I remember it now, it takes me back to when it all first started
But I've only got myself to blame for it, and I accept it now
It's time to let it go, go out and start again
But it's not that easy

Clutching his arm in immense pain, Dean winced as he applied firm pressure on to it, leaning against the nearest wall and waited silently, trying his best not to breathe so loud. He looked over at the blood that trickled down his left arm, leaving stains all over his favourite shirt. Damn it, Dean thought to himself. It was only the first day of his week off work. His first day. He planned earlier on how he was going to spend his first day off, which honestly didn't include much. He just wanted a trip to the nearest bar and to watch some television before catching up with some sleep. But here he was, hiding somewhere in a bar from a couple of freaking werewolves.

Dean wrapped his arm with a hanky he happened to have in his jacket pocket, which slowed down the bleeding for a while. He waited for any signs indicating that the werewolves might still be there, getting ready to jump at him any second now. He had only one silver bullet with him at the moment and even if he used it, he still had another werewolf aching to have his heart for dinner.

He grabbed hold of his gun and peeked from behind the wall, studying the room fully before slowly stepping forward. The werewolves seemed to have left the bar, getting half of what they wanted. Dean wasn't stupid. Werewolves had a great sense of smell; they obviously knew he was still in there. Dean took a few more steps before looking down at the bartender's ripped, heartless body in guilt. He could've saved the guy, if he arrived just a few seconds earlier.

He dialled 911 and told them there had been an animal attack at the bar. Dean walked out, gun still firm in hand and it was a bit too dark to notice anything moving around. The fact that only half of the street lights worked didn't help.

Just three seconds later he's thrown to the ground with an incredible force from behind, yet luckily sending his gun flying only an arm's length away. The male werewolf seemed hesitant to claw at Dean, his bloodshot eyes turning soft for a moment. He managed to grab his gun in time with his good arm before the werewolf was able to rip him to shreds, and pulled the trigger.

The werewolf choked on its own blood, collapsing dead on top of Dean. He shoved its body off of him and ran to the Impala for more bullets. As soon as he loaded them, another gunshot was heard from just metres behind him. He turned around to see the lifeless body of the other werewolf, the female, lying on the ground, just three feet away from him.

He looked up further to see the figure of a man walking towards him with a gun resting at his side. The man kept his eyes locked on the dead werewolf as he walked, then turned his gaze to Dean when he stopped and stood four feet away. It was too late at night to see the man's full features clearly, but Dean could have sworn he had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, and it made him nervous.

"Are you…alright?" the man asked, blinking a few times before forming his mouth in a straight line.

Dean was seemingly surprised at the man's voice, he didn't know why, but he was.

"Yeah, um, you know I- could've done it myself, but thanks- I guess," he only managed to stammer out, while making nervous hand gestures at his own gun and car. He realized he probably looked idiotic then, and hoped it was dark enough for the man to not notice the tints of red that flushed on his cheeks.

The man squinted and smirked, looking down for a millisecond before meeting Dean's eyes again. He tilted his head in a sort of odd manner when he noticed Dean's arm, which started to bleed again.

"You should get that checked up," he muttered, nodding at Dean before slowly turning away.

Hurriedly, Dean took a small step forward. "Wait, uh, hold on," he mumbled. He didn't know what he was doing, or what it was about this man that snapped an interest in him. Maybe it was because he was a bit too polite for a hunter, he thought.

The man turned his head first before fully facing Dean. "Yes?" he asked, slightly biting his lip. If Dean was certain he hadn't been imagining things, he could have sworn the man was trying his best to not break into a smile.

"Uh, who are you?" was all Dean managed to get out, followed by a small nervous chuckle, because he really had no idea of what to say. He probably sounded as stupid as he looked now, completely avoiding eye contact with the man.

"I'm Dean, by the way, in case you wanted to know…" he added, letting his voice trail off at the end.

The man stared at the ground for a few moments and then glanced back at Dean. "Cas. Castiel," he said, before turning and walking away.

Dean watched him walk and sighed, realizing what a complete fool he made of himself. "Well, guess I'm not seeing you again," he whispered to himself and turned to face the hood of the Impala, placing back whatever weapons he had with him.

"Actually, Dean?"

Dean turned around at the mention of his name to see Castiel standing at the same place he stood just now. Cas was the one who seemed nervous this time, rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his fingers.

Dean stared as he noticed the amount of difference the way Cas looked from before. "Yeah, you okay?"

Cas looked at the ground and then into Dean's eyes, as if he was braving himself to ask a question. "Yes just- would you mind- maybe, giving me a ride to the nearest motel?"

Dean smirked at the thought of him and Cas going to a motel together, but he knew it'd be impossible for them to get anywhere. "Yeah sure, it's the least I can do for you," he said, before gesturing an invite into his car. Dean could see the relief that washed over Cas. Cas nodded and entered the car, riding shotgun. The drive was silent for a while before Dean started to ask the regular questions.

"So, how long have you been hunting?"

Cas cleared his throat. "8 months," he said.

Dean looked at him in surprise for a second, before turning his eyes back to the road. "Like, in total?" he asked. Cas nodded.

"Wow. What was it that got you ticked?" Dean asked, regretting it right after the words came out of his mouth. Shouldn't have done that, he thought to himself. No hunter found their way into hunting with a happy reason.

Much to Dean's surprise, he didn't get a glare or a dirty look in return. "Demon. Lost my parents, then a friend, they were special to me," Cas answered, as if he'd already answered the question many times before this.

Dean swallowed as he kept his eyes to the road. "Sorry to hear that," he said.

"Don't be."

"What?"

"Don't be. I've heard a lot about you, Dean. I knew you were quick enough to kill that werewolf by yourself," Cas explained. Dean took a few seconds to register that. He wasn't that surprised, but he still had a question in mind. "You know what- you can stop right here, I'm supposed to meet up with someone," Cas added, pointing to a certain spot beside the road. Dean pulled over. Cas nodded a thanks to Dean and reached for the door.

"Wait, hold on."

Cas turned around to look at Dean. "Yes?"

Dean paused for a second. "If you knew I could do it myself then- why'd you help me?" he asked.

Cas glanced at him and failed to suppress a tiny smile, slightly fidgeting with his hands. "Uh, I guess- good things do happen, Dean? Thank you for the ride, I'll see you around," he said before getting out of the car. Confusion was clear on Dean's face. He rolled his eyes and drove off anyway.

'Castiel. What a weird ass name.'

"Okay then, I'll get going," Dean spoke after gathering and placing a bunch of weapons into a bag. He turned to leave the house before his brother stopped him.

"Dean, wait."

Dean paused then turned to face Sam, making a small gesture with his hands. "Yeah?"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at Dean worriedly. "Nothing, just, you sure you wanna do this? Hunting by yourself? I mean, you know I'd go with you, if I could, but- you know."

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and loosened his grip on his bag. "C'mon, Sam, we've talked about this. I'll be fine. Just, get some rest, kay? You need it." He patted his brother's shoulder.

"It's just the last time you hunted alone it didn't end very-"

"See ya tomorrow, Sammy!" he cut him off, leaving the place straight away before his brother got to argue any further.

For the first time in a long time, Dean worked on a case alone. It was something he needed to get used to, with Sam physically unable to hunt for a while. The way Sam broke his leg was pretty insane; literally, as it had to do with a psycho spirit they were hunting. It took some convincing to the doctors to do that all he did was fall off a ladder and landed badly. They said it could take up to 3 or 4 months for his leg to completely heal.

Dean found a case in Rapid City, which was about a 5 hour drive from Bobby's. It probably wasn't going to be easy, fighting alone and not having any back up like always, but he'll come up with a plan. He always does.

5 hours later, Dean booked a motel and started his research.

Castiel fluttered his eyes open and soon realized where he was, and how stupidly easy he got caught. Damn it. He hated himself whenever he made stupid mistakes like this. He was still pretty new to hunting, compared to other hunters, but he knew he could do better than this. He got himself knocked out and ended up in a dirty basement with other victims. He winced as he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head.

He was seated in an old chair, with his wrists tied tightly at the back of it, and his ankles tied to the front. He peered around the room. It was dusty, like any other ordinary old basement. The only things that made it different were the large amount of books placed at the corner of the room in an unusual way. There were two other people in here with him; a man and woman who looked in their late thirties. They couldn't have been here a lot longer than he had. He searched the same place just yesterday. They were tied up just like Cas, with their faces bruised and hair messed up.

The woman awoke and slightly jumped in her chair when she noticed Castiel's presence, gaping at him. Her eyes looked worn out from crying, and her lips trembled when she spoke. "He's going to kill us, he's got three; we're going to die." She looked down at herself and failed to prevent herself from weeping.

"Hey, we're going to get out of here, okay? I'm not letting him hurt anyone anymore." Cas tried to reassure her, which wasn't working that well, as the woman just shook her head and continued to cry.

"What- what did you mean when you said 'he's got three'?" Cas asked, softening his voice while focusing his eyes on the woman.

She looked up to face him and thought for a while before she spoke, "He said- he said he was going to start killing once there were three of us, or something like that, I don't know."

Castiel remembered researching and reading about this. The ghost was a spirit of a serial killer in Rapid City named Earl McLaren, back in the early 70s, who slaughtered his victims, taking three of them at once. He was shot dead by an officer, the bullet landing at the side of his forehead. McLaren had his own killing pattern, taking them once in three years, on the first Monday of September.

Cas thought for a moment. There was something he had to do right before he got hit in the head, but he couldn't quite put his finger to it. He couldn't even remember where or how he was knocked out so easily.

"What's your name?" asked Cas.

"Melinda," she stated, forcing a smile before turning to the unconscious man tied up next to her, who had cuts and bruises all over his face. "And that's my husband, Chris. He- he put up a fight earlier, with whoever that man was."

"Okay, Melinda, I know it sounds impossible, but I'm going to do what I can to get you and your husband out of here, alright? But I need to know something," Cas said.

Melinda furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and slightly shook her head, "What do you need to know?" she asked.

"I need you to describe him, the thing- the guy that put you two here," Cas said in a quiet voice, trying to not sound demanding.

Melinda looked up, trying to recall what she saw. "He moved fast, like it was impossible. I'm going to sound crazy but- it was as if he was…" She left her voice trailing. "Teleporting. I mean- I'm sure I was seeing things," she added, bitterly laughing and shaking her head.

"You're not crazy. There are things out there, Melinda. Not the best time to explain everything about that, but it's true. Tell me what he looked like."

Melinda thought for a while, "He seemed, I don't know, normal. He didn't look like a killer. He wore normal house clothes. Pretty thin, had ginger hair."

It all came flashing back to him. At least a couple of hours ago, Cas was at his motel room, looking through McLaren's personal files which he had managed to grab hold of. He had just gotten back from the cemetery back then. He remembered reading about Earl McLaren having a wife, and how she was still alive and staying at an old folks' home nearby. Cas remembered driving to the place and meeting her, faking himself as a blogger. She talked a little too cheerfully for an old lady who had married a serial killer.

"So, tell me, Mrs McLaren-"

"Oh, darling please, call me Irene!"

"Alright then- Irene." Cas looked up from his notebook and smiled thinly at the elder woman who was seated opposite him. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Tell me how you found out about your husband, if you don't mind?"

The elder woman made Cas nervous. He could tell she wasn't happy the way she made herself to be. Her mouth was open, the corners of it pulling itself upwards and sideways to meet the middle of her cheeks, but her big, olive coloured eyes stayed the same. She let out a sigh and grinned at Cas.

"My Earl was such a sweetheart, you know?" Irene clenched her jaw and pursed her lips as she let her eyes wander around the room, staying quiet for a few seconds.

"We were so young and free; animals in love, people called us. He asked me to marry him when we were drunk in his apartment, and I said yes. I said yes because I loved him and I knew he loved me. I woke up alone the next day, disappointed. But all that disappointment flew away when he showed up at the door with red tulips and asked me the same question, 'Will you be my wife?' and I said yes again."

Crinkles were actually present at her eyes this time when she smiled. Cas was amazed at the amount of detail Irene could actually remember from decades ago. Not a few moments later her smile was wiped off her face. "Earl had a few problems a few years after that. He started talking to the walls, ceilings, but never around me though. It was the same conversation. He always mumbled to himself about 'not wanting to'. I asked him what was wrong and he just said he was stressed from work. He never yelled at me, even when I knew he wanted to. He stopped talking to himself one day, and that one day we went to a party. It was my cousin's party, actually. We wanted to have some fun, just like the good old days.

"And about an hour into the party he said he was gonna head outside for some fresh air. He didn't return for the rest of the party, so I went to look for him. And that's when I watched him murder my cousin-in law at the garden. He didn't try to explain himself. I was horrified, of course. I screamed, and he just- looked at me, as if he'd done nothing wrong or he didn't know me. And that's when he ran. The next time I see him- ten years later- he's lying in a coffin."

Irene looked away from Cas then, and kept her eyes peeled to the view outside. "You know, I- I haven't been to the house in years."

Cas felt guilty. He wasn't good with these kinds of situations; he definitely needed to work on that. "Is there… do you own anything of his to remember by? You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable," He said in a calming voice.

Irene turned her view from the window to Cas. "No, dear, it's fine. I've said this to a lot of people, even though most of them think I'm officially insane, well- there's a lock of his hair kept somewhere at his bedside, but like I said before- I haven't been to the house in a long time."

That was a little too easy, Cas thought. But hey, it's something. Cas said his thanks and goodbye to Irene before walking out of the intimidating area. He drove to McLaren's place again. It was the first Monday of September; if McLaren was still out there, some people needed saving. Cas grabbed hold of his gun and made his way into the house.

He found his way to the bedroom and peeped into the room before entering. Two steps into the room was all it took for him to get thrown across, landing his head straight to the wall, knocking him out.

"That was all I needed to hear," Cas said, nodding his way at Melinda. He silently cursed to himself. He could have gotten this case over with if he had been more careful. He looked behind his shoulder at the ropes that nearly suffocated his wrists. He was good with knots; he could free himself from them if he tried hard enough. He worked at it, but his wrists started to hurt as he struggled more. They were far too tight to get out by himself in time.

"If I could just- get rid of this one strangled knot-"

BOOM!

Everyone, even Chris, now awake, jumped in their seats.

"Was that a gunshot?" Melinda cried out.

"Linda? Linda, what's going on?" Chris' voice trembled while he struggled with the knots tied around his wrists.

What the hell?

This McLaren guy was sure pissed off. Dean's been thrown practically everywhere around the room now. McLaren appeared in front of Dean and held him by the throat, forcefully pushing him against the wall. Dean attempted to free himself, gasping for air at the same time. McLaren's bloodshot eyes stared harder into Dean's, as if he could kill him if their eyes made contact long enough.

"Is someone out there? Please, help us!" a muffled female voice cried out, followed by a male's. "Help!"

McLaren shot his head towards the direction of where the voices came from, slightly loosening his grip on Dean. Dean took the chance to grab the iron crowbar that was previously in his hands, and swung it at McLaren, dissipating him.

"Help!"

Dean quickly followed the direction of the voices which lead him to the opening of the basement. "I'm gonna get you out!" Dean shouted from above, picking the lock of the trap door before swinging it open.

The basement had a low ceiling. Dean's hair brushed the surface even when he lowered his body. It was a small room, and it took less than a second to spot the victims.

Dean rushed over to the one he was nearest to, the woman, and used a small knife to cut the rope that tied around her wrists and ankles. The woman breathed in and out, trying to calm herself while rubbing the marks left on her wrists.

"Thank you, thank you."

Dean quickly moved on to the man beside her, doing the same for him. The couple took each other in their arms while Dean hurriedly shifted to the next person.

"You?"

Dean shot his head up forwards, pausing for a second as he met a pair of familiar eyes.

"You," Dean whispered and cut the rope at the man's ankles. He wasn't sure who he was, or where he'd seen him before, but Dean knew he never thought he'd see him again.

The man stood up as soon as he was free and a certain thought itched at the back of Dean's mind. 'C'mon, Dean, think. Where have you seen him before? Blue eyes, blue eyes, blue eyes-'

Realization hit him as he put the puzzle pieces together. Castiel.

"You're that guy- those werewolves-"

"No time to talk. Get these people out of here, quick," Cas ordered, looking Dean in the eye before walking past him.

Dean quirked his eyebrows. "What- you expect me to just do what you say and leave the rest of the job to you? Listen buddy, no offense, but I didn't drive all the way here to-"

"There's a lock of his hair kept somewhere in the bedroom. I know where it is, just get these people to safety, please, and do whatever you want after that," Cas said, turning to face him.

Dean let his eyes wander as he grunted and slightly nodded, "Alright, fine. You got a lighter?"

"Probably not, he removed most of my weapons while I was- DEAN!"

McLaren appeared a few feet behind Dean, knife ready in hand. Cas exclaimed, taking Dean's arm reflexively when McLaren raised his weapon. Dean turned around and managed to stab McLaren slightly with the crowbar he already had his grip tight on, dissipating him once more.

"Great reflexes!" Dean emphasized on his sarcasm, sheepishly smiling at Cas. He smiled at the fact that Cas remembered Dean's name, though. Their first meeting was about three months ago, and they barely had a conversation. Somehow, Cas' name stuck with Dean as well.

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes, letting go of Dean's arm. "He won't be gone for long, let's go."

Dean nodded and ushered the two other victims out of the basement. "Watch your head, c'mon."

Cas followed behind them. Dean threw a lighter in Cas' direction before making his way out of the house with the other victims. Cas caught it and headed straight to the bedroom quickly, then jogged his way to the bedside table. Dust tickled his nose as he opened the drawers one by one. Cas drew a small smile on his face when he opened a translucent glass box to see a lock of ginger hair. His hand shook as he took several attempts to ignite the lighter. "C'mon, c'mon!" he whispered to himself, eyes slightly twitching before the lighter flew out of his hands metres away from him.

He could only turn halfway to see McLaren before he was greeted by several punches to the face. Cas fell to the ground as McLaren kicked him in the stomach a second time. The hair and lighter was out of his reach by then- they were barely in view as McLaren towered over him. Cas lifted his head as McLaren grabbed him by the collar, other arm raised with the sharp metal object in hand. For several moments, Cas thought, this was it. There couldn't have been an escape from this. But he didn't want to die- not now, not like this at least. It was too soon; there were so many things he'd left unsaid to people he knew, good or bad. There were favours he needed to return. There were memories that needed to be made, years from now. But this was it. There he was, about to get killed by a spirit. A spirit, for goodness' sake. Cas lowered his eyelids as the taste of iron in his own blood formed in his mouth. It'd be a quick death, at least, he thought to himself.

Cas' eyes popped open after a few seconds of nothing as he felt McLaren actually loosen his grip on him. McLaren wore a look of shock on his face and exhaled heavily. "You… not you…" McLaren breathed out the words, his fearsome face looking the closest to actually being scared. Cas furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and wiggled himself out of McLaren's grip. Cas wasn't sure what to expect from McLaren after that; another punch that could knock him out straight again, maybe, or a quick stab to the heart that would lead to his death. Instead, McLaren just stood there, staring helplessly into the empty space beside Cas.

"Not today… not mine."

And with that, McLaren let out a ghostly scream as his body extinguished in flames. Cas widened his eyes and swallowed the gasp that almost escaped his mouth. He stared at the lock of hair that burnt on the ground, which could hardly even be recognized as hair anymore. He looked up further to see the lighter being held in another person's hands.

"So, Castiel, was it?"

Cas nodded at Dean and blinked hard. His face hurt, his body hurt, and hell, he had at least a dozen questions in mind. He attempted to get up from the floor, holding his stomach while he coughed out blood, only to slowly stumble forward. Dean rushed to his side, catching him before his knees could reach the ground.

"Hey hey, I gotcha," Dean said, wrapping Cas' arm around his neck. Dean held onto Cas' hand to stabilize him as they made their way out of the place. Cas was too beat up to talk properly or ask any questions, even though he wanted to. He let his head fall onto Dean's shoulder, hoping Dean wouldn't mind. He was pretty damn beat up, after all.

They got to Dean's car with the two other victims, Cas riding shotgun and the couple sitting at the back. Cas fell back to his seat, panting as he placed his hand on his stomach. Dean eyed him from the side. "He didn't stab you anywhere, did he?" he asked with a hint of worry in his tone.

"No," Cas managed to say, shaking his head in the process.

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something, but gulped instead. "Good, I don't have to clean your blood off my seats then." Cas rolled his eyes and rested his head, letting the darkness he came across at the corners of his eyes take over.

Cas woke up the next day covered in white sheets. He rubbed his eyes as he recalled the events that happened earlier. He remembered McLaren turning into flames in front of him, getting into a car, getting out of the car as Dean ushered him to the hospital. He remembered hearing the sounds of doors opening and many kinds of beeping that gave him a bit of a headache. He remembered several voices surrounding him, including Dean's. Dean.

"Mornin', sunshine."

Cas almost jumped at Dean's presence. Dean was sat near the corner of the room in a chair, newspaper in hands. Cas simply stared at him, swallowing his words as he wasn't so sure of what to say. "You," he murmured.

Dean blinked twice before speaking. "Yes, me. How you feeling?"

Cas glanced at Dean and then turned his head away. "I feel fine, my head doesn't hurt so much anymore," he said. "And, thank you for, you know."

"Saving your ass? Hm, well. I guess I owe you a little for last time," Dean mentioned, looking over at Cas.

Cas peered at him and nodded a few times, remembering the last time they met. "It's Winchester, right? Dean Winchester?" Cas asked after a few moments of silence.

Dean stared. "Yeah. How do you know my last name?"

"Well, people talk about you, Dean. Hunters. Like I said- I think I've said before- I've… heard a lot about you," Cas said, unsure of how Dean would react. Cas had gone to other hunters for help before, more than once. They'd talk about Dean and Sam Winchester, two silly kids doing whatever their dad told them to do. They'd talk about how much they changed after their dad passed, and how they actually became better hunters after that.

Dean smirked and formed his mouth in a straight line. "Yeah well, I'm sure you have," Dean looked to the left and then back at Cas with his eyebrows raised. "And you're Castiel," Dean emphasized on Cas' name, saying it as if it was a rich word.

"Yes," Cas replied, keeping his eyes on Dean.

"Fancy name, well," Dean got up from his chair. "It's good to see you okay. You look a whole lot better without all that blood on your face," He said, sheepishly smiling. He reached his hands into his pocket before taking out a pair of familiar car keys and placing it on the table. They belonged to Cas.

"Listen, I gotta head home. Your car's at the parking lot, A12." He said, taking one last look at Cas before making his way out the door.

Cas sat there in his bed, wondering how Dean got hold of his keys, and then figured Dean probably took them from his jacket pocket while he was asleep. Cas felt the need to say something before Dean left but swallowed his words instead. He let his head fall back to the pillow and sighed. It was odd, he thought, how he could meet someone a second time this year by accident, barely even knowing them.

The sound of footsteps coming closer filled the room, before Dean poked his head at the side of the door. Cas looked up with quirked eyebrows. "Did you leave something?" he asked.

Dean laughed nervously. "Nah, just uh. Next time I see you, Cas, neither of us be beaten up, alright?" he said, winking before exiting once more.

Cas felt his face blush. 'Next time, huh?'

He shut his eyes and leaned against the nearest wall, inhaling in the smoke that looked incredibly visible outside at night. It had probably been a year since the last time he lit a cigarette. He needed one, badly. Cas shivered at the pleasure that ran through his body, letting the floating smoke slightly poke at his eyes as he breathed in once more. He let his arm hang loosely at his side, his fingers tracing the mouth of the bottle he held beside him. He looked at the cigarette and bit the inside of his cheek. He had to stop then, he knew it. He sighed and let the stick fall out of his hands and onto the sidewalk.

He held the half empty bottle in his hands, still, taking a sip every once and then as he walked. He decided to take a week off hunting, and Omaha was the only place he could go to. He had a relative there who let Cas stay at his apartment for the week. It was his third night off work, and he wasn't getting much done, just as he thought he would.

Cas leaned against his car and thought to himself about a lot of things. He thought about hunting, his life before and after. He thought about the little amount of family he had left, and the possibility of losing another anytime now. It had been weeks since him and his sister made contact before she suddenly dropped comatose. The doctors still had no clue on what had caused it.

Cas jerked his head to the right as he heard the sound of glass shattering, followed by other things being thrown around. He turned and walked to the direction of where the noises came from. He reached for the gun in his trench coat as he stepped closer and heard coughing in the distance. The noises stopped then, but Cas could easily tell it came from the antique store, which he stood just a metre away from. He entered the store, taking a couple of steps after studying the room fully. He walked in further and held his gun firmly. He heard the coughing again, louder this time. It came from behind the counter.

Cas swiftly stepped forward and pointed his gun at whoever or whatever was behind the counter. He sighed, shoulders dropping as he placed the gun back in his coat. He squinted his eyes at the unconscious body that lay in front of him and took a closer look. When he realized who it was, his eyes rolled to a maximum level.

"You have got to be joking me."

Dean sat up on the couch after he'd been asleep on it for what seemed like forever, rubbing his eyes and temples in the process.

"Dean?" Sam hovered his body forward, sitting in a chair beside the couch. "Dean?"

Bobby sat at his study and looked up, eyes glued to a book before. Bobby got up from his desk and with an aggravated tone he interrogated, "Dang it, boy! We thought you'd never get up!"

Dean wore a confused look on his face, stitching his eyebrows together as he yawned. "What do you mean? How long was I out?"

"Dean- you've been asleep for two and a half days."

Dean looked at his brother, then to Bobby. He chuckled. "You're joking, right? It couldn't have been more than ten hours-"

"Sixty-one hours, Dean. You were out for sixty-one hours," Sam said, looking at the clock; 1:19 pm.

Dean's eyes widened at the fact and a sudden hunger arose in his stomach. "Wow, I definitely need something to eat," He said as he got up from the couch and made his way to the fridge. He could already sense Sam rolling his eyes into his back. "So uh, what the hell happened to me?" Dean asked, calling out from the kitchen as he grabbed a sandwich from the fridge and chugged down a glass of water.

"You tell us, boy. What's the last thing you remember?" Bobby asked.

Dean came back to the room with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sat back on the couch and explained, "I was working on that- witch case, I think. Psycho bitch probably drugged me or something, I don't know. I just remember feeling this sharp pain in my throat."

It was odd, the way he explained it. He didn't know what really happened himself. Dean noticed the exchange of looks Sam and Bobby gave each other. "What?" he asked.

Sam opened his mouth first. "If it was a witch, Dean- why aren't you dead?"

Dean thought for a moment, why wasn't he dead? Why would the witch leave him unconscious for days instead of just killing him?

"Look, I don't know. I really don't. And- how did I get here, anyway? That job was like in- Omaha," Dean said curiously, before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"Well, this is gonna sound unusual," Bobby said as he leaned his back against his desk. "A fellow hunter found you. Unconscious and bloody at some antique store. He called your brother using your phone and told him about the situation. Then he brought you here. I'm surprised he had the patience to drive three hours here to save your sorry ass," he added, scoffing at the last sentence.

This wasn't making any sense to Dean. "Hmph. So what, some hunter comes to my rescue and drives all the way from Omaha just to make sure I was okay?" he said, turning to Bobby.

"That's what happened," Bobby said, shrugging his shoulders. Dean chewed on his sandwich before a certain thought came to mind. "Where's my car?" he asked, eyes wide and mouth stuffed.

"Relax, it's outside. He used your car to drive you here," Sam said as he let his eyes wander anywhere but at Dean, knowing how Dean would react.

Dean swallowed his food before he spoke, "He what-wait- you guys let some stranger drive my car?" He made a gesture with his hands as his eyes widened as well.

"He ain't a stranger, Dean. He's a friend of mine. Besides, appreciate what he did for you, the guy had a week off," Bobby reasoned, folding his arms before doing so.

Dean still thought about it and sipped his water. "This hunter, do I know him?"

"Well I didn't think you did, he's new to hunting. But apparently, he knows you. His name's Cas," Bobby stated, eyeing Dean.

Dean looked up from his glass when he heard the name. He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. "Cas as in- Castiel, Cas?"

Bobby nodded. "So you do know him."

Dean lowered his eyes to the floor. "Yeah, it's weird. I bumped into him at Rapid City just about a couple of weeks ago- saved the guy from a spirit, actually," He remarked, squishing his eyebrows together as the weird thought stuck with him. "That wasn't even the first time we met. A few months ago, the guy shot a werewolf that was out to kill me," Dean continued, shaking his head.

Sam smirked as he got up from his chair and grabbed the crutches next to him. "Maybe you two were destined to find and save each other," he joked, knowing Dean hated the 'destiny' talk.

"Shut up before I snap your other leg in half as well," Dean said before taking the last bite of his sandwich. Sam smirked and made his way to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him.

Dean then turned to Bobby, who had been eyeing him for a while. "What?" he asked, getting up from the couch.

"Dean, what's going on with your hunting lately?" Bobby asked quietly.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Nothing, it's going fine," he lied, looking at Bobby straight in the eye.

"I mean, you've been skipping nearly every case before this," Bobby implied. "On your last case you nearly killed yourself over and over, heck, you would've if I got there five seconds later, and now you get knocked out easily by some witch?" He elaborated with a worried tone in his voice.

"Hey, do not underestimate those witches, they are insane enough to kill you for fun," Dean said, twisting around the subject as he turned his back to Bobby.

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Dean, I'm serious. You gonna talk real with me for a second here, son?"

Dean sighed at Bobby's words and turned to face him, pausing for a second. "I don't really know, okay? Maybe it's because I'm just 'rusty' or I hunt different when I'm alone and not with Sam- I don't know, Bobby." Dean sat back on the couch, touching his temples with his eyes closed.

Bobby sighed and opened his mouth to say something but swallowed his words when the bathroom door opened. He then turned away from Dean and sat back at his study. Sam came in the room, walking with both his crutches supporting him. He leaned against one and pointed the other at Dean. "You've been on that couch for nearly three days now. Move, it's my turn," Sam retorted.

Dean rolled his eyes as he got up and walked to the kitchen again when his stomach growled. He opened up the fridge and a look of disappointment showed on his face. He closed the fridge shut and walked out, grabbing his car keys when he spotted them. "I'm gonna grab something to eat, you guys want anything?" he asked, checking the amount of money he had in his wallet.

"Nah, I'm good," Sam said, lying his head back against the arm of the couch with his eyes shut.

Dean turned to Bobby for a reply before he realized Bobby had just answered his cell phone. "Oh, heya Cas- yeah he's awake alright, he says thanks by the way," Bobby said into the phone, glancing at Dean as he stressed on the word 'thanks'. Dean listened in, unsure of how he felt about this.

"You wanna talk to him?" Bobby asked Cas to the phone. For a millisecond, Dean froze. He couldn't talk to Cas, not right now, not without thinking of what to say first. He shook his head many times and did a couple of hand gestures under his neck to let Bobby get the hint. Sam snorted and held back as many chuckles as he could.

Bobby rolled his eyes as he spoke into the phone, "Oh you know what- he just went out. Yeah. I heard, good luck with that- gotta be careful around them, though. Yeah thanks- bye." Bobby hung up the phone and turned his head to Dean. "You got a middle school crush on the guy or something, Dean? Don't worry, I'm sure there's a possibility he feels the same way," Bobby joked, failing to suppress the small smile on his face.

Sam let out a laugh as Dean glared at him. Dean thought about any possible comebacks while he opened and closed his mouth.

"No. Quit it, you two," was all he managed to say, pointing at the both of them while they chuckled to themselves.

Jo stood in between the two men, who both looked as if though they had just received some shocking news. She cleared her throat. "So, I'm guessing you two know each other?" she asked, folding her arms across her waist.

Dean was the first to break eye contact, turning his face to Jo. "Uh- yeah, kind of, I guess," he stammered, eyes wandering to the ceiling.

Cas nodded awkwardly, turning back to the front of the table in his seat as he still said nothing. Jo turned her eyes to Cas, then back to Dean, slightly smiling to herself before she clapped her hands on their shoulders. "Okay then- I'll get you guys a drink," she said, giving both of them a smile as she walked off.

Dean shortly breathed in then out, keeping his eyes locked on Cas as he pulled out a stool beside him. "So, you again," he said, as he breathed out a small laugh, slowly taking a seat.

"What are you doing here? Have you been following me?" Cas asked a little too quickly, looking up at Dean. It was easy to tell that Cas gave himself a mental slap in the face after that.

Dean raised his hands, not too high. "Woah- chill, dude. I was thinking the same thing about you," he said, looking away from Cas at mid- sentence.

Cas lowered his eyes and paused. "Yeah, sorry, I mean, it's just- weird. The last time I saw you was last week, that other case was a month ago, and honestly I'm having trouble remembering the first time we uh, met."

Dean shrugged. "Well, at least this time neither of us have blood on our face or a werewolf on our back," he said before smirking his way at Cas. Two opened bottles were put down in front of them as Cas was just about to say something.

"Thanks," Dean said to Jo before taking a sip. Jo smiled at him and turned her attention to Cas, reaching her hands for something in her pocket. "Cas, you wouldn't mind- locking up after Dean leaves, would you? It's late and I've been working the whole day today, my mom would never let -"

"I'll do it, it's probably my turn anyway," Cas notified, holding out his hand before the keys were placed in his palm.

"Thank you," Jo said and gratefully smiled before walking off.

Dean watched her leave and then turned his body back to face Cas. "You… live here?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Cas placed his right elbow on the table, slightly raising his bottle as he sighed. "Yes. For the time being, at least. I got a little careless and well- sleeping in my car isn't so comfy after a while," he said, taking a sip after.

Dean looked at him and nodded before clearing his throat. "Uh, thanks, by the way. What you did for me last week; no other stranger would've done that," he said quietly. Dean then studied the room; it had looked a lot different from the last time he visited. Chairs and stools were pushed in properly, and no stains were left on the furniture. They were the only ones in the room, and Dean hadn't even noticed how close they sat next to each other until he felt the hem of Cas' jacket slightly brush against his.

"It was just at Omaha, so, no big deal. Hopefully, that would be the last time either of us found each other in that kind of situation," Cas said before breaking into a small smile. "So, what are you really doing here?" he added, before taking another gulp of his beer.

Dean stared at him and thought to himself. He wasn't sure if he trusted Cas enough, and it was clear Cas didn't trust him much either. "Workin' a case. Was kinda hoping I'd get some info from Ash, but doesn't look like he's here."

"Yeah, Ellen and Ash are uh- out for a couple of days. Can't remember what for," Cas claimed, letting his eyes wander anywhere but at Dean.

Dean laughed softly at Cas' awkwardness. He looked cute like that, Dean thought. He'd noticed, from time to time they met, Cas was nervous around him, and so it was the other way around, even though Dean was clearly in denial to that. "What?" Cas asked, his voice faltering slightly.

"Nothing, nothing. Just…" Dean trailed off for a while, palming his own face as he placed his elbow on the table. "Who the hell are you, really?" he continued, smiling a little after that.

Cas' eyes gleamed in the lighting. The blue in the pair that stared into Dean's was a nice blue, hard not to notice the first time. They were a soft shade of dark blue that neared grey, and definitely, there was an interesting story held behind them. His eyes softened and held out a hand.

"Castiel Novak. Hunter of age…" Cas looked up and squinted, as if mentally counting. "29. Been to many places, fan of black and white films."

Dean smiled and shook Cas' hand, blushing as he accidentally let his thumb brush across Cas' knuckles. "Pleasure to meet you, my name's Dean Winchester. Turned 24 about eight and a half months ago-"

"No, you didn't."

"Fine, I'm 25."

"Nope."

"Alright, you got me, 27, I swear!" He said, laughing as he raised his hands in surrender. "Fan of classic rock, calming weather, and- Stephen King."

Cas blushed as he realized they were almost fully facing each other then, their knees centimetres apart from touching. He smiled; it had been a long time since anyone had introduced themselves that way to him. They both took another sip from their bottles.

"So, Cas- you hunt alone?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded. "Yeah. I mean I did have a partner the first time, for the first few days, at least. He uh- we didn't get along very much," he said, frowning softly.

"You don't get lonely, anyhow?"

Cas shrugged. "Nah, not really. It's gotten used to. I visit my sister every once in a while anyway."

The conversation was silent then, but the little amount of body language continued for a few minutes, smirks and glances hidden from the other. Dean looked at his watch. It was late, and he needed to get going.

Cas walked Dean out, hands in pockets. "I don't fully trust you, Dean. You don't trust me much either, correct?" he asked, tilting his head.

Dean smirked and bit his lip. "Correct. But that ain't stopping me…" his voice trailed off. "From finding out who you really are."

"I just told you who I really am," Cas said.

"Yeah, but we don't trust each other, remember?"

Cas laughed, "Right, right." They stopped in their tracks when Dean leaned his back against the Impala. "So, I'm guessing, no numbers?" Cas added.

"No numbers."

A chuckle escaped Cas' mouth. "You do realize how easy it would be to get contact of you though, don't you?"

Dean shrugged. "See ya around, Cas," he said, smiling before getting into the car.

Cas watched him drive off and sighed to himself, shaking his head. He walked back to the Roadhouse and locked up, just as he had promised Jo. He cleaned up the place a bit, wiping the tables and picked up some crumpled papers that piled up in a corner. He headed to bed and shut his eyes, falling his head to the small side of the pillow, allowing sleep to take over.

Bzz.

He was a light sleeper, even a phone vibration could wake him. He groaned and reached for his phone in his bag. He flipped it open and squinted his eyes at the brightness of the screen.

1 New Message

This doesn't mean that I trust you. But fan of black and white films? Couldn't resist, sorry. -Dean