Dean Winchester had lived with "kill it before it can fuck you up" as his general rule to deal with the monsters. One day, against everything he knew, he allowed an exception.

There was nothing more left to fuck up in him, after all.

He's been already fucked up dry.

So why worry.

Aside of a good plan, Benny had a great deal of suspicions from the very beginning. It was a risky campaign to try to ally with a legendary hunter in a fucking frenzy. Rumors had it that the Winchester boy had lost it. Rumors had it that he's been running around in his killing spree with only one question ever coming out of his constantly blood-stained mouth. That in itself would have been, of course, more than understandable for Benny, and as such, was quite boring. But it was just the main part of the news, a general alarm for the citizens of Purgatory. It even worked to some extent, because Dean fucking Winchester was the man who, during the past few decades, gave a great deal of the inhabitants their one way ticket there. And then that Norman Bates showed up again, to put them fuck knows where this time, which was just plain rude. He was the one celebrity everybody knew, but no one wanted to meet. Tough luck, some did. And thanks to them, there was a second part of the gossip, if anyone wanted to make an inquiry.

So out of boredom, Benny did and later was quite grateful for it because he gained information that gave him an outline of an idea. Because damn, wasn't this Winchester a peculiar little shit with all his marbles out of place and on fire at the same time.

First of all, his million dollar question had nothing to do with the idea of exit.

Secondly, sometimes Dean Winchester was actually waiting for an answer. But sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he didn't seem to give a shit or maybe he gave so much of it he couldn't handle waiting or knowing, because the blade started the exact moment where the question ended and just like that – heads were falling.

Finally, it was very resourceful to learn what was the death omen war cry all about. Seemed to be plain as hell: where's the Angel. And that's that. And suddenly, it was everybody's fucking problem. Mister Manson out there and his Angel were Purgatory's goddamn Lennon and Yoko Ono. Everyone wanted them to get back together, because once they reunited all the Spanish inquisition where's the feathery dick that fits my filthy mouth best shit would be over. And the whole Purgatory could rest in peace, not in pieces. It was that simple.

Except that soon enough, Benny learnt that no, it wasn't. It could be, but it was the most messed up shit ever, and Dean himself was the one making it so difficult. The rumors did not give justice to the truth, they weren't even close. Whatever before him was close, died. So, yeah, what Benny got was not exactly what he applied for.

Dean Winchester was the most fucked in the head thing to ever walk these lands. The most terrifying as well, Leviathans included. But it was the first part that actually made Benny unsure of anything anymore, not the latter. The vampire couldn't wholeheartedly blame Dean, though. The man kept creating hell not only for those around him, but to himself as well, unconsciously.

And things could have gone so easy. Or at least Benny thought so until he was privileged (or cursed) enough to learn what theangel really was. And what's more interesting, he understood it before that homicidal companion of his actually did. And this was what made things really complicated. Because going all Al Quaida because of something most important to you is one thing. But doing it for something that crawled deep under your skin so you can't put your finger on it not to even let you actually scratch it so you don't even know why it's so important, but god himself damn you – it is – this gives the whole holy mission Waco quality. And how do you reason with a man who can not even reason with his own heart at all?

As already established, Benny had his suspicions. By the river, he needed no further proof anymore.

At the start, Benny was very curious as of to who the Angel actually was. Was it a vulnerable woman? Was it a thought to be alternative path to get out sort of thing? Was it something without the universe would actually collapse? Was it really an angelic thing to begin with? Benny had doubts often enough. How could something supposedly this pure make someone this inhuman? Because, really. Benny's seen and done some nasty shit in his lifetime and in his death time as well but here – Dean was the monster, no contest. When Benny looked at him in action, in the very moment those four syllables were piercing the ether, he witnessed his eyes shine with something so primal and insane, he couldn't help but shudder. And if there was a God still in the business, Benny thought, and he had to build another dimension to lock away his most blood lusting creation, the crown would go for Dean. Because when he was saying those words, his face, his human face was cringing in a smile so out of control it was the mimic equivalent of a scream in the middle of the night, heard in a place where you could have sworn you were the only thing to be – that's the kind of fear it was awaking in those who were unlucky enough to taste it. Anytime Benny had a chance to look away, he did. Something in that face was too disturbing to look at. The Angel thing wasn't far from evolving into a solid concept of something corrupting, so Benny didn't really know what could he possibly expect to see once they found it. Things got even scarier once Benny accidentally realized during one night watch that whatever it was, Dean was fiercely praying to it, so the next day he could go on with killing somewhat it it's name.

Cas. Didn't sound like a scary thing. But then again, neither does death if you don't know the language in which the word has been spoken.

So, other than curiosity, it was a wise choice in general, to seek for an answer to what he was about to deal with.

Surprisingly enough, Dean turned out to be more and more of a talkative man as their time together passed by, its flow measured with the amounts of blood that they had shed. While maintaining quite wary, he seemed to have no problems with talking about small things every now and then, mostly in an attempt to relieve an after fight stress, or, perhaps, as Benny suspected, to force his thoughts to abandon a different burning matter. Dean liked to talk about his favorite foods, some musicians Benny had no idea about, stuff he considered fun facts about his hunts. Even more, he liked to explain how much the world as of now differed from the times Benny knew it, and used to put a lot of effort into explaining the development of cinematography, music and why all of that was so important. Sometimes, Dean even mentioned his younger brother. And whenever a note of worry would slip into his words, he used to shift the topic into Sam's childhood years instead of his current possible situation.

But those were never long conversations, assuming it was even adequate to call them so. It was always more of a ripped out paragraph from an unknown book, found unexpectedly on the floor.

And all of this was quite odd, considering the fact, that the very thing that held whole of Dean Winchester's actual, conscious and aggressive interest – the Angel issue of course – was never mentioned, not even by accident, not once. And if it wasn't for the fact that Benny heard from enough other folks in Purgatory, that the Angel was actually a real, corporeal and already witnessed thing, he'd think that Cas was some kind of a peculiar need or concept, rather than a person with a personality, a life, a past or a future.

This stunning secrecy wasn't of course helping in getting to know what would sooner or later be found in the magic box.

"So, who's this Cas?" Benny managed to ask, all of a sudden, for the first time, on a rare occasion where they were both resting after a tough fight, where Dean seemed to be too tired to keep up with any of the constant wariness for once, that was one of the times when they had a somewhat casual conversation for a change of air.

But Because Dean Winchester was constantly having his wits and heart on fire, extracting the answer was a long process.

"Hey, you, don't get to say that" the man snapped in a tone that gave Benny the impression he committed a blasphemy of some sort. "Cas" Dean whispered with irritation. The vampire thought he must have made a very confused face if he was being provided an explanation. The pause was a long one. If there was something behind it, Dean has been most likely savoring the word's lingering echo in his mind. "I get to say Cas." But then again, it was a shit explanation. It wasn't even meant to be one, after all. It was a warning.

"Man, no need for the rage there. It's the only thing I've been hearing, in what other way do I possibly get to ask that, huh?"

"You don't" he got in reply. And Benny dropped it for the time being, because the word was as sharp as Dean's teeth in the signature loony-bin smile.

The second time, a few months and shittons of dead bodies later, if by anything, Benny was rather lead by tiredness and frustration rather than curiosity. Probably the same factors that made Dean open his mouth for something that surprisingly was not a hiss. Both broken and hurt like unruly bitches after a good beating, lying fuck knows where, maybe even awaiting death already, Benny heard Dean muttering right next to him, blood staining his teeth as he cried out, too tired to bother that he was not alone this time. Or maybe he was delirious already.

"Cas! I need to find you! I'm coming for you! I can't live and I can't even fucking die until I get here, you hear me, Cas? I'll hunt everything down and I will haunt you like this till I'm there. You better believe me Cas. You better fucking believe, I've got you."

"Why?" Benny asked, too tired to elaborate.

It was one word, but there were many questions in it, not exactly hidden. Why keep on going? Why does it matter? Why even bother, you're most likely gonna die, we both are if we aren't lucky? Why do you think you're heard out there?

"Can't leave him alone like that, man. He's crazy. He's lost his shit, he needs help, he needs me, he's so fucking alone and the bastard doesn't know how to handle a spoon anymore" Dean cried out.

Benny's eyes widened at the confession, because first of all, it was a he. Which, in general would not be all that confusing, weren't it for the fact that Dean's voice softened so much each time he spoke to him in his prayers, the long lost abandoned humanity returning in his tone, as if he was trying to console a child or a wife. Even then, as he talked about the Angel so openly for the first time, the softness made it's way up to his face. A face Benny knew because when thinking of Andrea, he wore the same.

Which, all things considered, was odd, because gay or not gay, it would be easier to say because I love him instead of spitting out excuses.

Secondly, if Dean Winchester was referring to his Angel as the crazy one, it did not bode well for anything. So Benny could only hope that either Dean was projecting his own shit or they both die before they make it.

"Must be a good friend of yours, if you're willing to do this much just because he went cuckoo."

Dean didn't find that word fitting. Dean didn't find a word fitting at all. He let out a broken laugh, one that reeks of hopelessness. "He's Cas" he offered.

And from the tone Benny could tell it wasn't a way to dismiss this. The man was being sincere and as open as never. It's just that it was the only explanation Dean actually had. Then it hit him. This nutjob didn't even really know what bit him, or might as well did not want to. It's like his issues had issues.

"And you're the dumbest thing I've ever seen living."

"Oh, man. You're just making me blush."

"Idiot."

"It's a bad compliment if it gets repetitive you know."

Benny sighed. It shouldn't be his business to deal with this shit, but considering the fact that like it or not, if he wants to leave, he'll have to spend time with both of them. So there. He's stuck on this bandwagon. He could have it easier or have it more difficult. And he had to admit, aside from being a violent, scary bastard, Dean was a good man after all. Benny understood now. He was no better himself. The only reason he wants out and goes on killing for it is Andrea. And he does not regret a moment of it.

"So, buddy. But does…Cas" he began unsurely, not knowing whether he can use the word or will Dean throw a wounded dog's equivalent of a fit again. Rewarded only with tensed silence, he went on. "Does he know he's, you know, Cas?" Benny emphasized due to lack of a better word, one that wouldn't piss Dean off. He could only hope the man understood this question.

"Yeah" Dean let out a painful chuckle. "Cause I call him that. I get to."

Yeah, that could be anything all right.

But by the clearing, Benny realized that the ceremony of using each other's names instead of any other meaningful and appropriate words was something the two had in common. Scary enough, it did work between them. But he on the other hand, was a bit lost in translation. Lost genuinely on how did that relationship even work. These two assholes managed to bring out the very best and the very worst out of each other, no in betweens, no lukewarm bullshit. Two different flavors of utter crazy that weren't supposed to complete each other but somehow did.

Right then, right there at the stream, Benny had witnessed Dean abandoning his ruthlessness and washing off the fake calm and blood lust off his face when the man miraculously went from his combat motherfucker mode to a tender soother and the fucking holy mother in less than a blink of an eye and all that it was to trigger it was a yet distant sight of a ball of dirt and shit that was looking around itself absentmindedly and hesitantly as he heard his name being cried out. Benny registered the Angel murmuring back something that must have been his comrade's name in a direction that certainly was not the voice's source. Great, at least the insanity part got confirmed. Overall, the whole holy grail man made a hardly stunning or angelic impression. On Benny, that is. Because Dean Winchester was struck down breathless, walking on his suddenly stiffened and alien legs towards his feathered mate with the trust of a puppy.

Benny did not share that trust. Because once the Angel was declared found, his expression conveyed something far from relief. He looked petrified and his eyes were as a threatened animal's. And when Dean, suddenly heavy and weary with understanding, threw himself into his shoulders to dive and die there, his messed up, naïve head finally finding sought for so long solace there – the Angel had shown nothing but panic and self-restrain.

Benny was no idiot. "Hot Wings" was quiet but his conscience was screeching wildly and clearly. He was hiding something from Dean all along. Or maybe hiding from Dean, in general. So, first impression? Benny didn't like that lousy fucker, not one bit. If the whole Heaven consisted of treacherous bastards no wonder the world ended up being shit. The Angel apparently meant problems and putting everything at risk.

Later Benny had learnt that he was both right and wrong at the same time.

Castiel meant problems. He meant risks. And he spilled that he was hiding. But he was not as much as a lousy fucker as Benny wanted him to be. The Angel did care for Dean, after all, really did. Strangely enough, he used to let it show the most when Dean could not possibly see. But maybe, Benny wondered, it was just, well, a madman's thing.

Had to be. Most of the time, Cas kept bitching that the plan was just a waste of time and trying to prove the man wrong. When Dean did not see it though, he was praised by Castiel's eyes and protected by his hands. All the undying devotion and longing in plain sight. And Benny could tell that the love was something so honest and profound it didn't just astonish, it awed and in its power was more frightening rather beautiful. In shielding Dean, Castiel was like a lioness mother with nearly limitless strength and an endless passion to protect his machete-bearing cub.

And that, at least, was the useful part of dragging around the whining little screwball. Thus, having a common interest after all, it would be a wise choice to make an agreement with him. So he sort of did.