Notes: I don't own the Supernatural property, or any of the characters, etc. This is, however, my plot-type deal. This is my first Supernatural story, but I'm going through such a phase right now, so there will probably be more to follow. This is my first step out of the gate since hitting a two-year hibernation, so here goes. It's basically meant as a missing episode during the season 4 "save the seals" plot arc. Have fun.

The young man walked quickly toward the library, eager to finish the chore. He was wearing a thick coat to shield himself from the cold. It was a dull, cloudy day that promised storms sometime soon.

After stopping at the front desk to ask the librarian a quick question, he headed toward the back of the building. Soon he was surrounded by shelves, piles with row on row of books. He had stopped to check the information on the small note card in his hand when the lights went out.

At first, he stood still, waiting for the lights to come back, the generator to kick in, whatever it was that should happen in these situation. But nothing did. He was beginning to feel his way between the shelves when he saw a dim blue light reflecting off one of the carts in a nearby corner.

"Hello?" He called out, moving toward the light.

"Andy?" A voice called back from the darkness.

"Heather?" Andy called back, beginning to move toward the voice.

The scream came just before the lights flickered back on. More familiar with the surroundings, the librarian had been moving between the shelves, assuring everyone that someone was working to fix the lights. With the clouds hanging low and dark outside, it had been black as pitch within the building.

The librarian turned now to the small study rooms toward the back of the library, from which the scream seemed to still be coming.

Rounding the corner, the librarian began to scream as well at the sight.

Andy stood over another young man, a bloody pencil in his hand. The other man lay on the floor, bleeding freely from the hole in his neck, while the girl behind him, blood across her blouse and neck, screamed uncontrolably.

As the engine of the Impala roared hungrily, Dean smiled to himself. These are the magic hours, he told himself as he looked over at Sammy. The full moon was reflecting off the waxed hood so bright, Dean could see the country for what seemed like miles around. His tunes had been dulled to a mild roar when Sam had announced that he was calling it quits for the night. He sat now in the passenger seat, head leaving all kinds of marks on the window, his open mouth from time to time releasing a graceless snort.

Leaning back into his seat to roll the tension out of his shoulders, Dean was everything on a very long list except for, of course, tired, so he would drive through the night. Sam had objected at first, but there was no way Dean was getting any sleep in the state he was in, and he refused to stare at a motel ceiling for the next eight hours. Dean didn't quite want to admit it to himself, but he was, among other things, too damned excited to sleep.

That afternoon they'd turned north to hit Bobby's place, agreeing (for once, Dean thought as he tossed a look in the direction of Sam's sleeping form) that their best course of action right now was to get all their heads in the same room and find a way to go on the offensive. Running around putting out fires, Bobby had reasoned, ain't gonna stop armageddon. We gotta get out in fronta this thing.

Circumstances aside, it was nice to be heading somewhere familiar, somewhere simple. Dean was looking forward to a chance to recharge, to let his guard down, and every bit of it felt so wrong that he couldn't stand it. There had been some changes Dean had had to get used to since returning from Hell, and he was still adjusting to being the man who had come back.

Dean looked over at Sammy, asleep and drooling, and felt an emptiness in his soul. It was like coming back had changed everything, and Dean wasn't sure it was for the better. Sometimes, in the dark of the nights, Dean found himself wishing he had never been brought back, but those thoughts always brought the memories, no matter how hard he tried to block them out.

Dean shook his head, trying to focus on the road and not the cacophony of uncertainty that seemed to be the only thing on his mind bent forward and turned the radio up to drown out the seeping pus of his mental wounds.

Dean's fingers had just brushed the volume knob when he became aware that something was...wrong, different. He caught the reflection of the moon off something in the back seat of the car and straightened to check the rearview mirror. His emergency .45 was already cocked by the time Dean recognized Castiel sitting in the back of his car. He took a deep, steadying, and slightly peeved breath and put the gun back in its place beneath his seat.

"So, what," Dean asked, "did I drift off at the wheel?"

Castiel didn't smile. "This is no dream, Dean."

"So you're really here?" Dean asked with an air of snide wonder. "That means big fish."

"Maybe," Castiel allowed, inclining his head slightly.

"Maybe? I don't get out of bed for maybe," Dean said, turning his attention back to the road.

"You get out of bed when I tell you to, Dean. I don't like to remind you what I'll have to do if you don't cooperate."

The stillness of Castiel's voice gave Dean an uneasy feeling. It made him think the angel might not be bluffing, and going back to Hell was not an option.

"What's up?" Dean asked, as steadily as he could manage. It wouldn't do to let Cas think he had the upper hand here. "You have a job for us or don't you?"

"There have been some...troubling occurrences that we would like you to look in to."

Castiel's furrowed brow staring back at him from the mirror almost answered the question before he asked it, but Dean went in for the confirmation all the same. "Is it a seal?"

Castiel waited a moment before answering. "Some of us believe so. That is the most I can tell you right now."

Dean had had enough. Turning his head from the forgotten road, he wheeled to face the back seat. Keeping his voice down for Sam's benefit, Dean began to ream the angel. "You know, I'm getting really sick of all these stupid-". He let the thought go unfinished as he realized that he was yelling at an empty seat, and that he and Sam were alone once more in the car.

Hallucinations were an explanation Dean actually entertained for a moment, until he noticed the newspaper clipping laying in the spot where Castiel had sat, curled into the indentation that had been left behind by the angel's meat costume.

Dean reached down once more for the volume control on the Impala's radio. As AC/DC started in with the canons, Sam jerked upright, and Dean had the grace to feel a flash of guilt as his brother glowered over at him. Dean kept his eyes trained on the road, but he was watching Sammy in his periphery as an increasingly familiar look clouded his brother's features. Dean couldn't quite read the look that had so often been popping up when Sam looked at him lately, and that worried him. Nobody in the world knew Sam better than Dean, and he wasn't used to dealing with such striking unknowns.

It was quiet for a long moment in the cab of the Impala, but neither expected it to last long. Eyeing his brother, Dean grinned. "Dude, sweet dreams?"

Sam looked confused for a moment, then turned a deep, embarrassed pink in the glowing moonlight as he shifted awkwardly in his seat to cross his legs. Dean laughed, and the deep, hearty sound filled the still air of the car. After a short moment of glaring daggers, Sam couldn't help but join in.

"So, hey, Sam, how do you feel about a detour?"

Notes: I'm trying to write this with the style and pacing of an episode, so there's your tease. Cue up the theme music, Act 1 to follow.