"So how long do we have to camp out here?" Dean asked, busying himself with a slice of cherry pie. Sam kept his eyes on his laptop, giving it a frown as his fingers tapped away.

"Until we find out why people are disappearing, Dean."

"*Were* disappearing. There hasn't been a missing person in what, eight years?"

"Well, either we find out what's happening in the next twenty-four hours, or you spend that time glaring at the mechanics working on your car," the younger Winchester said, giving Dean a poignant look. Dean only glared back, muttering something about damn assholes beating up his car before stuffing his mouth with another piece of pie. "You're the one who banged it up in the first place."

"If the vehicle is not working, then I could simply-"

"No, Cas," Dean said, putting his hand out to stop the angel who fell silent. "I told you, your little flying-teleport-bullshit makes me queasy." Castiel pressed his lips together, his gaze falling to the slowly cooling cup of coffee sitting in front of him.

"Why don't you and Cas go look around?" Sam asked without looking up from his computer, the clicking of keys starting to grate on Dean's nerves. "I'll meet you at the motel in a few hours."

Dean nodded, snatching his beer up before heading out, confident the angel would be right behind him. Castiel was soon walking alongside the hunter, his gaze locked on front of them as Dean glanced nonchalantly about, taking a few sips from his bottle as they wandered the streets. The silence was uncomfortable, at least for the hunter. He was sure that Castiel didn't even notice, but that didn't make him feel any better. He was about to say something, anything, before he spotted an old antique-and-used-shit store. Normally it wouldn't attract his interest, but he was bored. And desperate.

"Hey, let's check it out," Dean said, tilting his head towards the place as he tossed his now empty bottle into the gutter. Castiel simply nodded, following him into the shop with wide, trusting eyes. That bastard. He always looked like a goddamn puppy.

The place was almost a wreck. Dean had known everything would be old, but, jesus, this was ancient. Almost all the items looked like they would crack and turn to dust as soon as they were touched, and what didn't still most likely hadn't been used in at least a century. Sam would be having a field day, he was sure. Maybe he'd bring his brother around later…just imagining him fanboy all over the old stuff made Dean immediately decide against it. He could do without that as long as he could manage. The owner of the store looked about as old as everything else, wearing some freaky-looking goggles as he fixed a watch. A pocket watch, of course. What else? Dean walked over, deciding to at least ask the guy if he knew anything about the local disappearances. From the look of it, he'd be surprised if the old man remembered his own name.

"Lookin' for something'?" The question caught Dean off guard. Holy shit, it was alive.

"Ah…just…takin' a peek," Dean said, giving him a short smile and a nod. After he'd collected his thoughts and had another glance around he turned back to the old man, who had the creepiest sort of smile on his face. The goggles didn't really help. "So…how long have you, ah…lived here?" Lame question. Probably a million years, from the look of it.

"Longer than you've been alive, young man," the man answered, never looking up from the watch. Dean didn't doubt it.

"So..you remember the disappearances that happened around here? About…eight to twenty years ago," Dean continued, assuming that he'd probably at least heard something, which was better than waiting around in the motel room. They didn't even have a vibrating bed, cheap jerks.

The old man's smile only broadened, a disconcerting look, to say the least. "Your friend has found the painting, I see," he said, ignoring Dean's question. Dean was about to ask 'what painting', followed by 'how the fuck did you see that, you haven't even glanced up since we came in', but turned to look for Castiel instead. The angel was standing in front of a softly lit painting, a dull one at that: it contained a picture of a fairly standard-looking white house, complete with front lawn and cute suburban-y feel. It looked familiar, a feeling Dean just couldn't shake. He continued to watch as Castiel reached out to touch the thing; as soon as his fingers brushed the canvas, he was gone.

"What th-" Dean started, looking around the shop. What the hell? Cas wouldn't just leave, all the sudden; he also hadn't heard the wings, the wings he could always hear when Castiel appeared…or disappeared.

"He's found the painting," the man repeated, causing Dean to whirl back around and face him.

"YOU did that?" he snapped, reaching back for his pistol, his eyes narrowed dangerously. The man didn't react. "Bring him back!"

"I'm afraid I can't. It wasn't me."

"Then where the fuck is he? Answer me!"

"The painting." Dean was beginning to lose his patience, keeping the gun trained on the old man as he walked to the painting, looking it over. It hadn't changed; the was nothing different about it, nothing…then he saw it. The scenery was somehow different, in a way he couldn't explain, but he could swear he saw the softest shadow of wings and the tip of a trench coat.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asked again, turning to the man, both hands clutching the pistol held in front of him. "Give him back!"

"The painting has taken him, there is nothing I can do," the old man said, finally stopping his work on the watch. "He saw something in that painting, something that called to him. That's how the painting works." Dean risked another look at the picture, studying that spot that he was sure was different.

He must have blinked, fallen asleep, something; the next second he was standing in the driveway of the house, his gun now pointed at freshly mowed grass. He glanced around, blinking hard. No, he was awake. This must be the painting..whatever the fuck it was. He tucked his gun away and headed towards where he'd seen the wings, walking cautiously up the front steps, nudging his way inside. So familiar…he knew this place...

"Dean." He nearly jumped at the voice, turning to find Castiel mere inches away. He pressed his lips together, fighting his instinct to grab his gun.

"Cas," he finally said, still shocked to see the angel, who looked about as confused as he felt. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Castiel answered, his eyes never leaving Dean. "There is no one here." Dean frowned, glancing past the man to try and catch a glimpse of the rest of the house. It was all silent; Cas must have been right.

"We have to get out of here," he growled, grabbing the angel's arm as he barged on into the kitchen. As soon as he was through the doorway he was suddenly in a dark, cold barnhouse that was all too familiar. "Cas…this is…"

"Where we met," Castiel finished, a sort of wonder hinting in his monotone voice. He walked forward without the hunter pulling him along, looking around at the place before patting his chest with a small, reminiscent smile. "This is where you stabbed me." Dean rolled his eyes, feeling some heat rise to his cheeks. Yeah, he'd tried to stab an angel. So what? He hadn't known that at the time.

"Yeah, awesome. Can we go now, please?" Dean asked, watching as Castiel turned to him.

"We tried to leave the house as well. Where do you suggest we go?" the angel asked, as Dean frowned at him. He didn't know, he just knew they needed to leave. Nothing felt right here; it was too empty, too quiet.

"I don't..I don't know. Try flying us out of here," Dean suggested, moving over to Cas with a grim expression. Castiel nodded after a moment's consideration, gripping the hunter's shoulder. Suddenly they stood on a snowy plane, white stretching for miles and miles in a sky that seemed to imitate the color beneath it. It wasn't cold, though, which was probably the strangest thing about the landscape. Castiel took a step away for a moment as Dean dealt with the repercussions of angel transportation, his eyes wandering over the serene landscape. He looked surprised, yet somehow still calm; Dean was as confused as ever.

"Where the hell did you take us?"

"Ironically…heaven," Casitel said, turning to Dean with a smile. "To be more specific, my heaven. Though I do not know why we are here…"

A figure appeared, seemingly from nowhere, growing more distinct as it approached. Dean recognized her as soon as she was upon them.

"Anna."

(More chapters on the way! Hopefully longer ones, too.