A/N: The first of the projects I worked on for Nanowrimo! An AU missing scene from episode 10x01, "Black". I imagine the song Dean sings at the karaoke bar in this to be the Big & Rich song of the same name, and indeed this story is heavily influenced by it, but it is up for interpretation. Trigger warning: mild dubcon.

Castiel was expecting her, but it still took every ounce of his strength he had to get up and answer the door.

"Castiel? You look terrible," Hannah greeted him. Her eyes flickered downwards, and Cas realized belatedly he had forgotten to tie his robe. He flushed and pulled the garment closed.

"I'm alright."

"I disagree. You're running out of grace," Hannah said. "If you don't get more you'll die."

"I'm fine," said Cas firmly.

Hannah took the hint and changed the subject. "You were vague on the phone," she said as he closed the door behind her. "What's this about?"

"I need some help," Cas said.

"Of course. Anything."

"I need you," Cas coughed, "to come with me to North Dakota."

Hannah's smile was pinched and knowing. "This is about Dean Winchester."

Cas sighed. "Yes. Sam told me there's been a spike in demon activity an hour outside of Bismarck, North Dakota."

"It could be nothing."

"It could be Dean," said Cas. "I owe it to Sam to try."

Hannah looked away, taking in the decrepit motel room with an air of detachment. "I need something as well." She met Castiel's eyes. "There are a few rogue angels still on Earth, and I've been tasked with collecting them."

"Why not leave them be?"

"They've already killed one of our brothers who was sent to bring them back to Heaven. Justice must be served. It is the only way to preserve order until a new leader is chosen."

Castiel nodded grudgingly. "Who are they?"

"Daniel and Idina. I must bring them back to Heaven to stand trial. Will you help me, Castiel?"

Castiel considered her offer. "I will help you," he said. "But we look for Dean first, and return him to Sam if we can."

"Understood," Hannah said.

Cas tried to sleep as Hannah drove, but his rest had been fitful enough in a bed, let alone sitting upright in the Continental with his head against the hard pane of the car window. He would fall asleep for a few minutes only to be jostled awake by a rough patch of road. More than once he awoke to feel Hannah's eyes upon him, though she hastened to look away when he turned his head.

"What?" he finally asked, groaning as he stretched out his stiff joints.

"Nothing," Hannah said quickly. "You were snoring. It was very . . . human."

Cas frowned. "I suppose with what little grace I have, I am closer to human than angel now."

"It's not just our grace that makes us celestial," said Hannah, but she seemed unsure.

"A year ago you believed lack of free will differentiated us from humans," Cas said, coughing into his sleeve. "Times have changed."

"I did not mean it to be offensive," Hannah said. "In light of everything, it may be beneficial to live as humans do. To understand them as fully as we can. For the mission, of course." Her eyes held something more, an added layer of meaning that Castiel did not fully comprehend, but it made him uncomfortable nonetheless.

"What mission?"

"Our ultimate mission, Castiel," Hannah said quietly. "Humanity."

"Is that what you believe I am doing? Living among them to better understand them?"

"Isn't it?"

Cas looked over at her. Rain began to fall softly on the car, running down the window in shining rivulets that reflected the watery sun. "Not at first. I was just following orders. But I was always here to protect them."

"Could you not protect them better with understanding?"

Cas almost smiled, but a cough took his breath at the last moment. "Humans are meant to be loved, not understood."

Hannah was silent, considering his words. Then she said, "Get some rest, Castiel. I'll wake you when we arrive."

True to her word, a few hours later Hannah's gentle hand on his cheek woke him, and he jerked away. Cas thought he saw hurt in her eyes. He looked around. The rain had stopped, though the pavement was still wet. The sun had dipped low in the sky, staining everything orange. A worn wooden sign over the door read "Black Spur."

"This is the place," Hannah said, squinting at the door. Several beefy men with tattoos were smoking cigarettes on the porch. Cas stepped out and slammed the car door. He leaned down.

"You should wait in the car," he said. "I won't be long."

Hannah nodded and switched off the ignition, worry furrowing her brow. "Be careful, Castiel."

"Well, well, well. The jealous lover arrives. Shall I unzip my trousers and play the part of the guilty paramour?"

Castiel sighed, but it turned to a cough halfway through. "I am here for Dean."

Crowley looked nonplussed. "Of course you are. Sit. Have a drink. For old time's sake. After all, it was just a blink ago we were trying to take over the world together. Isn't that right, Pinky?"

Castiel ignored him and coughed again. "Where is he?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Batteries running low, I see. Is Moose with you?"

"No."

"Pity," said Crowley, inspecting his fingernails idly. "Heard about that nasty business with the rebel angels a few months ago. Turns out you weren't quite the Patton to their Third Army, were you? Oh well, 'one may tolerate a world of angels for the sake of a demon,' as the adage goes." Crowley smirked. "Wait, I cocked that up, didn't I?"

"Where's Dean?" Castiel growled. "If you have done anything -"

"Oh, relax," Crowley said. "He's done enough harm to himself without me helping it along. I was tempted, of course. Turns out old dogs can learn new tricks, and Alastair was just starting obedience school before you so rudely came along."

Castiel cursed at him in Enochian, though the effect was somewhat ruined by another coughing fit.

Crowley sniffed. "And here I thought we could be civil. Ah, go on then. He's in the loo. But don't say I didn't warn you. Dean's not quite as warm and cuddly as he used to be."

Fuming, Castiel watched Crowley saunter away before he took a seat at the bar. He could see a karaoke machine from the corner of his eye. His gaze followed Dean as he emerged from the men's room and headed for the stage, much to the displeasure of the rest of the bar's patrons, who hissed and threw stale popcorn and peanut shells in Dean's general direction. Cas hadn't realized just how much he had missed Dean until he saw him standing there, his rugged profile silhouetted against the bright spotlights on the raised platform with a half-drunk bottle of Wild Turkey dangling from one hand. It hit him like a physical ache in his chest, and he wondered if Hannah wasn't right about human emotions after all.

"Hey buddy," said the bartender impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of Castiel's face, and Cas realized he'd been staring at Dean and not paying attention. "What can I get you? You gotta order something or I gotta ask you to leave."

"Right," Castiel said, coughing into his sleeve. "What do you recommend?"

The bartender eyed him up and down, his sour expression softening. He shrugged. "I'll get you something for that cough. Just try not to get the whole damn bar sick, alright?" Cas nodded. Soon enough a steaming mug was pushed across the bar towards him, and he took a sip. The warm liquid was woodsy and slightly sweet on his tongue. The twang of a country song issued from the karaoke machine, and a beat later Dean's off-key baritone voice filled the bar. Cas went very still and turned to stare. Dean swayed to the music, cradling the mic with one hand as the driving beat propelled the song forward into the first verse. Dean surveyed the bar, a smirk on his lips. He didn't seem to mind the booing crowd; in fact, their annoyed shouts seemed to spur him on.

He did a double take when he saw the unmistakable baby blue eyes of Castiel staring at him from across the bar. Dean almost faltered, but he picked right up again as the chorus started, his voice strong. He didn't take his eyes off Cas. Cas' face felt hot, and there was a curious feeling in his stomach like something inside him was uncoiling.

The last few words faded away, and the bar patrons started to applaud, if only to get Dean off the stage for awhile. He paid them no mind. Instead he leapt off the platform and made straight for Cas, scowling. He grabbed the angel by the lapels of his trenchcoat and pulled him into the shadowed hallway that led to a payphone and the restrooms.

Before Cas could explain himself, he felt Dean's body pressing up against his, Dean hips holding him in place. The hand at his collar snaked around to fist in his hair. Dean's lips were dry and tasted like bourbon as they crashed into his, hard enough to bruise. Cas stiffened in surprise, and Dean seized the moment to delve his tongue into Cas' mouth, roving, discovering, dominating. Dean's other hand came up under the coat, popping open shirt buttons with deft fingers, untucking his shirt tails from his trousers, and then Dean's palm was tracing tingling trails upon Cas' skin. He was keenly aware of every touch and movement that Dean made against him. Cas whimpered in the back of his throat as his knees buckled, but the pressure of Dean's body held him upright.

Cas was sure of one thing: this was nothing like April. One night with her had been a new ecstasy he had never experienced before. Cas was uncomfortably reminded of Hannah. Was this what she wanted . . . with him? He simply couldn't imagine it. But this, with Dean, spoke of every moment they had shared.

Castiel had seen Dean at his darkest . . . he had pulled his raw, mangled soul out of hell with his bare hands, knit his body - this body, which was now pressed so pleasantly against him - back together like new, before he ever knew his name. Was that not intimacy of the highest degree? This was mere rutting, comparatively, but somehow, their shared history transcended that, made it sacred, made it pure. And yet, for how right it felt, it still felt wrong. This wasn't Dean. This was a demon with Dean's face, corrupting Dean's soul, and it was using their bond to hurt them both.

But with Dean's lips and tongue trailing, slick and sensual, down Cas' neck, the angel couldn't bring himself to care.

It was an eternity before Dean pulled away, and even then it was only for a moment, like Cas was a mirage that would disappear if he let go. Dean's eyes were heavy-lidded, as black as obsidian with none of the dim bar lights reflected in them. They had a pull all their own, as if Cas stared too deeply into them he would be sucked in himself and lost forever. Cas felt a chill go down his spine, and the tips of his phantom wings tingled. He had lost them when he fell, but every so often he would get feelings in them he couldn't shake - like an itch he couldn't scratch or a sharp stab of pain through the pinions.

Dean blinked, and the black cleared to reveal the familiar mossy green. Dean laughed harshly. "Did you get what you came for?"

"I've come to bring you home," Cas said, a little confused.

Dean trailed his hand across Cas' belly, the muscles jumping under his fingers. Dean hooked his fingers around the waistband of Cas' pants. "That's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

Dean shrugged. "I like it here." He tugged on Cas' belt. "I could make you like it here too."

Cas swallowed hard. Dean leaned in again, capturing Cas' lips with his again, nipping at the angel's bottom lip hard. Cas tried to jerk back, but Dean's hand held his head in place like a vice.

"No, no," he whispered huskily. "You want this as much as I do. Let me fuck you, Cas." Dean rubbed his thigh against Cas' crotch, and Cas felt his traitorous body respond. "Let me make you come." Cas' limbs felt heavy, and he was very aware of Dean's erection pressing into his hip as Dean sucked on his neck. Cas' face was flushed, and the bar suddenly felt stuffy and airless. He struggled to free himself from Dean's grasp.

"No," Cas said forcefully. "This isn't you, Dean."

"This is me, now." When Cas didn't say anything, Dean shoved him away roughly, rubbing his swollen lips with the back of one hand. "You should go, Cas."

Crowley smirked at Cas' mussed hair and disheveled clothing as he passed. Castiel paused to smooth both down before meeting Hannah at the car. Her gaze lingered on the darkening skin by his jawline.

Dean watched him go and turned away, feeling the uncomfortable pressure in the crotch of his jeans. He caught the blonde waitress' eye and made a feral noise deep in his throat. Later, as she writhed beneath him and he came inside her, he pretended it was the low gravel of Cas' voice as she cried out his name.

When Sam called him again, a few weeks later, Cas almost didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could lie to Sam. He couldn't even lie to himself.

"Sam," he said into the phone.

"Cas, I think I found him. I think I've got a lead."

Cas' stomach clenched, and he wasn't sure if it was his dying grace or the thought of Dean that made it so. He settled for saying, "That's great news."

"I guess he was last seen at a bar in North Dakota," said Sam. "Listen, I'm on my way there now. Do you think you could meet us at the bunker? I need your help."

"I don't know, Sam," said Cas.

"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" Sam demanded. "We've been working for this for weeks, and now you're just going to go belly-up? Dean needs us, Cas. Both of us."

Cas sighed. As if he could forget. "Alright. I'll do what I can."

And of course he did. Cas was there when the Winchesters needed him, like he always was. It was almost too much to hope for when the last of the demonic essence faded and Dean was truly back.

Cas stopped by his room before departing. Dean looked up, pausing as he folded a pair of jeans. His eyes flicked down to Cas' neck, but the skin there was unmarked - the bruises had taken days to fade. Cas had been careful to wear the collar of his trenchcoat turned up to avoid Hannah's questioning looks during their hunt for Daniel and Idina.

"You've had quite an ordeal," he said. "It would be wise to take a few days off. Get some rest."

"Thanks, Cas."

Cas turned to leave when Dean spoke again. "Hey, Cas. What happened, that night at the bar . . ." the words between us hung heavy in the air, but Dean couldn't bring himself to give them voice. Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, man. I wasn't myself."

Cas remembered the hungry press of Dean's lips and his roving hands and the delicious rub of Dean's stubble against his neck. He hadn't gone a day since without thinking about it. But he said none of this. "I know, Dean."