure that really happened?” he asks nonetheless, hesitation in his tone. “Maybe you just dreamed about Cas dreamwalking –”

“It was real!” Dean hisses. “Trust me, my brain wouldn't be able to make this shit up –” Not in a million years! “Cas – he was talking about angels right before I woke up. I think Heaven is getting onto him –”

For a moment Sam studies him with such an intensity he could easily rival Cas in that regard and Dean already begins to mentally prepare himself for another set of arguments thrown in his face. But then suddenly his brother snaps into hunter mode, all business, and Dean releases a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding this whole time.

“Okay, let's hit the road,” Sam says, immediately grabbing his pants. “I'm gonna text Jody on the way that she needs someone else to cover this case.”

The two brothers look at each other for a second and nod determinedly.

And in the end it takes them less than two minutes before they're jumping into the Impala and are heading back home.

Chapter Text

“We have to keep a close eye on this. We can't allow for anything to slip through the cracks again.“

The voice of Special Agent Megan Carter is tense on the other end of the phone line and Victor is just glad he doesn't have to face her right now. She always gets that little scrunch between her eyebrows whenever she's stressed out if things don't go her way and somehow it reminds Victor so much of the disapproving expression his own mother always used to wear regularly freaks him out and follows him into his dreams (and occasional nightmares). So to be spared by that sight is truly a blessing right now.

Furthermore, Carter is an expert in reading people, even the tiniest twitch tells her everything she needs to know, and Victor is well aware he's got an impeccable poker face, but the stress of the last few days has worn him out and he isn't quite sure he would be able to fool her in this condition. It's surely better for his continued credibility to stay as far away from Carter as possible right now.

Unfortunately, in the grand scheme of things, this will be easier said than done. She had been working closely with him on the Winchester case back in the days, during the time Victor himself believed the brothers to be serial killer nutjobs, and she instantly got spurred into action when suddenly Sam's blood had been identified on Castiel's coat, about ten years after the Winchester's alleged demise.

While Victor traveled to Lafayette she had been digging through all the files and evidence, trying to make sense of it all.

“Sam Winchester must still be alive,” Carter states, not for the first time. “There is no other explanation why his blood would suddenly show up again.”

Sadly enough she does have a point. Victor already doesn't look forward to working his ass off trying to somehow cover this up.

Because at the end of the day he isn't sure whether he will be able to do so this time around.

“I saw both Winchester brothers die,” Victor can't help stating (lying) nonetheless. “It was really hard to miss, with that chopper blowing up and all …”

“Then that person who died in Monument was not Sam Winchester,” Carter decides.

Victor grits his teeth and tells himself not to be annoyed by her stubbornness. If it would've been any other case he would encourage such a level of dedication, no question about that.

“So you're saying the person I arrested was just someone who looked exactly like Sam?” Victor says with a snort. “And who was traveling around with Dean?”

“Maybe some cousin or something,” Carter muses. “Family occasionally looks very much alike, you know?”

“C'mon, Carter –”

“I'm not indicating you made some mistake, Henriksen,” Carter cuts right in, apparently not in the mood for this kind of discussion. “I'm sure you would've realized soon enough. But as I heard everything went down quickly and got quite messy –”

Victor scoffs at that. She doesn't even know half of it.

He surely remembers absolutely vividly the day he came to terms with the fact that the supernatural exists. That there are creatures in this world – and have been for centuries or longer – he believed to be just stories. Fairy tales you tell your kids before bedtime. Creatures who are not impressed by his badge and his gun. Creatures who are able to torture and kill him in ways he can't even imagine.

So yeah, “messy” doesn't even cover it by a mile.

But, once again, he can't just tell Carter that. In the best case scenario she'd think this a stupid joke and wave him off, in the worst case she'd have him institutionalized right away and that's something Victor surely can do without.

Therefore, as always, he keeps quiet about the whole thing and simply does his two jobs. The job the FBI tells him to do, but also the one his heart urges him to follow.

“We shouldn't jump to any conclusions too fast,” Victor says. “Because I don't think our superiors would be happy with any 'evil twin' theories without unshakable proof.”

“I'm just saying –”

“I know what you're saying,” Victor cuts in. “And hell, maybe you're right,” he concedes, figuring that appearing at least a little inclined to her suggestion would look less suspicious than him dismissing her altogether right from the get-go. “Heaven knows, most of those white boys look the same to me. The guy looked like Sam Winchester and he talked like Sam Winchester, but at the end of the day weirder shit has happened.”

“So do you want me to take a closer look at the chopper incident again?” Carter wonders. “I know they didn't recover any DNA, but maybe there is something.”

The only something she would find is a major waste of time.

And Victor seriously hates to send her on a wild goose chase like that. After all, she is a skilled investigator and it's actually a crime to squander her talent in any sort of way, but at the end of the day it's certainly better to have her occupied for the time being.

And so he finds himself agreeing. “Yeah, do just that. I doubt you're gonna find something, but at this point I'm inclined to try anything. I thought I buried those Winchester brothers ten years ago and now this.”

He attempts to sound as exasperated as possible, once again grateful that Carter can't see his face.

“Anything new on that Novak guy?” Carter asks.

“No, nothing,” Victor sighs. “Looks like the guy just flew out of his cell.”

He presses his lips tightly together to keep himself from grinning because he's pretty sure Carter would've felt that through the phone connection somehow. That's how good she is.

“I dug a bit deeper into the guy's life as well,” Carter goes on, as usual an eager puppy doing all the extra homework. “Totally unspectacular life until he vanished from the face of the earth. Interestingly enough his wife disappeared a short while after until she was found dead in 2015. It's still an unsolved case.”

Victor vaguely remembers Dean telling him about this. How that poor woman ended up in the clasps of a Grigori and didn't come out of it alive.

“He's got a daughter, though,” Carter continues. “Claire Novak. She's currently living with the sheriff in Sioux Falls, according to my records. We should keep an eye on that, maybe Novak's gonna try to contact her. Or even stop by.”

Right, Claire.

Dean told him bits and pieces about that one as well. He wasn't really forthcoming about the entire thing, obviously uncomfortable by some of the stuff that went down back then, but Victor surely recalls some stories.

And the thought of the FBI directing their attention to the girl and also Jody Mills doesn't sit well with him at all, but, once again, it would be highly suspect for him to just wave it off. Under any other circumstances this would be a good lead worthy to pursue and it would've been stupid to ignore it.

Victor makes a mental note to give Jody a call right away to warn her in time while he tells Carter, “Yeah, we should look into the daughter. I don't expect much considering Novak hasn't contacted her in like ten years, but it can't hurt to be thorough.”

Victor grimaces at that as he thinks how very not happy everyone involved will be about that.

It's ten minutes later when he ends his phone call with Carter, exhausted by juggling all that at once, appearing like the perfect FBI agent while simultaneously helping cover his friends' tracks. He takes a very deep sigh and leans back in Chief Simpson's chair, the man more than eager days before to offer his office and any of his resources to the Bureau. Victor certainly didn't say no to a private room to coordinate his double life and picked him up on that proposal right away.

Also now he's glad to find himself alone for a moment to catch his breath and wrap his head around this chaotic situation. He's got no real clue so far how to get out of it, how to keep Sam “dead”, how to stop any big manhunts for the guy wearing James Novak's face, how to prevent the FBI from looking closer at Dean's case as well …

Yeah, Victor knows it won't be easy. He seriously doesn't look forward to it.

“Tired?” a voice suddenly asks.

Victor's head snaps up and he finds himself staring at a red-headed woman standing in the doorway, looking just like she belongs there.

Which she most certainly does not, Victor is sure of that. She is not one of the police officers he has met the last couple of days, instead wrapped in expensive looking clothes and wearing even more expensive looking make-up. Her mouth is curled into a little smile as she watches Victor with eyes that seem to pierce right into his soul.

Victor shivers as he can't help feeling very unsettled by this woman.

“How did you get in here?” he asks, a bit harsher than he intended. But nobody can just show up here in his office unannounced, he actually made sure of that. So that means either the person at the reception didn't do their job or something else is going on here …

“Oh, don't worry, I just invited myself,” the woman says cheerfully, a clear accent (British or Scottish or something in-between, for sure) weaving around her words. “Don't mind me, dearie.”

She walks into the office like she owns the place and Victor suddenly notices the charm bracelet around his wrist, which Dean gave him like five million years ago, reacting in a subtle and yet apparent manner. Victor feels it getting warm, so very obviously affected by that woman's presence, and he straightens his back in alarm.

The woman as well seems to realize that something is going on, but she remains calm and unimpressed as she briefly glances at the spot where Victor is wearing the bracelet. “Look at that, you're not just another brainless drone, are you?”

Victor tenses all up, his brain going into overdrive.

He's got his gun with him, a little vial of Holy Water he started carrying around at all times many years ago, and a filigree iron chain around his neck. Not to mention all the protective charms and even tattoos Dean suggested to him to see himself as well prepared as possible.

At the end of the day Victor knows it's not much, that he wouldn't be able to defeat something truly evil and powerful with his little gadgets, but it might just give him enough time to survive.

And so he assesses the woman who probably isn't a normal woman after all and wonders if or which of his special weapons he might have to use to save his own skin.

“A hunter, I assume?” the woman asks, now actually looking a bit amused. “My, my, you're a handsome fella, I've gotta say.”

“Who are you?” Victor presses through his teeth, hoping that she would reveal some information that could help him determine what he's dealing with. “And what are you doing here?”

She sighs, like answering any questions puts a huge weight on her shoulders. “Well, I have been hanging around for a while, actually,” she admits absolutely shamelessly. “I got lured in by a weird surge of energy around this area.”

Victor pulls a face.

Castiel. She is talking about Castiel.

She probably took notice when he caused the earthquake in the police station and apparently traveled all the way here to satisfy her curiosity.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Victor lies. “We're just working a fugitive case –”

“Oh, don't play dumb with me,” she waves him off right away. “It's not a good look on you.”

“Listen –”

“You're covered in charms and runes, my dear,” she cuts in, seemingly not in the mood to listen to any diversion tactics. “Claiming you're not a hunter or are at least working with hunters would be rather embarrassing at this point. So please shut up.”

Victor presses his lips into a thin line.

She's got a point, unfortunately.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Victor grumbles. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I'm not here to kill you if that's what you're worried about,” she tells him. “At least as long as you behave, of course.”

Victor grimaces. “That's nice to know.”

“I'm only here because I want to learn more about this energy burst,” she says, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “Especially as I'm feeling another one happening right now. I can't exactly pinpoint it because it seems to be all over the place, but I'm sure it must originate from somewhere and I figured you sweet, little investigators might have some insight –”

“Wait, wait, it's happening again?” Victor exclaims, his eyes widening.

His gaze flickers to his phone, desperate to call Dean and ask for details. But in the end he refrains from that, on the one hand not keen on doing just that with the woman still in the room, able to overhear their conversation, and on the other hand reluctant because if that woman speaks the truth Dean would be quite busy right now anyway. Answering the phone would be the last thing on his mind.

“It's the Winchesters, isn't it?” the woman suddenly asks.

Victor gapes at her. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it's always the Winchesters,” she – rightfully – points out.

Victor chews on his lower lips and refuses to outright agree with her. Instead he's taking an even closer look at this stranger; her intense eyes, her flamboyant hair, her little smile …

And he remembers the stories Dean and Sam told him over the years.

About that one particular witch …

“You're Rowena, aren't you?” he realizes.

Her grin grows at his words. “Look at that, you're indeed not just another brainless drone,” she almost coos at him.

Victor frowns as he has no real idea what to do. He recalls the Winchester talking about her like an enemy for quite a while, but recently the tales turned around a bit, portraying them all as grudging allies on more than one occasion.

Victor doesn't know what's true and what's not at this point.

And right now it doesn't even matter. She doesn't look overly eager to kill him (yet) and Victor takes what he can get.

“Tell me, what do you mean, there is another energy burst happening right now?” he urges.

Rowena, meanwhile, just sighs deeply. “It's always the Winchesters, isn't it?”

---

Upon their arrival at the bunker Dean notices right away that something is off.

Because their garage door is shut down and won't budge, even as Dean turns the key several times. He curses and tries over and over, but nothing is happening.

Then he kicks at the gate for good measure before abandoning it entirely and rushing to the front door, eager to find another way of entrance. But it's the same as the garage, the key just doesn't seem to work.

“What the hell …?” he hisses, glaring at the traitorous lock with all the strength he's got.

Sam pops up right next to him just a second later.

“What's going on?”

Dean grinds his teeth. “The doors won't open,” he growls. “I don't know what's happening –”

“Lockdown,” Sam suddenly says, not sounding surprised in the slightest. “I think the bunker is shutting itself down.”

The urge to scream in frustration and anger gets suddenly so strong Dean feels like his entire chest is about to burst open.

In the back of his mind Dean remembers Charlie telling them all about this in great detail as she stumbled upon it while she was installing the security system. It's a feature that has been there for ages, a means to both protect the people inside from dangers from the outside and also the other way around. Dean vaguely recalls – even if he hates to (and he seriously does) – how the bunker started to shut down too as his former demon self walked the hallways, determined to keep that threat to the society locked up.

And if Cas is freaking out big time right now, his powers out of control, it's no wonder the bunker opted for closing all doors for good.

Dammit.

“And how the fuck are we supposed to get inside?” Dean exclaims, joggling the doorknob even though he's well aware it's to no avail. “Don't tell me we have to wait until the bunker frigging decides it's safe again?”

Who knows what would happen with Cas in the meantime? And what about Eileen, most likely still trapped inside with a highly unstable angel?

Fuck, Dean doesn't even wanna think about it.

And it seems Sam doesn't want to either. He mumbles something incoherent to himself as he pulls a small pocket knife out of his pants and cuts himself into his palm without any hesitation, blood oozing out of the wound right away.

Dean just stares at him. “What the –?”

Sam ignores him while he presses his bloody hand against the door. For a second nothing happens and Dean is already preparing himself to rush back to the Impala and get the grenade launcher out of her trunk (in a time of need a grenade launcher is always the solution), but then all of sudden they both hear the lock snap open.

Dean blinks in surprise. “Did you know that would happen or were you just hoping?”

“Hoping,” Sam confesses with a shrug. “I figured we're legacies and since we're coming from the outside right now the bunker might be willing to let us in. Besides, it seems we're not in full lockdown just yet. That would've been a problem.”

Yeah, Dean remembers Charlie telling them something about concrete walls so thick nobody would've been able to crash through them that easily, and he breathes a sigh of relief that they don't have to deal with that. There honestly might've been no way for them to get inside.

Shaking himself out of this worst case scenario Dean pushes the door open and quickly hurries through it before the bunker might change its mind again after all and lock them out once more.

As soon as he has successfully crossed the threshold Dean halts to assess the situation in front of him. Yeah, his mind screams loudly at him to move now, what the fuck are you waiting for, idiot??, but he learned early on that a parameter check can be the difference between life and death. And so he allows himself to take a second to let his gaze roam over his surroundings since ending up getting killed because he didn't think of being cautious is about the last thing that would help Cas out right now.

For some reason Dean imagined the bunker to be an utter mess, furniture and books all over the place as though a hurricane had ripped through it. The truth, however, is that everything seems scarily normal and peaceful – apart from the blaring alarm and the flashing red light, of course. It looks exactly like they have left it the day before, not even a chair is tipped over or something. The alarm bell just appears like a stupid mistake.

But Dean only needs to remember the agony Cas has felt in his dream and he knows instantly that this is so not a mistake.

No, this is real and it's very serious.

After making sure there is no immediate danger on the verge of attacking him, Dean rushes down the stairs, closely followed by Sam.

“Cas?” Dean calls all the way down, not keen on wasting any more time. “CAS? CAS?”

When no answer is heard above the alarm he adds a quick, “Eileen? EILEEN, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Sam sends him a side-eye and Dean realizes in that very moment how very dumb and futile it is to scream Eileen's name down the hallway, but his brain is way too occupied with being worried out of his mind to remember any specific details.

Dean takes a millisecond to grimace at Sam before running towards the corridor that leads to Cas' room. Considering Cas had been sleeping (or whatever angels do) when he accidentally walked into Dean's dream it's their best bet for now to start their search there.

And just as they're rushing around the corner they come to a screeching halt right away again when they're suddenly met with Eileen who is dragged down the hall by The Colonel who has his teeth buried in her pants and nudges her forward that way.

Eileen's eyes widen in surprise as she sees herself confronted with the Winchester brothers. “Oh,” she exclaims. “I was wondering why the dog was acting so strangely all of a sudden.”

The Colonel probably heard them when they came through the door, despite the siren blaring, and made it his mission to bring Eileen to safety in the only manner he could think of. Dean shoots The Colonel a proud smile and pats his head while simultaneously asking Eileen, “What happened? Where is Cas?”

Eileen squints her eyes, most likely due to the flickering lights having some trouble reading Dean's lips, and Dean is just about to repeat the question a bit slower when Sam jumps in and uses sign language to bring their point across.

“I actually have no idea what happened,” Eileen explains, using both her voice and her hands to speak. “The Colonel suddenly startled me awake and then I noticed the red lights. I don't know how long this has been going on –”

Since Cas woke up from Dean's dream, the hunter can't help thinking, the guilt once more pressing on his chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Where is Cas?” Dean urges, exaggerating Cas' name so she would be able to understand him a bit more easily.

Eileen points down the hallway. “In his room,” she says, the volume of her voice too low because she doesn't notice the alarm being so loud. Dean has to lean close in to catch her words. “I tried to reach him, but … he's pretty out of it.”

Dean bites his bottom lip.

I'm coming, Cas, he prays to the angel, hoping despite all odds that Cas might actually hear him mixed in with all the angel radio and whatever else voices might be getting into the mix as well.

But before he's able to even spur into action the ground suddenly starts to shake. Dean yelps in surprise and grabs onto Eileen on reflex as he spots her stumbling on the spot, pulling her close to him. The Colonel whimpers miserably and immediately pushes against Dean's legs to seek support. Dean instinctively presses against him to reassure him while shooting a glance over his shoulder to check on his brother. Who, apparently, had grabbed tightly onto a nearby door frame to not get knocked on the floor.

For a brief moment relieved that everyone seems to be alright Dean instantly grits his teeth in pain as the bunker's alarm starts to shriek at the unexpected motions. Even the lights seem to become brighter, almost headache inducing, as though to warn every single resident about the upcoming danger.

Fuck, Cas, Dean prays, knowing fairly well that yelling down the hallway would have next to no effect thanks to that ridiculously loud siren. Cas, listen to me, everything is fine, please snap out of it …

The only response Dean gets is the ground trembling harder and some cracking noise coming from the ceiling right above them.

Both brothers look upwards in concern.

“Shit,” Sam yells over the alarm. “We have to get out of here –”

Dean shakes his head vehemently. “Not without Cas!”

“Dean –”

On a logical level Dean is quite aware that ending up buried underneath a well isolated underground bunker would be far from great, but the thought of running out of here without Cas is just too much to bear. His desire to rush to the angel's aid and, if necessary, throw the idiot over his shoulder and carry him out of here gets impossibly stronger, and only Eileen in his arms and The Colonel at his legs keeps him from hurrying to Cas' side, no matter the consequences.

“Dude, we have to get out –” Sam yells. “C'mon, c'mon –”

The alarm blares, the bunker's walls make more worrying sounds, everything around them seems to go crazy – and Dean knows that Sam is right.

And yet, he can't leave Cas behind.

So he pushes Eileen in Sam's arms, urges the dog in his brother's direction, too, and exclaims, “I just can't –”

Sam, however, doesn't seem willing to take anyone's shit today and grabs Dean's elbow hard just as the hunter is about to hurry off. “Oh no, you jerk, don't you dare –”

“Sam –”

“Cas is a freaking angel!” Sam screams. “He would survive the bunker dropping onto his head, you would NOT –”

“You don't know that –” Dean tries to reason. Cas hasn't been well for weeks, who knows what would happen?

“DEAN –” Sam yells at him at the same time a visible crack shows up on the wall right next to them.

Dean flinches at the sight and finds himself praying desperately, C'mon, Cas, C'MON, snap out of it, please don't destroy the bunker, snap out of it –

“Dean –” his brother's voice pierces through all the noise around them and Dean turns around to notice Sam pulling him towards the exit's direction with a panicked look on his face. It's saying “Don't make me lose you” so loudly it breaks Dean's heart.

Dean takes a deep breath.

And figures one last try can't hurt.

CAS, he prays, CAS, SNAP OUT OF IT –

Nothing.

SNAP OUT OF IT NOW!!!

Sam continues to yell, The Colonel seems torn between following his instinct to hurry to the next exit and staying by their side, Eileen tries to get her feet to cooperate with her, and Dean just wants to punch something hard.

CAS!!!

Suddenly everything stops.

At first Dean thinks he's dreaming and he blinks in utter shock, his brain having serious trouble catching up on what's happening.

What?

The?

Fuck?

Sam and Eileen don't seem to fare any better, staring at each other in confusion for a long moment before looking around almost warily. Like the bunker would change its mind in the very next second and attack them once more, even more forcefully than before.

“What …?” Sam mumbles, his voice suddenly sounding rather weird in the otherwise quiet bunker.

The alarm stopped, the light switched back to normal, the ground stopped shaking. Only the crack in the wall beside them is a testament that all of this seriously happened and hadn't been just a figment of their imagination.

Dean has so many questions.

But for now there is only one thing on his mind. “Cas …”

This time Sam doesn't hold him back as Dean runs down the corridor like a madman, determined to see for himself that the angel is fine and dandy and all kinds of okay. His heart ends up in his throat as the worst case scenarios flash past his inner eye, making him picture all sorts of awful things why everything just suddenly stopped.

When he reaches Cas' room Dean feels relieved and scared at the same time.

And when he finds the room empty his chest clenches so painfully he's unable to breathe.

Cas is gone.

Chapter Text

For way too long Dean just stares into the empty room, ridiculously hoping that Cas might show his stupid face again in the very next moment. Maybe peek out of the closet or shuffle underneath the bed.

But as nothing of that sort happens and everything remains quiet and devoid of any life besides Dean's presence the hunter turns on his heels and starts searching the rest of the bunker. Perhaps Cas merely looked for shelter in some other part of the building, his own room becoming too confining for him. Dean hurries into every room, checks every corner he can think of, and calls Cas' name like a man possessed.

And he only stops when eventually Sam intercepts, grabbing him tightly at the arm and keeping his brother at bay. Dean grumbles unhappily at the rude interruption and fidgets hard to loosen Sam's grasp right away, but Sam is clutching onto him with a determination Dean knows he won't be able to break out of that easily.

“Dude, stop it, Cas is not here,” Sam growls, his gaze both hard and sympathetic. It's such a weird combination it actually hurts to look at it.

“You don't know that –” Dean begins to protest.

“I know,” Sam insists. “He wouldn't just hide in some dark corner –”

“Of course he would,” Dean cuts in, his teeth grinding loudly. “He's a dumb idiot, after all –”

“Man, we have to go,” Sam demands, gently and also not so gently tugging Dean into the exit's direction. “There are a bunch of worrisome cracks in some walls, I'm not sure how stable the foundation still is –”

Dean certainly noticed that during his search as well, but he's obviously been far better in ignoring that for the time being than his little brother.

“I don't care, I'm not leaving without Cas!”

Sam releases a long breath, apparently rather exasperated but also not very surprised. Under normal circumstances Dean would've been quite anxious to interpret that expression too closely, but right now he doesn't give a flying fuck either way.

“The bunker won't collapse onto us, dude,” Dean says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “It's been built for eternity –”

“Well, the Men of Letters never imagined in their wildest dreams an angel going crazy on it,” Sam points out. “So excuse me for not being 100% convinced.”

Dean grimaces. “Sammy –”

“C'mon, Dean,” Sam hisses, seemingly not impressed by his brother's attitude. “Even if Cas would still be here somewhere – even though we both know he's not –, he'd be able to survive the ceiling falling down on him. We would not!”

Dean stares at the wall next to him, at the impressive crack weaving itself from top to bottom, and he feels his stance waver. Deep down he's very aware that the earthquake abruptly stopping has been due to Cas disappearing on them, either by his own volition or by outer circumstances. Dean's mind immediately leaps to the angels, the shake in Cas' voice as he spoke Heaven's name in the hunter's dream still under Dean's skin. It's not a stretch to assume that those bastards caught up with Cas and snatched him right under the Winchester's noses.

But Dean also can't help but think back to his conversation with Cas weeks ago where the stupidly noble angel made it very clear that he'd take off if his powers would get too much out of control. It's surely not unlikely that he used his last spurt of strength to fly off.

To leave.

Dean's whole body aches at the possibility that it finally became reality.

“Dean, please,” Sam urges. “We need to go outside.”

Dean's throat seems to be on fire, suddenly making it impossible for him to respond.

And then Sam adds, “I'm not leaving without you,” and that seals the deal for Dean. He might be worried out of his mind for Cas, but he can't risk Sam's life for a most likely futile search. He knows that Sam is right, that Cas isn't anywhere near the bunker anymore, and it would be dumb to jeopardize all that because Dean's incapable of seeing the truth.

So in the end he nods and follows Sam, even though his heart feels like it's been ripped apart.

---

While Sam and Eileen look out for a motel that's willing to take up three rattled adults plus a dog in the middle of the night without asking too many questions, Dean is busy dialing Cas' cell phone number over and over again.

Over and over and over.

And when he eventually gets frustrated with that he goes back to praying, asking Cas where he is, if he's alright, if he's got any means to leave them some kind of message. As expected no answers follow those two million inquiries and in the end Dean switches back to the phone. In the back of his mind he knows it's hopeless, that Cas won't just magically pick up after half an hour of constant ringing, but for now it's about the only thing Dean is able to do and he'd rather jump back into Hell than just give up now.

“Dean, are you familiar with the definition of madness?” Sam asks at one point, just as they're heading for the parking lot of a motel that looks quite promising for their needs.

Dean doesn't even glance up from his phone's screen as he wonders, “You mean, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?”

“Yep,” Sam confirms. “Dude, you're driving yourself insane –”

Dean scoffs. “So what? You have any better ideas?”

Sam grimaces, obviously trying his best not to take his brother's snippy tone personally. “Well, at first we need to regroup,” he says, steering the Impala onto one of the parking spaces. “If Cas flew off on his own, he's gonna call eventually as soon as he's got the chance. And if not –”

Dean pulls a face. He doesn't even wanna think about it, even though he has to. They warded the bunker against any angels apart from Cas a while ago, but the cracks in the walls the earthquake caused might've very well damaged a bunch of those protection sigils in the process. There's no way to say what creatures might be able to get in now.

Including angels.

Dean gets nauseous just thinking about it. They haven't been very fond of Cas for years (or have they ever?) and it's not far-fetched to assume they're deeming him a bigger threat now than ever before, a threat they need to eradicate.

Maybe Cas is already dead and they don't even know it.

Dean likes to believe that this profound bond between them Cas has been talking about seriously goes both ways, that he would feel it if that stupid, dorky, blue-eyed angel would vanish of the face of the earth for good, but truth is the hunter has no fucking clue whether that'd happen or not. He might very well cling to false hope while Cas has already been sent to the place angels end up when they die.

It's not a nice thought, but unfortunately it's a possibility.

A horrible possibility.

However, Winchesters are always good for a surprise, for beating the odds, and Cas has been one of them for quite a while now. Hell, the dude already died (exploded) several times on them and somehow he's still kicking, not at all impressed by all of it.

This won't be the end of him either.

It can't be.

Dean just refuses to believe that.

---

They get a double room with two queens.

The furniture is old and looks like it's merely seconds away from disintegrating, but the place is clean and the beds actually appear inviting, so all in all it could be worse.

Besides, it's not like they're planning to stay here long.

Dean dumps his duffle bag on the bed closest to the entrance, his instincts to put himself between Sam and any possible danger still strong after all those decades, and vanishes into the bathroom to do his business and afterwards put his head under the cold water of the sink, hoping it might calm him down a bit.

(Spoiler alert: it doesn't.)

But when he eventually steps back into the motel room he made a decision at least.

“You were right, Sammy,” he announces grandly.

Sam, who's just been trying (and obviously failing) to get The Colonel off his bed, looks up at those words. “Of course I was,” he agrees easily. And then, after some consideration, he adds in puzzlement, “Right about what?”

“We need the big guns,” Dean continues. “All hands on deck.”

Sam's frown deepens. “I don't –”

“Rowena,” Eileen pipes in, contrary to her obtuse boyfriend apparently more than capable of following Dean's chain of thoughts. “You wanna involve Rowena.”

“I wanna involve everyone we can think of,” Dean clarifies, his teeth gritted. “Everyone who owes us a favor or who would be happy to have us owe them a favor. I'm not down for wasting any more time.”

In the past he often played it safe, calculated the risks and benefits in great detail, just like his dad had taught him. But Cas could be tortured by angels as they speak and Dean isn't willing to let him suffer for longer than necessary.

“I'm not saying we should make any deals,” Dean is sure to point out nonetheless. “But we are the fucking Winchesters and we know a lot of powerful beings –”

“Yeah, yeah, you don't need to convince me of all people,” Sam cuts in, raising his hand to stop his brother's flow of words. “I was the one to propose it in the first place, remember?”

Dean surely recalls that.

And now he sincerely regrets not at least considering this option. Maybe they would've found a way to help Cas freaking weeks ago and the damned angels would've never caught up to them to begin with.

Instead Dean thought that time would heal all wounds.

Which, in hindsight, is just the stupidest shit ever because when the fuck did that ever work out in their favor before?

“Okay, let's do this,” Sam says, now getting all energetic again. “I'm sure Rowena knows some powerful locator spell that might even find a hidden angel. She's annoyingly good like that.”

Eileen laughs to herself in the background, apparently still highly amused by her boyfriend's little nerd crush on the witch.

“And maybe Crowley could help, too,” Sam goes on, a grimace appearing on his features at the mere mention of the demon's name. “I mean, he's a douche, but he's helped us before in the past, especially if there is something for him to gain – and the Banes twins – and hell, maybe even the British Men of Letters are willing to jump in –”

At the latter Dean makes a face, not really sure if they wouldn't put Cas even more in harm's way with such a decision.

“Let's stick with Rowena first,” he proposes. “After all, like you said many times before, there is no one like her around –”

At that moment Dean's phone starts to ring.

He almost falls over himself in the haste to pull it out of his pocket. Only to deflate in disappointment when it's not Cas' name showing up on the screen but Victor's.

For a moment Dean considers to ignore the call and let the agent go to voicemail instead, because they surely have more important things to discuss than the FBI opening up their case file again, but then he can't help feeling bad for even thinking about dismissing Victor. After all, the poor guy has already been through some stuff after being unable to reach either Dean or Sam, Dean certainly doesn't want to do that to him again.

Besides, he just said all hands on deck, right? Maybe even the local authorities or the FBI might be capable of helping them out one way or another. At least they have a vast network that might actually be useful at some point.

So Dean picks up the phone and says, “Hey, Vic, good for you to call –”

“I know, I know,” a voice answers that is most definitely not Victor. “You just have been thinking about me, haven't you? I felt such a pleasant tingling in my bones just now.”

Dean blinks in confusion and checks the caller's ID again, just to make sure.

“Rowena?” he asks, creasing his forehead.

“My yes, dearie, who did you expect?” Rowena says, chuckling in amusement.

Dean throws a glance at Sam and Eileen who look equally bewildered about the whole thing.

“What are you doing with Victor's phone?” Dean wonders.

“Well, you see, my own phone has been a bit indisposed since last week, I'm afraid,” Rowena explains cheerfully. “Turns out that when doing a ritual including a bottle filled with The Tears Of Thousand Virgins you shouldn't leave any electronic devices lying right next to it. Accidents happen and my phone wasn't all too happy about that unexpected bath.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. “I actually meant, what are you doing with Victor?”

“Oh, I see,” Rowena says, laughing. “Well, as you surely know, that man is gorgeous to look at, don't you agree? So why wouldn't I be with him?”

She acts like this is the most reasonable explanation while Dean hears Victor grumbling unhappily in the background.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Rowena –”

“Oh please don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you would've jumped the man's bones ages ago if you weren't so busy pining for your handsome angel.”

Dean feels a headache coming his way and he can't help but curse his entire existence for leading him to this very moment.

“Just tell me why you're in Lafayette,” he insists.

“Why do you think?” Rowena says. “An angel going nuclear in this area, it got me curious. I just had to see for myself.”

Dean grimaces. “You felt that?”

“Of course, my small-minded friend,” she states. “Just as I felt your angel losing it yet again about an hour ago. The ley lines are going crazy right now.”

Dean hates the thought that not only angels but other supernatural creatures as well can feel Cas losing control over his powers and are able to track him down because of it. Like he's a freaking beacon, drawing them all in.

“Can you help us?” Dean asks, his jaw clenches almost painfully. “Help us to find him? Help us to fix him?”

Rowena makes a humming sound and seems to take great pleasure in letting the hunter wait a long while for an answer.

In the end, though, she quips, “What's in it for me?”

Of course Dean isn't surprised about that turn of events in the least. “We owe you a favor.”

“And you think that's good enough?”

Dean scowls. “A favor from the Winchesters is worth a lot these days, y'know?”

“I heard,” Rowena says, sounding far from impressed. “I need better than that.”

“Like a peek into the Grimoire again?” Dean grumbles, grinding his teeth loud enough for Rowena to be capable of hearing it over the phone. In the corner of his eyes he notices Sam snapping his head up at those words, but Dean ignores him, not in the mood to start a nonverbal argument with his brother about this.

“Well,” Rowena purrs, “since you're offering –”

“I'm not offering,” Dean cuts right in. “But I'm saying maybe we'll be able to come to some kind of compromise we can both live with.”

Rowena continues to make some unintelligible noises on the other end of the line before eventually conceding, “Okay, fine, this is probably the best I can get at this point, right?”

Dean knows that it's most likely not a good sign that she's giving in so easily. Perhaps she still has the intention to steal that book from right under their noses or maybe she hopes something else to gain from all of this. Hell, she might very well believe she'll be able to get something out of Cas' current situation, snatch a little slice of his unstable Grace or whatever.

One way or another, it won't be anything good.

But Dean doesn't have the luxury to be picky. Cas is gone, either captured by the other angels or running from them, and there is no time to waste.

They'll just have to deal with Rowena and her potential wicked plans later.

“I'm gonna send you the address of the motel we're staying in,” Dean says. “Try not to loiter on the way.”

“You Winchesters,” Rowena answers in amusement. “You always have such a unique way of saying thank you.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

But she's not wrong, unfortunately.

So he says, “Rowena?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Rowena hums in response.

“You're welcome, dear.” Somehow she sounds actually genuine. “But I also have to thank you. I was already wondering how I could manage to spend more time with this handsome agent right here and now you're giving me the perfect opportunity.” Turning toward Victor she coos, “I'm sure you look even more delicious behind the wheel of a strong car.”

Dean can't see Victor's face, but he sure as hell can imagine the pained expression on his friend's face right now.

“How about you give me my phone back?” the man grunts and after something that sounds like a little scuffle Victor's voice is right in Dean's ear. “Dean?”

“Hey, buddy, I'm sorry about all of this,” the hunter instantly says. “Don't worry, you don't have to drive Rowena. I'm sure she's gonna be able to come over here on her own somehow.”

She's surely got her ways.

But Victor doesn't seem eager to hear any of this. “No, forget it, I'm coming,” he decides. “I'm not really sure what's going on –”

“Cas is gone,” Dean blurts out, his heart aching again saying it out loud. “I dunno, I think angel kidnapped him or maybe he's running from them – I've got no idea, that's why we need Rowena –”

“I'll make sure she's gonna be there as quickly as possible,” Victor solemnly swears. “With my badge I sure can break a bunch of traffic laws.”

Dean allows himself a small smile.

“Thanks, man,” he whispers. “I'll see you soon, then.”

After they say their goodbyes and Dean hangs up his phone Sam pops up right beside him, a myriad of emotions flashing over his features.

“So Rowena and Vic are coming?” he asks, apparently having been able to piece that information together from Dean's side of the phone call.

Dean sighs. “All hands on deck, right?”

Sam pats his shoulder in a manner that's probably meant to be reassuring, but turns out rather awkward instead. “Don't worry, we're gonna find Cas.”

Dean certainly wants to believe that, too.

After all, that little nerdy dude with wings has always been a tough son of a bitch.

You hear that, Cas? he finds himself praying. We're doing everything we can. And you'll be alright. Don't you worry. Soon you're gonna be back home with us again.

And after a long pause Dean adds, Home with me.

Chapter Text

One second Castiel is crouching on the floor of his room in the bunker, desperately trying to hold himself together.

The next he finds himself standing right in the middle of a street, a car approaching him fast.

Castiel stares at the headlights, stares at the vehicle coming dangerously close, but somehow he finds himself unable to move even a single muscle. In the back of his mind he knows that a car won't harm him, that no angel in the history of mankind has ever been struck down by an automobile before and also most certainly never will be, but in the last few years he adopted a lot of survival instincts, especially after his brief time as a human himself.

Normally he would try everything to get out of the way.

For his safety, but also for the one of the driver and any other potential passengers in the car.

But he's frozen on the spot, disoriented and lost and so very confused, and he just gapes at the vehicle rushing towards him.

And then, just inches before impact, it stops.

Castiel would release a breath of relief, but the voices in his head are getting loud again and distract him efficiently from the issue at hand. At first he doesn't even comprehend that another voice joins the chorus a moment later, a young woman who's suddenly hurrying to his side, her face pale and panicked.

Castiel takes a long minute to realize that she's the driver of the car.

And he needs even longer to notice that she is not speaking English.

“… tut mir so leid, ich hab Sie einfach nicht rechtzeitig gesehen – geht es Ihnen gut, sind Sie verletzt –?” (“… I'm so sorry, I simply didn't see you in time – are you okay, are you hurt –?”) she goes on and on, her words tumbling over themselves.

Her eyes are green, is the first thing Castiel spots. Not as green and intense as Dean's, but it's a close match.

Castiel's chest clenches at the thought of the hunter …

And the poor woman seems to misinterpret Castiel's expression as actual physical pain because she becomes white as a sheet looking at him.

“… oh Gott, vielleicht sollten Sie sich hinsetzen, ich rufe gleich einen Krankenwagen –” (“… oh God, maybe you should sit down, I'm gonna call an ambulance right away –”)

Castiel blinks at her, attempting to remember what language she is speaking. When he eventually identifies it as German he digs deep into his brain, hoping for a way to communicate with this clearly frantic woman properly. Usually he wouldn't have any trouble switching to another tongue, but his head feels so full and heavy it suddenly presents a challenge.

At some point, though, he discovers what he's looking for and quickly assures, “Mir geht es gut, keine Sorge –” (“I'm fine, don't worry –”)

The woman obviously doesn't believe him, already pulling out the phone out of her pocket to call some paramedics.

“Bitte, es ist alles in Ordnung,” Castiel says, trying to make his tone sound soothing. “Ich bin nicht verletzt, nur ein bisschen erschrocken –” (“Please, everything is alright. I'm not hurt, just a little spooked –”)

Unfortunately, just as he's attempting to throw her a smile his legs refuse to work anymore and he ends up toppling to the ground. The woman yelps in surprise and hastily grabs his arm, at least managing to keep Castiel's knees from crashing hard onto the concrete.

Castiel grumbles and curses his weak condition, especially when other people suddenly arrive, obviously drawn in by the incident. He notices some of them with phones in their hands, probably also contacting the authorities. Castiel bites his bottom lip, wondering if a quick escape might even be possible right now.

He wants to ask these people where he is, in what country he ended up in, but he keeps his mouth shut. Him being unaware of his whereabouts would only make the humans worry about his state of mind and the last thing he needs is someone putting him under constant supervision and dragging him through multiple tests.

He doesn't have time for that.

So he opens his mouth, on the verge of reassuring the people once more that he's fine, that he just needs a glass of water and then will be on his merry way again, but then the voices in his head scream so loudly Castiel can't help groaning in agony.

And before he even knows it he blacks out, the horrified expressions of the people around him the last thing he sees.

---

Castiel wakes up in a hospital.

For a while he lies in his bed that smells too much like disinfectant and washing powder to be comfortable and listens to the buzzing around him, not eager to draw any attention to himself just yet. He has been stashed in a small examination room with a grand view on a green hillside and it almost would have been beautiful if it weren't for the situation at hand.

Doctors and nurses scamper up and down the hallway, every so often stopping in the doorway to his room to check on his status. Castiel always shuts his eyes quickly, feigning sleep, and decides to trust his hearing instead. Soon enough he notices that everyone around here is speaking German, not only the driver of the car. It seems his wings tried to take him far away from the bunker, as far as they managed. After eavesdropping on a few other conversations he slowly learns that he's in some small town right in the middle of the Black Forest.

If he subconsciously had a plan with this location, if he maybe thought this would be a good hiding place, he doesn't remember. Perhaps he actually did have an agenda with it, but maybe his wings just flew him to a completely random place.

It barely matters.

Castiel groans quietly as he attempts to assess his current situation. He feels tired, downright drained, to be more precise, but that also has the additional effect of the voices in his head being more or less silent for a change. Yes, he hears the people close by, even some conversations outside in the parking lot, but that seems about it for the time being.

He's got no idea how long this will stay that way, though.

He already feels the itch underneath his skin become noticeable again and he fears it will only be a matter of time before the floodgates are going to be ripped open once more.

Castiel sighs deeply at the thought and that sound appears to lure in the person standing closest to him.

“Können Sie mich hören?” (“Can you hear me?”) a soft voice asks him. For a moment Castiel debates to let his eyes closed, but in the end he feels bad for worrying people unnecessarily.

It's a doctor standing right by his bedside, at least according to the coat she's wearing. She seems to be in her early 40s and she's got a nice smile directed at him. Castiel can't help feeling safe looking at it, even though he knows it's far from the truth.

“Ich bin Doktor Meyer,” she introduces herself. “Sie haben uns für einen Augenblick einen ganz schönen Schrecken eingejagt.” (“I'm Doctor Meyer. You gave us quite a scare for a moment there.”)

Castiel blinks at her, trying to pick the last puzzle pieces together.

“ … tut mir leid?” (“ … I'm sorry?”) he finally settles on.

She waves him off. “Keine Sorge. Sie waren nur so tief am schlummern, für einen Moment hat es den Anschein erweckt, als würden Sie nicht mehr atmen.” (“Don't worry. You just slept so deeply for a moment it looked like you weren't breathing at all.”)

Right.

Castiel pulls a face. It's actually highly possible that he indeed didn't breathe. When he's awake he always makes sure to keep up appearances around humans, but with his body and mind unconscious nobody told his lungs to draw in any oxygen they actually don't need.

“Aber kein Grund zur Sorge, Ihre bisherigen Werte sehen alle sehr gut aus,” she reassures him. “Wir warten nur noch auf ein paar zusätzliche Testergebnisse.” (“No need to worry, though, your numbers so far look very good. We're only waiting for a few further test results.”)

Castiel doesn't have any intention to stay around here long enough to see those results, but right now, with the doctor crouching all over him, it would be hard to make an exit. At least the human way.

“Vielleicht sollten wir einfach mal am Anfang beginnen,” she suggests. “Wie ist Ihr Name?” (“Maybe we should start at the beginning. What is your name?”)

Castiel opens his mouth, on the verge of offering her one of his fake aliases, but for whatever reason he suddenly hears himself answering, “Castiel Winchester.”

He immediately halts, absolutely bewildered by his own mouth running away from him.

Doctor Meyer glances up from her clipboard as well. It's clear she wants to ask further questions about the name's origin, but doesn't know whether it would be appropriate or not.

So Castiel finds himself saying, “Ich – ich wohne in Kansas.” (“I – I live in Kansas.”)

The doctor nods in understanding. “Sie sind also zum Urlaub hier?” (“So you're here for vacation?”)

Castiel would hardly call it a 'vacation', but that's surely an easier explanation as 'my wings just carried me here'. So he hums in agreement.

“Sind Sie allein?” she wonders. “Oder gibt es jemanden, den wir für Sie kontaktieren können?” (“Are you alone? Or is there anyone we can contact for you?”)

Castiel simply stares at her after that question, thousand different emotions pressing within his chest.

Doctor Meyer, thankfully, seems to misinterpret his silence as some type of language barrier and asks, “Would it be more comfortable for you to switch to English? I'm watching all my TV shows in their original tone and I guess that knowledge should be good for something, right?”

Her accent is heavy, making it clear that she barely speaks the language, but her skills are certainly impeccable.

“Um, we can speak whatever,” Castiel offers. “I don't think my German is that bad, either.”

“No, it's quite perfect actually,” she tells him. “I never would have guessed you as a foreigner.”

Castiel smiles at that, even though he technically can't take any credit for that. It's not like he has to study languages or something, it simply was ingrained into his very being since the dawn of time itself.

“And to come back to my question,” she says, “would you like us to contact anybody for you? Are you with someone on this trip?”

Suddenly an image pops up in Castiel's mind without his permission. An image of Dean hiking through the Black Forest, with Castiel by his side, no demons or angels or anything else on their tails. No, just a normal and so very human vacation.

Dean smiling and talking and taking Castiel's hand, “so we won't get lost”, and everything would be so carefree …

Castiel's heart squeezes at the unlikelihood of it all.

And then the light bulb right above him starts to flicker.

Castiel stares at it and dread fills him once more. He tries to shut it down, tries to ignore it, but the hopelessness of his situation paired with those pictures of Dean all happy completely mess up Castiel's system.

Before he even knows it he feels his Grace slipping again.

And as all the lights begin to burn out around him, the computers in the entire emergency room start to scream like they have been tortured and all the people end up alarmed and confused by the sudden chaos, desperately trying to get everything under control again somehow, Castiel hastily flees the premises just when Doctor Meyer is distracted by the happenings as well and runs deep into the woods.

---

There are a lot of legends surrounding the Black Forest.

Most of them are simply fairy tales, but a few of them are actually true. Right now, however, Castiel can't be bothered by any of them. It's not like any creature would be bold enough to attack a clearly unstable angel right now.

Castiel wanders through the coppice for what feels like ages, losing any track of time. He has got no real destination, no actual plan in mind, he merely wants to leave civilization behind as much as possible. No more failing electronics, no earthquakes putting humans in danger, no bunkers about to collapse …

He knows it's not a permanent solution. If his Grace would decide to get even more out of control those miles and miles he put between himself and humanity wouldn't matter anymore. After all, if their assumptions are actually true and there is currently archangel Grace (and perhaps maybe even God's) running haywire inside of him nobody could say what might happen next. The predestined fight between Lucifer and Michael was supposed to destroy half of the planet at least (back in the time of the first apocalypse, when, ironically enough, times had been easier) and Castiel is not eager to find out whether that would still be the case.

Furthermore, sooner or later the angels will catch up with him, that's for sure. Castiel was able to escape right on time. He doesn't believe they were capable of pinpointing his exact location before he suddenly vanished, so the bunker should be safe. But that doesn't mean they aren't going to find him sooner or later.

He even feels their presence now. Mostly it's still confusion, their eyes roaming all over earth in a frantic attempt to understand what the hell even happened. But once they would identify Castiel as the culprit there's no way to say what they would do.

So Castiel would like to stay as far away as manageable from them, at least as long as he's able to do so.

Even if that means complete solitude for an unknown period of time.

In the long span of his life it certainly wouldn't be something new. But while it never bothered him in his angel days he can't help but think of his family now, his real family, and his heart aches.

---

Castiel has no idea how much time has passed when Dean's prayers reach him.

He's been walking through the forest for an eternity at that point and just as long the voices had accompanied him. It seemed still mostly locally restricted for the time being (at least he heard lots of voices speaking German in his head), but he also knew that sooner or later his Grace's batteries would be filled again and he would be on international level once more.

Dean's voice drowned underneath all the others at first. But since he was the only one addressing Castiel directly by name the angel's instincts tuned in to him eventually. It took a long while to dissect him, to make him stand out from the masses, but as soon as Castiel realized the identity of the man praying he put all his efforts into it.

Dean sounds angry. And frustrated. And terrified. And also hopeful.

As always Dean feels so much and it's still able to overwhelm Castiel.

Castiel listens to Dean's pleas to get into contact with him and curses the fact that his phone is useless right now, at least with him and his technology-hostile Grace around.

(Also Castiel doubts that there will be any cell towers nearby, not so deep within the Black Forest.)

So all he can do for the time being is keep on listening. And feeling his heart breaking at the growing emotions in Dean's tone.

Eventually, though, Dean stops praying and it takes Castiel a while to realize that the hunter must have fallen asleep. The angel isn't exactly sure about the timezone difference, but from what he is gathering Dean probably stayed awake for a very long time, maybe even through the whole night, before eventually exhaustion got the best of him.

At first Castiel feels lots of things about this development. Relief that his friend finally is capable of getting some rest. Disappointment because he's already missing Dean's voice. And frustration with himself for being so rattled by it all.

In the end it takes Castiel an embarrassingly long while to remember the skill of dreamwalking.

Granted, last time he stumbled upon Dean's by accident, but back then it's been Dean's longing that lured him in. And this time around Castiel also feels the hunter crave for him, for his company, for some reassurance that Castiel is fine.

And so the angel sits down on the forest's ground, closes his eyes and forces himself to focus on Dean's dreams and Dean's dreams only.

---

This time they aren't at a beach (and Castiel still feels something fluttering in his chest thinking about that incident) but the bunker.

Dean is sitting at a table in the library, hunched over a bunch of books. It looks like he's doing extensive research and Castiel finds himself wondering whether the hunter considers this scenario a simple dream or actually a nightmare.

He doesn't get any time to dwell on that question, though, because Dean's head snaps up in that very moment and his eyes widen as they focus on the angel.

And just a second later Dean is all in Castiel's personal space, his hand hovering merely inches from the angel. As though he doesn't dare to touch, but desperately wants to nonetheless.

“Cas, is that really you?” Dean asks, sounding breathless. “Are you dreamwalking again?”

Cas inclines his head. “It's me.”

Dean frowns. “But how do I know it's really you and not just my head dreaming you up?”

“You're feeling it's true, don't you?” Castiel asks. Hopes. “Otherwise I'm not exactly sure how to prove myself to you. After all, I would be a product of your imagination, therefore every single 'inside joke' we shared would be futile to tell you because of course you know about it –”

Dean's expression softened when Castiel used air-quotes to make his point and eventually he interrupts the angel by saying, with barely concealed affection, “Yeah, it's you.”

He steps closer, the fingers of his right hand tentatively playing with the buttons of Castiel's jacket.

“Dean, listen, we don't have much time –” Castiel urges right away.

“Oh shit, it's the angels, isn't it?” Dean's features harden as he lets his gaze wander around, like he's expecting the forces of Heaven invading his dream in the very next moment. “They caught you, didn't they –?”

“No, they didn't,” Castiel cuts right in, hurrying to disperse Dean's worries. “But they're still on the lookout and I don't want to risk them following my trail and eventually ending up with you.”

Putting Dean in any danger is the last thing Castiel wants.

“I'm fine, Cas,” Dean assures. “You know me, I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Right now the angels don't seem to have any idea that the power surges are caused by me and I would like to keep them off all our radars as long as possible.”

Dean's face is doing something weirdly complicated before he eventually nods. “You're right,” he agrees gruffly. “We shouldn't take any chances.”

Castiel releases a breath. He doesn't feel like much in the mood to fight with Dean about this.

“Just tell me where you are,” Dean says. “I assume your wings took you somewhere and you don't really know how to get back, huh? Like in Lafayette?”

He's not totally wrong, Castiel has to confess.

And yet …

“Dean …”

“Just, where are you, buddy?” Dean urges. “I'm gonna swing into Baby and pick you up, no problem.”

Castiel grimaces. “I'm somewhere in the Black Forest.”

Dean looks absolutely stunned for a long second.

“Um, you mean the one in Europe?”

Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

Dean blinks and chews on his bottom lip. “Yeah, okay, that's gonna be a tiny bit of a problem – but maybe we're just gonna get you on a plane somehow –”

“I have no intention of coming back,” Castiel cuts in, his body harshly revolting against uttering those words. But nevertheless, they need to be said. “Dean, please –”

Dean, to his credit, doesn't look surprised. Pained, but not surprised.

“Dude, I told you before, you don't need to play the martyr or whatever,” he states. “Nothing that's happening is your fault –”

“That doesn't make it any better,” Castiel interjects. “I had no control – I almost destroyed the bunker …” And then a terrible possibility pops up in his mind again and he asks, hesitantly, “Or did I destroy the bunker?”

Dean shakes his head immediately. “No, no, don't worry, man, the bunker is fine,” he promises. “Yeah, there are a few cracks in the walls and we'll probably have to redo some sigils, but it didn't collapse onto our heads or anything.”

Once again Castiel senses relief rushing through his whole body. The thought of ruining the Winchesters' home and maybe even hurting (or worse) his friends in the process would have been too much to bear.

“But don't you see?” Castiel urges. “It could easily happen again. I need to stay far away from you.” He takes a deep breath. “Far away from any human soul.”

Dean doesn't look pleased by this in the slightest. “No, c'mon, Cas,” he grumbles. “Rowena is on her way to us and I'm sure she's gonna come up with something that'll help you –”

Castiel can't help but snort. “A witch? I'm an angel and I've never seen or heard of such things happening, so why the hell would an ordinary witch have an answer to our problem?”

“Rowena isn't exactly ordinary –”

“It still doesn't matter –”

“No, it does,” Dean insists, his eyes glinting as he tightens his grip on Castiel's jacket. “Yeah, you're all fucking angels. You follow strict lines, you see the world in black and white. And you're frigging bad at thinking outside the box.”

Castiel finds himself scowling. “I'm not that bad at it …”

Suddenly a gentle smile flashes over Dean's features. “Yeah, fine, you are getting better at it. But Rowena's still got a few centuries of a headstart compared to you, so maybe we should hear what she has to say before already dismissing her, how about that?”

Castiel pulls a face. Logically he knows that the chances that even someone as powerful as Rowena is going to have a simple solution for this mess are quite slim. But on the other hand, Dean looks so confident, so hopeful, and Castiel would rather rip his own limbs out than crush his faith like that.

So Castiel rests his hands on Dean's and tries not to interpret too much into the hunter's breath hitching at the contact when he replies, “Okay, maybe you are right –”

“I am!”

“But I'm not coming back,” Castiel decides. “Not until we have something concrete and solid.”

Dean doesn't seem happy about that, but also, once again, not really surprised. “So what are you gonna do? Wandering around the Black Forest and talking with squirrels?”

“They do oftentimes have some interesting stories to tell,” Castiel concedes.

Dean's expression softens at that. “You're such a weirdo, man.”

Castiel learned a long time ago that this is actually an odd sort of compliment, so he grins right back and tightens his grip around Dean's hand. The hunter steps even closer in response and for a moment he looks at the angel with such an intensity that Castiel barely has any idea what to do with it. Their faces are so impossibly close Castiel would feel Dean's breath on his skin if this wouldn't have been a dream and suddenly the atmosphere between them gets so charged Castiel fears for a second he might lose control once more.

But just as he considers drawing back again to save his own sanity Dean says, “Okay, I can't keep you from your squirrel friends. But you've gotta promise me to stay in contact, alright? Use your damned phone –”

“Technology is currently not working very well in my vicinity, “Castiel explains. “Besides, I highly doubt there are any cell towers so deep in the woods.”

Dean huffs. “Then continue to visit me in my dreams. I'm gonna keep you up-to-date on everything.”

Castiel presses his lips tightly together. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might not be here physically, but I'm creating a link between us whenever I enter your dreams,” Castiel says with a sigh. “And if there might go something wrong with my Grace again while I would still be connected with you –”

Now it seems to be Dean's turn to clutch onto Castiel's hands. “No, buddy, no excuses anymore,” he orders. “You can do this, I know it. Look at you now.”

“But what if –?”

“If we spend our whole time pondering over all the what if's we'd only end up severely depressed,” Dean interrupts. “It's a risk, yeah. But we need to communicate with you somehow.”

“Then pray. And if there might be something urgently to discuss I will visit your dream.”

Dean looks up, suddenly something vulnerable showing up on his face. “You can hear my prayers?”

“Not as clearly as before,” Castiel admits. “There are a lot of voices in my head – but yours eventually always get through. You just might need to try a little longer and be more stubborn than usual.”

Dean stares at him for a moment and eventually chuckles quietly. “Yeah, I can do stubborn.”

“I know you can.”

Castiel realizes he should leave now since they've discussed everything of importance, he should pull back to not put his friend at risk by a prolonged stay, but when Dean all of sudden links their fingers in a gesture that makes Castiel's heart race, the angel stays frozen on the spot, completely captivated by Dean's gaze.

And so they remain like that for a very long time.

Chapter Text

When Dean wakes the sun is already standing high.

He blinks a few times and remains lying in the uncomfortable motel bed, his head needing a moment to catch up with reality. He still feels like Cas is standing right in front of him, his gaze piercing and so very intense, and Dean shivers at the memory. Technically he knows it wasn't exactly real, that it just happened in his very own head, their bodies elsewhere and merely their minds meeting each other, but it felt true enough and Dean has a hard time shaking it at first.

To be perfectly frank, he doesn't really want to shake it off.

He thinks of Cas, all alone in that big forest, frustrated and probably afraid and his hopelessness growing the more time passes. Lonely and yet with countless different voices in his ears, making his head throb and his control slip.

Dean wants to rush over to him so badly. He doesn't even care that he would have to hop into a plane to do so, he just longs to pull that stupid angel into his arms and to never let go ever again.

For a long while Dean remains lost in his thoughts before he eventually forces himself to face reality and get his butt out of the bed. After all, wallowing around won't help Cas.

Eventually Dean notices that he's all alone in the motel room, not even The Colonel is around, and after a quick glance at his phone's watch he realizes it's past 10 PM. Dean frowns at it for a moment, actually finding himself surprised that he managed to sleep for a couple of hours. It had felt like he barely spent twenty minutes with Cas.

Dean grumbles as he finally stumbles toward the bathroom, takes care of the most urgent business and afterwards slips into some clean clothes, beyond grateful that he packed his duffle bag very generously before heading out for the hunt which eventually ended up interrupted. Dean wouldn't have loved to be forced to get back into his sweaty clothes from last night.

After looking moderately decent he steps out of the room and instantly spots Sam and Eileen at the Impala, with Eileen sitting on the hood looking at her phone and Sam on the driver's seat with the door wide open, some book in his hand. They seem lost in whatever they're doing and only notice Dean coming closer when The Colonel suddenly leaps from his shadowy resting spot and almost topples over himself to greet the hunter.

Despite everything Dean can't help a little smile as he kneels down and scratches between The Colonel's ears. For many years he never really got Sam's insistence to finally get a dog, always brushing his brother off, but when they eventually decided to keep this specific individual around Dean slowly began to realize how awesome it is to have a dog in the family. There is always someone who is stupidly happy to see you and who constantly puts a smile on your face, even in the darkest moments, and who wants to cuddle all the time, no judgment or witty comments or anything …

Yeah, it surely has its perks.

“Why are you guys out here?” Dean wonders after he crossed the rest of the way toward Sam and Eileen.

“You were still asleep,” Sam explains with a shrug. “You looked like you needed it.”

Out of instinct Dean wants to protest at first, but in the end he keeps his mouth shut. It's probably true, not to mention the fact that they might've woken him up right in the middle of talking with Cas.

“Well, yeah,” he mutters. “Probably a good idea. Considering, um, Cas visited me in my dream again.”

Sam perks up right away while Eileen squints her eyes, probably wondering whether she read Dean's lips correctly.

“He did?” Sam asks excitedly. “How is he? Where is he?”

Dean makes sure to position himself in a manner appropriate for Eileen before he relays, “Well, he's, uh, Cas, y'know? Beating himself up over what happened and all that.”

Sam nods, apparently not surprised.

“He ended up in the Black Forest,” Dean adds.

Sam creases his forehead. “The one in Germany?”

“Looks like it, yeah.”

Sam and Eileen share a glance Dean doesn't really know how to interpret.

“He's determined to stay there for the time being,” Dean, meanwhile, continues, once again a jolt in his chest at the thought of Cas choosing solitude for all their sake. “Until he can be sure he won't explode around us and all that …”

Sam grimaces. “Maybe not a bad idea,” he agrees. “I didn't even realize it last night, but it appears that Cas' little outburst last night reached a bit further than the bunker.”

Dean feels his insides squeezing. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing major happened, thank God,” Sam is quick to reassure. “People just think it was an earthquake. Some property damages, but apart from that everything seems to be alright. Only some streets and the Interstate caved in a couple of areas. That's why Rowena and Victor are late, they're still stuck in traffic.”

Right.

Dean suddenly remembers that they actually should've been here already.

“So … nobody got hurt?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Doesn't look like it,” Sam says. “It seems like most people just got thrown out of their beds. Before they even realized what was happening, it stopped again.”

Dean grits his teeth.

He clearly hears what Sam is not saying right now. If Cas wouldn't have snapped out of it in time, people might've ended up injured. Or even worse.

And Dean knows that Cas would never have forgiven himself for that.

“So yeah, maybe it's best he's staying in the middle of nowhere for now,” Sam states. “If everything works out the way we hope it might not be for long anyway.”

Dean frowns. “You've already got a plan?”

“Well, I've talked a bit with Rowena on the phone while she was stuck in traffic,” Sam admits. “And it sounds like she might have a solid idea. But you know her, she didn't give me any details yet without having some guarantees first.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah. Where would we be if she'd do something just out of the goodness of her heart, right?”

Though he has to confess that it sounds exciting that she actually might have an idea to get out of this mess. He tries not to get his hopes up too soon, but Rowena has proven in the past that she's exceptional in many sorts of ways.

Maybe they will finally have a chance.

---

They arrive half an hour later.

Rowena has a spring to her step when she walks into the motel room, clearly excited for whatever is about to come.

And Victor – well, he doesn't look so good. He's trailing after the witch, his movements a bit stilted, his gaze flickering all over the place. He seems like a man who actually truly believed he would be stuck in a car with Rowena forever and can't really fathom just yet that he seriously made it out alive.

Dean grimaces in sympathy and pats the agent's shoulder. “I owe you a six-pack for this.”

Victor raises his brows. “You owe me a whole fucking liquor store for this,” he insists. “Man, the things she told me – I will never be able to unhear it …”

He shakes his head while he closes the door behind himself and heads straight for The Colonel, apparently in serious need of some cuddles. The dog, at least, seems more than happy to provide those.

Dean watches him for a moment, feeling quite torn because he seriously wants to comfort his friend, but when Rowena drops onto the end of his bed with all her usual flourish he finds himself distracted once more.

“So, how about a coffee?” she wonders. “We've been stuck in that tiny tin can for ages –”

Dean grumbles, impatient to get this show on the road as quickly as possible, but also realizes she might have a point. But instead of hurrying to the next coffee shop he shoves a can of soda into her hand (and gets Victor one as well) and declares, “This is it for the time being. Coffee later.”

While Victor appreciates the gesture, Rowena stares at the can like it personally insulted her entire family. “Seriously? Don't you realize how much sugar and calories –?”

“Take it or leave it,” Dean cuts her off. “Trust me, the coffee around here is crappy anyway, you wouldn't be much happier with it either.”

Rowena stays motionless for a moment, carefully calculating the situation, before she eventually heaves a dramatic sigh and puts the can aside.

“Alright, let's go straight to business then, shall we?” she proposes. “You all look like you're ready to burst.”

“Well, it's been a stressful few weeks,” Sam explains with a grimace.

Rowena acknowledges that with a single nod and then jumps right in. “Okay, let's discuss my payment first, how about that?”

Dean is certainly not surprised to hear that. “And we're still offering you a favor.”

“As I said, I need a bit more than that,” Rowena objects with a huff. “I'm not a fan of vague promises.”

“You're not getting another peek into the Grimoire,” Dean decides.

That stupid thing is just too powerful and in Rowena's hands it might become one of the most dangerous weapons they have ever seen. After releasing the freaking Darkness into the world because of their carelessness Dean isn't too keen on repeating that mistake yet again.

“You're no fun,” Rowena points out with a massive pout.

Dean snorts. “I'm not trying to be fun.”

“Rowena, please,” Sam leaps into the conversation, his big, mighty puppy dog eyes on full force. “Cas is struggling and if he loses control completely we can't say what will happen.”

Rowena seems fairly unimpressed. “Are you trying to poke at my good conscience? Because I don't have one, just for your information.”

“But you've got a strong sense of survival,” Sam adds. “Because who knows what Cas might do if he'd find out that you would've had a chance to help him and just refused to do so?”

She pulls a face at that. “Are you threatening me with your angel?”

“I'm being realistic here,” Sam counters. “Dean already told Cas about you. And he's getting more desperate by the minute. I'm not saying he'd be out to kill you or something, but he might seek you out and his current state that could be dangerous –”

“I can't believe you're seriously threatening me with your angel!” Rowena cuts in, her glare intensifying. “I'm just trying to help here –”

“You're trying to get something out of this,” Dean clarifies.

“I don't have to be here and listen to your accusations –”

“Okay, how about this?” Sam interjects once more. “We're gonna allow you another peek into the Grimoire,” he suggests, with Rowena's expression immediately lighting up and Dean's scowl deepening. “But not just a random peek. The only thing you will be allowed to look at is that one very powerful healing spell.”

Rowena doesn't appear disappointed but rather intrigued. “You mean the one –?”

“Yes.”

“And you will –?”

“Yes.”

Rowena falls silent after that, making a big show of thinking it over, while Dean takes the opportunity to lean over to Sam and whisper, “What are you doing? Are you really sure this is a good idea?”

“It's a strong spell, agreed,” Sam has to admit. “But she can't harm anyone with it.”

“She can twist anything around to make it dangerous,” Dean states.

Sam sighs, clearly not objecting. “I know,” he confesses. “But – where are we gonna draw the line then, huh? Technically she's got the ability to turn anything into a weapon. We could only give her a bouquet of flowers and some chocolate as a thank you and she would be able to kill us with that.”

Dean grits his teeth. “Yeah, I know, but –”

“It's for Cas,” Sam reminds him. “Giving a witch access to a healing spell doesn't sound so bad in comparison, right?”

He does have a point.

Besides, Rowena really pulled herself together over time. Sure, she's still selfish and unpredictable on most days, but Dean stopped believing she would start another apocalypse or whatever a long while ago. He doesn't trust her, not even closely, but she isn't completely evil either and Sam actually seems to somewhat get along with her in an odd sort of way.

“Alright,” Dean eventually gives in. “But if she'd ever use that spell for anything else but healing, I'll personally hunt her down, you hear me?”

“Fine by me,” Sam agrees easily.

And it was obviously also fine by Rowena because she meets them with a bright smile. “Okay, you have a deal,” she announces. “Although I'm going to take the flowers and chocolate on top of that as well, thank you.”

Sam chuckles quietly to himself at that while Dean merely groans, “Yeah, fine, whatever. Just tell us what you've got.”

Rowena makes herself more comfortable on the bed, clearly enjoying all the attention.

“Well, for the last couple of years I've been reading up on angels,” she explains, shrugging her shoulders like this is totally obvious. And adds, when she finds herself confronted with Dean's blank look, “Know your enemy. Or, in this specific case, your maybe-ally-sometimes-enemy.”

Dean scoffs, but doesn't say a thing. Of course it's the sensible thing to do, especially for someone like Rowena who is known for her survival skills. It's certainly not been luck that kept her alive all this time.

“Either way, I found some interesting sources,” she goes on. “Probably far more unique than your precious Men of Letters have collected over time.”

Dean narrows his eyes, but, once again, keeps silent. The topic of angels is indeed not very well covered in the bunker's library, most of the old Men of Letters apparently just deeming them mere legends.

Just as Dean had believed until that day Cas walked into his life.

“And you got anything in your unique sources that might help us out?” he asks, trying not to sound too impatient.

“Well, I can tell you that sweet Castiel's case is one of a kind,” Rowena states. “At least during my research I never stumbled upon anything even remotely similar to his situation. That doesn't mean it never happened, though, it's only never been written down before.”

Dean surely doesn't like the sound of that.

“So you mean we would need to ask an angel? One that hadn't been brainwashed over and over in the last couple of centuries and millennia like Cas had been?”

Rowena hums. “Well, that would be one option, yes. But let's not get hasty just yet.”

Dean squirms on his spot and suppresses the strong desire to urge the witch on in a not so kindly manner.

“Because during my research I did find something interesting that might actually apply to Castiel,” Rowena adds.

“And what is that?” Dean demands to know.

“Once again, let's not get hasty,” Rowena chastises him, the smile on her face indicating that she's having way too much fun with this. “Because as dear Samuel described poor Castiel's predicament to me, it strongly reminded me of a story I once heard. And not during my angel research, mind you, but in the old witch circles. That was a few hundred years ago, if I remember correctly.”

Dean leans forward. “And what story would that be?”

“You see, at that time I joined a powerful coven,” Rowena tells them, sighing at the memory. “I had gotten in a bit of a pickle with some warlocks and figured it would be better for my continued existence to have some backup. The members of the coven were all highly pretentious and deeply unpleasant in so many different kinds of ways, but they knew their way around magic like barely anyone else I've met before, so I decided to endure their company for the time being. Better safe than sorry, right?”

She huffs while a hint of disgust flickers over her features as she thinks back to her old pals.

“Well, long story short, as any witch coven does they had their own colorful tales about their past,” Rowena points out. “And one of those was about one of their former leaders. I can't recall the woman's name anymore – Salira, Samira, something like this –, but according to the coven she used to be a powerful individual. And massively greedy. Because guess what she loved to do? Collect the magic of her adversaries and make it her own.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip, slowly starting to realize where this is going.

“One day it got too much, though,” Rowena says. “All that magic inside of her, it threatened to burst out. Destroy her very being and everything around her. Soon enough she was unable to control it anymore.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Like Cas.”

Rowena nods in agreement. “Yes, there are surely some similarities in both their situations, right?”

Dean certainly can understand why she was reminded of this old story when she heard about Cas and his Grace on the verge of overwhelming him.

“So what did that witch do?” Dean urges. “Did she find a way out of this?”

He tries not to sound too desperate and fails spectacularly.

“Well, she actually did,” Rowena says with a pleased smile. “At first she attempted to get rid of the foreign magic and go back to her original state, but by that time everything had melted together and she was incapable of just flinging it away. Therefore she decided to go another way.” Rowena does a dramatic pause and gazes at everyone in the room for a second before eventually revealing, “She restored her inner balance.”

Dean blinks.

“Her inner balance?”

Rowena shoots him a grin. “Balance is key, dearie. When she sucked in all that extra magic her inner scale tipped to the side and it was only a matter of time before it would topple over completely.”

Dean frowns.

He has to confess, in a way that makes perfect sense.

“So what exactly did she do?” he wonders.

“She used a spell to strengthen her original magic,” Rowena says. “The one that has always been hers. The one that was the core of her very being.”

Dean can't help but frown at that. “But if she was already on the verge of exploding, wouldn't it have been extra stupid to put more power on top of that? When you've got a big fire, you don't dump more fire on it.”

Rowena smiles. Like a mother who's proud of her toddler for using the potty somewhat properly for the very first time.

“It was a risk, yes,” she agrees. “I admit it could've backfired. But it was also the only option she had at that point.”

Dean throws a look at Sam who's starting to lean in, clearly intrigued by Rowena's story. “So you're saying if we somehow strengthen Cas' original Grace, his Grace, he might find his inner balance again and would be able to control the foreign archangel Grace in his system?”

Rowena nods. “Ideally he would get the upper hand back again.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Or he would fucking explode.”

“That might happen, too, yes.”

Dean grimaces, not at all happy about this scenario. He knew it wouldn't be a cakewalk to bring Cas back to his old self, but he surely doesn't want to risk the guy's life like that.

Sam, however, doesn't seem to have the same reservations. “Dean,” he says, his voice low to give them some illusion of privacy. “Cas is strong. He can do this.”

Dean pulls a face. “But he's been so exhausted lately. I'm not sure –”

“Let's hear Rowena out, okay?” Sam proposes. “It's not like we're making any final decision just yet. After all, in the end it's Cas' choice. But he should be allowed to know what his options are, don't you think?”

Dean kinda hates this, but naturally Sam is not wrong. Cas has a right to know everything and decide for himself. Just dismissing the whole thing and never telling him anything about it would be a shitty thing to do.

And Dean swore to himself not long ago to stop doing shitty things to Cas.

“Okay, fine,” he says, turning back to Rowena. “What exactly would we need to strengthen his Grace? I assume we can't just go shopping at Walmart for the ingredients, huh?”

“Well, some of the things are indeed a little exotic,” Rowena confirms. “But with both our stocks combined and our contacts helping us out if anything should be missing, I don't think it would be much of a problem.” She pauses, obviously making it particularly dramatic. “Apart from one ingredient.”

Of course.

Dean is not surprised by that.

“And what is that?” he asks, unable to suppress a sigh.

“A few drops of Castiel's Grace.”

Dean blinks.

And quickly exchanges a look with Sam and Eileen who seem equally unsure what to make of this.

“Um, alright?” Dean says tentatively. “I'm sure Cas would be willing to get something out of himself –”

“No, no, not the Grace currently residing in his body,” Rowena cuts in. “His personal Grace is already mixed up with the archangel one at this point. I highly doubt even Castiel could separate them at this stage.” She folds her arms across her chest. “No, we need some of tweetie pie's original Grace. Completely untarnished. Otherwise the spell would strengthen all of the Grace in Castiel's vessel right now and I'm pretty sure we don't want to do that, right?”

Dean takes a deep breath.

Of course there would be a big catch.

“And how are we supposed to do that with all that archangel Grace in the mix?” he grumbles. “I don't think …”

He trails off, not even certain what he's getting at.

“How did the witch in your story master such a thing?” Eileen asks, her gaze focused on Rowena's lips, clearly eager not to miss a single detail.

“She had a familiar,” Rowena explains. “He had still some of her original magic stored inside of him. They took it out and used it for the spell.”

Dean scoffs. “Well, Cas surely doesn't have a familiar,”

“But he might have scattered some of his Grace across the earth over the years, right?”

Dean opens his mouth, on the brink of laughing into the witch's face, but then he finds himself freezing. Because he suddenly remembers that angels leave a bit of their Grace behind when they exit a body they used to possess beforehand and …

“Claire,” he breathes. “Claire – she, Cas possessed her.”

Sam perks up as well. “Yes,” he jumps into enthusiastically. “I mean, it was for all of five minutes like ten years ago, but angel Grace – I mean, it's powerful, there might still be something left inside of her.”

A little hopeful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Rowena, however, crushes that right away as she objects, “I'm not sure a five-minute possession might cover it.”

Dean finds himself deflating. “But Grace – it's resilient, you don't know if –”

“Besides, I think we already have the perfect candidate,” Rowena interrupts, her smirk growing. “Don't we?”

Dean stares at her in confusion. “Who?”

“Well, you, you twit.”

Dean's eyes widen while Sam's brows rise so high they disappear underneath his hairline.

“Me?” Dean exclaims, trying to laugh and missing by a mile. “Why do you think –?”

Rowena rolls her eyes fiercely. “I know all about you, you do realize that, right? Poor Fergus is hardly able to keep his mouth shut when you're concerned.” She grinds her teeth, clearly having heard way too many Winchester tales for her liking. “So please tell me, did that angel of yours pull you out of Hell and put your mangled little body back together or did he not?”

“Well, yeah –”

“And how do you reckon he did that? With superglue?”

Dean straightens his back, ready for another argument. But then he hesitates as he dares to wrap his head around her words.

Damn.

He abruptly turns towards Sam. “I've got Cas' Grace inside of me?”

He sounds a bit high-pitched, but fuck, this aren't the news he was expecting today!

Sam flinches at Dean's tone for a second before muttering, “Well, uh, yeah, I believe? I dunno, I haven't thought about it in ages …”

Neither has Dean, to be honest.

Sure, the possibility crossed his mind once or twice in the beginning, just after he crawled out of that grave, but back in the day he had an apocalypse to deal with and he completely forgot about it again. And after a while it stopped to matter entirely and especially with the handprint on his shoulder gone after Cas had healed him in Stull Dean had nothing left to remind him of that …

But now, as he looks at Rowena so utterly sure that Dean is the key to that spell, he finds himself forcefully pulled back into that time once more.

“Is that … is that the reason I'm the one Cas is visiting in my dreams?” Dean wonders. “And that he calls our connection a 'profound bond' or whatever?”

Sam's face does some weird complicated twitches. “Well, I think there is way more to it than just that,” he says, sounding a bit careful as though he fears Dean's potential reaction. “But it might be part of it, yeah.”

Dean doesn't respond.

He doesn't even know what he could say.

Before he even realizes what he's doing he tries to listen into himself, tries to gather whether he can somehow sense Cas' Grace swirling inside of him or whatever else Graces do in their free time. Wonders if he would even notice a difference because Cas' Grace has been with him since such a long time …

Without Dean really being aware of that …

Double damn.

There are so many questions on his mind and he's still not completely sure if Rowena is actually right about this or not, but Dean surely doesn't have any time to unpack all of that just now. Cas is all alone in a big forest, on the verge of completely losing himself, and Dean might have a way to stop all of that.

That's what Dean needs to focus on.

All the other stuff, all the implications – he can deal with that afterwards.

And so he takes a deep breath and looks straight at Rowena. “Okay, what would we need to do?”

Chapter Text

Dean eventually finds himself outside of the motel room, taking place on a bench and overlooking the parking lot.

He usually doesn't like tapping out while still in the middle of devising a course of action, but Rowena and Sam dove into witchy talk not long after and it only made Dean's head hurt. And while Eileen was able to tune those two out easily by merely averting her gaze, Dean needed to put some distance between it all.

So he grabbed his jacket, nudged Victor and did some hand gestures to indicate his plan, before walking out of that room.

It's only a few minutes later when he's joined by the agent. Also The Colonel happily trots along and drops onto the ground in front of their feet like his strings have been cut.

“You okay, man?” Dean asks after a long moment of silence.

“You mean, in general?” Victor wonders with a scoff.

Dean grimaces in sympathy. “I know Rowena can be a lot,” he admits. “I normally only have to endure her in very small doses. I can't even begin to imagine how it must be to end up trapped inside a car with her for hours.”

Victor surely looks like he would love nothing more than to forget all about it.

“Let's just say, she's been living a long life and has seen and done a lot of stuff,” he states. “And she enjoys talking about it in very vivid detail.”

Dean can't help but pull a face at that. “Oh jeez.”

“You wanna know what she did to the miller's son in 1698 after he tried to double-cross her? Because trust me, you don't wanna know.”

Dean pats Victor's leg in sympathy. “Sorry for dragging you into all of this.”

Victor, however, just snorts. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn't wanna miss it for the world.”

Dean finds himself with a crooked grin.

Victor is tough and badass and the hunter is surely glad that he decided to join their mission all these years ago instead of turning his back and running for the hills. Dean certainly wouldn't have blamed him, but it's great that Victor stayed with them.

And not only because it's beneficial to have an FBI agent on their side.

No, also because he became a very good friend.

“So, how are things in Lafayette?” Dean wonders eventually. Of course Victor kept him up-to-date on the occurrences in the small town after Cas “mysteriously” disappeared from jail without leaving behind any trace, but, to be frank, Dean had been very preoccupied by Cas' whole fucking mess to give it much attention in the long run.

“Everyone is still losing their heads over the vanished prisoner,” Victor relays, just as expected. “It's actually sad to look at how much effort and money is put into the resulting manhunt and everything else it entails. Sometimes I just wanna shout at them that it's only a waste of time and resources.”

Dean grimaces. He can totally imagine how hard it must be to keep your mouth shut.

And still, he surely isn't sorry for Cas getting out of that depressing cell.

“Also my superiors are seriously starting to ride my back regarding Sam's blood on the scene,” Victor explains with a sigh. “Nobody likes to reopen old case files again that were assumed closed and solved.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry about that …”

Victor, though, just waves him off. “It's not like you did it on purpose or whatever. I'm sure Castiel didn't ask to lose control over his powers and Sam certainly didn't ask to get stabbed by a demon. It is what it is, man.”

Dean shifts on his seat. “Still, if there's anything we can do …”

“I'd say try to keep your heads down for a while, but I know I'd bark up the wrong tree with that,” Victor states, an amused smile flashing over his lips. “It's okay, we're gonna find a way out of it.”

Dean bends down to scratch a suddenly needy Colonel behind the ears. “Any ideas yet?”

“For a moment I figured I could somehow make it look like the lab made a mistake,” Victor tells him. “Y'know, pretend like that blood has never been Sam's to begin with.”

“But?” Dean urges.

“Well, it could work,” Victor admits. “I'm sure Charlie would even help me out with her skills, make it all believable and whatnot.” He inhales deeply. “But if word got around that that lab made a 'mistake', it might have far-reaching consequences. Other culprits would be able to challenge the lab's results about their own cases and it might result in a lot of cases ending up reopened. Hell, maybe some scumbags might even walk free because of that. And I don't wanna put that on my conscience.”

Yeah, neither does Dean.

And after a long moment of quiet he sighs. The whole thing isn't even the most pressing matter they have to deal with right now and that is saying everything about the Winchester's life people need to know.

“We're gonna find a way,” Dean promises, clapping the guy's shoulder in reassurance for good measure.

Victor merely grunts in response. “Let's focus on Castiel first.”

Dean can't argue with that.

---

Soon enough they're back in the motel room with the others, trying to come up with some sort of plan.

“So, after comparing our notes I think we've got everything we need for that spell,” Sam says, sounding cautiously excited while he paces back and forth in the currently way too crowded room. “We've got most of it in the bunker's archives, the rest we can find in Rowena's collection –”

“Which I expect to be replaced sooner rather than later, obviously,” Rowena pipes in.

“Of course,” Sam is quick to agree, even though he takes his time to roll his eyes dramatically nonetheless. “I'm just saying, we can get started very soon.”

Dean can't help but hesitate. For weeks they didn't have a single clue and now it's supposed to be over and done with in a short period of time?

Yeah, he learned a long time ago that you can't trust anything good coming your way without any hindrances.

“And what about the Grace?” he asks. “How are we getting it out of me?”

“That is the only part that might cause some trouble,” Sam admits with a grimace. “Extracting Grace is a very delicate process and one false movement –” He swallows, his expression telling Dean better than anything that one little mistake would be far from great. “I mean, Cas did it to me with the whole Gadreel thing – in theory it didn't look so complicated, but I don't think …”

He trails off, exchanging a quick glance with Rowena.

Who instantly raises her hands in defense. “Don't look at me, dearie,” she states right away. “I won't start digging around in your brother for that Grace. It probably wouldn't like my very particular aura anyway.”

Dean frowns. “What? You think it would defend itself against you?”

That thought is so weird and yet so not weird that Dean barely knows what to do with it. His gaze automatically wanders to his left shoulder, right where Cas' handprint used to sit, and a part of himself almost expects to see the angel's Grace shining brightly through his shirt or something.

“I don't know if it would actively defend itself,” Rowena concedes. “But it actually might not be thrilled to be forcefully pulled out of your warm, mushy body by someone like me and end up resisting me.”

“Which would probably not be so good for you,” Sam adds, his eyes trained on Dean.

Who simply sighs. “So what are you saying?”

“Like I mentioned, it's a complex procedure,” Sam tells him. “And I guess it would be best for an angel to do it. They're most likely the only ones who know how it's done properly.”

Dean can't say he's surprised.

But to be fair, he had intended to speak with Cas about all of this beforehand anyway. Sure, it's Dean's life and his decision, but Cas is their personal Grace expert and Dean wouldn't have even considered doing this, trusting a freaking witch, without consulting his best friend first.

“So we should let Cas do it?” Dean guesses.

Sam pulls a face. “If he feels capable, yeah. If not …”

He tilts his head to one side and starts to look rather pained as he thinks about their alternatives. And Dean surely can't help but relate to that. They didn't make many friends in their tumultuous life so far and Heaven's guardians certainly belong to that. They probably wouldn't eagerly get in line to help the Winchesters out.

“Cas will be fine,” Dean says, sounding much more confident than he actually feels. “No worries.”

---

Cas told him to pray extra stubbornly and so that's what Dean gets to right away.

He didn't catch much sleep last night, so as everyone vacates the motel room to allow him some rest (and meet up with the angel in his dreams) he didn't even hesitate to crawl underneath the covers. Sure, he's still wired by everything that happened since his last dreamwalking experience, but he knows that ultimately it won't be an impossible task to fall back asleep sometime soon.

So when he gets himself comfortable he starts praying like he never prayed before in his life.

Cas, you've got your ears on? Rowena arrived and she's actually got an idea, just like I told you, you skeptical bastard, so let's meet up and see what you've got to say to that …

He goes on like that for a long while, repeating himself over and over and throwing several more “I told you so's” into the mix for good measure, before eventually he begins to drift off.

Only to find himself back at the beach again.

Dean can't keep himself from getting all flustered at the realization. Without his permission pictures of the last time he ended up here with Cas flash up in his mind, how his stupid brain didn't manage to distinguish dream from reality and made him do dumb things. How he basically climbed the angel like a tree, so keen and willing and so very fucking oblivious –

“Dean?”

Cas' voice is impossibly close and Dean flinches hard while his hunter instincts kick in, apparently even active in dream world, and make him snap around.

Just to end up face to face with the angel in question.

Dean swallows and tries not to be too obvious as he gets himself back into control.

Instead he lets his gaze wander over Cas' form and assesses him quickly, concentrating on solely doing that rather than resolving to anything embarrassing, like blushing like a middle school girl interacting with her crush or whatever. So Dean only focuses on Cas' appearance, the pronounced bags underneath his eyes, his unusually pale skin, the stiff shoulders, the haunted look, and takes a very deep breath he technically doesn't need.

“You said Rowena found something?” Cas wonders. As always straight to the point.

It's obvious that he doesn't have any intention to waste precious time and beat around the bush.

Dean finds himself tensing up, his eyes flickering around to take their surroundings in. Half expecting to spot an army of upset angels popping up right beside them the very next second.

“Are the angels still after you?” he asks, his back straightening automatically. His very being absolutely incapable of not preparing for a fight.

“They are still looking, yes,” Cas says through gritted teeth. “So please, I don't think we have much time –”

Dean is pretty sure he never heard a “please” that actually sounds so much like “fuck you, you idiot, just get on with it” before he had met Cas.

“Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a twist,” Dean cuts in with a huff. “So yeah, Rowena found something. Just like I told you –”

Cas rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, you mentioned that in your prayers. Multiple times.”

“I just like rubbing it in, buddy,” Dean states with a lopsided grin.

“How about we postpone your rubbing for later, alright?” Cas suggests, either completely clueless to how that sentence sounds or totally being an asshole about it on purpose.

With that grumpy angel of the Lord, everything is possible.

Dean scoffs and shakes his head in fond exasperation before eventually diving into a fast explanation, eager to get this show on the road. Cas' expression, meanwhile, gets more and more pensive as Dean relays the details of the spell.

“It's certainly an interesting idea,” the angel has to agree. “It might actually work.”

“Don't sound so surprised,” Dean says. “As I told you, Rowena got around and likes to think outside the box. Only because the situation you're currently in never happened to an angel before, doesn't mean there isn't someone out there who lived through something similar and got out of it alive.”

Cas decides to entirely ignore the stab to his seraphic ego and instead asks, “And Sam and Rowena do have every ingredient for the spell?”

Dean starts to squirm on the spot. “Well, technically yes.”

“Technically? What does that mean?”

Dean huffs and tells his dream self not to get flustered as he outright points out, “The only thing they still need access to is a portion of your original Grace. You know, like the one that's inside of me right now.”

Cas tenses at that, his expression turning into something Dean is unable to describe.

“The Grace nobody bothered to tell me about,” the hunter continues, a clear bite in his tone now. “Would've been kinda nice to know and all that …”

Cas furrows his brows at those words. “I put you back together after Hell. How did you think I achieved that?”

He sounds so incredulous, like Dean not being aware of it is barely fathomable, and Dean's fidgeting gets gradually worse with that.

“I'm just saying …” he mutters. “I didn't really think about it at the time … and then, with the handprint gone, it slowly began to slip my mind …”

At that mention Cas' gaze automatically flickers to Dean's shoulder. As if he's seeing something nobody else can.

“Either way,” Dean says, quickly waving it all off before he once again manages to embarrass himself further at this freaking beach, “you're the expert on getting Grace out of people, so you need to do your thing and grab yourself a tiny bit.”

Cas' features suddenly harden.

“No.”

Just that one, single word.

And a very impressive scowl.

Dean, meanwhile, blinks in confusion. “What do you mean, no?”

“It's not that hard to translate, Dean,” Cas says through gritted teeth.

“But –”

“No! And that's final!”

Cas seriously doesn't look like he's up for any discussions.

Too bad for him, though, that Dean Winchester is a very stubborn sonuvabitch.

“Dude, what the hell?” he complains. “What's up with the attitude?”

“Dean –”

The hunter quickly raises his finger to cut the angel off. “Don't use that tone with me, Cas. I need an explanation, you hear me? Because so far this is the best idea we've had and I don't see why you're suddenly growing a stick up your ass.”

Cas presses his lips tightly together. “It's too dangerous –”

“Bullshit!” Dean interrupts sharply. “You've done the same thing for Sam. And he's still alive and kicking.”

“That's been a completely different situation,” Cas makes himself clear.

And suddenly there is an emotional waver in his voice that hadn't been there before.

Dean still feels strained, still wants to shake that stupid angel silly, but some of the fight leaves his body hearing that.

“Cas,” he says, now a bit calmer. “I know that you don't trust yourself right now. That you think you might make a mistake and render me a vegetable or something in the process.” The thought surely had crossed Dean's mind as well at some point. It's not a fairly pleasant one. “But you can do this, I know you can –”

“It's not that, Dean,” Cas objects. “At least it's not only that …”

“Then what the hell is the problem?”

Dean stares intently at his friend.

Who, in return, lowers his gaze. Shame written all over his features.

Huh.

“Cas …” Dean whispers now. He wants to reach out, wants to take his hand and offer some reassurance, but his cowardly ass is once again not in the mood for any sort of bravery.

Cas, meanwhile, merely sighs and shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Dean …”

“For what?”

Dean is getting increasingly nervous all of a sudden as he studies the angel intently. How he's avoiding Dean's gaze (which is always a bad sign), how he's slumping his shoulders and suddenly seems so small and fragile in his clothes. How he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as though he has to brace himself for what is about to come.

“I don't know how it happened,” Cas eventually says, still looking anywhere but Dean's eyes. “Or even when it happened. I didn't believe it would ever be a possibility, therefore over all this time I never considered checking for it …”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist and keeps himself from urging the guy on.

“I mean, I've always felt my Grace inside of you,” Cas goes on. “But I've never seen it. That's a skill only archangels possess.”

Dean just presses his lips tightly together. He certainly remembers how Cas back in the days had to revert to rummaging through Sam's fucking ribcage to realize the younger Winchester's soul had been left behind in Hell with Lucifer.

Because of course it would've have been too easy for the universe to grant them some slack and let Cas simply see it just like that.

“I had no idea,” Cas continues, his voice becoming a little unsteady. “But then, when all of this happened,” he gestures at his whole body, his whole and currently very messy being, “I started to notice things. At first I assumed I was imagining all of it. That my mind was playing tricks. After all, I wasn't in the best of conditions …”

He takes a deep breath. Draws all the oxygen in which technically doesn't even exist in this dream.

“Cas,” Dean pipes up again, switching hard between concern and impatience. “What did you see?”

Cas looks like he'd rather do anything else than answer that question. And for a second there Dean is utterly convinced he would have to grab that dumb angel and shake some sense into him.

But then Cas raises his eyes and stares directly at Dean as he announces, “My Grace and your soul are latching tightly onto another.”

The hunter blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And doesn't feel any wiser.

“Huh?” he asks, eloquent beyond belief.

Cas, however, doesn't seem too keen on repeating himself. Instead he ducks his head again and appears to consider a not so subtle retreat.

Which will so not happen, if Dean has any say in it.

“So, what does that mean?” he wonders. “Your Grace and my soul are like … um, hugging or something?”

It sounds ridiculous and yet it makes Dean blush.

In his very own personal dream.

Because his life is crappy like that.

“It's more than just a hug,” Cas hesitantly tries to elaborate. It's clear he doesn't want to, isn't eager to go into any details, but apparently he figures at the same time that Dean deserves a proper explanation, no matter how excruciating it might end up to be for himself. “They're clutching one another. Even seem to have melted together at some points …”

Dean frowns.

He has no frigging idea how to react to this. Cas' description sounds intimate. Like the angel's Grace and his own soul are doing all the things Dean has secretly thought about way too many times to even count.

“This is highly unusual,” Cas hurries on, obviously desperate to have this entire ordeal over with as quickly as possible. “I never suspected … when I realized what was going on, I did my own research … I tried to understand …”

Dean recalls how Cas had been at one point rather eager to help out with researching. All this time the hunter had assumed Cas had flown through the books to find a solution to his problem, but maybe that hadn't been his sole topic of interest.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier,” Cas apologizes, his gaze lowering even more. “I just … I didn't know what it meant … and I was afraid how you would react …”

Dean bites his bottom lip.

Cas surely had a good reason to be uncertain about all of this considering Dean has no fucking clue what to do with all this information now. He can't say for sure if he won't freak out sometime soon about this.

Right now, however, he forces himself to focus on the issue at hand. The one thing he called Cas into his dream for in the first place.

“And this changes things with Rowena's spell because …?”

Cas' expression turns grim again. “Because we can't take part of my Grace out without hurting your soul in the process.”

Yeah, okay, that sounds bad.

“You sure?” Dean wonders. “I mean, if you're extra careful –”

“Like I said, they're latched onto each other,” Cas cuts in sharply. “It would rip your soul wide open and damage you in the most horrible manner. You wouldn't be able to recover from this.”

“But –”

“I can't heal souls, Dean,” Cas interjects yet again, apparently knowing very well what's going through Dean's head. “No angel can.”

Dean falls silent for a minute.

Yeah, having his soul harmed irredeemably would be, without any doubt, far from awesome. The mere thought makes him shudder. Even back in the pit, when they used to torture his soul in the most horrific ways over and over and over, they never dared to actually cut it open. Because they had known that it would've been the end of their little games. That they would've been forced to say goodbye to Dean then, damaged for good.

So yes, Dean isn't too keen on risking his soul in such a manner when not even the demons in Hell dared to do it.

But then he looks at Cas, at his utterly miserable situation, and his heart clenches. Every time Dean sees him he looks worse and the hunter seriously can't take it anymore. How long until Cas loses the last bit of his control? How long until he will be destroyed and maybe even take half of the planet with him?

Isn't it worth putting Dean's soul on the table to save all these lives?

“Cas …”

“No, I know what you're thinking,” Cas interrupts, shaking his head vehemently. “And I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

Dean swallows. “It's not – it's not just for you –” he tries to argue. Even though his main focus is, of course, Cas' well-being. “You might hurt someone else, you might fucking explode or shit like that –”

“There has to be another way,” Cas objects fiercely.

“And what way would that be, hm?” Dean nags. “You can't control all that is inside of you, you can't rip it out and just fling it off …”

That's been a point of discussion for a moment, too, a couple of weeks ago. Rip Cas' grace out of him and make him human. At least for a while, to buy them more time to find a solution. But Cas had pointed out soon enough that the Grace had been too unstable, that trying to forcefully rip it out would've only resulted in a catastrophe.

So that option flew out of the window right after, along with all their other useless ideas so far.

“Cas, the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna get,” Dean hisses. “I know it's not ideal, but I'm sure if you're really careful you'll be able to get some of your Grace out without hurting my soul –”

Cas, however, just takes a few hasty steps back. As though he expects Dean to force his hand right this very moment.

“No, I can't do that,” he protests, far too many emotions in his tone again. “I will hurt you, I can't control it …”

He looks down at his hands which started to tremble.

“Cas …” Dean whispers.

Cas huffs. “I just … I just have to retreat, get my bearings back …”

“Dude, you're gonna blow up the entire Black Forest if you'll wait any longer –”

“I won't be in the Black Forest.”

That makes Dean pause once more.

“What are you saying?” Somehow he doesn't like Cas' tone at all.

Cas' straightens his back. “I'm saying I have to go to the one place that is able to contain archangel Grace.”

Dean freezes.

He doesn't mean …?

Does he …?

“I have to go into the Cage,” Cas announces, his expression unwavering. “I have to go to Hell.”

Chapter Text

Castiel had already known that Dean wouldn't be too happy about his decision.

But he hadn't expected the wide array of emotions flashing over the hunter's features in record speed after hearing the news. Dean looks ready to burst – in anger, in concern, and in a thousand other things – and Castiel's insides constrict at the sight.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dean roars, his fury taking the upper hand for now. “You can't just lock yourself in the Cage –”

“Why not?” Castiel cuts in, raising his chin in challenge. He's aware he has to fight Dean on this with everything he's got, even though he's not exactly sure whether he's actually prepared for the heaviness of it all. “It's my choice, Dean –”

“And it's a stupid choice –”

“I'm not asking for your permission,” Castiel points out through gritted teeth. “I don't need your permission. It's my life and I can do whatever I want with it –”

Dean scoffs at that. “Oh yeah? I guess then you can't say anything against me going ahead and taking some of your Grace out of my body, hm? Since it's my choice and I don't need your fucking permission –”

Castiel lifts an eyebrow. “Well, good luck with that. After all, you would require my assistance for that and you would have to wait a long time for that to happen –”

Dean looks like he's on the verge of punching something.

Or someone.

“Then I'll get myself someone else to do it,” he tries to counter.

Castiel tries not to laugh right in his face. “And who would that be? Some other angel? A witch like Rowena? You would trust any of them to do such a delicate procedure and not harm you in such a vulnerable state?”

“I would find a way –”

Castiel's hands clench into fists and his entire being makes itself ready to argue some more, but then he looks at Dean, really looks at him, and suddenly recognizes the fear in his eyes.

He is terrified.

Terrified of losing Castiel in such a way.

And the fight leaves the angel's body right away. One minute all tense and strained, the next he deflates so drastically he almost drops to the ground.

“Dean …” he says, now so utterly soft Dean blinks, apparently taken aback by it. “I know you're worried …”

“You're such an idiot, Cas,” Dean hisses, his gaze so piercing and so intense it lets a shiver run down Castiel's spine. “The Cage … I already lost Sam to it once and I'll be damned if I would allow the same thing to happen to you …”

Castiel closes his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

He hates to do this to Dean. Hates to put him in such a position.

But it's not only about them anymore.

“Right now it's the best option,” Castiel tries to reason.

Dean just keeps on staring at him like he thinks the angel is an absolute fool. “And did you happen to forget the one very important fact that you wouldn't be alone in that Cage? Michael is still in there, for fuck's sake!”

Castiel certainly did remember that, even though he wishes he hadn't. “Lucifer said he's rather incapacitated at the moment …”

“Oh, and we believe Lucifer now?” Dean scoffs dismissively. “C'mon, Cas, you know that's bullshit, so don't act like I'm stupid.”

“I never thought for one single second that you are stupid –”

“Then prove it!”

Castiel halts.

Takes a deep breath in.

And a long one out.

Granted, there is no oxygen in Dean's dream, but the familiar act still feels soothing to Castiel in some way.

“I know it is a risk,” he eventually says, as levelheaded as possible. “I know that putting myself in Michael's path might end badly. But at this point it seems like the safest option for everyone else.”

Dean swallows, his anger and fear still the most dominant emotions on his features. But there is also so much more, so much Castiel is unable to identify …

“Cas …”

“I've been thinking about it a lot,” Castiel tries to argue his case. “It's not a spur-of-the-moment decision or anything like that. I've considered every angle, every option, and this seems the best one out of all the terrible ones.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. “But the Cage? Really?”

It sounds all kinds of crazy, Castiel is more than aware of that. When that thought first crossed his mind, he dismissed it immediately. But the more time went by the more real it became.

“Just two hours ago I nearly destroyed a good part of the Black Forest just because a deer startled me,” Castiel tells him with a heavy heart. He remembers his whole body going into defense mode and his powers threatening to spill over the edge, on the verge of running wild and free and disastrous. He only managed to control himself just in time.

“So what will happen the next time?” he urges Dean. “Will it reach some cities? Maybe even engulf the entire country?”

Because at the end of the day Castiel has no idea how much power is currently whirling inside of him. He doesn't know whether he's got the ability to rip all of Germany, all of Europe, apart in a matter of seconds. And he certainly doesn't want to find out ever.

“I started to contemplate safe places for me to go,” Castiel says. “To lay low. To perhaps, hopefully take the time to deal with my situation on my own. To finally get a grip on things again.” He sighs. “But at first I came up empty. Heaven? I might end up annihilating innocent souls forever. Hell? I might accidentally tear it up in some places, allowing demons to spill onto Earth. Purgatory? Same problem.” It surely wasn't fun to even imagine it. “For a while I even considered leaving the planet altogether, hiding myself in the depth of space. But I don't trust my powers, the chance of something going wrong and me ripping Earth's atmosphere apart in my attempts to leave too much of a risk.”

Dean looks absolutely haggard as he whispers, “And so that only left the Cage …”

Castiel knows that Dean sees the reason behind all of this. But he surely isn't ready to admit that yet.

And maybe he never will be.

“I hate that it came to this,” Castiel makes himself clear. “And I, without any doubt, would love to do rather anything else. You have to believe me.”

Dean doesn't answer, but his face says everything Castiel needs to hear.

“That is just a temporary fix, Dean,” Castiel explains. “To buy us some more time. I have no intention to stay in that Cage forever.”

Dean's features harden again, apparently on the brink of arguing that point once more.

Castiel, however, isn't keen on listening to that. “Rowena's spell does have potential,” he says instead. “It actually has a chance to succeed, I think. Maybe if she finds a way to modify it, without risking your soul in the process …”

Yes, it might actually work. At least she's certainly on the right track with it.

Dean huffs. “And how long is that gonna take?” he asks, a bite in his voice again. “How long would you have rotten in that Cage until then, hm? And how long do you reckon it would take Michael to decide to make you his little punching bag?”

He probably wouldn't take too long, if Castiel is honest with himself. After all, Michael probably hadn't forgotten that it had been Castiel himself who threw a Molotov cocktail in his face right in the middle of the apocalypse.

Archangels don't forget things like that.

“We have no idea what happened to the guy in that Cage,” Dean growls. “He might have gone completely mad, for all we know, and might rip you into pieces as soon as you step over the threshold.”

That's certainly a possibility, yes.

One Castiel doesn't like to think about too closely.

But it's also not all there is.

“My powers are amplified by a lot these days,” Castiel reminds the hunter. “I might very well be a match for Michael right now.”

Dean snorts. “Or you might not be.”

Castiel closes his eyes for a minute to gather his thoughts. “I know this is far from ideal, Dean,” he admits. “But it's the right choice and you know it.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip and refrains from replying which all in itself is all the answer he's able to give.

Castiel's features soften as he finds himself stepping closer to Dean. Without even realizing it he's actually getting quite intimate with the hunter's personal bubble all of a sudden, but Dean neither tells him off nor hastily steps away, so Castiel stays right where he is.

And Castiel knows that it's not actually Dean's body, that the heat Dean is radiating and the scent Castiel is picking are just figments of imagination (either a product of Dean's dream or just an hallucination on the angel's part), but nonetheless it's Dean conscience, his mind, his entire being, and in the end of the day that's even more important than anything else.

“Everything will be alright,” Castiel promises and just hopes he's not lying.

Dean, meanwhile, looks like he's still fighting an internal battle. He wants to scream, wants to hit something, wants to hug, wants to tune it all out …

And Castiel can't help cupping Dean's cheek softly.

In the back of his mind he's rather baffled by his unexpected boldness, but he doesn't find it in him to feel bad about this. And when he notices Dean actually leaning into the touch, like he's almost starving for it, Castiel's heart soars.

“Just don't do anything stupid, you hear me?” Dean says, his voice a little thick.

Castiel smiles easily. “I will do my best.”

“I mean it, Cas,” Dean urges. “Don't search for trouble. Just go into that Cage, hide yourself in a dark corner and stay as quiet as possible, okay?”

Castiel isn't sure whether that would actually work, but over the years he got equipped to humoring the hunter and he won't stop now. “Of course,” he swears. “As quiet as a mouse.”

The corners of Dean's lips tug upwards, as though he's trying for a smile, but in the end he just leans forward.

And for one shocking, exhilarating, wonderful and terrifying second Castiel actually believes Dean might kiss him. He finds himself just gasping for a breath that doesn't exist in this dream world.

But then Dean simply rests his forehead against Castiel's and shuts his eyes for a moment.

“If you'll get yourself killed, I'm never gonna forgive you,” he makes himself clear.

Castiel chuckles quietly, even though his insides are somersaulting due to the proximity. “Of course. I understand.”

Dean opens his eyes again and suddenly they're looking straight at each other. Admittedly, that's not a new occurrence, but they have never been so close before. Castiel discovers shades of color in Dean's eyes he never even noticed until now. And he wonders if that's just a thing in this dream or if these colors also exist in the real world.

Castiel hopes he will get a chance to find out.

“You're such a dumbass and I hate you for bringing me on the verge of a heart attack again,” Dean says, the fondness in his tone belying his words.

Castiel doesn't say anything because at this point he has no idea what's even left to say.

“Just don't go dead, alright?” Dean emphasizes. “That's an order.”

Castiel can't help a little smirk. “I've never been good at following orders.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You're gonna follow this order, you hear me?”

Castiel just gives a tiny nod, their foreheads brushing against each other. It makes the angel almost forget what they were even talking about.

Almost.

“Go back to sleep, Dean,” Castiel whispers.

Dean grimaces. “Cas …”

It's clear that he doesn't want to let go. That he fears this might very well be the very last time they would see one another.

And naturally this is not unfounded in the slightest, but Castiel smiles anyway. “Just have faith, Dean,” he says. “Whatever happened so far, we always found each other, right?” He waits for Dean to nod in agreement before he adds, “So there is nothing to worry.”

Dean laughs at that. “That's such bullshit, man.”

“And yet I believe it with everything I am,” Castiel tells him.

Dean's expression changes again, into something pensive, and Castiel would have loved to stare at all the little twitches and motions for all eternity. But he knows that the angels are still looking for him and he's just one deer startling him away from wreaking havoc on innocent creatures.

So he sighs and breathes, “Sleep, Dean.”

And in a fit of sheer insanity he moves in for a little kiss onto Dean's forehead. It's brief and he can probably explain himself reasonably out of it if he needs to, but it offers him a power surge that actually surprises him.

And he finds himself even more surprised when Dean leans into the contact once more.

Castiel barely has time to look at him before the dream around him becomes dark.

---

It sounds easy enough to just walk into the Cage.

But Castiel knows from experience it's anything but simple.

So instead of just flying straight into Hell and hoping against all odds that he might find a way inside, he first concentrates on the man – the being, the abomination – who is in charge of it all.

“I was actually starting to wonder when one of you would show up,” Crowley says in an absolutely casual manner when Castiel suddenly pops up right next to him. He doesn't even seem to flinch at the unexpected use of wings.

Castiel knows the demon long enough, however, to spot the brief flash of bafflement flickering over his features. Crowley is able to cover it up rather quickly, but there is no denying its existence.

Castiel narrows his eyes before assessing his new surroundings. He just followed Crowley's undeniable signature – with his amplified powers all of a sudden the simplest thing in the world – and followed it, his focus so trained on the demon itself that he didn't give much thought on where it led him.

They're in a bar, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Scotland. And apart from Crowley and two formerly bored looking demons who snapped to attention at the abrupt appearance of the angel just now there is no other soul around for miles.

“Don't worry, nobody is dead,” Crowley waves him off, apparently knowing fairly well that the lack of humans might alarm Castiel. “There is just a storm coming, the humans sought shelter further down in the next town over.”

Castiel finds himself relaxing, even though technically he has no reason to believe a demon. Especially one like Crowley.

But somehow he feels that Crowley is speaking the truth and this sensation is so odd Castiel can't help a shudder.

“Drink?” Crowley asks, lifting a bottle of whiskey with a questioning rise of his eyebrow.

Castiel just glares.

“I don't have time for this,” he makes himself clear.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured,” Crowley states with a dramatic sigh. “Granted, I don't know exactly what's going on, the Winchesters have been very vague when they called me a while ago, but we've been picking up rather strong power surges for a while now and I guess all of you are involved in that somehow, because how could you not, that is just the Winchester way –”

“I need to go into the Cage,” Castiel cuts right to the chase, neither having the endurance nor the time to deal with Crowley's idle chatter just now.

Crowley blinks at that.

Yet again surprised by this, but good enough that he's almost able to hide it.

“You wanna go there again?” he wonders incredulously. “What's left, after setting bloody Lucifer free the last time? You wanna go back for Michael now or what –?”

“This is not about Michael,” Castiel interrupts once more. “It's about me.” He takes a deep breath. “I need to be locked into the Cage.”

Crowley frowns.

But in the grand scheme of things he doesn't appear as shocked as Castiel would have assumed. It seems the demon had put all the puzzle pieces together a while ago and even though he didn't have the full picture yet he must have come close enough to not be totally taken aback by Castiel's request now.

“I have many questions,” the demon admits. “And I'm sure you'd be willing to answer none of them, am I right?”

He offers Castiel an exaggerated grin and the angel rolls his eyes in response.

“The why is not of import,” Castiel insists. “You just need to know that it would be safer for everyone involved to have me locked away. Including yourself.”

Crowley merely studies him for a long moment.

In the end he asks, “Are you threatening me, Castiel?”

Castiel sighs. “I have no intention to harm anyone,” he promises. “Not even you, I have to confess. But my powers are very unstable right now and I can't guarantee your safety and anyone else's …”

“So you are the reason for the power surges?” Crowley wonders. And once again, he doesn't sound surprised, he just wants his suspicions confirmed.

Therefore Castiel nods firmly. “I am. And I'm certain you don't want to experience one of them first hand, am I right?”

The corner of Crowley's mouth curl upwards. “And yet again it sounds like you're threatening me.”

Castiel presses his lips into a thin line and fights back the suddenly very strong urge to punch the demon in the face. “I need to go into the Cage because right now it's the only safe place. And I will succeed, with or without your help.”

Crowley hastily raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don't get your feathers in a twist, angel,” he says, still far too amused for Castiel's liking. “I'm just curious, that's all.”

Castiel clenches his hands into fists. “So are you going to help me?”

“I assume the Winchesters are not thrilled about your plan?” Crowley asks. “I can assume that at least poor little Dean will be far from happy about it –”

“That is of no concern to you,” Castiel cuts him off, the mention of Dean sending his emotions into a whirlwind again. “Just lock me in the Cage and throw away the key. That's all you have to do.”

Crowley chuckles.

Like Castiel is an idiot. An adorable one, but an idiot nonetheless.

“You do remember that one does not simply walk into the Cage, don't you?” Crowley reminds him. “It's not a bleedin' tourist attraction –”

“I remember, yes,” Castiel cuts in with gritted teeth. “That's why I came to you first.”

Crowley falls silent for a moment.

Just stares at Castiel before shooting a glance at his two demons who seem torn between running for the hills or staying at their boss's side.

“I might be able to help you,” Crowley eventually offers. “But it will take some time.”

Castiel tries to not get too impatient as he urges, “How much time?”

“I mean, it would be easy if we had the rings of the Four Horsemen,” Crowley goes on. “But since your boyfriend destroyed Death and his ring with him, our options are limited now –”

“How much time, Crowley?”

The demon appears far too entertained by Castiel's slipping patience. “Well, since the last time you dumbheads accessed the Cage and triggered that whole mess with Lucifer I started to look into alternatives. Because, you know, it seemed beneficial to have a way to open that damned Cage and throw another archangel into it and all that …”

Castiel begins to squirm on the spot. “Crowley …”

“I can't give you an exact time frame,” the demon finally answers. “It takes a while, there is no denying that. But considering that time works differently in Hell it might even be over in the blinks of an eye for you.”

Castiel chews on his bottom lip. “So you can do it?”

Crowley smirks widely. “I'd do anything to push my old nemesis in the bottomless depth of an all-powerful prison, you know me.” He winks at the angel. “Everything for you, darling.”

Castiel refrains from responding.

And he remains silent as he watches Crowley slipping off his seat and walking towards his demons in the corner.

But just as they're all turning towards the exit Castiel finds himself blurting, “Crowley!”

The demons whirl around again.

And for a long minute everything is tense and awkward, the atmosphere around them actually crackling. Until Crowley beckons his demons to go ahead and both of them take him up on that in an instant, a look of relief on their faces as they're able to leave the angel's presence.

“What is it?” Crowley inquires, smug and curious at the same time.

And Castiel wants to wave him off, wants to tell him not to bother, it doesn't even matter … but then his mouth runs away from him again. “You're an expert on souls, are you not?”

Crowley takes a step closer again. It's obvious that he's not really sure what Castiel is getting at right now, but he surely doesn't miss an opportunity to puff out his chest at the question.

“Well, I would say so,” he confirms easily.

The voices in Castiel's head – and not the ones coming from the outside, but his own personal voices – begin to debate fiercely with each other. The majority agrees on not trusting a demon ever, no matter what, but there is the minority, small, yet so powerful, it nearly knocks Castiel off his feet.

And before he's able to talk himself out of it again, he asks, “Have you ever heard of a human soul and angelic Grace latching onto one another, to the point of almost melting into one being?”

Crowley furrows his brows.

He clearly didn't expect that question.

But as always he's able to shake it off quickly and pretends to be completely unimpressed by it all. “That's oddly specific, Castiel.”

Castiel wants to lower his gaze, but he forces himself to look the demon straight in the eyes. “Just tell me if you've ever heard of such a case.”

Crowley stays quiet for a while, apparently considering whether he should give Castiel a proper answer or just toy with him indefinitely.

In the end, rather surprisingly, he decides to take pity on the angel and states, “I can't say I've ever heard anything remotely of that kind.”

Castiel sags his shoulders.

Of course he didn't put much hope in it and Crowley surely isn't the end of the line in this matter, naturally, but he is an expert in this field, as much as it hurts Castiel to admit that, and there is most likely not much he doesn't know about souls.

“I can tell you one thing, though,” Crowley pipes up again.

Castiel tenses. “And what is that?”

“Souls don't just do stuff on their own, you know?” Crowley points out. “They're strongly linked with their owner. That's why I have to make contracts at crossroads in the first place instead of just ripping the souls out of the humans.” He scoffs. “And I assume Grace operates more or less the same way, am I right? I mean, at the end of the day it kinda is the angel, their life force. There must be a mighty connection there as well …”

Castiel just nods in confirmation.

“So whatever that particular soul and Grace have been up to,” Crowley says, his tone indicating that he knows exactly about who this is, “I can tell you with certainty that this isn't just an accident or a strange anomaly.”

Castiel's heart squeezes uncomfortably. “It is not?”

“No, things like that don't just happen,” Crowley explains. “Everyone involved in this has to give their bloody consent, in one way or another. Including the owners. Even if they're not consciously aware of it.”

Castiel frowns. “So …?”

“If it happened, everyone wanted it to happen!”

Crowley grins at him.

And then he turns around and walks off.

Leaving a very overwhelmed angel behind.

Chapter Text

Dean wakes up in his motel bed.

For a minute he just lies on his back and blinks at the ceiling, his brain having some trouble catching up to reality, but eventually he snaps upright, his body ready to face the world again. For a second he finds himself confused by the lack of company in his vicinity, but then he remembers Sam and the others clearing the area a while ago to offer Dean some quiet to communicate with Cas via his dreams. A moment later he actually spots a message from his brother on his phone, telling him that they set out for the bunker to examine the damage.

The text is two hours old.

Dean scrambles out of the bed, hastily grabs for his scattered possessions and rushes out of the room. To his utter relief he discovers the Impala still sitting in the parking lot, just waiting for him. Apparently the others used Victor's car for their travels and the corners of Dean's mouth actually tug upwards as he imagines four humans and one dog squeezing themselves into the agent's medium vehicle. Sam probably had to fold his legs at least twice in that thing.

Dean laughs at the picture. And then he remembers that time is of the essence and he hurries to the Impala.

Driving back to the bunker seems to take forever, so when he eventually finds himself steering into the garage he can't help releasing a sigh. He doesn't even bother getting his stuff out of the trunk first before already running inside.

Only to almost collide with the fucking King of Hell.

Dean stumbles backwards a little to maintain a respectable distance between them, but at the very least he manages to suppress an embarrassing yelp that nearly threatens to slip out.

“Dean,” Crowley says with a wide grin. “Nice of you to join the party.”

The hunter narrows his eyes. He can't say he's totally surprised to see the demon, but it's still something he didn't look forward to.

“Crowley,” Dean presses through his gritted teeth. “Did you invite yourself over again without asking anyone beforehand?”

Crowley, who (of course) has a glass of scotch in his hands, nips at the beverage while his eyebrows are doing something Dean has no nerves left to interpret. “But everyone is asking for my help these days. It's getting rather tedious, to be frank.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. Yes, they did reach out for Crowley a while ago when they've gotten frustrated after weeks and weeks of research remained futile, but they kept their questions fairly vague, to not get the demon on the right track of what was going on with Cas. But apart from that one phone call where Crowley basically told them to fuck off they hadn't any contact again.

Until now, it seems.

Dean opens his mouth, eager to dig deeper into this, when suddenly Sam walks around the corner, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his brother. “Dean, thank God you're here!” he states. “Crowley here is claiming that Cas came to him asking for a way into the Cage and I've got no clue if I should trust his ass –”

“Hey!” Crowley pipes in.

Sam just rolls his eyes. “Oh please, don't act all butt-hurt.”

As they continue to bicker, Dean uses the opportunity to wrap his head around Sam's words. Naturally Cas had been determined to lock himself into The Cage, the self-sacrificing bastard, but of course it's not as simple as that. You need help, you need a plan, and you especially need someone to have a close eye on things and immediately shut the door after you to keep everything else that's looming inside the Cage from getting out.

It's only logical that Cas went to the higher ups for that. Nothing that's happening in Hell gets past Crowley anyway.

“It's true,” Dean eventually interrupts Sam and Crowley's ongoing arguing, “Cas is looking for a way to get into the Cage.”

Sam looks stunned. “But why? We've got a plan –”

“He's not on board with Rowena's spell,” Dean explains. “He thinks it's too risky.”

He would like to go into further detail, but a) he surely doesn't want to unpack that with Crowley standing right beside them, and b) he doesn't actually want to discuss the whole issue with Sam either. Even the thought of his soul and Cas' Grace currently being all wrapped around one another inside of him makes him blush six ways to Sunday once more.

Unfortunately Crowley has never been discreet. “Has this something to do with your angel suddenly being all curious about human souls and angelic Grace starting to merge?”

Dean glares at him.

While Sam merely stares at them in puzzlement. “Huh?”

Crowley, meanwhile, looks like the cat just got the cream. “I knew Castiel was talking about himself!” he exclaims. “He was all awkward and flustered about it.”

Dean bites his bottom lip and contemplates whether he should recite a quick exorcism to get rid of the demon before he would be able to blurt out even more uncomfortable things.

“What is he talking about?” Sam, in the meantime, urges, leaning closer to Dean to apparently give them some illusion of privacy.

Dean almost laughs at the stupid effort. Crowley is a supernatural being and even though he most likely doesn't have the power of celestial hearing, he's certainly capable of listening to two humans whispering just six feet away.

So what the hell, right? The truth can't be worse than anything Crowley would cook up in his mind anyway.

“Cas says he can't take his Grace out of me because …” Dean takes a deep breath, actually surprised how hard it suddenly is to say it out loud. “… because his Grace is somehow gripping my soul or something … and if he'd try to get some of it out …”

He makes a random hand gesture that wouldn't tell anyone anything.

But Sam really doesn't need any further explanations. “If he would try to get some of his Grace out, he might hurt your soul,” he realizes.

Dean grimaces. “Yeah, something like that.”

It's obvious that Sam has many questions about that, so many, but thankfully he recalls that they're in the presence of a demon, a gossipy and smug one no less, and he decides to keep quiet for the time being.

“So that means we're back to square one, huh?” Sam asks instead, disappointment written all over his face.

Dean surely shares the sentiment.

“Well, Cas said Rowena's spell has potential,” he tells him, grasping to the little bit of hope they currently have left. “Maybe she can modify it. So that my soul would be in one piece by the end of it.”

Sam's frown deepens. “I'm not sure that's possible.”

Dean's shoulders sag.

“But maybe we'll find some other way,” Sam suggests, trying and failing to sound optimistic. “I mean, we can't just …”

He trails off, his words obviously getting stuck in his throat.

“We can't just let rot Cas in the Cage?” Dean finishes the sentence with all the bitterness his body is able to muster. “Yeah …”

It sounds easy enough.

And at the same time like the hardest thing in the world.

---

“The Cage?”

Eileen, having no real concept of volume, is suddenly so loud her voice bounces back from every wall of the kitchen, making everyone present flinch hard. Even Crowley is so startled he almost drops his scotch glass.

Eileen, however, doesn't seem to give a damn as she continues, “You can't be serious with this! This is madness.”

Dean actually agrees with her wholeheartedly.

“Sam, please don't tell me you think this is a good idea?” she demands, scowling at her boyfriend and daring him not to say the wrong thing, so help him God –

Sam pulls a face. “It's a horrible idea,” he hurries to agree. “I hate to even think about it …”

Eileen surely senses there is more to come. “But –?”

Sam actually takes a step back, like he fears she might punch him for his words. “But right now it seriously might be the only option. To give us some time and all that …”

Eileen glowers at him, clearly not happy about this, and Dean falls a little bit in love with her at that moment. Anyone who fights so fiercely for Cas' well-being is just awesome in his books.

“You've been in that fucking Cage!” Eileen reminds Sam. “How can you be okay with this?”

“I'm not okay with this!” Sam tries to defend himself. “I hate it, with every fiber of my being! But Cas is suffering and he is terrified he might hurt someone, so if the Cage actually gives him some peace of mind, I'm not gonna stand in his way …”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Because Sam certainly does have a point, as much as it hurts to admit that. Cas is so rattled not because he's worried about himself but about everyone else around him. If being in the Cage might actually make that concern vanish, might even blend out all the voices he's currently being plagued by, there could come something good from all the bad.

Even though it's awful to even think about …

“How about we concentrate on finding some solution to this mess?” Rowena suddenly pipes in. “Because I'm rather committed now and would like to see this resolved.”

As always she can't admit she cares about anyone other than herself, just like her son, but if she's still willing to help out, Dean will take it and not poke that with a stick.

“Do you think you can change the spell somehow?” Sam asks, obviously agreeing that going back to business is the best course of action. “To keep Dean's soul safe?”

“Well, it's quite the pickle, I have to confess,” Rowena says. “I certainly wasn't expecting Dean's soul and the angel's Grace making ferocious love inside of him as we speak.”

Dean tries his best not to blush like crazy, but it's a stupidly hard battle.

“I can't say I'm really surprised about it, though,” Crowley chimes in, his grin getting wider. “I'm sure nobody here is.”

Dean doesn't want to look into their faces, doesn't want to see them nodding or shaking their heads or whatever else, and so he just focuses on The Colonel sitting by his legs and glaring at Crowley like he wants to eat the demon whole.

Good dog.

Rowena, meanwhile, just makes a dismissive sound. “It's surely inconvenient, without any doubt. My plan was marvelous and now this –”

She gestures at Dean's entire being with a grimace, clearly blaming the hunter for this whole mess. And Dean isn't really certain whether he's actually in a position to deny any of it since at the end of the day it's his soul involved in all that cuddling … or whatever else you wanna call it …

“Trying to modify the spell in poor Castiel's delicate position, that's more than just tricky,” Rowena continues. “It might backfire spectacularly.”

“It might backfire?” Sam asks, tentatively hopeful.

“Well, I'd say there is about a 5% chance that we won't all die,” Rowena makes herself crystal clear. “And about a 0.07% chance that Castiel's condition is actually gonna improve after all of this.”

Sam stares at her skeptically. “Did you just pull some bogus numbers out of your ass or are you being serious?”

“I'm always serious about my ass, Samuel.”

As they go on to dive deeper into this ridiculous discussion, Dean doesn't find any energy inside himself to put a stop to this. Instead he glances at Crowley who watches his mother's exchange with the younger Winchester rather intriguingly, obviously highly entertained by their back and forth.

And Dean once again wonders where his life went so dramatically wrong that his little brother bickering with probably the most powerful witch on the planet while her son, the fucking King of Hell, is standing on the sidelines munching popcorn is a completely normal occurrence.

“Do you have anything useful to contribute?” Dean leans closer to the demon, even though he still makes sure that there is enough space between them left to do a solid swing if necessary. “Or are you just hiding out here 'cause you're afraid of Cas?”

Crowley scoffs at the accusation. “I'm not afraid of him.”

He phrases the word like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

“Oh please,” Dean shrugs him off with a smirk. “Cas totally threatened to blow up right next to you if you wouldn't do as he tells you to, didn't he?”

Crowley narrows his eyes, clearly not pleased by that.

“You're afraid of Cas,” Dean insists. “And you're also afraid of what would happen if you'd open the Cage again, am I right? Considering the last time didn't go so well for you and all that.”

Crowley grimaces at the reminder of Lucifer keeping him around as his own personal pet.

“Don't worry, I'm sure Michael wouldn't waste a single second to humiliate you,” Dean assures him. “He'd just kill you.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Winchester.”

Dean shrugs. “Dude, I don't give a crap why you'd want to help us get Cas back to his old self. At this point I'm gonna take anything I can get.”

It's true. Crowley might only have his own interests in mind, but in the grand scheme of things it just doesn't matter to Dean. As long as they have the same goal, everything's dandy.

“I still have no real idea what's going on,” Crowley reminds him, a sharpness in his tone. “I don't know why your angel is so powered up and, frankly, I don't even care. Angel business always gets you in trouble.”

There is a certain truth to these words, no doubt about it.

“But Cas forcing me to make a choice between pest and cholera is not my idea of a fun night,” Crowley hisses. “So yes, the sooner he's back to his old, boring self, the better. I don't like angels who think they can push me around.”

He takes a step closer which results in The Colonel actually growling at him. Dean pets the dog's head affectionately and makes a mental note to give him an extra load of his treats later.

“We're gonna find a way,” Dean says, more to himself than to anybody else. “Ideally before Cas even has a chance to walk into that stupid Cage.”

Crowley seems doubtful and just grunts in reply.

While Dean just decides to ignore that lack of trust and instead direct his attention back to this still ongoing discussion taking place. At some point Eileen obviously decided to join the conversation as well and she is as passionate as ever as her gaze flickers back and forth to read the lips of everyone present.

“… so that spell of yours is some sort of amplifier?” Eileen is just asking Rowena, her brows furrowed like she's trying to decipher a complicated puzzle.

“It is,” Rowena agrees easily. “Basically it's about boosting supernatural energy. With adding Castiel's original Grace into the mix, it would focus on that alone.”

“So if he'd use the spell without his Grace to tether it, every single supernatural source inside of him would power up drastically, including all that archangel Grace and whatever else is going on there?” Eileen wants to clarify.

“Yes, he'd basically turn from a rocket launcher into a nuclear bomb within five seconds,” Rowena confirms. “Which is, as far as I'm understanding, the opposite of what we're aiming for.”

“Yeah, it'd be great to not turn Cas into a nuclear bomb, Rowena, thank you very much,” Sam reminds her with an eye-roll.

Dean, meanwhile, remains silent and for the next few minutes just listens to them squabbling. They're just throwing ideas through the room, none of them really substantial, and it's obvious that they're desperate for a solution, but also disappointed with their original suggestion ending up useless.

And as he listens to them … and hears them talking about Grace and celestial power and a way to help Cas …

… yeah, as he listens to all of that Dean finds the hint of an idea forming in his head …

It seems far-fetched …

But maybe …?

“Okay, wait a minute, guys,” Dean finds himself interrupting their constant stream of words just then, raising his hand in addition to get all of their undivided attention. “That spell of yours, is that one of the complicated ones? Those rituals with pentagrams, candles and two hours of incantations in some long dead language?”

Rowena doesn't seem to really understand why that should be relevant, but she humors him nonetheless. “The preparation takes a bit of sophisticated complication, yes. But the end product itself is just a potion.”

Dean hums.

With his brain once again rushing into overdrive.

Because in the end it can't be that simple, right?

Right?

“So you can call me nuts if you want to,” he says, “but I think I've got an idea.”

---

When he's finished with his explanation, Rowena hums and tells him it's not the worst idea she's ever heard.

Which is certainly a high compliment in her books.

“So you think it could work?” Dean asks, feeling both confident and uncertain about the whole thing.

Rowena tilts her head. “Well, to be fair, I'm not an expert on angelic Grace by any means,” she admits. “But in theory it sounds possible.”

Dean can't help but shoot a glance at his brother who is tilting his head in thought.

“I mean, I'm not really sure either,” Sam admits tentatively. “I guess we'd ultimately have to ask Cas if that would work. But from my point of view it actually does make a lot of sense.” He huffs at that. “No idea why we didn't think about this first thing …”

A little spark of hope starts to bloom within Dean's chest.

“Then let's get to work.”

Chapter Text

Dean retreats into the kitchen as soon as Rowena and Sam start to do their witchy thing.

For all of 0.003 seconds he considers helping them out somewhat, no matter how, just to get this all done faster, but soon enough he remembers that he's never been good with all that magic stuff to begin with and that staying out of everyone's hair would be the best course of action in this case. He surely doesn't wanna risk prolonging the process by standing in the way.

What he can do, however, is take care of the food. Rowena already hinted before that the ritual might take a while and Dean can at least make sure that nobody would starve along the way. So he begins rummaging through the kitchen and gathers his things.

He decides on some finger food in the end 'cause it would be easiest to handle right now. Chicken chips, homemade fries, some vegetable sticks so Sam wouldn't throw a fit – Dean gives it his best that everyone will end up with a full tummy.

He's halfway through the preparations, though, when he gets distracted by a giant crack in the wall of their pantry he hadn't noticed before. Dean stares at it for a moment, his brain having trouble processing the sight, before he eventually recalls the events that led them to flee the bunker in the first place.

An uneasy sensation settles in his stomach again, both at the reminder as well as the fact that he didn't even think of asking about the bunker's current state, way too preoccupied by everything that went down.

So when Eileen a few minutes later strolls into the kitchen, clearly searching for something to eat, Dean immediately blurts out, “Is it even safe for us to be here?”

Eileen wrinkles her forehead in confusion and Dean hurries to repeat the question while using sign language (badly) simultaneously.

“Oh yeah, don't worry,” she then answers. “We examined everything and the cracks are all pretty superficial. Victor even checked the foundation because he's apparently well-versed in that sort of stuff, who knew? He said it all looks fine. The bunker is a tough lady.”

There is surely no denying that. But with an actual angel meltdown you can never be too careful.

Dean nods, satisfied that they won't have to abandon their home, and goes back to work. Eileen just sits down at the counter and watches him work for a couple of minutes, quiet and pensive, while sneaking a few bites for herself once in a while.

At some point, though, she can't remain silent anymore apparently. “So, how are you holding up? Considering everything.”

Dean would've loved to avert her gaze and mumble something incoherent underneath his breath, but with her that would've been super rude. So he takes a deep breath and forces himself to look her straight in the eyes as he says, “How do you think?”

It's at least vague enough.

And contrary to Sam Eileen isn't so dead-set on talking about feelings and emotions and all those things. When she sees a boundary right in front of her, she refrains from crossing it.

Also now she seems to sense that Dean isn't big on spilling any secrets. But this time around she doesn't just wanna brush it off with a shrug either.

“I think it's a lot,” she responds instead. “Basically everything.”

Dean scoffs. “It's any other day for us.”

It's actually sad that this isn't even the biggest, most earth-shattering thing that ever happened to them. Hell, it might not even make it into the Top Five.

“Still,” Eileen states. “I mean, your soul and Cas' Grace hugging it all out – that's surely a new one, right?”

Okay, fine, she got him there.

Dean straightens his back and opens his mouth, determined to answer in some way at least, but no words come out in the end. He just has no fucking idea what to say about this. How to describe how it makes him feel.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Eileen wonders, something bright glinting in her eyes.

Dean squirms a bit on the spot. “What?”

Eileen smirks.

“I think it's pretty gay.”

Dean gapes at her for a moment.

And then he loses it. Breaks into hysterical laughter and just can't stop.

In the back of his mind he's not sure whether this is even the correct reaction, but hell, apparently he needed it desperately. Because it just keeps coming and his body aches and at the same time suddenly feels so much lighter.

“You're right,” he admits with a cackle, wiping the tears off his eyes. “It's really gay.”

And then they both start to laugh again because why the hell not?

It feels good and ridiculous and there might not be enough of that in their lives.

Eventually, though, after half an eternity, they manage to calm down again. Breathing hard like they just had run a marathon, their cheeks flushed, their smiles lopsided.

“Damn, I really needed that,” Dean breathes.

Eileen reaches out and pats him on the wrist. “Sometimes you just have to let it go.”

Dean snorts. “Thanks, Elsa.”

“You're welcome, Olaf.”

Dean rolls his eyes and prays to anyone who might hear him that Sam's gonna marry this woman soon. He can't wait for her to become his official sister.

“But seriously, don't drive yourself crazy,” Eileen says, her tone a bit more earnest now. “This might even be a good thing.” When Dean answers her with arched eyebrows, she's quick to elaborate, “I mean, Cas' Grace inside of you getting all homey and stuff. Everything else that's happening right now sucks big time.”

Dean can't help but chuckle. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Eileen smiles at him and for a moment seems to consider offering him some platitudes, like “everything will work out fine, just wait and see” or something like this, but instead she decides against it and tells him instead, “How about some ranch dip for those vegetable sticks?”

Dean grins at her. “You're my kind of girl.”

Eileen blows him a kiss. “And yet I still ended up with the lesser brother. Life isn't fair sometimes, is it?”

“We could still elope,” Dean jokes.

Eileen waves him off. “Nah, you don't mean that,” she says. “After all, I could never compete with an angel.”

Dean freezes for a second, on first instinct eager to deny her words.

But he suddenly feels very tired of it all and so he merely sighs. “Yeah, sorry, no competition.”

Eileen smiles broadly in response.

---

All in all it takes half the day.

But eventually Rowena pushes two vials filled with purple liquid in Dean's hand and announces, “Here you have it. Go save your angel.”

Dean nods in determination.

And then he turns towards Crowley who's still hanging around for some reason. He's sitting on the only comfy armchair in the library and pretends to be interested in some book Dean is rather sure just contains some detailed information on how to grow onions.

“Where's Cas?” Dean cuts right to the chase, not having the time to beat around the bush anymore.

Crowley lifts his head at infuriatingly low speed. “How should I know?”

“Well, you've seen him last,” Dean urges. “And he waits for you to open the Cage. Some way or another you need to communicate, don't you? He'd want to know when you are done and all that.”

Crowley grimaces. “Well, he actually told me he would know, which is not ominous at all.”

His gaze flickers around, as though he expects Cas to watch him from another plane of existence at all times.

And considering that's actually a thing that happened before it's not completely far-fetched.

But also not helpful right now.

“Where did you see him last then?” Sam wonders, his whole body brimming like he has to keep himself back from grabbing Crowley by the collar and shaking him up.

“Scotland,” the demon answers. “But he's not there anymore, my men were able to tell me that much.”

“So where is he?” Dean says impatiently.

Crowley huffs. “How would I know? An angel with his wings intact – he could be anywhere.”

Unfortunately he does have a point.

“Okay,” Dean states as he turns back to the others. “We have to pray to him then. Nonstop. Be as obnoxious and stubborn as you can. Just tell him over and over that we've got a plan. He might pick up on that.”

They all seem a bit hesitant, but in the end nobody dares to contradict Dean.

And so they make themselves comfortable and pray.

---

After hours and hours without any kind of reaction Dean goes back to his room, hoping that Cas might decide to visit him in his dreams again.

But for a long while the hunter is way too riled up to find any kind of serenity. He just lies on his bed, stares at the ceiling and forces himself to count sheep in his mind. He's not even remotely exhausted enough for this.

At one point or two he debates getting himself some sleeping pills to speed up the process, but he always gets trouble with his dreams using such pills and he's unsure if that might affect Cas' ability to visit him then. In the end Dean would just laze around unconscious without his brain incapable of creating any sort of dream land Cas would have access to. And that would just be a major waste of their time and nothing else.

So the old-fashioned way it is.

The problem is, though, that you just can't tell your body to sleep and it does just that. At least Dean has never been that way. Granted, a long time ago he learned to catch a nap nearly anywhere, not even bothered by the Impala's not so comfy interior, but back then he also had been tired enough to not give a crap.

Now, however? Yeah, he's drained from all the tension, but his mind is wide awake. And he doesn't see that changing anytime soon.

So he attempts to think about something boring at first. Hell, his math teacher from sophomore year, Mr. Henderson, has always been a great source of life-sucking boredom and even today Dean remembers the man's droning voice perfectly. Back in the day Dean got the best naps during his class and many years later it still proved effective.

So Dean imagines the guy rambling about some equation, pictures him standing at the chalkboard and scribbling along like a madman, and once in a while throwing some super lame anecdotes about his personal life into the mix.

Dean gives it a shot for many, many minutes.

It doesn't work, though.

Because his mind always drifts off to the issue at hand. Instead of dull math teachers he sees ridiculously blue eyes staring deep into his soul. He recalls his last moment with Cas, in Dean's dream at the beach, when they had been closer than ever before. Admittedly, at the end of the day it was only in Dean's head, but it felt real enough. Dean sensed him, smelled him, and it was too much and not enough at the same time.

Dean grits his teeth and sends another prayer out there, hoping that Cas might pick up on it. That it might keep him from doing something stupid.

That it might –

“Dean!”

Sam's unexpected voice is suddenly so loud in the previously quiet room Dean almost jumps out of his skin. With wide eyes he stares at his brother stumbling into the room gracelessly like a baby moose born just two minutes ago.

“Dammit, Sam!” Dean growls as he tries to scramble into a somewhat upright position and simultaneously hopes to get his pulse back under control. “What the fuck, man –”

Sam blinks at him, as though he doesn't even have any idea why Dean would be in his bed right now.

“Y'know, I'm trying to sleep here and you're not helping at all,” Dean continues to complain. “How are we supposed to reach Cas if I can't -”

“We found him!” Sam cuts in then, so loud that Dean flinches once more.

“Huh?”

“We found Cas,” Sam elaborates excitedly. “I mean, we think we found him …”

As he goes on, rambling about something Dean has no way of understanding, the older Winchester basically leaps out of his bed, rumpled clothes and disheveled hair included.

“Where is he?” Dean urges. He even finds himself glancing into the hallway right behind Sam, just like his brain seriously believes the angel could be just standing there, with a “Hello, Dean” already on his lips.

“C'mon,” Sam says, not much patience as he grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him out of the room. He doesn't even stop when Dean starts to grumble that he's not wearing any shoes.

Eventually they end up in the library again, with everyone more or less exactly where Dean left them before.

“You found him?” Dean jumps right in.

Rowena steps forward, her expression a bit amused as she takes in Dean's sleepy demeanor. “Well, I found him,” she clarifies, obviously very keen on making that crystal clear. “He's hard to miss, actually.”

Dean frowns at her, not really sure what she's trying to get at, but before he's able to ask further questions Eileen adds, “Rowena can sense Cas again. Like the last time …”

Like back in Colorado or right here in the bunker – when he lost control over his powers and made the ground underneath their feet shake. When he suddenly radiated so much energy that powerful beings like Rowena could sense him just fine.

Dean's throat tightens. “He's getting worse again.”

Rationally he knew all along that it would just be a matter of time before Cas' powers would act up once more, but it's still something completely different to have actual confirmation of it now.

“So where is he?” the hunter demands to know.

Rowena gestures to her left. “Somewhere in that direction.”

Which is seriously not helpful at all.

“We did some digging,” Sam hurries to say. “It took a bit of time, but thanks to Charlie helping us out we found some infos about unusual seismic events somewhere deep in Algeria.” When Dean just stares at his brother without any sort of reaction to that, Sam states, “Northern Africa.”

Dean blinks.

And then he recalls his geography lessons back in the day with Ms. Leeton. That woman had been fiercely focused on teaching them everything about Planet Earth and Dean actually had so much respect for her authoritative presence that for a change he worked extra hard in her class.

Granted, it's been a long time ago and over the years he forgot a lot, but something about the Northern parts of Africa makes his brain tingle …

“The Sahara,” Dean suddenly realizes. “Cas is in the Sahara, isn't he?”

Which makes sense. Cas had been so afraid to hurt anyone by accident the whole time and probably searched for places where potential damages at least wouldn't be as devastating. So dumping himself into the largest desert in the world and settling down in the most isolated area he could find would be a logical step.

“Okay, yeah,” Dean mumbles, more to himself than anyone else. “Never thought I'd end up in the Sahara one of these days, but I guess life is full of surprises, right?”

Sam sighs in response. “Do you really think it's a good idea to pop up there with Cas apparently all nuclear again? Maybe you should just wait, we know where he is now, after all –”

But Dean shakes his head firmly. “He could be gone the next second, you know that. And considering he hasn't reacted to all our prayers so far he might already be too far gone to hear them …”

Dean doesn't want to waste a single second anymore. Even if that means throwing himself into a wild hurricane now.

“Cas won't hurt me,” he says, as confident as he's able to muster.

Sam, at least, seems hesitant. “I don't know, Dean …”

“We have to take responsibility for this, dude,” Dean hisses. “Cas got hurt by Michael's Lance because we dragged him there. He said yes to Lucifer because we set The Darkness free and also made him feel expendable enough that he thought it would be our best bet. He got killed and actually resurrected by God or whoever multiple times because we convinced him to rebel instead of following Heaven's plan.” Dean takes a very deep breath. “We owe it to Cas to save him now, don't you think?”

Sam presses his lips into a thin line and doesn't object.

Dean nods.

And then he turns towards Crowley who so far had been far too interested in a few of the rarer books in the library, using everyone's distraction to browse through the titles.

“I need you to take me to the Sahara,” Dean orders, not leaving room for any protests.

Crowley complains anyway. “I'm not a taxi service, Winchester.”

“I'm your best shot at getting Cas off your back,” Dean reminds the demon. “We both know that, so stop being difficult, okay?”

Crowley scoffs. “So you expect me to just take you there? With our dear, beloved Castiel obviously going berserk right now? I don't see that ending very well for me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters to himself, his teeth grinding hard. “Just drop me off then, alright? Pop in, fling me in some dune and be off again. Cas doesn't even need to know you were there in the first place.”

Crowley still doesn't appear thrilled.

Dean merely rolls his eyes. “Dude, this is your best chance. If we'll lose him again, you're the one he's gonna check up on next. And as things are now he might very well pop you like a water balloon, even if he wouldn't mean to.”

Crowley growls underneath his breath.

But in the end he does seem to see the logic in Dean's words.

“Fine, put some bloody shoes on and let's go,” he grumbles.

Dean doesn't need to be told twice.

---

Teleportation is never awesome.

With Cas it always feels like Dean's stomach is turned upside down. With Crowley, on the other hand, it seems like all his organs have been rearranged, and not in a good way.

It gets even worse by the fact that their destination is literal Hell.

One second they're in the bunker, Dean just trying (and failing) to prepare himself mentally for the journey, and the next he feels like utter crap from both the travel itself as well as the abrupt change in atmosphere. The nice, mild temperatures of Kansas are suddenly changed into something unbearably hot and suffocating. Dean never felt anything like this and for several seconds he's actually dangerously close to losing consciousness.

Naturally, the fact that the world around him is going absolutely wild is not making things any better. The uneven ground underneath him is shaking and there is just sand everywhere. Above and beyond, all around him. Even inside of him after he dares to open his mouth a little bit.

Dean coughs and groans and feels like dying as the sand storm is ripping his skin and clothes open mercilessly.

“Have fun,” Crowley next to him actually has to scream at him over all the noises. And then he's gone again.

Dean blinks at the empty spot for a moment and then he immediately regrets it because he's getting sand in his eyes as well. It burns painfully and he nearly loses his balance in the process.

Shit.

He surely expected to find chaos and all that, but this is just so much worse that he could've ever imagined. He's not even sure he will be able to survive for longer than a few minutes.

He needs to find Cas now.

Spot him and make him calm down and convince him of their plan and hopefully cure him in the very next second.

Dean swallows – mostly saliva, but also some sand – and moves into a random direction. He can't see for shit and he's got no idea where Cas might even be, but he has to start somewhere. So he sets one foot before the other and tries to call the angel's name, hoping against all odds that Cas might hear him. Hoping that even though he's got to cover his face with his jacket and is only able to merely whisper into the cloth because anything else would probably choke him to death, Cas would still become aware of his presence.

With the world collapsing around him it seems like false hope, but Dean isn't known for giving up that easily.

And eventually, after what feels like half an eternity, he notices a figure behind all the whirling sand.

Dean's heart makes a little excited jump and he spurs into action once more, his motions slow and stumbling, but determined.

He reaches out for that person, praying that they won't be a mirage.

And when Dean is met with a solid body, he breathes a big sigh of relief.

“Cas –” he rasps, getting closer. Starting to feel elated.

And then it seems like a bucket of ice cold water is thrown into his face, right in the middle of this stupidly hot desert, as he's suddenly capable of perceiving the features of the person in front of him.

It's not Cas.

Instead it's a middle-aged, chubby guy with a beard, dressed in a fine-pressed suit that appears so utterly wrong in this place Dean's brain hurts just looking at him. And then the man has the gall to smirk at him while something blue glows in his eyes.

Angel.

FUCK.

They finally found Cas!

“Dean Winchester,” the angel says, his voice so clear as though they're both standing in a quiet room. “How wonderful to see you here.”

Dean makes a choked-up noise and tries to retreat, tries to remember whether he brought his blade with him, but in the end all of it is too late. The angel moves with inhuman speed and wraps his fingers around the hunter's throat.

“Castiel has been so annoyingly uncooperative with us until now,” the guy informs him, like they're just having a nice chat. “But with you here the tables have finally turned.”

The angel grins brightly.

While Dean wants to fight and snarl and give the guy all he's got, but in the end the only thing he is able to do is helplessly watch his knees buckle and he slowly sinks to the ground.

Chapter Text

Castiel had only meant to find a quiet place where he could wait out Crowley dealing with the Cage issue.

It was simple enough. Retreat to a remote spot and try not to get agitated. Stay calm, perhaps even meditate a little. In theory it sounded manageable.

And it was, at first.

Castiel flew into the depth of the desert and just sat on the sand, motionless and alone. The few animals in the vicinity sensed rather sooner than later than the angel might be a threat in one way or another at some point and, to be on the safe side, decided to retreat.

Castiel let them, glad to have them out of harm's way.

And so he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

While simultaneously struggling to block all the voices out that still tried to torture him. Conversations all over the world, for him to hear. Thousands of them. Millions.

His head hurt the whole time.

Everything hurt.

He barely remembered what true silence and quiet even felt like. That was why he almost looked forward to Crowley getting his moves on and opening the Cage for him. Yes, it would devastate him on so many levels to finally have the door shut behind him, maybe even for good, but the sudden stop of voices would be such a relief at first that Castiel couldn't bring himself to regret his decision.

And so he sat and waited and hoped that nothing would trigger him in the meantime.

Hours passed.

Perhaps even days, Castiel couldn't tell.

But when eventually the angels arrived, everything went to hell.

---

Heaven sent two of them: Temiel and Lomariel.

Castiel barely had interacted with them before that moment, but nonetheless he knew their names just by sight. Their names, their strengths, their flaws, where they had been stationed before Heaven fell into chaos. It was seared into every angels' brain and no matter how far Castiel removed himself from his brethren, he would never lose that knowledge.

Back in the days it had been comfort, nowadays it was only torture.

And seeing them standing in front of him, Castiel lost control again.

He didn't even give them a chance to explain themselves in any manner. Under normal circumstances Castiel actually might have given them the benefit of the doubt because they both had arrived unarmed and with their hands raised in surrender, apparently seriously only keen on talking to him.

But Castiel's instincts screamed due to their mere presence and before he even had any opportunity to fight it, the earth underneath them was shaking again and the sand had turned into a storm so merciless and brutal it would've ripped them apart easily if they were mortal.

Castiel's insides churned and clenched as the world around them turned dark and dangerous because of him and there was nothing he was able to do about it.

He sank to his knees and only mumbled, “Go, just go, save yourselves …”.

He muttered it over and over again, like a prayer, and hoped they would listen.

---

But of course they don't listen.

Most angels follow Heaven's orders religiously and those two are no exceptions. Castiel had seen their surprise, their concern, when his powers flared up, but despite that they didn't make any moves to flee the scene.

On the contrary, Temiel comes even closer.

Her vessel is a young Asian woman with a kind face and Castiel hates the thought of harming her. The sand is cutting her skin open and Temiel's healing abilities are barely capable of keeping up with it.

But nonetheless she doesn't back down.

“Just go,” Castiel grits through his teeth. “I don't want to hurt you …”

“Castiel, we can help you,” she tries to reason.

Castiel only scoffs. “No, you can't,” he croaks, the sand invading his throat. “And I'm not sure you even want to.”

“Castiel –”

“Please, sister, spare me any speeches,” Castiel cuts in. “Heaven hasn't cared about me in ages. Maybe it never even did to begin with.”

That had been hard to admit to himself, back in the days, and it still stings somewhat, but Castiel had no other choice but to accept it.

“Maybe you're lying,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Maybe you're just trying to mollify me and then, in a moment of distraction, strike me right where I stand. Because you deem me a threat and you want me eradicated.”

And perhaps they're not that wrong about it.

“Or maybe you really care,” he goes on. “You want my powers, want to use them for yourselves. Want to find a way to make it work for Heaven's benefit.”

“Castiel,” Lomariel growls, shaking a little because he'd just been hit by a rather nasty gust of wind, but nevertheless standing his ground. “Would it seriously be so bad to help Heaven? Did the humans twist your brain so dramatically that you can't even see that anymore –?”

Castiel merely lowers his gaze. “Just go …”

They try to argue their point further, but the voices in Castiel's head are getting too loud for him to understand them.

He just cowers on his knees and hopes that they will disappear eventually.

Maybe he might calm down again after that.

Before he would have destroyed the whole Sahara.

In his periphery he notices Lomariel vanishing at some point behind a wall of sand, but Temiel remains steadfast, apparently not impressed at all by any of this. She continuously talks to him, her mouth moving the entire time, her features hard and grim, but for Castiel she merely looks like a hazy hallucination. He can't understand a word she's saying.

“Go!” he rasps eventually, trying it one last time. “Go before it might be too late. I can't control this … I can't …”

Sharp pain flashes through his head and the storm around them gets even worse.

And yet Temiel doesn't take a single step back.

No, she goes on and on, probably determined to convince Castiel how much good he could do in Heaven with his powers, and Castiel realizes that she would stay here until her vessel would just be a skeleton, eaten by the sand.

Castiel presses his lips into a thin line. It would be a risk to try to fly away in his current state, but he seriously doesn't want to kill them. Maybe, if he'd focus enough, he would manage to fling himself into the deepest sea, far away from them. They don't have wings anymore, after all, and wouldn't be able to immediately follow him.

It's dangerous, but Castiel doesn't see any other opportunity. More angels might even join them soon and that's not something he wants to wait around for.

But just as he's about to spread his wings and gather the last remnants of his focus Lomariel returns into his line of sight again.

At first Castiel doesn't give him much attention, only concentrating on his plans and not having the luxury to care for anything else. Then, however, just for a millisecond, he notices a shadow right next to Lomariel and it takes him a moment to see that it's not just some trick of the light but another person.

On first instinct Castiel believes other angels may have arrived and his stomach clenches painfully.

But then he feels it.

The familiar sensation radiating from the person right beside Lomariel. The beauty, the longing, the softness, the gruff exterior …

Dean.

Castiel's gaze snaps upwards and he stares at the picture in front of him with wide eyes.

How can Dean be here??

HOW??

“Dean …” he whispers, his voice shaking with emotions.

He gapes at Dean who is trapped in Lomariel's tight grip around his neck. His features are distorted, clearly in pain, and for a second Castiel thinks that the other angel is grasping the hunter way too tightly.

Rage starts to boil inside of Castiel.

It dies down, though, the very next second when he realizes in horror that it's not actually Lomariel but the sandstorm causing Dean's agony. His clothes are already ripped open and he's bleeding from several nasty wounds all over his body. His eyes and mouth are squeezed shut, desperate to not get any sand inside of him.

Castiel chokes.

I'm hurting him, the voice in his head breathes in shock. I'm hurting him, I'm hurting …

Castiel had always known it would eventually come to this.

He hid himself so far away from the hunter and yet still he managed to mess it all up.

“Dean …”

For another second or two he remains far too shocked to do anything, but then he forces himself to spur into action. All the concentration he earlier used to prepare himself to fly away now floats directly into trying to control his overflowing powers. He's aware it's been semi-successful in the past, but Castiel just needs to try this.

He needs to stop hurting Dean and also not leave him alone with the angels.

There is no other way.

No other way …

It's hard and Castiel feels tears prickling in his eyes, but eventually he senses everything around them taming down. The noises, the chaos, the sand – it's not getting calm because that would be asking too much at this point, but it dies down enough that it stops ripping them all – and especially Dean – apart.

Castiel raises his gaze and watches how the hunter slowly blinks his eyes open, clearly not trusting his senses not to trick him. But as he notices the change around him he becomes more awake, taking everything in his vicinity in at record speed, just as he had learned as a hunter in his early days.

He goes rigid, however, as he spots Castiel.

His eyes widen and he tries to say something, but he's still battered by what happened to him, not to mention Lomariel's grip at his throat, so the only thing he manages is a grunt.

But that little sound relaxes Castiel in a way few things can.

He shoots Dean a look he hopes might be reassuring before turning back to the two angels whose expressions had become rather smug at the receding sandstorm. Like they're proud of their accomplishment.

“Look at this, Castiel,” Temiel announces. “You are able to control it.”

Castiel's features harden. “Let Dean go!”

Lomariel just huffs. “It's unwise to let a Winchester out of your sight.”

It seems Heaven has actually learned a valuable lesson for a change.

“Let. Him. Go!” Castiel growls. He knows he doesn't look exactly threatening, still wrapped in Dean's sweatpants, crouched down on the sand in front of them, his entire being inside and out a big mess.

But he feels his Grace flaring up again, unhappy by those angels' audacity to keep Dean their prisoner.

“Castiel, this is for the best,” Temiel says, a sudden softness in her tone, like she's trying a different approach. “I know you care about humanity and sooner or later you will hurt someone. Come back to Heaven, we can contain this power.”

They actually might be able to, Castiel is sure of that, but returning to Heaven's mercy sounds horrible in every sense of the way.

“I have my own plans,” Castiel informs them. “Nobody is going to get hurt.”

Temiel scoffs. “I don't know what you cooked up with the King of Hell, but it can't be good. Are you seriously trusting a demon over your own kind?”

Castiel's gaze sweeps back to Dean who so far had been struggling in Lomariel's tight grasp like a fish on a rod. He gives it his best, it's obvious, but the angel in question doesn't even seem to notice. As though the hunter's efforts are so utterly unimportant they don't even deserve a millisecond of attention.

Castiel hates to see this blatant indifference.

It's always been one of Heaven's greatest flaws.

“I don't care what you're saying,” Castiel hisses. “Release Dean and just go!”

Temiel doesn't seem very thrilled by the lack of progress.

“I told you,” Lomariel says to her, not even bothering to lower his voice. “There is no reasoning with this traitor. He made his choice a long time ago.”

Castiel doesn't appreciate his tone, but his words certainly ring true.

“He chose humanity many years ago,” Lomariel goes on. “So we should make him choose again.”

With these words he suddenly yanks Dean closer to him. The hunter grumbles and ineffectively tries to loosen Lomariel's grip.

Temiel, meanwhile, sighs. “I'm not much for blackmailing, but you do have a point,” she says to Lomariel. “That specific human has always been Castiel's weakness.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

He doesn't like this discussion at all.

“Whatever you're planning, THINK AGAIN!” Castiel warns, his voice deeper than ever before. Even Dean shoots him a wary look. “I don't want to cut your lives short, but if you force my hand, I will not hesitate!”

Castiel means every word.

And both Temiel and Lomariel seem to realize that he's not just spewing empty threats at the same time because they find themselves exchanging a quick glance with each other. Castiel can't read their expressions, can't tell what's going on inside their heads, but he already considers it a win to see them hesitate for just a brief moment.

It's also all the time Dean needs.

For someone claiming it wouldn't be a smart idea to turn your back on a Winchester, Lomariel surely doesn't follow through. He dares to let his attention stray away completely from the hunter for just a second and Dean is quick to use his window.

The hunter either doesn't carry an angel blade with him or it's inaccessible for him right now, but that certainly doesn't stop him. Instead he pulls a knife out of his back pocket – just an ordinary, human-forged weapon – and pulls a huge swing.

He shoves it right into Lomariel's eye.

Of course the blade doesn't have the power to kill the angel. Hell, it probably doesn't even hurt that much. But Lomariel's vessel starts to bleed uncontrollably and the angel is so surprised by the events that he lets go of Dean, making the hunter stumble backwards.

And that's all Castiel needs.

He doesn't waste his time with big speeches, he just closes his eyes and focuses on the powers within him. Over and over again he whispers to himself, I want them gone, send them where they came from, they didn't have any right to even TOUCH Dean, I WANT THEM GONE –

He opens his eyes just in time to watch the angel be swept away by a major blow.

Their screams – shocked, surprised, scared – are the last thing Castiel hears before they suddenly disappear into thin air, like they have never existed.

Dean stares at the now empty spot with wide eyes.

“Where are they?” he asks. There is a little waver in his tone, as though he's not really sure if he will be next, but he also doesn't back off when Castiel takes a tentative step forward.

“I don't know,” Castiel admits. “I think I sent them back to Heaven.”

Dean blinks. “You think?”

Castiel sighs. He doesn't have time for this.

“I have no idea what you're even doing here, but you need to go,” he urges. “The angels must have opened a portal to Heaven somewhere close by and it's going to be only a matter of time before more will come.”

He reaches out for Dean, about to press his fingertip to the man's forehead.

But the hunter hastily jumps out of the way, dodging the contact.

“No, no, what the hell do you think you're doing?” he growls.

“I'm going to send you back to Kansas,” Castiel explains.

“And what about you?”

Castiel takes a moment to brace himself for Dean's reaction before he reveals, “I will fly somewhere else, maybe to another part of the Sahara. After all, it's big enough –”

As expected Dean is far from thrilled to hear that. “You dumbass!” he accuses, gritting his teeth audibly. “I just found you –”

“And I didn't ask for it,” Castiel reminds him coolly. “Quite the opposite, I would think, actually. I specifically chose this place to be far away from anybody, including you –”

“Oh my God, how about you stop with your self-sacrificing bullshit for a minute there, okay?” Dean interrupts harshly. “I didn't ask Crowley to get me here only for you to throw a fucking temper tantrum at me –”

Something stirs inside Castiel at those words.

“Crowley?” he hisses. “Crowley is the one who brought you here?”

Of course he isn't surprised that supernatural means have been involved to drop Dean right into the middle of the Sahara, but to hear that the King of Hell is responsible for it makes Castiel's blood boil.

That bastard had only one job, to open the Cage, and instead he went –

Castiel clenches his hands into fists as he suddenly feels another spur of energy flaring up, spurred on by his strong emotions. The air around them is getting thicker again, the sand underneath them is once more starting to move, and Castiel can't afford to throw another storm into Dean's face. He still looks horrible, all bloody and ripped open, and he won't survive another hit, that's for certain.

“Dean, you need to go, don't you understand?” Castiel says, his voice far more pained now. “I will hurt you again –”

But Dean ignores him completely to pull something out of his jacket. For a second Castiel believes it might be another blade hidden there, but in the end it's solely a little vial filled with some purple liquid.

Castiel frowns in confusion. “Dean –”

“This is Rowena's spell I told you about,” Dean explains quickly. “And if you'd drink this without adding your own Grace to it, every single power source inside of you would amplify massively.”

Castiel's eyes widen at the mere image. “That sounds like a colossally bad idea, Dean –”

“Of course it would be,” Dean counters, rolling his eyes. “That's why I will be the one drinking it first.”

Castiel stares at him. And then he stares at the vial.

“What?”

Dean's response is a cocky smirk.

“It's easy,” he says. “You were afraid my soul would be damaged if you'd try to take some of your Grace out of me. So I'm using Rowena's spell to strengthen my soul.”

Castiel gapes some more.

“Dean –”

“I've got no idea if it'll work because your Grace inside of me is gonna get stronger, too, of course,” Dean reminds him. “But it's worth a try, right?”

And before Castiel has any chance to answer, Dean downs the content of the vial in one single gulp.

Castiel tenses up at the sight. “Dean –”

The hunter waves him off while simultaneously pulling a face at the potion's taste. “Don't worry, Rowena and Sam reassured me it's totally harmless. Only every extraordinary power source inside of me gets a boost for like ten minutes, that's about it. So your Grace and my soul. And anything else that might be inside of me I had no clue about until now because apparently that is a thing that happens …”

He still sounds bitter about it. And also a little uncomfortable as he's obviously trying to sense if there is any change within him yet.

Castiel, at least, can verify that there is. Rowena's spell is surely a fast working one. It merely takes seconds for Dean's soul to suddenly shine so brightly that Castiel gets blinded by it.

It reminds him of Hell, of all things. Back in the days when he entered the dark abyss with his garrison and searched for Dean – the Righteous Man – for half an eternity. When Castiel eventually spotted the man between all the blood and gore and screams, his soul was such a beacon in the darkness that it startled the angel so much he dropped to the ground and almost got ripped to shreds by a horde of demons in the process.

Yes, Dean's soul had always a huge effect on Castiel.

Now is no exception. It hurts to look and yet Castiel can't help himself, drawn in by its beauty. To see it shine so lively, to see it actually grip his own Grace and even fuel it further – it makes Castiel's insides churn.

“Is it working?” Dean asks impatiently, his voice jerking Castiel out of his reverie.

The angel has to blink a few times to get a grip again. “Yes,” he mumbles eventually. “Yes, it's working.”

It's working perfectly.

“Okay, great,” Dean says, sounding giddy. “Do you think you can take some of your Grace out of me now? You think it'd be safe?”

He pulls a second vial out of his pocket. The one that is meant for Castiel.

He looks at it and knows right away that it won't be necessary. Because he already feels his Grace inside of Dean reach out to him, eager for him to connect. To be one again.

Fueled both by the spell and Dean's soul it's strong enough to make contact.

Castiel doesn't need to second guess, doesn't need to consider – he just knows. Knows that reconnecting with his old roots, with the being he once was when he rescued Dean from Hell, and the being he became when a part of himself merged with Dean's soul, that all of this will be enough to regain control again. To tame the outside forces that are going insane inside of him.

And so he doesn't hesitate to tell Dean that.

Dean instantly perks up at that. “Okay, that's great,” he says enthusiastically. “No idea what you're talking about, buddy, but let's do it then.”

Castiel is barely able to keep the affection for this man at bay.

“It's certainly far less dangerous than me shoving my hand into your ribcage and trying to rip a part of my Grace from your soul,” the angel assures. “It will also be painless.”

Dean seems even more on board now. “Awesome.”

Castiel heaves a sigh.

Because there is always a catch.

And Dean, way too used to such things, doesn't even need to be told, he realizes it right away. “Okay, what is it?”

He doesn't seem willing to let his mood be dampened, but he's visibly struggling.

“Connecting in such a way, it might have unforeseen consequences,” Castiel explains. “Something like this has never happened before, at least not to my knowledge, and I'm not sure …” He makes some random hand gestures he had seen Dean do before in the past. “We might end up baring our souls to one another. So to speak.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“That for the time of the connection there will be no secrets between us,” Castiel goes on. “It will probably only be a short moment, but I might see some things you don't want me to see.”

Dean looks at him like he's a moron.

“So you're getting squirmy because you're afraid I might be a little butt hurt when you catch a quick glance of my feelings?” He scoffs loudly at that. “Dude, I don't care. As I'm seeing this now we've got two options: a) you go into the Cage, or b) we do this Grace-melting thing or whatever.” He shakes his head. “It's not even a question, Cas.”

“But, Dean …” Castiel chews on his bottom lip. “You shouldn't feel obligated –”

“Stop it!” Dean cuts in. “This is ridiculous. Okay, fine, you're gonna see me with my pants down, and I'm gonna see you with your pants down. Sounds like an even deal to me.”

“Dean …”

“Okay, how about we promise each other not to talk about it afterwards, huh?” Dean proposes. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

Castiel furrows his brows. “I don't understand …”

“I don't want things to get awkward between us either,” Dean says. “So let's make a deal, okay? Whatever we might see or feel from the other, we won't address it afterwards. We won't talk about it, we won't make it awkward. We just pretend it never happened, alright?”

Castiel isn't sure whether this might work, whether Dean would really be able to ignore all he is about to experience, but Castiel seriously doesn't have much of a choice here. Going into the Cage would mean losing Dean forever. Dean catching a glimpse of Castiel's true feelings might make him lose the hunter too, but there is also a possibility that Dean would stay true to his words and just live on like nothing ever happened.

With the latter Castiel would at least still have a chance.

Besides, if he would decide against it and walk right into the Cage, Dean would only blame himself and take this burden onto his shoulders like he always tends to do. And Castiel can't bear that.

Dean has suffered more than enough.

And so Castiel just nods and says, “Okay, let's do it.”

Dean straightens right away, ready to spur into action. And then he pauses again. “Um, what do we have to do?”

Castiel can't help a little smile. “Just stand still.”

He places his hand on Dean's chest and shuts his eyes.

Focuses.

The first thing that he notices is the steady, yet slightly increased heartbeat of Dean. For a moment he wonders how nervous the hunter really is, wonders if he's just as anxious as Castiel that the other one might be witness to some dark, hidden secret.

Because Castiel would like to think that he knows Dean inside out, but the truth is that you can never truly know.

Well, up until the moment you reconnect your Grace with the part that has been inside your friend for years now, of course.

Castiel sighs and concentrates further, soon enough hearing his Grace inside Dean calling out to him again. The angel follows its voice, for once fully trusting that everything will be alright. He notices Dean's breath hitch, like he can actually feel Castiel reaching within.

It doesn't take long for Castiel to make the connection because every party involved seems eager to unite. As soon as Castiel touches his own Grace, the one that rebuilt Dean's body all those years ago, he finds himself in awe as he realizes firsthand how much it has changed over time.

It appears that melting with Dean's soul had a huge effect on it.

Castiel isn't surprised in the slightest by that fact, albeit he surely didn't expect the magnitude of it all.

For a moment Castiel trembles, almost loses his balance, and only on the edge of his consciousness he registers that he's suddenly being held, that someone – Dean – is grabbing onto his elbows and keeping him upright.

Castiel is just on the verge of thanking him when he's suddenly hit by a strong wave of emotions.

Dean's emotions.

There is worry and fear, there is a voice whispering Castiel's name over and over, there is affection and fondness.

There is love.

Castiel isn't exactly shocked by that since Dean has told him not so long ago that Castiel is family to him. Like a brother. Castiel figured right away that love is an integral part of that equation.

But the love he's feeling radiating from Dean right now – it's so much stronger than Castiel anticipated. It goes deep, seems all-consuming. And yet it's soft and gentle, almost like a delicate thing. It's so much and even though Castiel surely detects a familial aspect in it, at the same time it's only a part of it. Like a small piece in the big puzzle that is Dean Winchester.

Castiel snaps his eyes open and stares straight at Dean. Who's barely a few inches away.

And Dean gazes right back, his jaw slack as he's probably sensing all of Castiel's emotions in return. He looks overwhelmed, his face even paler than before, and it's most likely solely his last remnants of energy that keep him on his feet at that moment.

“Dean …” Castiel breathes.

And then suddenly everything turns white and he knows no more.

Chapter Text

“… and then I punched that troll right in his face!”

Charlie's voice is highly enthusiastic as she recounts her tale in great detail while Victor just sits across from her at one of the library tables and has his eyebrows raised.

“So,” he says eventually, tentative as all hell, “and this happened in one of your, um, LARP games?”

“No, that happened in Oz.”

“Which is the name of your LARP thingy?” Victor wonders.

Charlie looks at him like he's an adorable idiot.

“No, I'm talking about the real Oz.” She laughs as if that has been completely obvious right from the start.

While Victor just gapes at her.

“Excuse me?”

Charlie seems quite entertained as she explains, “I followed Dorothy into Oz a couple of years ago. Didn't stick, though, as you can see.”

Victor blinks.

Stays silent for a long moment.

And then he turns around toward Sam who has been pacing the room behind him for quite a while now and announces, “Your lives are beyond weird, man!”

Sam doesn't even look his way when he just hums his affirmative absentmindedly.

It's apparent he barely even listened to them.

Victor can't blame him.

“Everything's gonna be alright,” he assures the hunter, even though he's got no clue if that's even remotely true. Hell, they could all be doomed by now, none the wiser. But Victor makes an effort to offer Sam a smile anyway, as strained and unconvincing as it may be.

“Don't you think this is taking way too long?” Sam mutters, clearly not soothed by Victor's attempts.

And Victor doesn't know how to answer that because he's not sure how long such things usually last. He glances at his watch and realizes that it's indeed been a while. Charlie had arrived only a few minutes after Dean took off with Crowley (a fact she bemoaned profusely) and more or less dived into her stories right away to distract herself and all of them from their concern. And from Victor's point of view it surely feels like she's been talking forever.

“Oh, Samuel, don't frown like that, you'll only get wrinkles,” Rowena scolds him. She's standing next to a shelf and browsing through an important looking book Victor isn't so certain she should even glance at. “Dean is fine.”

Sam shoots her a look. “And how do you know that?”

She huffs. “I'm not feeling any energy bursts anymore for at least ten minutes,” she informs him. “It looks like our dear Castiel calmed down.”

Sam clenches his hands into fists. “And why didn't you say anything?” he growls, clearly unhappy to be left out of the loop like that.

Rowena, however, stays completely unimpressed as she turns another page of her book. “The passage in this chapter got really exciting, I was a bit distracted by it.”

She surely sounds like that's a reasonable enough excuse.

Sam grits his teeth. “And why aren't they here yet? Where are Dean and Cas? Or Crowley?”

Rowena merely waves him off like he's an annoying bug. “Oh, I'm sure dear Fergus fucked off the second he dropped Dean into the desert. He's got too much of a survival instinct to stay next to a nuclear angel.” She scoffs, obviously agreeing with that tactic. “And Dean? Well, if I had to guess, I'm certain he talked our wee angel down, they both used my spell which of course worked absolutely perfectly, and now they're both busy getting naked in the Sahara and celebrating their reunion.”

Charlie snickers into her hand at that statement while Victor's brows climb even higher and Sam looks like he's choking on air.

“You're not funny, Rowena!” he eventually presses out.

“On the contrary, I think I'm hilarious,” she says with a chuckle. “It's on you to not see the wit of my words.”

Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to his pacing.

While Charlie leans forward and whispers to Victor, “God, I love that woman!”

Victor finds himself hesitating. “Try to be locked in a car with her for several hours. You might change your mind.”

“I highly doubt –”

She stops abruptly when suddenly a sound emerges that makes everyone's attention spur into action.

It sounds like the flapping of huge wings.

Victor just has a chance to blink and start to wrap his head around this when right next to him two figures pop out of nowhere. The agent yelps in surprise, too startled by it all to be embarrassed for sounding like a little girl for a second there.

They all stare at Dean and Castiel in their midst.

Dean – well, he doesn't look great. His clothes are ripped and there is blood everywhere. He doesn't seem to have any visible injuries, though, indicating that Castiel has healed him somewhere along the way. Dean is not conscious, either, however, just hanging in the angel's arm like a sack of potatoes.

Castiel holds onto him, but it's clearly taking him great effort.

“Take him!” he hisses and Victor needs a moment to realize Castiel is addressing him.

“What?” Victor asks, dumbfounded.

“Take Dean!” Castiel makes himself clear, more than a little impatient.

Victor doesn't waste a second to question this but instead leaps to his feet in a hurry and grab onto Dean.

And the moment Castiel is sure that the hunter is safe in Victor's grip the angel's eyes roll inward and he collapses. Like he was on his last legs and he only got through it because of Dean.

Victor's eyes widen in shock as he helplessly watches the angel's knee buckle.

Thankfully Sam is quick to react and he catches Castiel before he's able to painfully connect with the floor.

For a minute they all remain like this, just breathing and forcing their brain to catch up on things.

And they only jerk back to reality when Rowena loudly snaps her book shut and announces brightly, “See, what did I tell you? They're fine.”

Sam just glares at her in response.

---

Dean wakes up in his bed.

For a minute there he's absolutely convinced that everything is normal. That this is just a regular Winchester Day, filled with huge amounts of coffee first thing in the morning, an overly clingy dog who demands his pets at least every two minutes, a brother drowning in some research, a car in dire need of cleaning, and perhaps even a hunt or two at the end of it all, for good measure.

Dean surely got used to their routine over the years.

And yes, he remembers the Sahara and everything that happened there, but at first he believes it's just been a dream. The sand storm, the angels, Dean drinking Rowena's potion and feeling all kinds of weird as his soul started to power up …

… and then Cas connecting himself with the part of his Grace inside Dean …

… with suddenly everything on display …

… everything they felt and never had dared to say out loud before …

Yeah, it certainly sounds like a wacko dream.

But as Dean's slowly coming into full consciousness he notices a strange discomfort and it takes him a moment to realize that he's feeling sand on every single part of his body. His face, his eyes, his teeth, his fucking butt crack – yeah, as sand tends to do, it's everywhere!

And if there is sand, maybe the whole Sahara thing hadn't been a dream after all.

Dean's eyes snap open and he tries to lift off his bed in one single motion, but finds himself stopped by a hand on his chest. He startles at the contact and asks, “Cas?” before he can even help himself.

But as he turns around he sees himself confronted with Sam sitting on a chair next to his bed.

“Don't strain yourself, man,” Sam says, keen on making Dean position against the headboard. “I don't want you to faint all over on me again.”

On instinct Dean wants to point out that Winchesters don't faint, at least not the older ones, but his brain catches up quickly enough with the situation and it reminds him right away that there are more important matters at hand.

“Cas,” he croaks, even his voice sounding sandy. “Is he … where is he?”

“He's alright,” Sam assures him with a smile that looks genuine enough to believe it. “He was out of it for a while, just like you, but he's been up and about for like an hour now.”

Dean lets his gaze wander through his room and feels weirdly disappointed to not see the angel by his side.

“He's been here the whole time,” Sam says, clearly interpreting his brother's reaction correctly. “But I think he felt that you were about to wake up soon and flew off about five minutes ago to get some food for all of us.”

Dean blinks.

“Cas can still fly?” is the first thing he asks. And then he adds, offended, “And you're using him as a food delivery service?”

Sam laughs. “I told him he shouldn't bother, we would just pick something up from town. But I think he was pretty eager to spread his wings again and fly without having to worry that he might rip the planet in half, you know?”

Okay, yeah, Dean gets that.

Cas seems to be in control once more and for the first time ever able to use his wings after so many years of missing them. Dean doesn't fault him for hopping onto that opportunity.

And frankly, he's also a bit grateful for not having to deal with the angel first thing. Dean still remembers the moment he picked up on Cas' feelings and it's been so overwhelmingly much Dean still has no idea what to do about it.

Yeah, he got hit in the face with concern and guilt and fear and Dean had expected all of it, even though it had felt particularly powerful. And of course there had been fondness and love because this is Cas and he's not doing anything by half.

Dean hadn't been surprised by any of this.

Well, apart from the latter.

Granted, he knows that Cas loves them. It hadn't been that long since he had openly admitted to that, in that dirty barn, on the verge of dying from the Lance of Michael.

But what Dean had felt in the moment they had both connected – it had been so much more than that. It had pierced through Dean's whole body, making itself at home. Powerful and radiating and so utterly beautiful it brought tears to the hunter's eyes.

And he couldn't help but recall the scene in the barn. How Cas had looked directly at him and breathed, “I love you.” Dean had tried to convince himself the entire time that the angel had meant it in a general way, that he had addressed all of them. After all, he had clarified that only a second later.

But now Dean finds himself wondering whether it hadn't been a clarification in the first place but a differentiation.

Maybe the first I love you had seriously been for Dean alone.

And perhaps it had meant something completely different to what he said afterwards.

Back then Dean didn't dare to imagine that, but now, with Cas' emotions practically spread out in front of him? Suddenly everything seems to appear in a new light.

Jesus Christ.

Is this honestly for real?

“You okay?” Sam suddenly asks, obviously getting worried by Dean's faraway look.

Dean swallows and forces himself to throw his brother a smirk. “Yeah, I think for the first time in a long while everything is freaking peachy.”

And he actually means it.

---

Just a few minutes later they find themselves back in the library where Cas has sprawled out his food haul on one of the tables.

It's a lot.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean exclaims and gestures at all the takeout containers with both awe and shock.

Something odd flashes over Cas' features for a millisecond as he looks at the hunter, but it vanishes just as quickly, replaced by a soft smile.

“I'm sorry, I went a bit overboard,” he confesses. “But I figured you wouldn't mind.”

Dean's heart picks up its pace with the angel's eyes upon him and his voice wobbles a bit as he answers, “Um, I never mind food.”

Victor, Charlie, Eileen and Rowena, who have all been gathering around the table in the meantime, wholeheartedly agree.

“What's all this?” Charlie asks excitedly.

“Tandoori chicken and chole palak from a small place close to Bangalore, India,” Cas immediately jumps into an explanation. “Ugali and chakalaka from South Africa. Feijoada and acarajé from Brazil. Belgian fries. Beer from several breweries in Germany –”

“You seriously flew to all these places?” Victor cuts in, looking quite shell-shocked.

Cas stares at him like he doesn't understand what the big deal is. “Uh, yes?”

Victor releases a series of very colorful curses after that and while everyone laughs Dean's gaze rests on the angel and he feels something warm blossoming in his chest.

---

The food is ridiculously delicious.

But Dean is barely able to concentrate because his eyes constantly drift over to Cas who sits right between Charlie and Rowena and seems more than happy to watch them eat and enjoy their meal. Once in a while he shoots Dean a look, subtle enough to not be too obvious, and Dean starts to wonder if the guy's always done that and the hunter just never noticed before.

The thought makes Dean's stomach gurgle.

---

They should talk about it.

Yeah, Dean remembers very clearly that he insisted on ignoring the whole thing. But to be fair, when he suggested that he thought that the feelings would be painfully one-sided. He believed that Cas would catch a glimpse of Dean's pathetic pining and that would be it. Dean figured it would be better for everyone involved to simply brush it aside and act like it never happened.

But now everything is different and it would just be foolish to avoid it.

Right?

---

The rest of the day passes quietly.

Dean is dragged into another movie marathon by Charlie and he's not equipped to say no to her. Sam and Eileen join them with a huge bowl of popcorn and even though they're all still pretty full the snack is completely devoured before the first movie is even halfway done. Meanwhile, Victor retreated into a silent corner with his laptop a while ago, apparently still brooding over what to do with his mess of a case. And Rowena had walked out of them right after their dinner, just flipping her wavy hair and winking at them before going off to do God knows what. Dean tries not to think about it too hard.

Cas, as well, left the bunker around the same time. Dean felt irritatingly anxious about that for like half an hour, dreadfully remembering how the angel used to just fly off in the past right in the middle of a conversation, and his brain surely tried its best to convince him that everything would return to the old ways soon enough. With Cas just popping by here and there, with the possibility of him disappearing again only a second later always looming over Dean's head.

But just as his thoughts are on the brink of becoming extra dark, Dean remembers The Moment again. The love and joy and affection coming off of Cas in strong waves. There is no way in hell Cas would fuck off like that now, not with this massive thing between them.

Dean just has to believe that.

---

Cas returns that evening.

He is flushed and looks all kinds of happy, like he's been flying through the sky like a little kid the whole time, and it warms Dean's heart to see it.

But when the hunter asks him if he didn't want to spend the night in Rio or wherever, Cas just stares at him in confusion and wonders, “Why would I be anywhere else but here?”

He squints his eyes, like he can't seriously comprehend the question.

And Dean's heart soars.

---

Dean can't sleep.

He tries to, for a long while, but not even the comforting warmth of The Colonel at his legs makes him drift off. It seems that the power nap he had before already did its job and messed up Dean's sleeping pattern in the process. Not to mention the fact that there is so much on his mind right now he wouldn't even know what rest looks like.

So eventually, before he would get too frustrated, he rolls out of bed again and staggers toward the kitchen. In the movies they always get themselves some warm milk in these kinds of situations and Dean's got no idea whether that even works, but hey, the milk is close to its expiration date anyway, so why not get rid of it before that, right?

What Dean didn't account for, though – even though it's pretty obvious in hindsight – is running into Cas in the kitchen.

Dean freezes in the doorway, his brain unable to decide what to do. He just stares at Cas sitting at the table and glancing up from his phone at the hunter.

“Dean,” Cas says. He sounds completely normal, like this is any other day. Like they hadn't seen each other's inner emotions only a couple of hours ago.

“Cas,” Dean answers, knowing right away that he doesn't sound as calm as the angel by a mile.

“Why aren't you sleeping?” Cas wonders.

Dean licks his lips. What is there to say? That his brain is working way too much? That he just can't stop thinking about everything that went down? That it's driving him crazy in a manner nothing really has before?

Yeah, Dean is not so sure he would ever be able to confess to that aloud, outside of his head.

So instead he just grunts a muffled, “I dunno, just can't sleep,” and moves toward the fridge, aiming for his milk. But just as he's about to take the carton he suddenly realizes that the process of heating up the liquid would take some time and Cas doesn't seem in a hurry to avoid any awkward situations. So as Dean imagines things getting uncomfortable between them and with him having no chance of quickly escaping due to the milk on the stove, he finds himself squirming and instead decides to take it cold.

It might still work, right?

He pours himself a glass and drinks half of it in one big gulp, his body protesting the sudden onslaught of coldness quite prominently. But Dean drinks through the pain like it's his only mission in life.

Cas, meanwhile, remains as still as ever, just sitting at the table. Obviously no care in the world.

And Dean can't help looking at him. The last few weeks Cas had been deteriorating right in front of him and it had been absolutely awful to watch. Clammy and pale skin, dull eyes, trembling limbs. Dean's heart squeezed every time he had to merely glance at it.

But now? Now Cas looks far better. Alert, awake, sharp gaze, tanned skin and his hair a bird's nest as ever.

Dean can barely believe they did it.

“How are you feeling?” he finds himself asking in the end because even though he sees the improvement clear as day he still needs to hear Cas confirm it.

So when Cas answers, “I'm alright, truly,” Dean releases a breath of relief.

“Yeah?” he wonders.

Cas nods. “I feel like me again.”

That is certainly a good thing.

“So Michael's Grace and Lucifer's Grace and whatever else was floating around inside of you,” Dean says, gesturing at Cas' torso like it's all perfectly visible right now, “it's, um, toned down or whatever?”

“It's still part of me,” Cas explains. “I can feel it, all of it. But I'm the one in charge again, not the other way around.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip. “And you think you're gonna be the boss permanently?”

Unfortunately the hunter is unable to fully see the bright side of things because he has experienced things going sideways far too often in his life. He can't even remember the last time they had a win without any kind of setback attached to it.

Cas, however, just smiles reassuringly, knowing Dean's fears quite well at this point. “Somewhere along the way we will join into one big unit. Until then I will keep a close eye on them to avoid any repeat performances.”

Dean shudders at the mere possibility. “Rowena and Sam said we can do this whole, uh, Grace-melting thing as often as we like. So if you need another boost in the future, I'll be your guy.”

If you need another glimpse deep into my soul …

If you need to see EVERYTHING …

Dean holds his breath, just waiting for Cas to say something. Anything.

But Cas just hums and asks, “How did you like the beer?”

Dean blinks, so thrown off by this abrupt change of topic his head begins to ache. “Huh?”

“The beer from Germany,” Cas clarifies. “I visited several well established and highly recommended breweries, so I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. You didn't say at dinner.”

And then he looks at Dean like this is the most important question that has ever been asked.

While Dean's brain stops working for a very long moment.

“Are you kidding me?” he exclaims in the end, fury beginning to fuel inside of him. “The beer? You seriously wanna talk about the fucking beer?”

Cas stays as calm and collected as ever. “I just thought if you enjoyed it, I could get more of it in the future –”

“Okay, you know what? This is ridiculous!” Dean waves him off, honestly not in the mood for any of this. “Are we really not gonna talk about it?” And when Cas opens his mouth, he quickly adds, “And I don't mean the frigging beer, man. You know what I'm saying here!”

Cas furrows his brows, obviously having no problem whatsoever catching on. “But we made a deal –”

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Yeah, Dean remembers that quite vividly. It was a stupid idea back then and it still is.

“So what?” Dean says dismissively. “I didn't see us carving anything into stone or whatever.”

“To make a contract binding, you don't necessarily need to carve –”

“Oh jeez, Cas!” Dean cuts in impatiently. “I felt what you feel and you felt what I feel. There is no need to beat around the bush about this!”

Cas takes a breath, clearly on the verge of saying some other dumb and distracting shit, like maybe about him having no intention to beat any bushes anytime soon, but in the end he sags his shoulders, giving up on that endeavor before he even really started it.

“So you want to talk about it?” he asks instead, all kinds of incredulous.

Which, fair.

“Yeah, I know, the world must go crazy,” Dean grumbles. “But I just – I mean – we're apparently on the same page, am I right? Why ignore that?” But then he stays silent for a long minute and adds, almost timidly, “We are on the same page, aren't we?”

“If you're talking about me being utterly and irrevocably in love with you, then yes, we're on the same page,” Castiel states, bluntly as ever.

Which, of course, sends Dean nearly over the edge.

“Dude!” he hisses, scandalized. “You can't just say shit like that!”

Castiel seems completely unfazed by that. “Why not? You just said –”

“Yes, yes, I know I said we should talk about it,” Dean interjects, grimacing hard. “But you know me, man. Don't throw it into my face all at once. You have to ease me into it.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I touched your soul, Dean. There is no easing into it after that.”

He uses air-quotes and fuck, Dean loves that bastard so much.

And he's also right.

“Okay, yeah, you've got a point –”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“Are we really making an argument out of confessing our feelings here, man?” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “We're honestly messed up, Cas.”

But it's also kinda on brand for them and weirdly reassuring.

That even if they finally acknowledge this thing between them, nothing really has to change.

Okay, granted, some things might change, and hopefully the good sort of change, but overall they're the same dumb brick walls they have always been.

That's nice to know.

Meanwhile, Castiel sighs, looking close to defeated. “Dean, I know how I feel, but if it makes you uncomfortable –”

“No, dude, no!” Dean cut him off once more. “Nothing about this makes me uncomfortable –”

“Are you sure?” Castiel lifts his eyebrow. “After all, you still insist on calling me 'dude', for instance. I'm no expert on these sorts of things, but I highly doubt this is regarded as a term of endearment.”

Dean pulls a face, pained. He didn't even notice.

“Okay, yeah, sorry,” he admits. “I just – I'm not good at this stuff –”

Never has been and probably never will be.

“I mean, look at you,” Dean says, gesturing at Cas' everything. “You just go for it. Say it out loud. Like it's no big deal.” He sighs heavily. “And I wanna do that, too – I mean, you deserve that – but I just can't … I wanna tell you how crazy I am about you. How I dream about, I dunno, waking up with you and making you coffee in the morning and mistaking salt for sugar 'coz I'm too distracted by your bedhead. I wanna tell you – y'know, that you're stupidly important to me and that I've never felt like this before and that you're a grouchy son of a bitch and I want you around me all the time anyway –” Dean squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I wanna tell you all that and more, but – I dunno, I'm seriously not good at this, Cas …”

Cas' expression morphs into something unbearably soft as he answers, “I think you're doing just fine.”

Dean is on the brink of contradicting vehemently, but suddenly the angel is invading his personal space in the most bold manner, their faces only inches apart, and any kind of argument dies on Dean's tongue immediately.

“I'm going to kiss you now,” Cas announces solemnly. “If you have any objections, please voice them now.”

Dean stares at the angel with a slack jaw at first, despite the situation not feeling prepared for this at all. His brain is certainly short-circuiting in great style.

But just as Cas begins to retreat again, probably interpreting Dean's lack of reaction as rejection, the hunter quickly grabs Cas' shirt and babbles, “No, no, no, don't – I mean, no objections, no objections whatsoever –”

Thankfully Cas interrupts Dean's rambling very effectively.

With his lips pressed against the hunter's lips.

Dean makes the most embarrassing sound as he finds himself pushed against the kitchen counter, but he gives a flying fuck about it for like 0.004 seconds before he melts into the touch and forgets the whole world around them. He wraps his arms around the angel, spreads his legs to yank the guy even closer and kisses back just as deeply and just as desperately as Cas.

It's even more amazing than Dean could've ever imagined.

Awesome.

That's why, when after many very heated and yet still somehow tender minutes they pull apart a little because Dean needs his annoying oxygen, the hunter breathes in awe, “Dude …”

Cas chuckles at that. “Maybe it is a term of endearment after all.”

Dean just rolls his eyes and kisses the angel again.

Chapter Text

Castiel feels like he's in a dream.

Granted, he isn't very experienced with dreams in general, so he certainly could be wrong, but the way Dean smiles at him, suddenly all shy, as he tentatively grabs the angel's hand and tugs him into the direction of his bedroom surely has all the makings of a fantasy. Something that doesn't really happen in life, no matter how hard you wish for it.

Castiel follows easily, of course. He lets Dean steer him through the empty hallway and only takes a moment to make his Grace reach out and check on all the other occupants of the bunker sleeping peacefully in their beds before his entire attention focuses on the hunter in front of him once more.

Castiel doesn't want to look away. Fears that if he'd even dare to blink that everything would fall apart.

And he might have the Grace of several archangels inside of him, but he's absolutely sure that he wouldn't be strong enough for this.

When they eventually reach Dean's bedroom, Castiel is hit with a familiarity that makes his chest hurt. He's been sleeping in this bed for quite a while now. Has been sharing it with Dean, engulfed in his embrace. But they never talked about it openly, it was just a thing they did.

Now, maybe, they will finally address this.

This time, however, the place is occupied by The Colonel. The dog barely blinks awake as they enter, way too tired to give much of a damn.

Dean, though, hesitates at the sight of him. For a minute he remains still in the doorway, his hand still clutching Castiel's, and he seems to debate something important with himself. Castiel would like to help, but he doesn't want to startle Dean out of his deep pensiveness.

In the end Dean makes his decision apparently. He strides toward the bed and nudges the dog who grumbles lowly at the interruption.

“Dude, you should keep someone else company,” he says to The Colonel. “I think Charlie would love to have you around.”

The dog actually lifts his head at the mention of her name.

“C'mon, c'mon,” Dean urges, basically pushing The Colonel out of his bed and out of the room. “Let's pay Charlie a visit.”

He vanishes down the corridor with the dog, presumably to open any doors if Charlie might have closed hers.

Soon enough Dean returns, sans The Colonel. And he immediately gets a flush on his cheeks as he explains, “Um, just thought the bed would get a bit tight with three, ya know?”

The Colonel has slept in the bed with both of them before and it's never been much of a problem for Dean, but now he's obviously keen on seeing them all alone.

Castiel doesn't complain and he certainly doesn't comment on it.

He just nods, like this is totally reasonable, and sheds the hoodie he has been wearing.

“I don't require sleep,” he informs Dean nonetheless, in case the hunter might've forgotten.

Dean appears a bit flustered as he replies, “Yeah, uh, I know, buddy, I just … you've been through a lot and rest is important …”

Castiel smiles. “It might be nice to recharge my batteries.”

Dean relaxes at that. He was apparently bracing himself for a much more in-depth conversation about this and now seems rather relieved that he doesn't have to put up with it.

Meanwhile, Castiel studies him intently.

Of course he has done so many times before in the past, has been told repeatedly that he stares too much, that he is too intense. But now he just tunes out those voices and revels in the sight in front of him.

He watches the slight tinge of pink on Dean's face, his freckles that seem more prominent than ever, his green eyes, so alive and vibrant all of a sudden. And Castiel also tries to catch a glimpse of his soul. He can't see it anymore, not really, but he feels it buzzing underneath Dean's skin. He senses the connection, the desire to be close again.

It's exhilarating.

And so Castiel spurs into action again because at the end of the day he just can't help himself.

He cups Dean's cheeks softly and, when he doesn't see any resistance whatsoever, kisses the hunter once more. Castiel had heard before that such things can be addictive and he never understood the sentiment, but now, with Dean in his arms, he finally grasps the concept.

Castiel could happily remain like this for the rest of their existence.

Granted, basic necessities like food and sleep might become a problem over time, but Castiel is positive his Grace might be able to sustain them both.

It sounds like a reasonable plan, so when Castiel actually draws back a little to tell Dean so, the hunter just smiles and whispers an affectionate, “You're a dork,” before returning to their kiss, obviously agreeing to Castiel's chain of thoughts.

At some point they hit the wall and Castiel is delighted at the approving sound Dean makes when he finds himself pressed against the hard surface. He yanks Castiel closer, positions him between his slightly spread legs, and the angel is more than thrilled to seek all the proximity he can get.

Castiel gets lost in the kiss and even though he knows he doesn't have much experience in such things, it doesn't seem to matter in this case. Dean apparently seems to enjoy it slow and deep and it's easy enough to follow his example and get swept up.

Eventually, though, Dean pulls back with a big yawn. He appears rather embarrassed by it the very next second and tries to cover it up by leaning in again, but Castiel doesn't let him.

“You're exhausted,” he points out.

Dean huffs. “Only a little tired.”

He sounds dismissive about it, like it's not a big deal. Like this is not a good enough reason to stop kissing Castiel.

Castiel brushes his thumb over Dean's stubble and finds himself almost overwhelmed by the wave of fondness that suddenly crashes over him.

“You need to sleep, Dean,” Castiel reminds him.

Dean pouts, clearly not happy with the suggestion.

“Didn't you just say you could boost me up with your Grace?” he asks. “C'mon, man, help me out here.”

Castiel chuckles. “I could,” he confirms. “If you want to.”

Dean thinks about it.

Hard.

But then his gaze flickers to the bed and he confesses, “A normal, human nap might be nice, too, though.”

In Castiel's opinion Dean certainly deserves all the normal, human naps he can get.

Dean might see it that way as well because instead of putting up a fight about it he asks, almost timidly, “You staying?”

“Of course,” Castiel doesn't hesitate to answer. “Where else would I be?”

That was obviously the right thing to say because Dean lights up again, his grin as well as his soul radiating in a way that nearly makes Castiel stumble right where he stands.

They get rid of most of their clothes after that. This development is surely new since all the times before when they shared Dean's bed they made certain to have everything covered. Now, however, it seems ridiculous to sweat in too many clothes underneath the equally warm blanket.

It appears that Dean tries to be methodical about it, as though he's forcing himself not to think about it too intently. But he repeatedly steals glimpses in Castiel's direction and every time makes all those sweet noises at the sight in front of him.

Castiel undoubtedly shares the sentiment and doesn't even attempt to be stealthy about it. No, he just watches Dean peeling out of his many layers, completely unashamed about it.

“Dude, you're staring,” Dean comments eventually when he's hopping on one leg to get rid of his sock.

He doesn't sound overly upset about it, though.

So Castiel just shrugs his shoulders and tells him, “It's a very nice view.”

Dean blushes for the remainder it takes him to get ready and hastily climb under the sheets. Castiel follows suit just a moment later, apart from his boxer shorts completely unclothed.

For a while they remain like this, just lying next to each other, not touching. It seems Dean is suddenly unsure how to proceed and Castiel doesn't want to presume.

In the end, though, Dean just mumbles to himself “get a grip, idiot” and scoots closer. He still stays tentative for a moment longer, apparently evaluating what the best move might be, before he eventually settles on positioning his hand on the center of Castiel's chest.

At the sudden skin-on-skin contact his breath hitches.

Castiel feels all warm and instantly craves for more, but he stays calm and lets Dean move at his own pace. After all, this is a big change, even with their Grace-soul-bond that leaves nothing to the imagination, and Castiel has no intention to push.

After a minute or so, however, Dean seems to realize as well that there is no reason to hold back. Once again he mutters to himself to stop being a baby before he plasters himself all over Castiel's side.

The angel sighs happily.

“This okay?” Dean wonders, even though he must have heard perfectly that it is more than just okay.

Castiel simply hums and buries his fingers in Dean's hair. As soon as he starts to massage the hunter actually melts in his arms, completely relaxed from top to bottom.

“Sleep, Dean,” Castiel tells him gently.

And so Dean does.

---

Dean wakes up in complete darkness.

At first he's just groggy and disoriented, not really sure what to make of things. But he notices the memory foam underneath him and knows instinctively that there is no need to freak out too much.

Piece after piece memory catches up with him. The Sahara, the angels, the Grace-soul-melting, the kiss in the kitchen, Dean pulling Cas toward his bedroom …

Dean automatically reaches out to the spot next to him, eager for more contact, and finds himself disappointed when he realizes he's all alone in the bed again.

The sheets are still warm, though, so Cas couldn't have been gone for long.

Dean frowns and is just preparing a speech for the angel in his mind about proper bedroom etiquette when he suddenly hears a shuffling sound by the end of the bed. The hunter tenses on instinct, his brain telling him to be wary. It surely doesn't sound like the usual suspects, like The Colonel moving around or something like that.

Dean is just contemplating where his next weapon could be, just in case, when a soft voice whispers in the dark, “It's alright, Dean. It's just me.”

Cas.

Dean calms immediately.

“What're you doing up?” Dean mumbles, his bleary eyes trying to make something out. The only thing he eventually is able to recognize, though, is the very vague silhouette of the guy.

“I just needed to stretch,” Cas explains.

“Muscle cramps?” Dean wonders and instantly feels stupid because this is a freaking angel he's talking to. Angels don't get muscle cramps.

At least he thinks so?

Cas, meanwhile, chuckles. “My muscles are fine, Dean.”

“What is it then? You alright?”

Dean can actually hear Cas' answering smile. “You don't need to worry, Dean,” he reassures the hunter. “Just go back to sleep.”

This time, however, this doesn't work. Instead of following the suggestion Dean grumbles slightly and reaches for the nightstand, eager to get some light back on.

He blinks at first when the small light bulb blinds him. But after a quick adjustment period he fixes his gaze on Cas.

And gasps in shock.

Cas is standing on the end of the bed, still naked beside his boxer shorts. Dean certainly has a great view of his muscled back and his firm ass.

But that is not what is taking his breath away.

No, that would be the wings.

The wings, so big and magnificent they're taking up most of the room.

Dean's breathing quickens.

“Just go back to sleep,” Cas repeats. He sounds like everything is perfectly normal. Like he didn't just whip out his huge-ass wings, for everyone to see.

Dean almost swallows his own tongue.

JESUS.

FUCKING.

CHRIST.

“Cas …” he rasps, in awe.

Cas seems to pick up on Dean's mood and turns around with a questioning expression on his face. Of course the wings move with him, but they don't topple over anything. They don't even touch anything, just go through all the material objects like they're not there.

And Dean remembers that the wings of an angel normally exist on another plane of existence.

There's no way they would ever bump against the bed or sweep the books off Dean's table. They just move through them, like a frigging ghost.

“Are you okay?” Cas wonders, his brow arched in clear concern.

And at first Dean is only able to splutter indignantly.

“If I'm – dude, what the hell?” Dean snaps. “You've got your wings out and ask me if I'm okay? No, jackass, I'm not okay!” He shakes his head in frustration. “Look at you!”

Dean stares at the wings, at the millions of colors that seem to flash through them like living things, and he feels so utterly overwhelmed his brain almost shuts down.

Of course he's aware that he's seen many unbelievable things in his time, has witnessed many supernatural wonders, but for some reason this one makes him speechless. So far he's only known the shadows of Cas' wings (for like a millisecond) and to witness them for real now, after all these years, seems like an utter miracle.

Cas' eyes, meanwhile, have grown double in size.

“You can see my wings?” he asks, clearly in shock.

Dean looks at his pale face, at the absolute disbelief, and he suddenly realizes that Cas has no idea. He probably pops his wings out on a regular basis, has been doing that for years now, and neither of the humans ever had a clue.

Until now.

Dean's heart suddenly starts to race. “Oh God, will my eyes burn out of my skull next?”

He remembers Pamela, the moment she caught a tiny glimpse of Cas' true form and nearly died from it.

He blinks, wondering if he might be next.

Even though he feels fine.

Cas doesn't really appear to know what to make of this either. For a second he tries to move closer, then he seems to debate to step back, maybe even leave the room or the whole entire state, and in the end he remains frozen.

He doesn't even consider putting his wings away again, too overwhelmed by it all.

And Dean keeps on gaping at them, keeps on drinking in every tiny detail, and eventually comes to terms with the fact that he indeed feels fine. His eyes burn a little, granted, but only from staring too much.

There is no heat, no pain.

Cas, though, eventually seems to realize that he didn't even make an attempt to fold his wings back in. He fidgets nervously and mutters, “Oh no, I should …”

His wings move inwards. Ready to disappear, by the looks of it.

And that seems suddenly like the worst travesty in Dean's eyes.

So he quickly exclaims, “No, leave them!” before they could vanish for good.

Cas studies him warily, but does as he is told. “Dean?”

“I'm good, man,” Dean promises. “Really, I'm fine.”

Cas appears more than a little confused. “But … how is that possible?”

Dean takes a deep breath. And as he finally takes his time to mull this over in his head it certainly makes sense.

“Dude, my soul and your Grace basically became one or whatever,” Dean reminds him while trying not to blush too hard at that. “I still don't understand what really happened – but apparently I can see your wings now?”

Cas pauses.

Lets this sink in.

And in the end he nods tentatively. “I guess you're right.”

He still looks bewildered by it, though, and Dean can't blame him. It's probably been a while since any other being but his heavenly kin has seen his wings.

Dean scrambles to his knees and scoots toward Cas. And then, in a move that makes zero sense, he reaches out for the wings.

He doesn't expect anything. After all, they floated through everything material before.

But then, instead of air Dean suddenly feels feathers underneath his fingertips and his throat closes up. “Fucking hell!”

Cas looks equally shocked. “Dean!”

Dean blinks and stares at the feathers. Feels their unexpected softness and finds his brain melting.

“Dude,” he groans.

For a very long moment they just stay like this.

Cas, too baffled by it all to even move. And Dean, with his arm stretched out, hesitantly brushing over the guy's wings.

What the fuck is happening?

“Cas, I'm touching your wings,” Dean informs him eventually, like a fucking dumbass. “How am I touching your wings?”

Way too many emotions flicker over Cas' features in that instance.

“I – I think –” His gaze drifts to Dean's hand touching his feathers. “I think the bond we created might be stronger than I anticipated.”

Dean frowns. “Huh?”

“We really became one, in a manner of speaking,” Cas explains, suddenly uncomfortable. As though he's fearing Dean's reaction to it all. “I can see and touch my own wings, obviously, so you can see and touch them, too.”

Dean's eyes widen. “So does that mean I could even see your true form?”

He wondered. Oh, how many times he had wondered how Cas truly looks like. Cas vaguely described it to him a few times in the past and Dean has sporadically read a few things about angel anatomy throughout research here and there, but he was never really able to grasp the concept fully. It just seemed so far away from everything he knew, his brain was incapable of disputing the whole thing.

But now?

Now he could actually see it?

“I don't know,” Cas says, though. “I'm not sure I want to risk your life finding out.”

At first Dean is more than ready to argue his point, but then his attention is gripped by the wings underneath his fingers again and he loses his track of thoughts once more.

“Damn, you're so gorgeous,” he whispers.

And finds himself rather thrilled when Castiel gets all flustered.

“I will see your true form,” Dean decides then and there. “One of these days you're gonna show it to me and I will not die, you hear me?”

Cas squints his eyes. “Dean …”

He seems on the verge of protesting and Dean is not in the mood for any of that. He made his decision and there is no backtracking.

And so he stops any objections by pulling Cas into a searing kiss.

It's very effective.

Chapter Text

Kissing Cas is an experience.

Dean has kissed his fair shade of people in the past, but with Cas it's seriously something else. Maybe it's because he's an angel, maybe it's because he's Cas, maybe it's a little bit of both, but it seems like being in the middle of a powerful storm and still somehow feeling absolutely safe.

It's the weirdest, most exhilarating sensation and Dean just can't get enough of it.

Like a man in a desert finally stumbling upon water.

Hey, he might even have some leftover sand from the Sahara in his butt crack to prove that point.

Dean certainly isn't ashamed in the slightest to yank Cas closer with an almost pathetic whine. So what, he's desperate for the guy, who can blame him after all these years?

Cas surely doesn't appear to mind, more than happy to follow Dean's lead and let himself be manhandled by a tiny, feeble human being. If Dean wouldn't have been so preoccupied right now, he would've been awed beyond belief that someone as powerful and almighty as Cas allows himself to be moved around by a mere hunter with a GED and give 'em hell attitude.

As it is, though, Dean just goes in for an extra deep kiss and revels in the sensation.

Meanwhile, Cas doesn't seem to get enough of touching Dean everywhere in reach. Collarbone, shoulders, back, arms – thanks to the fact that the hunter is naked apart from his boxer shorts everything feels particularly intense and Cas is obviously greedy for more. When he eventually wanders towards Dean's chest and Dean makes a little whiny noise as the angel brushes one of his nipples, Cas appears to become even more focused.

Dean can't remember the last time someone explored his body so thoroughly. Hell, he's not even sure if anyone had ever done so.

He certainly loves it, that's for sure.

“Cas,” he whispers hoarsely just when the angel examines the hollow of his back slowly, getting dangerously close to the waistband of his shorts in the process. “Cas …”

He knows what he sounds like. Knows what he probably looks like.

And he swears he didn't have any agenda when he went for that kiss, it just felt right. Because Cas is fucking beautiful and his wings are breathtaking and Dean didn't see any reason not to kiss him.

But now there is lots of touching and bodies slowly but gradually pressing themselves against each other and the room temperature rises exponentially.

And Dean suddenly wants things. God, he wants so many things.

But at the same time he's reluctant because he's got no real idea if Cas wants those things, too. He's a freaking angel who helped create all of cosmos, why the hell would he desire to look into a tiny human's pants? Why would God have even made angels that way?

It doesn't make a lot of sense.

However, when Cas' hand slides down even more and briefly skids over Dean's behind – tentatively, like he has to restrain himself to grab onto it for real –, the hunter remembers once again that Cas has always done differently than what he was supposed to.

Still, Dean wants to be sure. So he pulls back a little – very reluctantly – and whispers, “Cas, do you …?”

He makes a vague hand gesture, hoping it would get his point across.

Meanwhile, Cas' eyes light up so intently it just can't be anything else but supernatural. “I want to touch you,” he breathes. “I want to touch you everywhere.” He licks his lips and then adds belatedly, “With your permission, of course.”

Dean doesn't even allow his brain to catch up with that before he's nodding forcefully, eager to appear as enthusiastic as possible. He even almost blurts out, “Permission granted!”, like a huge nerd.

Cas doesn't wait a single second after that. Dean barely even has a chance to blink before he suddenly finds himself with his back pressed into the mattress and a very enthusiastic angel on top of him.

And as positions go, this might very quickly become his favorite.

He's always been a sucker for a little bit of manhandling, always loved it when his partner showed their strength. Dean's certainly not above getting crushed into a wall or even picked up like a weightless doll.

Unfortunately that hadn't happened for a very long time now because the bulky body of a hunter who has faced the devil and God's sister before isn't that easy to throw around anymore.

Also, it requires a certain amount of trust, at least from Dean's side of things, and Dean's capacity in that regard has declined over the years in a spectacular manner.

But this is Cas and Dean trusts him unconditionally.

So Dean finds himself pressed into the bed more than a little happily and goes right back for their kiss. He gives it all, makes it sensual, even wraps his tongue around Cas' one time like they're in some sort of cheap porno. Cas, thankfully, seems to be into it all and reciprocates excitedly, making Dean feel desired in a way he hasn't for a long time.

At some point Dean's wandering hands end up in Cas' wings again and the feeling is so surreal and at the same time so awesome that the tight situation in his pants becomes even more urgent.

Cas, meanwhile, makes a rather guttural noise as Dean's fingers dig extra deep and squeezes his eyes shut.

“You like that?” Dean whispers, more than a little pleased with himself.

Cas just nods in agreement, obviously still unable to open his eyes.

“You turned on?” Dean wonders. “Is that like an angel erogenous zone or something?”

“No,” Cas says right away. “But it feels very good. Because it is you.”

Somehow that makes Dean's insides do a hard flip and he dives back into another kiss before he could do something tremendously stupid, like declare his love in the most cheesiest manner or even propose to the guy. Dean certainly has no intention to ever live something like this down.

Cas, thankfully, is none the wiser as he slowly starts to kiss down Dean's neck and even puts in a nibble here and there. Dean groans appreciatively and cranes his neck to allow Cas better access.

“You are so beautiful,” Cas whispers into the hunter's skin and that makes Dean blush harder than all the stuff they have done so far.

“Cas …” he moans, feeling an urgent need to protest.

But, unexpectedly, Cas is having none of that. “The situation in the last few weeks has been all kinds of terrible and yet somehow I found one single bright spot in all of it.” His hands brush over Dean's side softly, making the hunter shudder in the process. “I could see your soul again. And I realized it's just as gorgeous as it's been when I had laid eyes on it the first time, back in Hell.”

Oh Jesus.

What do you say when a guy tells you you've got a pretty soul?

“Don't … that stupid thing probably looked worse to wear in Hell,” Dean tries to defend himself. “C'mon, man …”

“On the contrary,” Cas says, his eyes suddenly locking with Dean's. And the hunter is unable to look away, despite the unexpectedly heavy topic. “Your soul was the brightest spot in all of Hell. It was so powerful I noticed it from many thousand miles away –”

Dean snorts. “Dude, don't exaggerate –”

Cas' gaze, however, gets even more intense. “Don't ever doubt my words, Dean Winchester, you hear me?” he says, his I-take-no-bullshit voice so piercing that Dean forgets how to even breathe. “I'm not exaggerating in any way. Your soul is exceptional and not even Hell or the Mark of Cain or whatever else you're telling yourself was able to corrupt you. Trust me.”

And Dean does.

Of course he does.

Even though it sounds more than a little unbelievable.

Dean's throat tightens and the only thing he's able to press out is a weak, “Buddy, you're ruining the mood …”

Cas arches his brows at that. “Really? I highly doubt that. After all, your erection is still poking my hip.”

Dean can't help himself, he laughs.

“You're an idiot,” he says fondly.

“Somehow that doesn't sound like an insult,” Cas points out.

Dean feels something warm pressing within his chest and he kisses the guy gently.

He wants to tell him so much. Wants to tell him that he's the most beautiful being he has ever encountered, wants to tell him that he loves him with every fiber of his existence, wants to tell him that he never felt like this before, that he never would have guessed such a thing possible in the first place.

But naturally Dean chokes up because he's not good with words. So he kisses Cas again and again and again, hoping it would tell the guy everything he needs to know.

Cas, at least, seems thrilled enough with that development. He certainly makes more than enough appreciative noises.

At some point his hand slides down Dean's chest again and stops at the waistband of the hunter's boxer shorts. He just lets it rest there for a while, merely playing with the fabric for a bit, and Dean revels in the anticipation, in the suspense.

But in the end he gets impatient and simply grunts like a caveman because he's classy like that.

Thankfully Cas is well-versed in anything Dean Winchester and just a moment later Dean is completely naked in one swift motion. It's actually so freaking smooth Cas most likely used the help of his Grace to hurry this along.

For some reason Dean finds this so fucking hot that he shoves his tongue even deeper into the angel's mouth.

Cas goes along with it for a long while, more than happy to, but at some point he draws back a little. His blue eyes gaze directly into Dean's entire being and suddenly Dean just knows that it's gonna be like that. Sensual sex with a lot of eye contact.

That's usually not really the hunter's style, but with his angel he can't imagine not doing it.

“I rebuilt your body,” Cas whispers eventually, his hand cupping Dean's cheek softly. “I know every cell of your being intimately. And I would be honored to worship you thoroughly, just the way you deserve.”

Dean groans.

That's certainly not the dirty talk he had in mind, but damn, it gets his engines running just the same. Maybe even more so.

Because at the end of the day it's just so Cas and there is nothing that could turn Dean on more.

“Then get on with it,” Dean huffs impatiently, rolling his hip a little to make his point. Which immediately makes him moan more than a little obscenely since he finds himself rubbing against Cas' very impressive thigh.

“We have all the time in the world,” Cas reminds him, apparently quite amused by Dean's insistence.

“I know,” Dean breathes back, the thought making his heart surge. “But, dude, if you're not getting naked in the next two seconds, I'm gonna start another apocalypse, you hear me?”

The corners of Cas' mouth twitch. “Well, we can't have that …”

And then he sits up again and performs quite a show of slipping out of his underwear. Dean has no idea if the guy is actually doing it on purpose or if Cas seriously has no idea how he's looking right now, but Dean decides to enjoy the view nonetheless, his gaze probably more than a little leery as he licks his lips like a man on the verge of starving.

When Cas is finished, naked and glorious, Dean doesn't hesitate a single second to pull him back down. Cas lands right between the hunter's spread legs and when they brush against each other, they both groan so loudly Dean isn't sure the bunker's thick walls would be able to swallow that.

At this point he doesn't give a fuck either way.

For a long while they stay this way. Just kissing deeply and touching all over and moving against each other. The friction is absolutely enticing and soon enough Dean feels the heat building up in his groin. After an especially hard thrust by Cas the hunter solely sees stars and he throws his head back with a choked sound, barely able to comprehend the sensations that are flooding his system. It only gets worse when Cas uses the opportunity to latch onto Dean's neck and nibble the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean rasps, writhing underneath the guy's weight uncoordinatedly and loving every single second of it.

“You taste magnificent,” Cas whispers before licking a path up to Dean's jaw.

It's hot and wet and the hunter nearly comes then and there.

It takes a lot of willpower and the mental image of a moldy tuna sandwich to keep himself under control. Dean digs his hands tighter into Cas' wings and holds on for dear life, making the angel's breath hitch in the process.

Damn, they're both already so lost and they haven't really started yet.

“Cas …” Dean whines and begs and cries because he's apparently slipping deep into nothingness.

Cas seems to see this as a sign to take it up a notch, so before Dean is even able to catch up to things Cas suddenly has the absolute audacity to take the hunter into his hand.

Dean's eyes widen in shock.

“FUCK!”

Cas' grip is loose, as if he's mainly studying the shape and length of Dean like an overly curious student, but it's still enough to make Dean lose the remnants of his mind.

He moves his hips, now close to desperate, and thrusts into Cas' grasp while muttering over and over, “Oh God, yes, Oh God, please, yes, YES …”

Cas looks really pleased with himself and normally Dean would've smacked him over the head hard for that if he wouldn't have been so busy chasing the best orgasm of his life.

And just when he finds himself closer to the brink than ever before, he suddenly feels it.

Maybe it's been there all along and Dean just didn't notice, drowning in all his very human lust, or perhaps it's just flaring up anew, but one way or another it's there and it's powerful.

Dean is all of a sudden reminded of their moment in the Sahara, when they bonded in a manner that still makes him shiver all over. The hunter had never felt something like this before, so overwhelming and intense.

And now he's sensing it too.

Cas' Grace, reaching out for him. Dean's soul (and damn, does it feel weird to be aware of your own fucking soul), eager to connect again.

They seem desperate for one another.

No surprise there, huh?

But they're unable to link with each other, not yet, and Dean is suddenly fueled with the strong urge to change that.

So, just as Cas is picking up his speed, Dean grabs the guy's shoulder hard and pants breathlessly, “Shit, I need you inside of me, now –”

Cas slows down right away as a sigh leaves his mouth. “I would love to,” he whispers, his lips brushing over Dean's cheek. “But I don't believe I will last that long.”

Isn't that something? An angel, reduced to human stamina by the prowess of Dean's booty.

Dean certainly will put that on his resume.

“No, no, not like that,” Dean says, shaking his head. Only to backpedal a moment later and clarify, “Well, at some point we should definitely do that, ya know, but, uh, right now I'm not talking about that …” He blushes all of a sudden which is completely ridiculous in the current situation. “I just, um, I mean …”

He settles his hand right in the center of Cas' chest and tries to make his soul reach out in a manner the angel would understand. He has no clue whether he's got even control over this thing, but you can surely try, right?

When Cas' brows shoot upwards, though, Dean figures he did something right.

And so Dean repeats, with emphasis, “I want you inside of me!”

---

For a long minute Castiel doesn't move, doesn't even breathe. He just stares down at Dean, his eyes widened.

Meanwhile, Dean begins chewing on his bottom lip, clearly getting bashful now confronted with the angel's non-reaction.

“I'm just saying, we can do that now, can't we?” the hunter wonders, his voice unsteady. “I mean, um, we don't need Rowena's spell or whatever … Right?” And when Castiel still doesn't answer, doesn't even blink, Dean adds nervously, “I mean, I can feel it, uh – I guess … at least I'm feeling something …”

“We established a link due to Rowena's potion,” Castiel finally replies, getting ahead of any sort of awkward rambling on Dean's part. “So yes, technically we could connect again on our own. Of course it wouldn't have the same power boost because Rowena's spell also worked as an amplifier, but the connection part of the process we could handle without any outer interference …”

Dean tugs at Castiel's shoulder again. “Then let's do it!” he insists.

Castiel frowns. “Do you seriously want that?”

Dean huffs. “Are you wondering if my brain went to mush at some point?”

Castiel doesn't want to be completely straightforward with him here, but in this special case he figures that sugarcoating would be the wrong way to handle this. So he answers truthfully, “Well … yes.”

Dean pouts at that. “I didn't lose my mind only 'coz you touched my dick, dude.”

“Dean …”

“I know what I want, Cas,” Dean cuts in, leaving no room for doubt. “But if you're not down for that, that's okay –”

Castiel sighs.

“We would be open books to each other once more,” the angel reminds him. “There would be no secrets between us –”

“I don't want there to be any secrets anymore,” Dean interjects, his tone suddenly so soft Castiel barely knows how to deal with that. “Back in the Sahara, I wasn't really prepared, it was so much all at once, like being hit in the face with a sledgehammer … but I also know it was amazing and I'd like to feel it again without the fate of the world resting on our shoulders …”

Castiel has to confess, it sounds rather intriguing.

Just the two of them, nothing else.

“Are you sure?” he can't help asking nonetheless.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Cas, I don't know what you're feeling right now, but my soul is desperate to get it on with your Grace.”

The corners of Castiel's lips tug upwards. “It is?”

Dean nods enthusiastically. “Don't tell me it's any different for you.”

“Well,” Castiel says after just a moment of hesitation, “I have to confess that the thought of making love to you, all of you, is very appealing to my Grace as well.”

Dean laughs at that. “You say the most romantic shit, sweetheart.”

“I'm trying my best.”

Dean hums before he suddenly hooks his legs around Castiel's waist, creating a new contact point between them that makes them both shiver.

“Then get on with it!” the hunter urges. “My soul needs it!”

Castiel doesn't see any reason to deny him further. After all, Dean knows exactly what he's asking for here and by the way his breath hitches when Castiel tentatively begins to let his Grace reach out, he's more than eager for this.

Castiel's wings spread widely and fluff up when he lets his Grace roam freely. Just tells it to go where it wants to go and lets it be. Such loss of control would have frightened him beyond belief just a couple of days ago, but now it appears like the most wonderful sensation in the world.

His Grace, to no one's surprise, immediately moves toward Dean's soul. And it sings and rejoices when they finally connect properly again.

“Oh fuck,” Dean exclaims in the same moment, clearly overwhelmed by the feeling. His grip around Castiel gets tighter, even close to uncomfortable.

“Too much?” Castiel asks, his concern for Dean's well-being desperately trying to get ahead of all the other emotions he's experiencing right now. It's not easy because his entire being demands for him to get more, dive deeper, chase all the sensations, but at the end of the day Dean is the most important part of this equation.

The hunter, however, releases another string of moans and instead of answering Castiel's question verbally he lets his soul do the job. It reaches out to the angel's Grace, frantically grabs onto it as though there is nothing more important, and wraps itself around it tightly.

Castiel is suddenly flooded with not only his powerful feelings but Dean's as well.

“Dean …” he whispers, for a second or two too dazed to do anything but be.

“Feels amazing, Cas,” Dean mumbles, by the way his speech slurs obviously not that far away from how Castiel feels. “God, this is – never felt like this before –”

Castiel places one hand right over Dean's heart and for a moment focuses all energy on both broadcasting and receiving.

He broadcasts his true adoration. His love for Dean and his kindness and his capacity to care. And the nature of his primal instincts that the hunter is awakening in him right this instance.

And he receives the same in return. He senses Dean's lust, wild and ferocious. Dean's impatience, keen on getting this show back on the road again. Dean's affection, so soft and delicate you're almost afraid to even look at it. Dean's affection, not really spoken out loud, but still alive and powerful, in all the little things and gestures he offers the people he cares about. And Dean's love specifically for Castiel, so huge and stunning Castiel nearly bursts into tears because he didn't expect it to be so breathtaking.

“Dean …” he rasps, his voice a hoarse whisper now.

Dean seems to know exactly what is going through Castiel's mind – he's actually feeling it, come to think of it – and a small smile flashes over his features as he leans in and presses a gentle kiss onto the angel's lips.

For a while they just stay like this, sweet and affectionate. Reveling in the magnitude of all they're sensing from the other.

Eventually, though, the sensual part of their connection gets the upper hand once more and with a small, but strong motion of his hips Dean tries to communicate that they should resume their previous activity.

Castiel has no problem following along, his own body more than determined to find some release.

He settles even deeper between Dean's legs, the contact so delicious Castiel's eyes almost roll inwards. Dean chokes up as well and tightens his grip on Castiel's wings.

“C'mon, c'mon …” he urges.

Castiel loses track of time afterwards, the only thing that matters being Dean underneath him. Dean moving and thrusting and writhing and cursing like a sailor. Dean panting and sweating and squeezing his eyes shut when ecstasy is threatening to overwhelm him. Dean mumbling nonsense and muttering Castiel's name over and over, like a benediction.

Castiel never felt more alive than in this moment.

Everything pales in comparison. The creation of the Grand Canyon has never been half as satisfying as feeling Dean tremble underneath his touch. His greatest successes in battles hold no candle to Dean looking at him like he's the only being that counts. His promotion to leader of his garrison is nothing compared to watching Dean falling apart beneath him.

“Look at you …” Castiel mumbles as he takes Dean back in his hand. As expected the hunter groans loudly and obscenely at the touch and doesn't waste a single second to chase the sensation.

In the end Castiel can't even say if it takes seconds or half an eternity, but when Dean suddenly snaps his eyes open and Castiel feels the hunter's release on his hands, the angel can't hold back anymore either.

Castiel has experienced orgasms before, but this is something different. It's not just a body reaction, it's him and Dean, it's the combined power of Grace and soul, it's the bond that they unconsciously started to forge back in Hell and has been growing ever since.

It's everything.

And so, for a long while, they just stay like this.

Naked and exhausted and thrown off by the sheer strength of it all. Even when Castiel finally finds the energy to mojo them clean they simply remain wrapped around one another. Dean's legs still around Castiel's waist, his fingers still brushing through the angel's feathers.

It might very well be more than half an hour later when Dean eventually breathes in awe, “Damn!”

Then he laughs.

In a manner Castiel has never heard from him before.

It's carefree. The laughter of a man who has nothing weighing on his shoulders.

Castiel loves to experience it.

“We should definitely do that again!” Dean makes himself clear. “Like, all the time!”

Castiel chuckles. “Fine by me.”

Dean shoots him a bright smile at that.

“But first you need some sleep,” Castiel decides. “It's the middle of the night.”

Dean huffs, for a moment looking like he's on the brink of protest, but then a yawn sneaks up on him that results in a pout. He's apparently not happy that his body is betraying him like that.

Castiel runs a soft hand through Dean's strands. “I think I need to recharge my batteries as well.”

Dean throws him a cocky smirk. “Are you saying I wore you out?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replies dutifully. “Your sexual power is strong enough to knock out an angel of the Lord.”

Dean laughs. “That's gonna be put on my resume as well.”

Castiel frowns. “What?”

Dean just waves him off with a snicker before going in for another kiss. It's a mere brush of lips because they're both too exhausted for anything more, but Castiel cherishes it just the same.

“Let's sleep,” Dean whispers.

And so they do.

Chapter Text

Victor groans as he continues to stare at the computer screen in front of him and slowly but gradually feels his eyes starting to water due to the strain he's been putting on them for the last few hours.

“I wanna die,” he announces to the whole library because that seems a reasonable enough reaction to his current misery.

Sam, who has been sitting across from him for a while now, doesn't even lift his gaze as he answers in a bored tone, “As long as you don't make any mess …”

Victor just huffs, at the same time both insulted and amused, before he reluctantly returns to his work. Soon enough, though, the words on the screen blur into something incoherent and he curses the entire world in one quick breath.

“You're still not any closer?” Charlie right next to him asks. At least she sounds somewhat more sympathetic than Sam and Victor reminds himself to give her a cookie later.

“I'm not sure there is a way out of this mess,” the agent complains, gesturing at the miles and miles of reports in front of him. “Sam Winchester is back in the system, James Novak is a fugitive, and my superiors are pressuring me to roll the whole fucking thing up again. The Winchester case is getting hot once more and I don't think I can do a damned thing about it …”

And that after everything Victor did to bury it deep in the archives.

Great.

Sam chews on his bottom lip and finally raises his head. “You can do nothing?”

“If I claim the lab made any sort of mistake with your blood, all the lawyers will come flying down and demanding to have all their cases getting looked up as well,” Victor tells him. “That would eat a lot of unnecessary resources and might even set some douchebags free. The system is fucked up like that sometimes.”

The corners of Sam's mouth droop and Victor just knows that the guy would never call for going through with it for his sake, especially not at the risk of getting criminals back on the streets again. He sacrificed too much to save the world to make it more dangerous in return.

“What's with Dean?” Eileen pipes up from Sam's side. “Is he also back on the FBI's radar?”

“So far there is no evidence to let them suspect that,” Victor says with a sigh. “But considering that the same applied to Sam until recently I'm sure my bosses are gonna want me to look at that, too.”

Victor knows that at some point proof of Dean's survival would pop up as well and then the brothers would be back on the Most Wanted List in no time at all.

Which would make their lives so much harder.

“Apropos Dean,” Charlie suddenly leaps in again. “Should we start to get worried about him? He hasn't been up yet.”

Victor glances at his laptop's watch and realizes it's already way after 1 PM. He arches his eyebrows in surprise at that revelation and notices that Sam is doing the same. He obviously lost track of time a while ago as well.

“I'm sure Dean's fine,” Sam mutters, but it sounds he's rather trying to reassure himself while he tentatively glimpses in the direction of his brother's room.

So Victor makes a decision then and there.

“I could check up with him,” he offers. “I need to go to the bathroom anyway. I'm gonna pay him a visit on my way back.”

He doesn't wait around for an answer but instead leaps to his feet, his legs groaning in pain, reminding him that he's been sitting on that chair for far too long. On the edge of his vision he registers Sam shooting him a brief look of gratitude as Victor starts to move.

So after taking care of business and once again marveling at the giant bathroom the Men of Letters built for themselves (the bathtub alone is half a swimming pool), Victor makes a detour to Dean's bedroom and just raises his hand to knock only to find the door slightly ajar.

He hesitates for a moment, not sure if he should just step in, before calling a “Hey, man, can I come in?” through the opening, just to be on the safe side.

He immediately receives a muffled “Yes” in response and Victor doesn't waste a single second to follow the invitation.

He realizes a second later, though, that it's not been Dean who gave him permission. No, the hunter is blissfully asleep, his upper body sprawled across the lap of the other occupant on his bed.

Castiel.

Who is sitting against the headboard, in one hand a book, the other one busy stroking gently through Dean's hair.

When Victor freezes in the doorway, the angel looks up expectantly.

For a long moment there is nothing but silence hanging between them, only interrupted by Dean's soft snoring and The Colonel, who is lying at the foot of the bed, making snuffling sounds in his sleep.

“Um …” Victor says eventually, when it becomes clear that Castiel has no intention to kickstart a conversation. “I just – uh, wanted to check up on Dean …”

Castiel smiles softly as he throws a quick glance at the hunter.

“Dean is fine,” the angel assures Victor. “He just needs to catch up on some sleep.”

Victor can't be sure because the lighting in the room is minimal at best, but he could swear he sees a faint blush flashing up on Castiel's cheeks for a millisecond at those words.

And he's got no idea what to do with that.

With any of that.

Victor just feels like he walked straight into a stupidly intimate scene, every cell in his body screaming at him to get the hell out of here again because this surely wasn't meant for his eyes to witness.

But just as he forces his body to move once more, Castiel suddenly says, “I can help you, by the way.”

Victor ends up frozen again.

“Um … with what?” he asks in confusion.

“With your work related problem,” Castiel explains casually, like he's talking about the freaking weather. And for a long moment Victor's brain has real trouble to process that information and he's just on the brink of inquiring how the angel even knows about that when he recalls again that the guy has super hearing that would put Superman to shame and probably has been enduring Victor's continued groaning about his lack of progress from the other room for quite a while now.

Victor opens his mouth, more than ready to apologize for annoying the poor guy like that, when the angel's words finally set in.

“You can help?” he wonders, skepticism and hope both wavering in his voice.

Castiel nods. “Of course I can.”

Of course.

'Cause he's a heavenly creature and Victor is just a mere human.

So the agent asks, “How?” since he has no real clue what's even happening right now.

“I can make it disappear,” Castiel explains calmly.

Victor blinks.

Repeatedly.

“I'm sorry, what?” he wonders once more, probably looking like an utter fool with his slack jaw and the look of absolute bewilderment on his features.

Castiel just stares at him, though, like he has said everything that needed to be said on that matter.

Victor's tiny, human mind disagrees, however. “You can make what disappear?”

“I can make them all forget,” Castiel clarifies. “Me stabbing the demon at that public place, the authorities finding Sam's blood on my coat …”

Victor frowns so hard he's getting a headache.

“Are you actually saying you can make everyone involved forget this whole freaking mess ever happened?” he asks, completely incredulously.

Because that sounds extraordinarily ridiculous, right?

But Castiel merely shrugs, as though this is any other day. “Of course I can.”

“So you can make the police in Lafayette forget that they arrested you?” Victor states, still so much disbelief in his tone. “And the witnesses who actually saw you stabbing the demon?”

“And also the FBI agents who are currently busy opening the Winchester case again, yes,” Castiel adds with a nod.

Victor simply gapes for a very long minute.

But then he remembers that the angel just the other day flew around the world to get them takeout and maybe the whole thing isn't so crazy after all.

Still utterly mind-blowing, though.

“With my powers restored in such a capacity I can easily change people's perception,” Castiel explains patiently. “The police officers, the FBI, the witnesses. And I'm sure Charlie would be more than happy to assist in deleting all evidence of this ever happening from the police's and the bureau's database. Not to mention the internet because I'm fairly sure some of the witnesses 'tweeted' about what they saw.”

Castiel uses air-quotes at that and that gesture makes him look so insanely human for a second it seriously fucks with Victor's brain.

“You … you … you're really gonna do that …?” he asks in the end, like an idiot.

“I don't want Dean and Sam to be hunted again by the authorities,” Castiel explains. “Besides, Jimmy doesn't deserve to be remembered as a murderer. It's the least I can do to give them back a little bit of peace.”