Castiel stooped low to the ground and eyed the curious form before him. Dark hair, green eyes, strong body. Even in spirit this human seemed different. Like observing a volcano, Castiel mused. On the surface it is calm and even beautiful, in its way. But underneath boils strength that can bring an entire city to its knees. So it was with this one.

He was called Dean. Castiel knew that much. He had heard talk and understood him to be vital to the survival of his kind in the days ahead.

Dean.

The name is of English origin, he recalled, meaning "from the valley." This soul had just been pulled from the deepest and darkest of all places, and the irony of that had not gone unappreciated.

Castiel stood and circled the slumbering thing again and studied it closely. He had needed to stop the struggling spirit and so he had laid him, temporarily, to rest. Yes, Dean had fought, even while being dragged from the clutches of hell. It had proven quite difficult to handle him. The body would most likely bare a mark, when he awoke.

"I do not envy you." he muttered. He stopped, but did not turn his eyes away from his new charge.

In all his thousands of years of being , Castiel had never been to hell. Not until today. And if in another thousand years he were to be called to go back, it would be too soon. Hell was dismal. Hell was despair. Hell was to beg for oblivion. He had been there a less than a day. Dean? He had been there over 40 years.

Castiel looked away for the first time, as he recalled the awful sorrow that had saturated the young spirit to its core such a short time ago. The small light that remained was like spotting a quick flash of gold in the depth of dark, murky waters. But he had surely seen it and barreled forward into the bowels of hell before losing sight of it again.

He had grabbed Dean's arm with both hands, stopped him from taking another stab into a deranged and tortured soul. The shock of it had stopped Dean only for a moment. This act, the torturing, had become pure instinct for him by then. An animal taught to fight for its life or be beaten to an inch of its sanity instead.

"I have to finish it. I have to. I have to…" He said it over and over, still fighting, shaking.

Castiel gripped him tighter from behind. His other hand wrapped round the man's middle "You do not belong here," he said calmly. "I'm here to take you home."

But the words had no effect. The man lunged forward again, eyes cold, knife in hand. Determined, angry. Broken.

"You must stop. I am here to help you." Dean would not take his eyes from his prey. Castiel was loosing some of his grip, and he was beginning to draw unwanted attention. They had to leave. Now. There was no time for arguing. His arm slipped from the man's waist, under his arm, and over his chest. But Dean was still managing to drag himself forward.

"They're coming" Castiel growled, growing impatient with Dean as well as his own lack of success. One final reaching move brought his hand to the man's forehead. Dean collapsed instantly, but Castiel's fierce hold kept him on his feet. The knife clattered to the ground, and the angel could finally move freely again.

There was a rustling in the bushes nearby. A bird cooed and took flight in the quiet night. Castiel turned back to the young man laying on the ground, eyes steady on him again. He lay on his back. One arm resting comfortably over his chest. Head turned slightly to one side. Castiel couldn't help feeling that he now understood the perspective a human must have while watching a sleeping beast of the wild. Something told him this was one of the few opportunities he would have to observe Dean so still and quiet. If their tussle in hell was any indication, the angel fully expected to have his hands full after tonight.

Truthfully, he probably should have put Dean back into his body already. He supposed he just wanted to let the man rest. Just for little while. There would soon not be much time for that.

"No, I do not envy you" he repeated, "But I do admire you. You have strength, my friend."

Castiel stooped down once again, this time placing his palm against the man's forehead. He allowed himself one final look. Things would be so different when Dean awakened in his body. He would look on him as an enemy, view him with suspicion and anger. Dean did not believe in angels. Castiel knew this as well.

"Try to remember that," he told the sleeping form. "I am your friend."

With that he closed his eyes, said a prayer, and the young spirit was sent back to the body that awaited it.

"I look forward to meeting you again. Dean."