A/N: Based on a prompt from Miyth. I'm borrowing the set-up from 12x10 with the angel Benjamin being killed, but this story is a complete AU and there's no Lily Sunder (or Ishim).

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank you 29Pieces for beta reading!

Chapter 1

Sam padded into the War Room with his cup of morning coffee, and spotted Dean already there with his own cup of steaming brew, looking over the board Cas had set up with newspaper clippings, Kelly Kline's picture, and a map tacked all over it.

"Yeah, I was looking at that earlier," Sam said, setting his cup down. "Cas has been busy, huh?"

"Yeah, busy not finding Kelly Kline. Or her Rosemary's baby," Dean replied somewhat harshly. "I mean, how's a chick like this just drop off the map?"

Sam took a seat, stretching out some of the lingering lethargy of sleep in his legs. "Well, I think that's what he's trying to figure out." He paused. "Hey, you, uh, you hear from Mom yet?"

"Yeah, she called last night, said she's got a line on a shapeshifter in Atlanta." Dean moved away from the board and sat against the edge of the map table. "I said we could come help, and she said, 'Don't bother.' Apparently, she's 'got it.'" He probably would have added the air quotes if he wasn't holding the cup, which he lifted to take a sip from.

Sam huffed, wondering if Dean realized how similar the two of them sounded. "Then she's probably got it."

"Yeah," Dean snorted.

Sam angled a look up at his brother, recognizing the gruffness as a front for concern. "Mom's good," he said. She was a better hunter than they'd given her credit for.

"I just think she jumped back into this a little quick, don't you?" Dean replied.

Yeah, Mom had barely stuck around after they'd escaped from the government detention center, and now she was hunting again, even though prior to that she'd said she didn't want to. But Sam of all people knew how hard it was to escape that kind of life, especially when it was in your blood.

"I don't think we have the kind of mom who's gonna stay home and make us chicken soup for dinner, you know?" he pointed out.

Dean let out an annoyed sound as he looked away, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Sam knew this was only one layer to his brother's frustration. "You talk to Cas yet?" he asked.

"No."

Sam shook his head at his brother's pigheadedness. "So, what, you're just gonna keep walking past each other in the kitchen, not saying a word?"

"Maybe," Dean replied quickly, taking a long sip of coffee as though that would put an end to this conversation. But Sam was tired of it dragging out like it was.

"Look, yes, Cas killed Billie, but he saved us. He saved Mom. How long are you gonna stay pissed?"

"I'm not pissed that he cares about us, you know. I'm- I'm grateful."

Sam narrowed his gaze, even though Dean sounded sincere.

"But Billie said there would be 'cosmic consequences' if that deal got broken. You have any idea what that means?"

"No," Sam reluctantly replied.

"Neither do I," Dean said. "But I'm pretty sure it ain't jellybeans and g-strings."

Sam rolled his eyes. "My point is, Cas thought he was doing the right thing."

"I was doing the right thing."

Sam jolted as Cas strode into the room.

"You sure about that?" Dean responded.

Cas's answer was immediate and obstinate. "Yes."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not so sure," Dean went on. "And when the other shoe drops—"

"I'll deal with it," Cas snipped, continuing on his way past them. "I have to go."

Sam swiveled in his chair. "Got a lead on Kelly?" he asked hopefully.

"No." Cas paused at the base of the steps to turn back around. "This is personal."

"Meaning what?" Dean demanded.

"Another angel—an old friend—he called out for help."

Sam's brows rose a fraction. Huh, that was different.

"Oh. Good old reliable angel radio," Dean snarked.

Sam flicked a sidelong glance of annoyance at his brother.

"He was begging for help," Cas continued. "And then he just stopped. I need to know if he's still alive."

"Yeah, alright," Sam said, getting to his feet. "Well, we'll come with you."

Cas canted his head and threw Dean a questioning, somewhat doubting look. "Both of you?"

Sam turned to give his brother an expectant brow raise. Dean averted his gaze for a moment before replying blithely,

"Sure. Yeah, we can help. And make sure you don't do anything else stupid."

Cas snorted out a sigh and shook his head in clear vexation. Sam shot Dean a supreme bitch-face, because really? He couldn't stow his crap for a potential case? An angel disappearing sounded like something Cas, another angel, shouldn't just go walking into to investigate alone. Sam certainly wasn't planning on letting him, anyway.

Dean caught Sam's disapproving look, and for a split second, there was almost a flash of remorse, but then he just cocked his head like 'whatever.' Sam rolled his eyes. Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

"We'll get our bags," Sam said.

Cas threw an impatient look at the door. "Alright. Just- please don't dawdle. Benjamin, he was…screaming."

Sam's mouth turned down. Yeah, that didn't sound good at all. Dean, thankfully, didn't make any more snide remarks, and it was a good thing they always kept their go-bags ready, so it only took them a minute to get their gear and meet at the top of the landing. Then the three of them filed out to the Impala, each taking their respective seats. They fit, in a way that had everything to do with belonging and not just three bodies taking up space.

Except the latter was exactly what it felt like after several hours on the road and Dean and Cas still not saying a word to each other. The only sound was the Impala's engine rumbling as it devoured the road, the windows dotted with raindrops from the storm they'd just finished passing through.

Sam glanced at Dean, rubbed his chin in mounting irritation, craned a look over his shoulder at Cas. The angel's jaw was stiff, as was his posture. Cas looked away. Sam straightened forward again and brushed some hair out of his face. He was getting really fed up with this…

"Alright, who wants music?" he said, and reached for the cassette player.

"I'm good," Dean immediately said.

Sam did a rapid double-take, brows flying upward at his brother. "You're…" he trailed off into a grinding sigh. "Okay."

Sam sucked on his bottom lip for another moment. The silence was driving him crazy. He fidgeted in his seat. "Cas, is there anything specific we should know about your friend?"

Cas didn't answer, and when Sam glanced behind him, he found the angel pointedly looking away again. For the love of… Why did he have to get stuck with the two most emotionally constipated people on the planet?

"Alright," Sam said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was so done with this shit. "Guys, you know what? This- this silent treatment, it's silly. It's not gonna work. Whatever we're walking into, we should, you know, probably have an actual plan."

Cas let out a heavy sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, he speaks," Dean jabbed.

"Hey, enough," Sam interrupted, waving a weary hand at his stupid brother. They needed to focus here. "Cas, you said when you heard Benjamin, he- he was screaming."

"It was, um…" Cas sounded shaken. "Look, Benjamin wouldn't call for help lightly. And he wouldn't put himself in harm's way if he could help it."

"Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know," Dean put in. "Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices."

"Yeah, you know what I like about him?" Cas immediately responded. "Is that he's sarcastic, but he's thoughtful and appreciative, too."

Dean twisted around. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Okay, okay, the road, road!" Sam cut in, lashing out for the steering wheel as a passing car in the opposite lane blared its horn. "Dude, watch the road."

Dean turned back around, expression stern. Sam just gave him a 'what the hell' look.

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "I got it."

Sam let out a tense breath. Right. "Anything else, Cas?" he asked, his own nerves now past the completely frayed point.

Cas let out another audible sigh, this one more seemingly focused on the situation and not Dean's reckless driving, at least. "Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it…" Cas huffed as though struggling for how to explain. "She gave him everything—her trust and her body."

"Wait, so Benjamin's a woman," Dean said.

"Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman," Cas replied, some of that condescending annoyance seeping back into his tone. "But it- it's more than that. She's not just his vessel. She's…"

Sam frowned, until he got it. "She's…his friend." And if he sounded somewhat disbelieving over that, it wasn't like they'd had much experience with angels caring about their vessels. Even Cas never really gave much thought to Jimmy Novak…not until later, when Jimmy's soul had gone to Heaven, anyway.

"Yeah," Cas said heavily. "Benjamin would…never put her in unnecessary danger."

"Okay, well," Dean joined in, finally losing the snark and getting his head in the game. "If this Benjamin is so careful, then what happened?"

"I don't know," Cas replied. "That's what I need to find out."

The car fell silent again, this time with a more morose air as they considered the implications of that. Sam, at least, was glad he'd pushed for him and Dean to accompany Cas on this case. Because he had a bad feeling about it.

Castiel waited restlessly by the Impala while Sam and Dean made use of the gas station's facilities to change into their FBI suits. Since Castiel only had Benjamin's last broadcasted location as being in the vicinity, the Winchesters had decided they would check in with the local police chief on any recent incidents. Including murder.

Benjamin's silence was a fetid foreboding in the back of Castiel's mind, his last transmission over angel radio a vacant echo. It had been so long since Castiel had seen or spoken with Benjamin, but he still considered his old comrade a friend. Castiel didn't know if there were any angels left from their former garrison who might also come to Benjamin's aid. Given the ever shifting loyalties of Heaven, it was hard to be sure whether any ties of brotherhood had withstood the trials of the past several years.

Sam and Dean finally emerged, and they drove to the police station. For the first time since setting out together, Castiel was marginally glad to have the Winchesters with him, for it made speaking with the police chief easier. Castiel had gotten lots of practice interacting with humans and law enforcement, and yet he still couldn't seem to do it as well as Sam and Dean. Granted, they'd had more years doing it than him, but it still irked Castiel on a small level that he wasn't better at it yet. And it made him doubt whether he ever would be.

"Afternoon," Dean greeted the police chief. "Agents Stark, Banner, and Rogers." He flashed his fake credentials.

"FBI?" the chief responded, seemingly taken aback. "What can I do for you?"

"Have there been any murders in the past twenty-four hours?" Sam asked.

The man frowned at them. "Murders? No."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Oh," Dean said. "Well, any other reports come in during that time?"

The chief reached behind him to a desk where a stack of folders sat. "Just a mugging."

"May we see?" Sam asked.

Castiel held back a sigh. This was obviously pointless, and they were wasting time. They needed to get back out on the street and searching for where Benjamin might have been.

Not that Castiel had any real idea of how to do that, aside from simply walking up and down every street in a grid search. That's what he would have done on his own.

The chief handed the file over somewhat reluctantly. "Not sure how it's a federal case." He paused for a beat. "Unless you're here about the possible occult ties."

"Occult ties?" Sam repeated, flipping through the report.

The chief folded his arms across his chest. "There were strange markings at the scene. Burn marks that look like, well, who can say for sure."

Sam pulled out a crime scene photo, and Castiel stiffened as he made out the very distinct shape of angel wings scorched into the wall.

"But you said no one died," Dean said in confusion.

"Nope. The woman who was attacked was taken to the hospital. She wasn't even that injured, a small bump on the head, but she's been catatonic this whole time, hasn't been able to say what happened."

Dread curled around Castiel's insides and tightened. Could that be Benjamin's vessel? But how…? Castiel needed to see the crime scene for himself.

"Thank you for your time," he said abruptly, and spun on his heel to march out of the station. He heard Sam offering a hasty thanks before he and Dean hurried to catch up.

"So what are we thinking?" Sam asked as they reached the parking lot.

"Didn't Raphael leave his first vessel catatonic?" Dean said.

"That was an archangel," Castiel pointed out. "And Benjamin would never be so careless with his vessel." He shook his head in frustration. "Maybe the wing prints are a hoax."

Sam and Dean shared a doubting look, but Dean shrugged. "Let's go take a look."

Castiel bristled at Dean's patronizing tone, which had become a near constant since Castiel had killed Billie. He was once again beginning to regret the Winchesters coming with him after all. But he didn't say anything as he yanked the back door of the Impala open and slid into the backseat. Dean and Sam climbed in up front wordlessly, and they drove to the crime scene, which was a bar.

"Mugging happened just after closing," Sam supplied as he cast a surveying look around.

"Well, drunk people get mugged stumbling home after hours," Dean remarked.

"Except the attack happened inside."

"Hm." Dean led the way toward the door.

The bar wasn't open this early, but the owner was there, puttering around behind the counter. Castiel's eyes immediately went to the far back wall where a charcoal wingspan was slapped across it. He went straight toward it, barely listening to Sam and Dean introduce themselves to the bar owner and explain what they were doing here. As he drew closer, Castiel could see that the wing prints were not fake. The acrid aroma of ash still lingered on the air, and Benjamin's wing prints were nearly skeletal—just like all the angels' were after falling three years ago.

A glint of silver caught Castiel's eye, and he bent down to pull out an angel blade that had fallen partway underneath a game booth. The echo of Benjamin's grace was unmistakable; it was his blade. Castiel lifted his gaze back to the wing prints, a pang of grief spearing his heart. He was too late.

He suspected it wouldn't have mattered. Benjamin's death looked as though it had been quick and sudden, though not quick enough he hadn't had time to call for help. Castiel wondered at that. This was a public place, closed at the time, yes, but not isolated and not a place where a battle—or torture—had happened.

"The police report is calling it a mugging," Sam's voice broke through Castiel's roiling thoughts and emotions.

"Sure, yeah," the bar owner replied. "That's the official story. I mean, I was outside, but, come on. These crazy burn marks?"

Castiel finally tore himself away from the brutal scene, his mind reeling under the barrage of questions he had no answers for.

"It's a cult thing, right?" the man went on. "That's why the FBI's—"

Castiel marched back over. "Get out."

The bar owner blinked. "What?"

"Get out," he repeated tersely.

The man looked at Dean and Sam uncertainly.

"He means we can take it from here," Dean interjected. "Thanks."

"Yeah…"

Dean started escorting him toward the door. "We'll call you when we're done."

Sam turned to Castiel and lowered his voice. "Dude, you all right?" he asked, tone a mixture of chastisement and concern.

"No," Castiel admitted, looking away. "No, Benjamin and I, we fought together. He was…he was a gifted soldier. I don't know how this could've happened."

Dean came back over. "Alright, well, his vessel is still alive, right? That means there was a witness."

Castiel still couldn't fathom how that was possible, but Dean was right, the hospital needed to be their next stop.

"Just- just give me a minute," he said.

Dean furrowed his brow. "What for?"

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but his anger instantly bled away to be replaced with a deep well of sadness. He decided not to bother trying to explain himself, and instead turned to walk back to the wall of ash. He heard Dean mumble something under his breath, and Sam giving him a soft, chiding remark. Castiel ignored them both.

Coming to stand before the ash remains of his friend, Castiel bowed his head and whispered a short phrase in Enochian. How many prayers over fallen brothers and sisters had he uttered in his long life? Too many. He didn't know where angels went when they died, if anywhere, and so there was little comfort to be found in lifting up Benjamin's spirit to the stars. The only thing Castiel could truly offer was a promise to find out what happened. And for that, they had a potential witness to interview.

Castiel slipped Benjamin's blade up his sleeve and followed the Winchesters back out to the car.